Disclaimer: I do not own Merlene Dietrich, and mean her no disrespect
whatsoever! Just thought I'd clear that up in case she has any relatives
who want to sue me.
A/N: I just want to thank Nefertirioc, who was my first reviewer for chapter 7 (well she beat you to it Jess- you'll have to try harder next time I'm afraid!) I read the first 2 chapters of the fic you recommended neffie, and it's really good!
Now on with it, before I forget what's going on...
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Chapter 8
*******************************************************
"Now, what are we going to say when we see Evy?" Jonathan asked casually, not even bothering to lower his voice now that they were almost home free, so to speak. "We have to get our stories straight, come up with something plausible and blameless, so the old battleaxe doesn't have anything to-"
Someone whimpered quietly in the darkness of the hall, and for once it wasn't Jonathan.
Stephen's frown of disapproval suddenly melted, to be replaced with a tight lipped, wide eyed expression, somewhat reminiscent of a peasant caught trespassing in the manor house. "What in God's name was that?" he whispered, whirling around on his toes to look about him.
A gasp came from just above them and to the right, from the top of the staircase.
******
Aisha's foot still hovered above the second step, unable to proceed for sheer terror. She stood motionless and mute as a statue, like a marble Aphrodite with her gauzy white nightgown falling to her ankles in vertical folds. Her right hand tightly gripping the banister and her left hanging limply at her side, she remained that way as the two men appeared in the hallway beneath her.
The shorter, dark haired man spoke. His loud, confident voice shattered her paralysis, and she shivered, nearly losing her footing on the stairs. She, a girl only just seventeen, was all alone in a room with two strange men; thieves, perhaps abductors...
Suddenly her father's overbearing presence seemed painfully absent. Since her mother passed away he had become more overly protective than ever, not even allowing her to be alone with the man she was promised to, even though she had known him all her life. Her only contact with men was limited to her immediate family, so she could not help but let out an involuntary cry of terror at the thought of intruders in the house.
The dark haired one, who was almost at the door, hand raised to draw back the bolt, paused in mid action. Both men whipped round in her direction.
The threat of discovery caused her to take in a sharp breath, which caught in her throat and would not rush out again. They hadn't seen her yet, a pale conspicuous shape looming over them, but they would. She could try to run, she could call out, but in the end she did neither of these things.
The blonde man suddenly transfixed her with a piercing blue stare. She had been seen.
******
It took Jonathan a few seconds more to realise what Stephen was staring at, but when he did his reaction was very different to that of his petrified companion.
"I say!" Jonathan exclaimed appreciatively, with a hushed wolf whistle. His eyes travelled up the stairs to her feet, up the diaphanous folds of her nightgown to her slim waist, up to her small, pert breasts, and rested there.
"What was I saying earlier- 'will be a full bodied little number when matured'? I think I stand by that statement.." Jonathan said with a smirk, prompting Stephen to laugh at his joke with a nudge in the ribs. Stephen was still staring upwards, as motionless as the girl whose terrified eyes were locked with his. Jonathan had yet to get as far up as her face.
The jab in his side brought Stephen back to himself, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Don't be afraid, we're not going to harm you," he said gently, raising his hands palms up in the traditional military surrender. It was the first time he had ever been forced to do so by a young girl. "We're just going to leave now...nobody else has to know we were ever here..." he murmured, lowering his voice until it was barely audible, and taking a step back as if retreating from a sleeping guard dog.
"I can't believe you Stephen, a big tough soldier like you scared by a little girl!" Jonathan sniggered.
"Little girls still have very big lungs, Johnny boy- you want to deal with her father when she screams rape?"
"No, I leave the muscle work to you, normally. I'm more in charge of executive decisions, contingency plans... that sort of thing." Jonathan said, now beginning to back up a few paces to stay level with him. The door was only a few steps behind them, and Jonathan clumsily stuck out his arm to feel for the bolt. In all his long and eventful career as a philanderer, you'd think hasty retreats from darkened hallways would have become easier?
