An Incredibly Strange Story

An Incredibly Strange Story - Part Two

Two days after this remarkable dialogue and the ensuing extraordinary bet between me and my friend, I found the opportunity to put our plan into action. I was sitting in the King's head and enjoying my lonely pint after a long and exhausting day. Among the cases I had to deal with were a certain sulking detective without a case, a premature birth and a jealous husband running mad about some misunderstanding, the details of which I do not want to present to my gentle readers, as they were too gruesome and at the same time too vulgar to recount them to an audience that expects to be entertained. By the end of the day, Holmes went running on a new trail, the baby was safe, the couple still alive (as was the doctor) - and I was sufficiently pleased with myself and my ale.

Just when I was about to pay and retire for a good night's sleep, I heard a voice calling out my name, the modulation of which sounded strangely familiar. I turned my head in the direction of this voice, a female and melodic one, and at the same time unusually full and deep for a woman's, and I immediately recognized its bearer. There was Miss Celia Bartlett, a former intimate acquaintance of mine, sitting at a table together with a handful of friends, and I could see at a glance that the past years had not done her any kind of injustice. On the contrary: she looked supremely handsome; she was wearing a straight-cut violet dress that went rather well with her fiery hair, which she had fixed firmly around her pretty head, and she was smoking her pipe. I had rarely seen her without it, and I wondered whether it was still the same, after all these years. Of course, I immediately discerned that the ladies sitting around her were much lower in age (which did not take me by surprise), and yet she stood out like a lily in the swamp.

"John Watson," she called once more, waving me towards her table while ignoring the disapproving stares she received from the other guests. I felt my face grow hot, as her voice carried well across the entire pub, and I hurried to follow her command lest she call out again. Celia had always been notorious for not keeping to the general rules of conduct, and she would go to any kind of extreme to make me join her, should I not immediately meet her expectations.

When I was standing in front of the table after hastily taking off my hat once more, Celia immediately introduced me to her girlfriends: two very young ladies, who merely giggled after the comparatively informal introduction, and a sinister looking lady with dark hair and extraordinarily clear cut features, who answered my salutation in a most reserved, almost disapproving manner. Had I not known which select assemblage of people Celia liked to gather around her person, I might have been taken aback by this kind of discourteousness. However, as I had the advantage and the honour to count myself among the 'initiated,' I merely smiled at the mysterious brunette, and after acknowledging her distant reply with a curt nod, I addressed my dear friend Celia, who let me kiss her hand first (with a rather lewd wink of her eye), then shook mine energetically.

We soon realized that we had not seen each other for more than two years. I fondly recall the moment when I first met her, and I also cannot suppress a broad smile whenever I think of the fateful night that soon followed this encounter. It was one of those remarkable nights I will surely never forget in my entire life, even though I will with the same certainty not be able to ever tell anyone about it. It was, in fact, one of the rare occasions when I stumbled upon a beautiful woman who attracted me to an unspeakable degree, both physically and mentally - but who utterly denied me to proceed with certain natural administrations, apart from the general flirtation.

If truth be told, it was the only night I ever spent with a woman without engaging in any kind of sexual activity, even though (I am ashamed to admit this now) that had been the principal reason for me to stay with her. During this night, however, I did not get a look-in, and she consequently explained to me the special circumstances of her personal preferences. After the initial shock, the veil of ignorance was finally lifted from my mind's eye and I had to grow aware that there existed quite a number of women who were not at all interested in men, not even those they openly declared as 'very tempting' (a title I secretly harbour): women who were only interested in women.

If there is a hierarchy among them (and I rather believe there is, just as among those inclined towards the stronger sex), Celia definitely has a place in the first row. We even established a kind of manly friendship, for lack of a better expression, as we soon found out that we had quite a lot of things in common: we both liked to smoke a good shag, we drank lager by the pint - and we had women in three continents. Talking to her again after all that time was like talking to an old friend from the army. We both knew about our secret inclinations (I had told her mine, too), and we had nothing to hide. Thus being treated like her equal, her friends (at least the two younger ladies) soon thawed up to me, and I spent a highly entertaining night with them, in spite of my original plans to retire early.

Only by the end of the night (we were the last to leave and presently standing in a narrow street, waiting for the cab to arrive) did I remember my bet. I must admit that I was more than slightly inebriated, which surely contributed to my sudden boldness. Thus, I quickly told Celia the outline, and she immediately grasped what it was all about, before I needed go into detail.

"Sherlock Holmes," she said, smirking, then sucked her pipe before continuing. "Well, well. You are a cruel man, John Watson." She knocked her pipe against the cartwheel, then kissed me on the cheek and whispered in my ear. "Of course I will do it. I'll be honoured. He'll have a hard time, and if you win, we'll share the loot." Winking an eye at me, she handed me her card, then stepped into the carriage, where her charming company was already waiting for her. The cab rumbled away, and I turned to stagger home, my mind full of strange memories and a rather amusing prospect.

*

It was not until the next morning that I could tell my friend of my interesting encounter of the previous night. We were sitting over a late morning tea, and as always, I was quietly reading the newspaper and merely pointing out the facts that I regarded as most interesting for Holmes, while my good friend was watching me with his keen eyes and the everlasting enigmatic half smile playing around his thin lips. Holmes had doubtlessly already deduced where I had spent the night, yet he kept smiling to himself and remained silent. It was certainly the best method to make me talk. Thus, I finally put the newspaper away and I told him of my lady and the agreement we had reached. When I was finished with my report, Holmes looked at me, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"Celia Bartlett," he finally said with what I could or could not interpret as a sulky expression. He did not enlighten me as to his motions, though, but stood up and walked to the fireplace in order to smoke another pipe. There he remained standing for quite some time, refraining from any further comment, before he went to the door and bestowed me with a gentle nudge in the ribs on his way out. I did not see him again until the end of the following day.


To be continued...