How Matey got her fez
The CBB -> Cookies & Drabbles
#1: How Matey got her fez Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 10:42 am

OK - this comes from Inspire & Challenge and I'm a massive fan of the insurpassable Casablanca so we'll see what happens! It will help if you know the film quite well and I will try to remember to italicise direct quotes from it ...
I know where it's going, just need the time to write it as not around at all tomorrow ...

Apologies in advance for historical and fictional errors and dodgy spellings, particularly of names!

The Cast!
Rick Blaine - Humphrey Bogart
Ilsa - Ingrid Bergman
Sam - Dooley Wilson
Captain Renauld (Louis) - Claude Rains
Victor Laszlo - Paul Henreid
Major Strasse - Conrad Veidt
Ugarte - Peter Lorre
Ferrari - Sydney Greenstreet
Matey / Gwyn Lloyd - Herself!

With the coming of the Second World War, many eyes in imprisoned Europe turned hopefully, or desperately, towards the freedom of the Americas. Lisbon became the great embarkation point … but … not everybody could get to Lisbon directly and so a tortuous, roundabout refugee trail sprang up. Paris to Marseilles … across the Mediterranean to Oran … then by train, or auto or port across the rim of Africa, to Casablanca in French Morocco. Here, the fortunate ones, through money, or influence, or luck, might obtain exit visas and scurry to Lisbon and from Lisbon to the New World. But the others wait in Casablanca … and wait … and wait …

One such traveller was Gwynneth Lloyd, an exile from the Chalet School, an English-run international boarding school nestling on the edge of the Tiernsee in the Austrian Tyrol. Successfully growing for some eight or nine years, it had suffered a severe loss of pupils with the signing of the Anschluss and the fiat that all German and Austrian girls must perforce attend government-approved schools in future. A further incident, involving a number of girls and a senior mistress who had dared to try to protect an elderly Jew, had ensured both the flight of those implicated and the closing of the school. It and the great Sanatorium on the Sonnalpe evacuated to the friendlier waters of the English Channel and Guernsey.

Gwynneth, or Gwyn as she currently called herself, had been one of the last to leave, refusing to abandon her post until the last of the girls had packed and left, including those who had been too ill to travel with the majority. Even then, she had insisted on remaining to help with the departure of the San and its patients. Only when Dr James Russell had put his foot down and ordered that all women must leave before the borders finally closed, had she reluctantly agreed to make her departure. Consumed by an overwhelming sense of adventure and scorning the more conventional departure route she had travelled south, intending to travel across the Mediterranean before making her way home at last.

And so it was that she had arrived in Casablanca. It had not been an easy journey and on many an occasion she had almost regretted her somewhat hasty impulse. But “Matey” was made of stern stuff and knew that the school would be unlikely to regroup for some months. She would rejoin its ranks when Madame said the word but until then she was a free agent. A short, wiry figure, she was almost unrecognisable without her starched uniform and angel wings cap but with her crisp, linen suit, worn as a foil to the scorching climes of the Moroccan desert and her sensible, flat brogues, she remained very much, the competent Brit abroad.

Disembarking from the bus she had taken at the port, Gwyn straightened her skirt and jacket with deft fingers, fished a fresh hankie from her capacious handbag and mopped her brow as she perspired in the oppressive heat. Tipping the driver and thanking him in fluent French, she quickly scanned the surrounding buildings for suitable accommodation. She was likely to be in town for some nights, therefore a safe base was of paramount importance, particularly as Casablanca was renowned for being a hotbed of petty villainry. Her aim? To purchase an all important exit visa which would secure her passage home – to the British Isles, and Wales.

Having deposited her suitcase in a small but clean room in an unremarkable hostelry, Gwyn tidied herself up with a quick wash and a brisk brush of the hair. Refreshed, she strolled back out onto the busy streets, intent on getting her bearings and perhaps to pick up some clues as to who might help her in her quest. The streets and soukhs bustled with people and Gwyn was quick to realise that many of the faces were foreigners like herself – displaced Jews; English and American businessmen trapped without permits to travel as the borders closed; and single people or couples desperate to find a route out of Africa and to freedom.

As she walked, the air seemed pungent with the unwelcome odour of sweaty bodies and the stench of monkeys, clambering and leaping untamed across the alleyways. This was tempered somewhat by the heady aroma of citrus fruits and spices: rows of oranges, nutmeg, cinnamon etc were piled high in their stalls, gleaming in the sunshine. Other market holders sold earthenware, ironware, pots, lanterns, fabrics, silks and laces, each shouting to attract the passersby, each extolling the virtues and value of their wares. Everything in Casablanca, it seemed to Gwyn, had its price. Even as she dwelled on this thought, amused by the irony, she glanced across at a café verandah where a small scene was being enacted as an obviously monied couple listened intently to a slight, moustached man. The words drifted across to Gwyn.
“I beg of you, Monsieur – watch yourself … be on guard … this place if full of vultures … vultures everywhere … everywhere …”
She could barely believe her eyes as she saw the man slip a wallet from the jacket of his middle-aged prey, concealing it in his own pocket with practised ease. But, before Gwyn could even cry out, he had disappeared, melting effortlessly into the crowd.

Seconds later, there was the wailing of a siren and the screeching of brakes as a jeep full of gendarmes erupted into the street. Leaping out of the vehicle, the soldiers seemed to target all foreign males indiscriminately, demanding to see their papers and bundling them unceremoniously into the truck if everything was not in order. One unfortunate man, aware that his papers had expired two weeks before, attempted to make a run for it but the crowds dispersed with incredible rapidity as the gendarmes lowered their rifles, took aim and fired. Gwyn watched in awed horror, shuddering at the negligence with which human life was so casually despatched. Stunned, she could not understand why so many men had been captured.