"Just keep moving, Johnny..." Stephen mumbled through gritted teeth, still maintaining eye contact with the pretty, dark eyed girl. "She's not going anywhere."
And then she did- straight back up the hallway in a silent streak of white cotton and streaming black hair.
"Do you think she's gone to get someone?" Jonathan asked anxiously, blindly feeling the door behind him to lay his hands on the latch.
"I bloody hope not. For the love of Mike will you just get that door open before we have to find out?"
Jonathan did as he was told, and made quick work of the bolt, threw the door open and burst out into the sun bathed street. Far down the road to the left he could see where the main bazaar started, with the colourful stalls already set up and open for the day's business. Stephen came up beside him, blinking at the sudden brightness of daylight, and dropped a heavy hand on Jonathan's shoulder as they began to walk towards the market.
"When I get my gun back, remind me to shoot you with it."
******
Bernhardt wandered aimlessly through the tiny, busy streets of Cairo, feeling miserable. It was not yet 11 o'clock and already he had been separated form his party, strayed into the wrong part of town, lost his wallet and passport to a pick pocket, and he couldn't speak a word of Arabic to ask his way to the embassy. Isolated, vulnerable, and on the verge of despair, he was about to attempt communication with one of the locals again when the young German tourist saw a tall, blonde gentleman walking in his direction through the bazaar. His broad shoulders and Arian good looks instantly marked him out from the Egyptian crowd, and it was very reassuring to see a white European face at last.
Bernhardt cut through the milling shoppers and peddlers, past the stalls and laid out wares, and headed straight for him. The tall man had no choice but to stop or knock him down, and with a congenial smile Bernhardt clasped him by the forearm, forced his hand into his palm and looked up into his electric blue eyes.
"Entschuldigen sie bitte mein Herr, sind sie aus Deutschland?" he said, feeling fairly confident he was speaking to a fellow German.
The blonde man looked at him with incomprehension, and Bernhardt's brief glimmer of hope was extinguished. He slumped his shoulders in disappointment, smiled an apologetic thank you, and dropped the man's hand. He was turning to go, continuing his search for someone who could help him, when he heard the most wonderful, comforting sound in the whole world: his own language. Sort of.
"Hang on there just a minute, uh. Ich spreche ein bißchen!" A voice called after him in a very pronounced English accent.
Bernhardt could have leapt for joy- finally, someone he could ask for help. He turned round to look into the tanned, slightly smudgy face of a dark haired man, about his height, but much slighter of build. He was wearing a rather filthy jacket and trousers. He hesitated from calling it a suit, for he couldn't be sure if they had ever actually matched; the jacket was tinted bright pink from lapels to pockets, and the trousers were, well, it was impossible to say which was the dominant colour in the veritable smorgasbord of stains presented there. On top of all that, he smelt like the rancid runoff from a wine press. But Bernhardt was in no position to be choosy.
"Können Sie mir bitte helfen? Ich besuche der Deutsche Botschaft- ich habe mein Reisepaß verloren!" he said throwing his arms in the air exasperatedly.
"Ja, er..." the man was obviously no native German speaker, but he was making a valiant attempt, and Bernhardt was extremely grateful. "...um, Botschaft? Consulate, embassy, right? Let me think..." The bumbling Brit scratched his head and held his chin, as if fidgeting helped him to think. Bernhardt wasn't sure if it was the location of the embassy or the task of putting the directions into words that was giving him more trouble.
"Well, er..." the Englishman squinted into the distance and made a chopping hand signal, indicating the direction in front of him. "I think- Gehen Sie immergerade aus für... oh, a couple of hundred yards- I mean, uh, zwei hundert metres..."
Bernhardt nodded, following the man's alternating languages and halting pronunciation quite adequately, and motioned for him to continue.
"Und dann, uh, nimm die erste straße links, then die dritte straße rechts, gehe über die Brücke, und- oh, uh, dammit.... what's the word I want?" He bit his lip and searched the blinding Cairo sky for an answer, then suddenly waved his arms excitedly. "Oh, oh! I know, gegenüber, that's it! Der Botschaft ist gegenüber von sportplatz!" He announced with a note of triumph, theatrically extending his palms, fingers splayed, in a kind of 'voila!' gesture.
Bernhardt had never been so relieved to meet a filthy, liquor soaked sot in all his life. He thanked him profusely, pumping his hand up and down enthusiastically in the most grateful handshake he had ever performed, and disappeared into the dense, multi coloured street crowd.
******
"I didn't know you could speak German!" Stephen hissed a little accusingly. Being a soldier hadn't made him particularly enamoured of that nation, and those of his company who had lost friends, relatives and comrades-in-arms in the Great War- it seemed there were very few who hadn't- were even less forgiving. Jonathan failed to pick up on his thinly veiled contempt.
"Oh, didn't you know? I once spent a very enjoyable summer in Berlin with an actress named...Oh crikey, what was her damn name? Marie? Marlene? Marlene something or other." He said with a shrug and a dismissive wave of the hand. Stephen's eyes lost their resentment and brightened with interest. A mischievous smile played at the corners of his mouth.
"Marlene...Dietrich?" He said jokingly.
"Yes! That's the one. Lovely bum."
"You Lie!" Stephen retorted, sure Jonathan was pulling his leg.
"I am not! She had a lovely little bottom, long legs- bit scary though. She had this look that could freeze the blood in your veins like iced water."
"You did NOT screw Marlene Dietrich!" Stephen said with an ironic little laugh. There was no way he was going to let Jonathan fool him into thinking he had once had an affair with the latest Hollywood sensation!
"What's it to you anyway? She's not YOUR wife!" Jonathan shot back, really not sure why his friend was making such a big deal about one of his past flings.
"You mean she was already married at the time?!" Stephen cried in astonishment. He was not quite ready to believe it, but it certainly was starting to sound more and more like Jonathan.
"You know me, I never bother with the details..." Jonathan said blithely, completely oblivious to the profoundly altering effect his claims were having on Stephen's perception of him. Stephen looked like he was battling to sort out his reaction, somewhere between incredulity, amusement and admiration.
"Are you actually trying to tell me that you had a thing with Merlene Dietrich, THE Marlene Dietrich from the movies?" Stephen said very slowly and deliberately, wanting to get out each word clearly so there could be absolutely no misunderstanding. The affable but easily affronted Englishman looked at him with feigned indignation
"What, you don't think I'm a handsome chap? I'll have you know that I was voted most eligible bachelor in my first year at Oxford-"
"Don't change the bloody subject! Did you or did you not have an affair with Marlene Dietrich?!" Stephen demanded.
"I don't know! Her last name COULD have been Dietrich, I never really asked..."
Stephen closed his eyes and smiled, revelling in his victory. He knew it! If there was any opportunity for embroidering a story with a bit of excitement and glamour, Jonathan was quick to jump at it. He cuffed him on the ear and laughed while Jonathan did his best not to look sheepish.
"Come on Casanova, lets get you home before you get us into anymore trouble." He tugged him by the grubby sleeve and the two of them jostled their way forwards through the crowd, heading in the direction they had just sent the German tourist.
"What in god's name did you say to that guy anyway?" Stephen asked in a laughing tone, still rather taken aback by the revelations brought to light by Jonathan's linguistic skills. He had definitely learnt a thing or two about his friend in the last 24 hours, for one he certainly had never thought of Jonathan as the foreign languages type. That was Evy's department. In fact Jonathan hardly seemed to make any use at all of the intelligence he had been born with- not for any legal purpose anyway.
"You know what, Stevie? I have abso-lutley noooooo idea!"
Evidently Stephen's first guess had been right.
**************************************************************************** ********
A/N: Do you want a translation? Do you really care? This time I didn't get it out of a phrase book, its all from my memory of GCSE German about 6 years ago. So if I made lots of mistakes...frankly my dear, I don't give a flying! Jonathan isn't supposed to know what he's talking about anyway! Is it getting random enough for you yet? I thought this was gonna end at about 10 chapters, but I can see it spiralling into an ironic epic of our two anti-heroes!