“It’s Captain Renauld” an anonymous voice breathed in her ear. “The Prefect of the Police. Whenever, there’s a problem, that’s his stock response: ‘Round up the usual suspects’”
“And what’s the problem?” enquired Gwyn, turning to face the man beside her.
He looked at her intently before replying.
“Two German couriers were shot dead yesterday. They were carrying important documents, letters of transit, signed by General de Gaulle which can not be rescinded. The letters were not found with them.”
“And Captain … Renauld, did you say? He thinks they’re here in Casablanca?”
“Undoubtedly. Have you heard of Victor Laszlo?”
“No, should I have?”
“Possibly. He’s a resistance fighter – the raison d’etre of all the resistance groups across Europe. He’s a great leader – enormous passion, vision and energy. He’s making for Casablanca now and my guess is that he will need those letters to leave the country.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Gwyn was curious and not a little suspicious of the openness with which this man was giving her what seemed like confidential information.
“You’re British aren’t you?” The man seemed unphased by her apprehension.
“Welsh, yes” Inwardly, Gwyn cursed the fact that her heritage was so obvious. She had hoped that her dark colouring and lean stature, coupled with her proficiency in both French and German might allow her to pass as a French citizen, if necessary.
“Then you sympathise with the cause” the man stated simply before introducing himself as Berger, a Norwegian resistance fighter, adamant that he would help Laszlo in any way he could.
“Gwynneth Lloyd” returned “Matey”, “Or Gwyn” she added, suddenly taking to this rather intense man.
They shook hands.
“And I presume you are also looking to leave Casablanca?” Berger enquired shrewdly.
Gwyn nodded shortly.
“You should come to Rick’s Café tonight” advised Berger. “Many exit visas are bought and sold at Rick’s. You may find what you need there …”
Smiling her thanks, Gwyn returned to her room, intent on preparing herself for the evening ahead.

Last edited by Rachael on Tue Apr 20, 2004 8:35 pm; edited 1 time in total

 

#2:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 10:48 am

Ohhhh Matey meets Cassablanca! Can't wait to see what she gets up to!

 

#3:  Author: Rachel, Location: Plotting in my lair; sometimes in Hampshire, England, UK, Europe, Earth, Milky Way, Universe PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 11:23 am

I supose I really ought to watch "Casablanca" at some point - for the meantime though I will read this and then I will know all the important bits anyway.

 

#4:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 12:29 pm

Rachael, thanks fro doing this!! Looks great, home you gind time for more. Think i might have to go and rewatch Casablanca!

 

#5:  Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 12:32 pm

Rachael thus is a really lovely beginning. It is a long while since I watched Casablanca. REally looking forward to more of this story.

 

#6:  Author: Sophie, Location: Cambridegeshire PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 1:15 pm

Oh thank you so much, Rachael! Very Happy This is fantastic, and so vividly evocative. Can't wait for more, so...

*starts chant*

More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please! More please!

 

#7:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 1:31 pm

Ooohhh thank you Rachael!!!! Very Happy

I love Casablanca too. This looks very interesting for Matey!!

 

#8:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 4:30 pm

Thanks for the positive response - a bit more - but definitely no more 'til at least Thurs/Fri
Lesley - I hope the description of Humphrey is to your satisfaction ... Wink



Some hours later, Gwyn entered Rick’s Café Americain and slipped unobtrusively onto a bar stool from which vantage point she could view the large, open-planned bar. It was busier than she had anticipated, as though everyone who was anyone came to Rick’s. There was a band in one corner, raised on a small dais, but they were resting and the spotlight now shone on the piano where a striking black man was tinkling the ivories. “It had to be you” he crooned, revelling in the limelight and his handsome face lit up by an enormous grin. Around him, the clientele swung in time to the tune, some dancing or swaying to the beat and Gwyn marvelled at how relaxed and untroubled everyone seemed. It was as if Rick’s was an exotic oasis, somewhere to escape from the threat and tension of the encroaching war. People-watching further, she realised that this carefree air was a façade. They came to Rick’s for any number of reasons: to drink, to dance, to barter for an exit visa but most of all to forget – to seize a little respite from the endless waiting game that they all played … waiting for their ticket out of Casablanca.

Glancing round the tables, Gwyn became conscious that here she was seeing human interaction at its most concentrated. Against the casual background of the saloon, Rick’s was a positive hotbed of intrigue, seething with undercurrents and emotions as black marketeers thrived and people bartered, not for possessions but for their lives. At one table, a wealthy-looking lady was trying to sell a diamond ring but her named price was knocked back because diamonds had flooded the market. At another, a bespectacled businessman was clearly receiving instructions on where to meet the guide who would accompany him out of Casablanca – he had been lucky enough to secure passage out of the country. And she could not swear to it, but was that private gambling going on in the backroom? Entry appeared to be by invitation only and those that left were, in the main, disgruntled, as though the betting had not gone entirely their way.

Making her order, Gwyn engaged the young waiter in conversation, discovering that his name was Sasha and that he was Russian.
“Who’s the piano player?” she enquired genially.
“That’s Sam” replied Sasha. “He came with Rick from Paris …”
“Rick?”
“The owner – this is Rick’s Café Americain” explained Sasha as he polished the glass before filling it with ice, pouring over Gwyn’s chosen drink and sliding it across to her with a flourish. “Everyone goes to Rick’s.”
“Does he work here or just own it?” Gwyn was interested despite herself .
“He’s the manager and he’s here most nights – that’s him over there” Sasha pointed through some palm leaves to a solitary figure sitting with a chessboard in front of him.

Gwyn peered intently through the fronds. At first, all she could make out was a hand, the fingers caressing a pawn piece as its owner decided on the next move. It was a weathered hand, strong and tanned, and moving the pawn with deliberation it disappeared for a moment, only to return with a cigarette held loosely, the wrist resting nonchalantly against the table. Moments later the figure stood and Gwyn obtained a perfect view of Richard Blaine, the man himself unaware that he was being observed. Rick was a tall man of average build with a hint of underlying power hidden carefully behind his white dinner suit and black tie. His black hair was slicked back and his cragged countenance, although not handsome in any conventional sense, bore looking at twice. Gwyn was intrigued. Here was no clean-cut professional like the doctors she knew from the Sanatorium. Rick’s eyes held a different intensity. The lines etched beneath them spoke of a pain and suffering that was usually only seen in one who has loved and lost. She suspected that the poker face, the disinterested expression, was a masquerade. Here was a man who had been wounded dreadfully, a man who had chosen to disguise that hurt with a languid cynicism and who sought refuge from the world through isolation.