A/N: I just want to thank Nefertirioc, who was my first reviewer for chapter 7 (well she beat you to it Jess- you'll have to try harder next time I'm afraid!) I read the first 2 chapters of the fic you recommended neffie, and it's really good!
Now on with it, before I forget what's going on...
*******************************************************
Chapter 8
*******************************************************
"Now, what are we going to say when we see Evy?" Jonathan asked casually, not even bothering to lower his voice now that they were almost home free, so to speak. "We have to get our stories straight, come up with something plausible and blameless, so the old battleaxe doesn't have anything to-"
Someone whimpered quietly in the darkness of the hall, and for once it wasn't Jonathan.
Stephen's frown of disapproval suddenly melted, to be replaced with a tight lipped, wide eyed expression, somewhat reminiscent of a peasant caught trespassing in the manor house. "What in God's name was that?" he whispered, whirling around on his toes to look about him.
A gasp came from just above them and to the right, from the top of the staircase.
******
Aisha's foot still hovered above the second step, unable to proceed for sheer terror. She stood motionless and mute as a statue, like a marble Aphrodite with her gauzy white nightgown falling to her ankles in vertical folds. Her right hand tightly gripping the banister and her left hanging limply at her side, she remained that way as the two men appeared in the hallway beneath her.
The shorter, dark haired man spoke. His loud, confident voice shattered her paralysis, and she shivered, nearly losing her footing on the stairs. She, a girl only just seventeen, was all alone in a room with two strange men; thieves, perhaps abductors...
Suddenly her father's overbearing presence seemed painfully absent. Since her mother passed away he had become more overly protective than ever, not even allowing her to be alone with the man she was promised to, even though she had known him all her life. Her only contact with men was limited to her immediate family, so she could not help but let out an involuntary cry of terror at the thought of intruders in the house.
The dark haired one, who was almost at the door, hand raised to draw back the bolt, paused in mid action. Both men whipped round in her direction.
The threat of discovery caused her to take in a sharp breath, which caught in her throat and would not rush out again. They hadn't seen her yet, a pale conspicuous shape looming over them, but they would. She could try to run, she could call out, but in the end she did neither of these things.
The blonde man suddenly transfixed her with a piercing blue stare. She had been seen.
******
It took Jonathan a few seconds more to realise what Stephen was staring at, but when he did his reaction was very different to that of his petrified companion.
"I say!" Jonathan exclaimed appreciatively, with a hushed wolf whistle. His eyes travelled up the stairs to her feet, up the diaphanous folds of her nightgown to her slim waist, up to her small, pert breasts, and rested there.
"What was I saying earlier- 'will be a full bodied little number when matured'? I think I stand by that statement.." Jonathan said with a smirk, prompting Stephen to laugh at his joke with a nudge in the ribs. Stephen was still staring upwards, as motionless as the girl whose terrified eyes were locked with his. Jonathan had yet to get as far up as her face.
The jab in his side brought Stephen back to himself, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Don't be afraid, we're not going to harm you," he said gently, raising his hands palms up in the traditional military surrender. It was the first time he had ever been forced to do so by a young girl. "We're just going to leave now...nobody else has to know we were ever here..." he murmured, lowering his voice until it was barely audible, and taking a step back as if retreating from a sleeping guard dog.
"I can't believe you Stephen, a big tough soldier like you scared by a little girl!" Jonathan sniggered.
"Little girls still have very big lungs, Johnny boy- you want to deal with her father when she screams rape?"
"No, I leave the muscle work to you, normally. I'm more in charge of executive decisions, contingency plans... that sort of thing." Jonathan said, now beginning to back up a few paces to stay level with him. The door was only a few steps behind them, and Jonathan clumsily stuck out his arm to feel for the bolt. In all his long and eventful career as a philanderer, you'd think hasty retreats from darkened hallways would have become easier?
"Just keep moving, Johnny..." Stephen mumbled through gritted teeth, still maintaining eye contact with the pretty, dark eyed girl. "She's not going anywhere."
And then she did- straight back up the hallway in a silent streak of white cotton and streaming black hair.
"Do you think she's gone to get someone?" Jonathan asked anxiously, blindly feeling the door behind him to lay his hands on the latch.
"I bloody hope not. For the love of Mike will you just get that door open before we have to find out?"
Jonathan did as he was told, and made quick work of the bolt, threw the door open and burst out into the sun bathed street. Far down the road to the left he could see where the main bazaar started, with the colourful stalls already set up and open for the day's business. Stephen came up beside him, blinking at the sudden brightness of daylight, and dropped a heavy hand on Jonathan's shoulder as they began to walk towards the market.
"When I get my gun back, remind me to shoot you with it."
******
Bernhardt wandered aimlessly through the tiny, busy streets of Cairo, feeling miserable. It was not yet 11 o'clock and already he had been separated form his party, strayed into the wrong part of town, lost his wallet and passport to a pick pocket, and he couldn't speak a word of Arabic to ask his way to the embassy. Isolated, vulnerable, and on the verge of despair, he was about to attempt communication with one of the locals again when the young German tourist saw a tall, blonde gentleman walking in his direction through the bazaar. His broad shoulders and Arian good looks instantly marked him out from the Egyptian crowd, and it was very reassuring to see a white European face at last.
Bernhardt cut through the milling shoppers and peddlers, past the stalls and laid out wares, and headed straight for him. The tall man had no choice but to stop or knock him down, and with a congenial smile Bernhardt clasped him by the forearm, forced his hand into his palm and looked up into his electric blue eyes.
"Entschuldigen sie bitte mein Herr, sind sie aus Deutschland?" he said, feeling fairly confident he was speaking to a fellow German.
The blonde man looked at him with incomprehension, and Bernhardt's brief glimmer of hope was extinguished. He slumped his shoulders in disappointment, smiled an apologetic thank you, and dropped the man's hand. He was turning to go, continuing his search for someone who could help him, when he heard the most wonderful, comforting sound in the whole world: his own language. Sort of.
"Hang on there just a minute, uh. Ich spreche ein bißchen!" A voice called after him in a very pronounced English accent.
Bernhardt could have leapt for joy- finally, someone he could ask for help. He turned round to look into the tanned, slightly smudgy face of a dark haired man, about his height, but much slighter of build. He was wearing a rather filthy jacket and trousers. He hesitated from calling it a suit, for he couldn't be sure if they had ever actually matched; the jacket was tinted bright pink from lapels to pockets, and the trousers were, well, it was impossible to say which was the dominant colour in the veritable smorgasbord of stains presented there. On top of all that, he smelt like the rancid runoff from a wine press. But Bernhardt was in no position to be choosy.
"Können Sie mir bitte helfen? Ich besuche der Deutsche Botschaft- ich habe mein Reisepaß verloren!" he said throwing his arms in the air exasperatedly.
"Ja, er..." the man was obviously no native German speaker, but he was making a valiant attempt, and Bernhardt was extremely grateful. "...um, Botschaft? Consulate, embassy, right? Let me think..." The bumbling Brit scratched his head and held his chin, as if fidgeting helped him to think. Bernhardt wasn't sure if it was the location of the embassy or the task of putting the directions into words that was giving him more trouble.
"Well, er..." the Englishman squinted into the distance and made a chopping hand signal, indicating the direction in front of him. "I think- Gehen Sie immergerade aus für... oh, a couple of hundred yards- I mean, uh, zwei hundert metres..."
Bernhardt nodded, following the man's alternating languages and halting pronunciation quite adequately, and motioned for him to continue.
"Und dann, uh, nimm die erste straße links, then die dritte straße rechts, gehe über die Brücke, und- oh, uh, dammit.... what's the word I want?" He bit his lip and searched the blinding Cairo sky for an answer, then suddenly waved his arms excitedly. "Oh, oh! I know, gegenüber, that's it! Der Botschaft ist gegenüber von sportplatz!" He announced with a note of triumph, theatrically extending his palms, fingers splayed, in a kind of 'voila!' gesture.