 

#9:  Author: Cumbrian Rachel, Location: near High Wycombe PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 4:31 pm

*yelling very loudly for more!*

 

#10:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 5:34 pm

Yes it is - thank you Rachael! Wink

Love this - wonderful way of explaining how Matey got to Casablanca, looking forward to lots more! Very Happy

 

#11:  Author: pim, Location: the place where public transport doesn't work properly! PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 5:50 pm

Oooooooooooooooooooh, this looks great Rachael! *plumps down to wait for Thursday/Friday*

 

#12:  Author: Chickpea,  PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 6:03 pm

Thank you! Can't wait for the next bit......

*drags out sofa and sleeping bag and settles down to wait*

 

#13:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 6:58 pm

Rachael that last bit was beautifully written, can't wait for more!

 

#14:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Tue Apr 20, 2004 8:37 pm

Rachael, I am so glad you decided to do this.

 

#15:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Wed Apr 21, 2004 10:32 am

Agrees with Carolyn. Admits that having found myself with an unexpected night in yesterday I ignored all the things i could/should have been doing and settled down to watch Casablanca...again! Wonderful.

Rachael, like the description of Rick/Humphrey and the way that you are managing to link in all the little bits from the film!

 

#16:  Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire PostPosted: Wed Apr 21, 2004 4:10 pm

At last - a crossover that I know both parts to!
Thanks Rachael, am loving this. and looking forward to Thursday, that is, tomorrow.

 

#17:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Wed Apr 21, 2004 5:26 pm

*Brings chocolate and the video of Casablanca for everyone to watch in the meantime*

Looking forward to the next bit, thank you Rachael

 

#18:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 7:46 am

As she watched, Rick made for the bar to sign a chitty proffered by the croupier. Then, a small, weasel-faced man approached Rick, engaging him in conversation. They moved to one side, thinking that they could not be heard but not for nothing was Gwyn reputed to have the ears of a lynx. As “Matey” she had constantly amazed the girls with her acute ability to be “on the spot” with some of them moved to wonder whether she ever slept. In reality, she had exceptionally acute hearing and on this occasion she used it to good effect, the murmured undertones of the two men being easily distinguishable. She learnt that the twitchy, weaselly-faced man was Ugarte, a person who Rick held historically in some contempt. As their conversation continued, she stiffened. Ugarte claimed he held letters of transit, signed by General de Gaulle. 'Surely,' thought Gwyn, 'The ones that Berger spoke of earlier' and she listened more closely. Requesting that Rick keep them safe for him, Ugarte offered assurances that it would only be for a short time and Rick agreed, albeit with some reluctance. Accepting some papers from Ugarte he tucked them into his jacket. It was clear that he was not a man who liked to get involved, preferring the role of dispassionate spectator. Then Gwyn froze again as Ugarte hinted that he had been the one to murder the German couriers. Rick raised a sardonic eyebrow – Ugarte had indeed risen in his estimation. Gwyn followed Ugarte with her eyes as he slunk inconspicuously into another room,. The sounds of the bar returned to her conscious and she recognised that the tune Sam now played was “Knock on Wood” to the general acclaim of his audience. Idly returning her gaze to Rick, Gwyn stared as he strode purposefully across the room and discreetly transferred the letters of transit into the lid of the piano, his action concealed by the shadows thrown by the spotlights.

“Good evening”, a voice spoke behind her and Gwyn became aware of a large presence at her side.
She turned to view an enormous gentleman, smartly dressed in pale suit and matching fedora. His sheer size was intimidating but his amiable smile and twinkling eyes put her mind at ease and she returned his greeting pleasantly, accepting his offer of a drink. Her months travelling had given her confidence and she was more open to company than she had been when she first left the relative safety of the Alps.
As they moved across to a small table, he introduced himself as Signor Ferrari, the proprietor of the Blue Parrot Café which Gwyn recognised as one of the many establishments she had passed on her arrival. Taking a seat she caught a glimpse of Berger who acknowledged her but was clearly there on business of his own.
“What brings you to Casablanca?” enquired Ferrari.
“What brings anyone to Casablanca?” parried Gwyn with humour.
It was reciprocated.
“Ah, Casablanca’s leading commodity” mused Ferrari. “The buying and selling of refugees.”
Her initial reaction was shock. Gwyn was unaccustomed to this almost callous description of the human trade so prevalent in Casablanca. However, it was no more than the truth and she hid her rather parochial attitude well. The conversation continued as they discussed her own situation and Ferrari suggested that she stop by at his café the following day. It was possible that he could assist.

A commotion at the bar diverted their attention. Yvonne, a young Frenchwoman who had evidently had too much to drink and who harboured a very real infatuation for Rick was frantically trying to attract his attention. Rick was smoothly doing his best to ignore her advances and avoid a scene, although it was clear that they must have had some kind of liaison in the immediate past. Eventually he ordered Sasha to see her home safely … and to return directly, this last to Sasha’s chagrin. As they left, a suavely uniformed figure joined Rick, chastising him for his dismissal of Yvonne.
“How extravagant of you, throwing away women like that … one day they may be scarce …”
Entertained, Gwyn smothered a chuckle as the two men mooted the theory that Yvonne could form her very own Second Front against the Nazis.
Turning, she asked the identity of Rick’s companion.
“Captain Renauld, the Vichy Chief of Police” explained Ferrari. “He’s a known womaniser, like Rick of course …” He paused to watch Gwyn’s reaction. Remaining impassive, she personally agreed that Rick was extremely attractive, far more so than the stylish Renauld, but this was not an opinion that she would choose to share with anyone. Recognising that her reticence hid deeper thoughts, Ferrari went on to specify that Renauld’s modus operandi involved the seduction of good-looking women in return for exit visas. He intimated that Renauld could hasten or lengthen the departure of a lady and Gwyn permitted herself an inward shudder, hoping fervently that she would not have to go to such an extreme in order to secure her own departure. Unnerved, she hastened to change the subject.
“Does Renauld not know what goes in this café? Doesn’t that interfere with his own plans?”
“Oh, Captain Renauld knows that many exit visas are bought and sold at Rick’s … but not by Rick himself …” Ferrari shrugged. “And so the café remains open. But I must go … you will visit me tomorrow?”
“Yes” Gwyn said goodbye before gazing reflectively at both Rick and Renauld.

 

#19:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 9:14 am

Groovy smoothy, Rachael. Just using the language of the day.

 

#20:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 10:53 am

Hooray there was more!! Thanks Rachael!!

 

#21:  Author: Ciorstaidh, Location: London PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 12:23 pm

Hooray Rachael - this is FABULOUS!!! Very Happy

Thank you thank you thank you thank you

 

#22:  Author: pim, Location: the place where public transport doesn't work properly! PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 12:25 pm

*bounces up and down at the sight of more of this* Thank you Rachael, oooooooooh I'm so going to watch Casablanca when I get home in the summer.

 

#23:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 1:41 pm

Yay thank you Rachael, that was wonderful Very Happy

 

#24:  Author: Sophie, Location: Cambridegeshire PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 1:57 pm

This is brilliant! It's so-oo atmospheric, and a great description of Rick. Thank you so much, and looking forward to more... Very Happy

 

#25:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 1:58 pm

Rachael this is so well written. thank you.
Looking forward to the next episode.

 

#26:  Author: Vikki, Location: Possibly in hell! It's certainly hot enough....... PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 7:03 pm

This is great Rachael!
(even though I've never seen Casablanca.....)

 

#27:  Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 7:26 pm

You must watch it Vikki.

This terrific Rachael, thanks.

 

#28:  Author: Angel, Location: London, England PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 8:13 pm

WOW

Rachel, you are brilliant.

But then, we knew that.

 

#29:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 8:41 pm

As I said this morning Rachael - wonderful! And looking forward to seeing the next bit.........again. Wink

 

#30:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 8:46 pm

Renauld was asking Rick what had made him come to Casablanca and Gwyn listened in shamelessly.
“My health, I came to Casablanca for the waters” deadpanned Rick.
“The waters? What waters? We’re in the desert …”
“I was misinformed.”
Gwyn could not help but grin at the wisecracks, until their discussion took a more serious turn. Renauld was saying that Victor Laszlo had escaped from a concentration camp and was expected in the café that night, presumably to acquire exit visas for both himself and his lady friend. He advised Rick not to interfere.
“I stick my neck out for nobody …” rejoined Rick before expressing surprise that Renauld should even imagine that he might get involved.
“Because Rick, I suspect that under that cynical shell, you’re at heart a sentimentalist.”
Privately, Gwyn agreed with Renauld and was gratified to hear some further evidence to support her theory. Apparently, Rick had run guns in Ethiopia in 1935 and in 1936 he had fought on the side of the loyalists against the fascists in the Spanish Civil War.
“And got paid very well for it” commented Rick drily.
“The winning side would have paid you a lot more” countered Renauld.

Then Renauld told Rick that he was about to be joined by Major Strasse, a senior German official who had arrived that day in Casablanca. Renault disclosed that he knew the identity of the murderer of the two couriers and that his troops were in a place to make an arrest in the café that night, for the benefit of Major Strasse. Rick made an involuntary movement, so small as to be easily missed, but was forestalled as Renauld warned him again not to interfere. When Strasse arrived, Renauld escorted him to a reserved table and Gwyn replayed the conversation in her mind. Feeling sick, she realised that Ugarte was in grave danger and that she was powerless to do anything to help him. It was as if some larger story was playing out around her. Normally she would have felt little, if any, pity for the likes of Ugarte, killing two men in cold blood as he had. But this was war, and the very thought of the man being captured and in all probability tortured, before being executed, chilled her to the core. It was beyond her realm of experience.

Before she could brood further on the situation, the door of the private gambling room swung open and Ugarte came out to be accosted immediately by two burly gendarmes. Assessing the situation at a glance, he calmly requested to be allowed to cash in his chips. Mesmerised, Gwyn surveyed the scene playing out in front of her in slow motion, feeling strangely detached from its reality. Ugarte collected his winnings, to all intents and purposes, the careless gambler. His eyes however, were darting furtively this way and that as he searched frantically for an escape route. Seizing his chance he dived towards an open door, pulling it roughly behind him. Once the soldiers had scrambled to haul the door open, Gwyn saw that Ugarte was armed and he fired wildly at his captors before spinning round and almost cannoning into Rick himself. They remonstrated for a moment, Ugarte pleading with Rick, begging him to hide him or to protect him. Rick was pushing him away, unable to help and the last that Gwyn saw of Ugarte was him standing with his back to a dead end like a cornered rat. With one final, foolhardy attempt he hurled himself at the guards but they pinioned him easily against the wall, oblivious to the look of sheer terror plastered across his face. As the door swung behind them Gwyn dropped her head and breathed deeply, fighting a sudden wave of nausea.

All activity across the bar had ceased but ever the professional, Rick clicked his fingers and the band began playing whilst a waiter scurried to attend to the broken glass and overturned pots which had marked Ugarte’s ill-fated flight. Gwyn marvelled at the speed with which normality returned. Without a doubt, this must be a common turn of events in Casablanca. She reflected on Rick. A gun-runner and the veteran of another country’s civil war. Embittered, hardened and intent on only looking after himself, she wondered what lay beneath his tough exterior. Where did his alliances really lie? As she ordered another drink, she saw Rick join Captain Renauld and Major Strasse at their table. Could it be that he sympathised with the Nazis? She doubted it. Out of earshot, Gwyn was not to know that despite Strasse’s best endeavours to extract Rick’s views on Victor Laszlo, Rick remained diplomatic but aloof.

 

#31:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 8:51 pm

Ohhhh Thank-you Rachael!
Love this version of Matey!

 

#32:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 9:22 pm

Oohh another lovely post, thank you Rachael, I love the atmosphere you are conjuring

 

#33:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 9:34 pm

Thank you but it's not me - it's the story!!
I'm just re-telling it as it is ... Very Happy

If anyone hasn't seen Casablanca they really, really, should ... Vikki!!!