Bernhardt had never been so relieved to meet a filthy, liquor soaked sot in all his life. He thanked him profusely, pumping his hand up and down enthusiastically in the most grateful handshake he had ever performed, and disappeared into the dense, multi coloured street crowd.
******
"I didn't know you could speak German!" Stephen hissed a little accusingly. Being a soldier hadn't made him particularly enamoured of that nation, and those of his company who had lost friends, relatives and comrades-in-arms in the Great War- it seemed there were very few who hadn't- were even less forgiving. Jonathan failed to pick up on his thinly veiled contempt.
"Oh, didn't you know? I once spent a very enjoyable summer in Berlin with an actress named...Oh crikey, what was her damn name? Marie? Marlene? Marlene something or other." He said with a shrug and a dismissive wave of the hand. Stephen's eyes lost their resentment and brightened with interest. A mischievous smile played at the corners of his mouth.
"Marlene...Dietrich?" He said jokingly.
"Yes! That's the one. Lovely bum."
"You Lie!" Stephen retorted, sure Jonathan was pulling his leg.
"I am not! She had a lovely little bottom, long legs- bit scary though. She had this look that could freeze the blood in your veins like iced water."
"You did NOT screw Marlene Dietrich!" Stephen said with an ironic little laugh. There was no way he was going to let Jonathan fool him into thinking he had once had an affair with the latest Hollywood sensation!
"What's it to you anyway? She's not YOUR wife!" Jonathan shot back, really not sure why his friend was making such a big deal about one of his past flings.
"You mean she was already married at the time?!" Stephen cried in astonishment. He was not quite ready to believe it, but it certainly was starting to sound more and more like Jonathan.
"You know me, I never bother with the details..." Jonathan said blithely, completely oblivious to the profoundly altering effect his claims were having on Stephen's perception of him. Stephen looked like he was battling to sort out his reaction, somewhere between incredulity, amusement and admiration.
"Are you actually trying to tell me that you had a thing with Merlene Dietrich, THE Marlene Dietrich from the movies?" Stephen said very slowly and deliberately, wanting to get out each word clearly so there could be absolutely no misunderstanding. The affable but easily affronted Englishman looked at him with feigned indignation
"What, you don't think I'm a handsome chap? I'll have you know that I was voted most eligible bachelor in my first year at Oxford-"
"Don't change the bloody subject! Did you or did you not have an affair with Marlene Dietrich?!" Stephen demanded.
"I don't know! Her last name COULD have been Dietrich, I never really asked..."
Stephen closed his eyes and smiled, revelling in his victory. He knew it! If there was any opportunity for embroidering a story with a bit of excitement and glamour, Jonathan was quick to jump at it. He cuffed him on the ear and laughed while Jonathan did his best not to look sheepish.
"Come on Casanova, lets get you home before you get us into anymore trouble." He tugged him by the grubby sleeve and the two of them jostled their way forwards through the crowd, heading in the direction they had just sent the German tourist.
"What in god's name did you say to that guy anyway?" Stephen asked in a laughing tone, still rather taken aback by the revelations brought to light by Jonathan's linguistic skills. He had definitely learnt a thing or two about his friend in the last 24 hours, for one he certainly had never thought of Jonathan as the foreign languages type. That was Evy's department. In fact Jonathan hardly seemed to make any use at all of the intelligence he had been born with- not for any legal purpose anyway.
"You know what, Stevie? I have abso-lutley noooooo idea!"
Evidently Stephen's first guess had been right.
**************************************************************************** ********
A/N: Do you want a translation? Do you really care? This time I didn't get it out of a phrase book, its all from my memory of GCSE German about 6 years ago. So if I made lots of mistakes...frankly my dear, I don't give a flying! Jonathan isn't supposed to know what he's talking about anyway! Is it getting random enough for you yet? I thought this was gonna end at about 10 chapters, but I can see it spiralling into an ironic epic of our two anti-heroes!