And Lesley!!
I'm shocked ... shocked that you should be found gloating!! Wink

 

#34:  Author: Vikki, Location: Possibly in hell! It's certainly hot enough....... PostPosted: Thu Apr 22, 2004 9:54 pm

*blushes and hides from Rachael's disapproving glare*

 

#35:  Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 1:23 am

Yes Miss, I'm sorry Miss, I really will watch it, I promise

Is this the time to admit I've never seen the sound of music either?

sorry Embarassed

we didn't have a telly for years & going to the cinema was on very rare occasions







& now I have the CBB and no time Wink

 

#36:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 8:02 am

A couple took the table next to her. The man seemed unremarkable although he held himself with military bearing and had an unconscious charisma but Gwyn was drawn by the radiance of his younger, very chic partner. She was, quite positively, the most beautiful woman that Gwyn had ever seen. Casting her mind back to the Tyrol, she conjured up images of the von Eschenau sisters, Wanda and Marie. Their golden tresses and fairy tale looks had ensured their position as school beauties but even their combined loveliness was eclipsed before this understated and, Gwyn struggled for the right word, enigmatic vision. The lady’s hair was expertly coiffured, but in a very natural style. Her skin was smooth and this clear, glowing complexion, combined with the symmetry of her delicate features – forehead, nose, cheekbones and jawline all perfectly and proportionately formed – was flawless. In addition, her eyes sparkled with a humour and depth that verified this was no empty-headed pretty face. She was dressed simply but elegantly in the latest fashion: a cream jacket and matching skirt which gracefully accentuated her slender figure. In comparison, Gwyn felt rather plain and dowdy but in no way envious, just privileged to be in her presence.

As the couple interacted, Gwyn realised that this was the Victor Laszlo she had heard so much about and that his female companion was called Ilsa. She sensed that he was deeply infatuated but that Ilsa was distracted. Following her line of vision, Gwyn was surprised to see Ilsa exchange a look with Sam, the piano player, a look that spoke volumes.
‘They know each other’ thought Gwyn, ‘But how?’
Seconds later Berger had introduced himself to Laszlo and by means of showing him a ring as if to sell it, had signalled that he was a resistance fighter and very much at Laszlo’s service. In a rapid undertone, he explained that Ugarte, whom Laszlo had arranged to meet had been captured. Ilsa was horrified but even as Gwyn looked on Berger seemed aware of less friendly eyes and moved away, inviting Laszlo to join him at the bar to discuss the position further.

Left alone, Ilsa requested that the piano player join her and Gwyn was intrigued to note the reluctance with which Sam pushed his piano over to the table. Gwyn strained to hear them as they spoke in low undertones. Sam seemed to be denying that Rick was around but Ilsa wasn’t fooled. After exchanging pleasantries, which seemed forced on Sam’s part, Ilsa asked him to play some of “the old songs”. Gwyn was shocked by Sam’s sad response.
“Leave him alone, Miss Ilsa, you’re bad luck to him.”
If Ilsa was offended by this plea, she chose to ignore it. Instead, smiling, she requested one particular song.
“Play it, Sam – play “As Time Goes By” …”
Sam pretended that he no longer remembered it but to no avail. Ilsa hummed the tune and in spite of himself, Sam’s fingers were drawn to the keys and he began to play and sing what was a clearly a very familiar refrain. Caught in the moment, Gwyn revelled in the poignant music, noticing that Ilsa had drifted back to a happier past, her eyes deep pools of memory, glistening with unshed tears. Gwyn felt, rather than saw, Rick enter the room and then freeze as the notes rippled across to him. For a moment the impassive face crumpled in torment but he caught himself and striding angrily over to Sam, demanded to know why he was playing a forbidden song. Sam could only flick his head urgently in Ilsa’s direction in warning but it was to late. There was a tense pause as Rick and Ilsa locked eyes and the electricity sparking between them was tangible. Discreetly, Sam moved away …

 

#37:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 8:33 am

Rachael, this is excellent.
Love the line:
Quote:
It was as if some larger story was playing out around her.

Which is of course what is happening. It is wonderful the way you have Matey watching ate action in cassablanca as it happens, but still as a bystander.

 

#38:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 9:38 am

Fantastic, Rachael. I do hope your firm don't expect you to work whilst you're writing this drabble.

 

#39:  Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 11:00 am

Rachael, this is lovely. You have captured the atmosphere of the film exactly. Can really see it all happening.

 

#40:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 11:06 am

Wonderful, so evocative and so close to the film whilest giving a slightly different slant from Gywn viewpoint.

BTW: Has anyone read 'As Time Goes By' by Michael Walsh? It looks at what happened before and after the film. From Amazon: Did Ilsa Lund and Victor Laszlo make it to America? What happened to Rick and Louis? Will Sam ever play it again? The action moves from Prohibition New York to wartime London and Prague.

 

#41:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 11:07 am

Carolyn - that's exactly the line Lesley picked out when she read it!! Laughing
NB - Matey's not going to be a complete bystander - I have plans for her! Not least to get her hands on that fez!!

Jennie, my firm's expectations and reality are two parallel universes - the one happily oblivious to the other Mr. Green

 

#42:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 11:11 am

Thank you Rachael, this is really beautifully written.

 

#43:  Author: pim, Location: the place where public transport doesn't work properly! PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 11:38 am

Rachael this is great! *makes mental note to watch Casablance ASAP*

 

#44:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 1:55 pm

But Rachael - it's so much fun to gloat!!! I never realised before! Laughing

That said, I hadn't seen all of the last post - you added a bit!

Wonderful!

 

#45:  Author: Angel, Location: London, England PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 4:10 pm

Casablanca evening at the next gathering??

This is wonderful.

 

#46:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 4:13 pm

Ohhh thanks Rachael, can't wait to see what Matey's part to play is!

 

#47:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 4:15 pm

angel wrote:
Casablanca evening at the next gathering??

This is wonderful.


I can bring the video...oh but Rachael already has it!

 

#48:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 9:07 pm

LOL, Nell!!

Lesley - I did e-mail you but assume you've been out of access!

Gratuitous quote warning:


For her part, Gwyn winced as they began a stilted conversation. It was all too evident that they had not seen each other for many months and that their parting had left things acrimonious. Ilsa endeavoured to keep the exchange light but it was an uphill struggle in the face of Rick’s barbed comments. Like Ilsa, Gwyn was relieved when Laszlo and Renauld joined the table, although both men sensed the awkwardness as they sat down. Breaking with tradition, Rick agreed to share a drink with them, much to Renauld’s delight. He had swiftly ascertained that Ilsa had some kind of hold over Rick, something to which the other women in Casablanca could not lay claim. Rick now withdrew a little and it was left to Ilsa to explain that they had spent some time together in Paris, before the Occupation. Realising that neither was likely to be more forthcoming, Laszlo stated that he had been summoned to a meeting with Major Strasse the following day. It was a deflated party that Gwyn watched retire for the night and soon the entire salon had emptied.

Gwyn remained at her table, hidden by palm foliage. Thinking furiously she debated the best course of action. She liked what she had seen of Rick, tortured soul that he was, and the altruistic “Matron” in her was keen to alleviate his pain, if she could. However, she also realised that he was not the type to take kindly to outsider meddling. She stared across at the hunched figure at the bar, knocking back a stiff whisky. Rick had dragged the bottle in front of him and dismissed Sasha and Karl, the head waiter, for the night. He now sat cradling his glass, staring into the bottom with unseeing eyes. The only other remaining person was the loyal Sam who had not seen her. He had tucked his piano away for the night and now urged Rick to go home.
“Boss? … Boss!”
“”Yeah” Rick took a long drag of his cigarette.
“Boss, ain’t you going to bed?”
“Not right now”
“Ain’t you planning to go to bed in the near future?”
“No”
“Ain’t you ever going to bed?”
“No!”
“Well, I ain’t sleepy either”
Sam took down the stool and sat by the piano watching his employer across the darkened room. Trying a different tactic, he suggested that they go out, drinking, fishing … anything …
“I’m waiting for a lady”
“Please Boss, let’s go, ain’t nothing but trouble for you here …”
“She’s coming back, I know she’s coming back …” Rick was adamant.

Sam obviously determined that he was going to wait too and turned to play. Rick sank back into his reverie.
“They grab Ugarte, then she walks in, hell, that’s the way it goes … one in, one out … Sam?”
“Yes, Boss?”
“It’s December 1941 in Casablanca – what time is it in New York?”
“What? … my watch stopped …”
“I bet they’re asleep in New York … I bet they’re asleep all over America …”
Suddenly Rick’s face crumpled again and clenching his fist he smacked it down on the bar.
“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine …”
Rick held a hand to his head as Sam continued at the piano.
“What’s that you’re playing?”
“Oh, just a little something of my own”
“Well stop it – you know what I want to hear …”
“No I don’t”
“You played it for her … you can play it for me …”
“Well, I don’t think I can remember …”
“If she can stand it … I can …” Rick’s tone was terse “Play it!”

 

#49:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 9:10 pm

Ohhhh I can't wait for more Laughing

 

#50:  Author: Sophie, Location: Cambridegeshire PostPosted: Fri Apr 23, 2004 9:29 pm

*starts to hum softly to herself*

(I actually googled for a picture of Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca because I couldn't bring her exactly to mind. She really was so very beautiful.)

Lots more please, Rachael, this is wonderful.

 

#51:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Sat Apr 24, 2004 12:57 pm

Wonderful, Rachael, I want lots more. Don't let RL come between you and this drabble.

 

#52:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Sat Apr 24, 2004 2:32 pm

Lovely Rachael! Thanks for the preview! Laughing Twisted Evil

 

#53:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Sat Apr 24, 2004 7:35 pm

The haunting melody began again and as the notes soared once more, the last of Rick’s resolve ebbed and slumping forward he dropped his head onto his arms. Instinctively, Gwyn slid out of her seat and on to the stool next to Rick, despite Sam’s look of alarm and pointed shake of the head. Rick ignored her but did not lash out which was what Gwyn had counted on. She knew that he was a gentleman and had noted that he behaved impeccably in the company of women. Instead, he started when she laid a gentle hand on his arm and half-turned as she tentatively spoke.
“Sometimes it helps to talk about it” Her tones were soft and carefully neutral.
There was a long pause as Rick digested her offer, then he raised his head to meet her sympathetic eyes. Something that he saw in the steadfast way she returned his gaze must have reassured him.
“It’s alright, Sam” he muttered. “You can go …”
“Yes, Boss” Sam returned the piano, collected his belongings and paused at the door. “G’night, Boss, good night, Miss” he said before disappearing into the night.
Gwyn remained silent but it was a comfortable silence and one calculated to prompt Rick into speech.

“I guess it can’t hurt to tell you, “Rick began, pouring himself another whisky. “Hell, I don’t know you from Adam, so what does it matter?”
Gwyn listened attentively as he began his tale.
“I met her in Paris some weeks before the Germans marched in. It was a magical time. Spring seemed fresher and more beautiful than I had ever known and I had just met Ilsa,” Rick’s voice lingered over the syllables, “The most wonderful woman in the world. We talked, we drank, we laughed, we danced … and I felt that I was the luckiest man …”
Rick paused to reminisce before continuing.
“”We had a saying: ‘No Questions’ and that summed up our relationship. We were both free agents, whom circumstance had thrown together. We didn’t need to know about each other’s past. When I pushed her, wanting to know why she wasn’t involved with anyone else, she told me that she had been but that he was dead. I wished I hadn’t asked. Then the Germans came ever closer to Paris and I had to leave – they would have arrested me. We made plans to evacuate together, to meet at the station the next day and take the last free train out of the capital. I didn’t pick up on any kind of change on her. She was upset, sure, but I put that down to the invasion … the uncertainty of the future. Her last words stayed with me though … ‘Kiss me … kiss me as if it were the last time …’ I didn’t think anything of it at the time but I have done since … every day …”
Again Rick paused to collect his thoughts.

“Sam and I turned up at the station at the allotted time but there was no sign of Ilsa. We waited and waited. It was raining, the station was heaving with people and luggage but still she didn’t arrive. Finally, Sam went back to her apartment and only just returned before the train left. She had gone, there was nothing left but a note. She wasn’t leaving with me and she couldn’t explain why. I was to trust her and believe that she loved me but she could never see me again …”
Rick swallowed before continuing.
“I don’t remember leaving Paris. Sam pushed me on to the train and took care of our baggage. Helluva finale, huh? A guy standing on a station platform with a comical look on his face because his insides had been kicked out ….”
He gave a hollow laugh before draining his glass and twirling a finger round the rim.
Again, Gwyn said nothing but radiated a warm sympathy.
“And now she’s here in Casablanca, with Victor Laszlo, the great resistance fighter … she must have been with him the whole time … ‘No Questions’ right? … I’m such a mug …”
Rick shook his head despairingly.
“Talk to her” urged Gwyn. “Find out her reasons, if only for your own peace of mind – it’s the not knowing that’s destroying you …”
“I guess you’re right, kid” Rick nodded slowly. “If I’m honest, I’m hoping that she comes back tonight …”
“It wouldn’t surprise me” offered Gwyn. “But Rick, it’s important that you listen to her.” Her eyes flickered towards the empty glass. “If you’re not ready to hear what she’s got to say then set another time …”
With a squeeze of his arm , she departed, leaving a pensive Rick.

 

#54:  Author: Kathy_S, Location: midwestern US PostPosted: Sat Apr 24, 2004 7:49 pm

Oooh, Matey as confidante.
Thank you, Rachael.
We can trust you to keep writing, can't we?

 

#55:  Author: Ally, Location: Jack Maynard's Dressing Room!! PostPosted: Sat Apr 24, 2004 8:02 pm

Ooh so Matey's getting involved now, always someone to rely on!

Thank you Rachael, this is very intriguing Very Happy

 

#56:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Sun Apr 25, 2004 5:21 pm

Lovely Rachael!

 

#57:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Sun Apr 25, 2004 6:58 pm

Ohhh can't wait to see what further role Matey has to play!

 

#58:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Mon Apr 26, 2004 11:37 am

Wow, what a different Matey - no hot milk or a dose of her patent soothing mixture. This is wonderful, Rachel!

 

#59:  Author: Vikki, Location: Possibly in hell! It's certainly hot enough....... PostPosted: Mon Apr 26, 2004 1:40 pm

*chanting loudly in the direction of Rachael's house*

 

#60:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Mon Apr 26, 2004 3:33 pm

Not sure that'll do you much good, Vikki - I'm at work!! Wink
(And you'd better not have disturbed Marshall - he should be sleeping!)

The following morning Gwyn kept her appointment with Signor Ferrari at the Blue Parrot café. Having to squeeze her way through the crowded, sweltering room she saw him before he looked up from his table, his portly frame dwarfing the surroundings. Gwyn suppressed a chuckle as she took in the pale suit and the Moroccan fez perched incongruously on his bald head. Overhead fans rotated ineffectually above their heads and Ferrari was fanning himself languorously with a folded newspaper. Beaming, he rose to welcome her and bent to kiss her outstreched hand.
“Good morning, Miss Lloyd”
“Signor Ferrari” Gwyn nodded in return.
“I trust you slept well?”
“Not bad, a little warm perhaps” grimaced Gwyn.
They ordered some coffee and the conversation turned to exit visas as the two negotiated a price. Ferrari was surprised by Gwyn’s confidence and not a little impressed when the bartering swung in her favour. He had expected an easier sale. He explained that the date of departure would be a few days hence because the plane to Lisbon was always oversubscribed. This suited Gwyn fine. She was thoroughly absorbed by the Rick/Ilsa relationship and hoped to see their conflict resolved before she left Casablanca.

Ferrari eyed her speculatively. Few women travelled alone in this part of the world and those that did seemed to welcome male protection. Gwynneth Lloyd, however was an altogether different prospect. Whilst not exactly rebuffing such offers, her general aura was that of a very independent, capable woman who did not need shepherding. Ferrari shrewdly suspected that she was also very observant and that little, if anything, would slip past her notice. He wondered what she made of Casablanca and its human traffic. Taking a sip of his coffee, he casually changed the subject.
“I assume you saw Victor Laszlo last night in Rick’s?”
“Yes” smiled Gwyn. “It would be difficult not to – he has a very magnetic quality about him that would be impossible to disguise”
“He will not find it easy to leave Casablanca” opined Ferrari. “Major Strasse will be keen to ensure that he stays here, not house arrest exactly but certainly under German scrutiny to limit his influence over the Resistance movements across Europe.”
“That may be so, Signor Ferrari, but Mr Laszlo appears to be a man who does not take kindly to restrictions on his activities. I expect that it is only a matter of time before he leaves Casablanca, with or without German consent.” Gwyn was firm in her conviction.
“Of course, it would help if he could locate the missing letters of transit” said Ferrari lightly whilst scrutinising Gwyn’s face for any reaction.
Gwyn’s thoughts flew to the piano and she wondered whether Rick had now retrieved the hidden documents. She returned Ferrari’s gaze impassively. “We can only hope that such papers find their way to those most in need of them” she replied carefully before looking at her watch. “I have kept you too long, Signor, and I’m sure you have other business to attend to so I will make my farewell.”
Ferrari shrugged. He suspected that Gwyn knew more about the missing letters of transit than she was prepared to say but he also admired her reticence. Inviting her to dinner on her last evening in Casablanca, he walked her out of the café.

 

#61:  Author: Vikki, Location: Possibly in hell! It's certainly hot enough....... PostPosted: Mon Apr 26, 2004 3:38 pm

Rachael wrote:
Not sure that'll do you much good, Vikki - I'm at work!! Wink
(And you'd better not have disturbed Marshall - he should be sleeping!)

.


Lucky I didn't ring you up to ask for more then, isn't it?

Thanks honey! Now get writing.......... Wink

 

#62:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Mon Apr 26, 2004 4:28 pm

Am looking forward to Matey having a conversation with Ilsa, please say there'll be one! Very Happy

 

#63:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Mon Apr 26, 2004 7:06 pm

Matey, on a date with a man? MATEY?

 

#64:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Mon Apr 26, 2004 8:44 pm

There's the fez!!! Thanks Rachael - love the comment about how capable she is,and that she'll not betray confidences.

 

#65:  Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire PostPosted: Mon Apr 26, 2004 11:59 pm

Thank you Rachel, this really is marvellous - I really will have to get the Casablance video out again next week, this is really making me want to watch it again.
I really admire Matey in this situation too, if only I were half as capable.

 

#66:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Tue Apr 27, 2004 8:37 am

LOL, Jennie - it's only dinner!! (remember she's in the real world now, not CS world so she won't be committed to marrying him and having babies just because she ate with him!!)
Although the fleeting image of Matey walking into the sunset with Ferrari is tempting ... Mr. Green

It's coming Cazx ... Wink

Gwyn wandered through the souks, keeping in the shade wherever possible and pausing to admire the many and varied goods on offer. At one market stall she found herself standing some yards away from a fellow European woman whose face was partially concealed by a wide-brimmed hat to protect her from the sun’s fierce rays. Recognising something in the figure’s poise, Gwyn looked again. It was Ilsa. Moments later, Rick appeared, as if from nowhere, and joined Ilsa at the stall. Neither saw Gwyn but they spoke rapidly and in low tones. Gwyn could not hear the exchange but Rick was acting contrite and seemed to be apologising for his behaviour the previous night. Ilsa’s body language was closed. It was as if she was not convinced by Rick’s remorse and was anxious to end the conversation. At length, Rick moved away and Gwyn could see that their meeting had not gone as he had planned.

Ensuring that Rick had definitely gone, Gwyn edged across to the same stall and positioned herself opposite Ilsa. As Ilsa raised her head to address the stall’s owner, Gwyn noted that her eyes were dull with deep shadows under them as though she had had little or no sleep. She handled the silky fabrics on display with mechanical fingers, her mind clearly many miles away. Even as Gwyn watched, Ilsa swayed as though she were about to faint. Both Gwyn and the stall owner rushed to catch her and lowered her into a chair, slightly to one side of the stall and screened, both from the sun and enquiring eyes, by a colourful canopy. Briskly, Gwyn ordered the stall holder to fetch some bottled water and pulling a small phial from her bag, wafted some smelling salts under Ilsa’s nose. Reviving, Ilsa waved the glass away but gratefully accepted some eau de cologne which she dabbed briefly on her wrists, its cool, refreshing effect having the desired result. Finally, she spoke.
“I’m sorry, what a dreadful nuisance I am!”
“Not at all” Gwyn’s tones were calm and very reassuring.
“I’m very grateful” continued Ilsa. “I’ve no idea what came over me. The heat, I expect …”
“Or whatever’s on your mind …” commented Gwyn, a little drily.
Ilsa looked up at her sharply and Gwyn felt compelled to explain. “You seemed very preoccupied just now and, if you don’t mind me saying, a little upset …”
“Yes, how very perceptive of you …” Ilsa tried to smile.
“You should really drink some of this water” urged Gwyn, “It’s easy to get dehydrated in this dreadful heat and you should at least stay out of the direct sunshine for a few minutes.”
Ilsa accepted the glass and the stall holder, seeing that neither woman was likely to move in the immediate future, conjured up a second chair for Gwyn and left them to it.

“My name’s Gwynneth, Gwynneth Lloyd” said Gwyn, by way of introduction, “And you are?”
“Ilsa, Ilsa Lund. It’s nice to meet you Gwynneth. Are you always this well equipped for every eventuality?” Ilsa nodded at Gwyn’s bag in which she had just replaced the smelling salts and eau de cologne.
“Please, make it Gwyn,” she shook Ilsa’s hand, “And I’m a Matron at a girl’s independent boarding school so it pays to be prepared!”
Ilsa relaxed. “I expect they keep you busy?” she offered.
“Undoubtedly!” Gwyn laughed, as she thought back to some of the more hair-raising escapades of her charges.
“So what brings a school matron to Morocco and Casablanca?” asked Ilsa curiously.
“The school had to close. Although it was run along English lines, we were based in the Austria Tyrol. Once Hitler and his cronies arrived we had to leave and I decided to travel a little on my way back home.”
“Will it re-open in England?”
“I have no idea but I certainly hope so … I miss it …” Gwyn was disarmingly honest.
“What is it that you miss?”
“The girls mainly … watching them grow and develop into young women .. they arrive as youngsters, full of energy and mischief but they begin to learn a little responsibility and respect for the world … it’s a fascinating process …”
“And, forgive me if this seems rude, but are you personally able to have much influence on them as the Matron?”
“Very much so … the pastoral side is an extremely important aspect of the school and I am responsible for their welfare outside of lessons … it’s a very wide area, dealing with all their issues … health, homesickness, morals, worries … it can be very tiring but it’s also very rewarding …”
“You must be a good listener?” Ilsa’s query was tentative but Gwyn looked her in the eye.
“I’m a very good listener … I have to be and I also try to be approachable … the most important thing is that I don’t judge them and I’m discreet … they know that they can confide anything in me …”
Ilsa fell silent, wrestling with her emotions.
“Miss Lund … Ilsa … if there’s anything you want to tell me …”

 

#67:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Tue Apr 27, 2004 8:44 am

Yes, I know it's only dinner, Rachael, I just don't associate Matey with having dinner dates.

This gets better and better, so more please when you can.

 

#68:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Tue Apr 27, 2004 10:41 am

Thank-you Rachael Laughing
I love the way Matey is getting involved!

 

#69:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Tue Apr 27, 2004 10:51 am

wow like the way you are linking Matey into the back story and using her conversations and skills to explore more of the details that are just touched upon in the film...so how doe Matey end up with Ferrari's fez?

 

#70:  Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle PostPosted: Tue Apr 27, 2004 1:00 pm

Loving this Rachael. It brings the film back to mind so clearly, your are writing it so well.

 

#71:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Tue Apr 27, 2004 2:20 pm

I am enjoying this so much. The way Matey is in the background to the film story, interacting with those characters yet not so much it interferes with the film, and the sympathetic quality you are bringing out in her is wonderful.

 

#72:  Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire PostPosted: Tue Apr 27, 2004 11:19 pm

I'm sure that when I do watch the film again I'm going to keep looking for Matey in the background, she just fits in so seamlessly it's almost as if she was part of the real Casablanca.

 

#73:  Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 12:19 am

When I do get round to watching the film for the first time, I think I'm going to be "that's not right it didn't happen like that when Rachael told us the story" Wink

 

#74:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 5:16 am

Thank you Rachael - love Matey in this. (And the next bit is wonderful too Twisted Evil )

 

#75:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 10:23 am

Leaning back and her eyes glazing over slightly, Ilsa began her tale.
“I was very young, a student still, when I met a man in my home country. Victor Laszlo came to Oslo from Prague and I was infatuated with him. He was everything that I thought I wanted: intelligent, well-educated, energetic, passionate about the world and with such conviction in his beliefs. I thought that I had fallen in love and we married. I was still very young but I thought that I was happy. In fact for a long time, I was … you see, I didn’t really know what love was …”
Ilsa looked into Gwyn’s sympathetic eyes and drew some strength from what she saw there.
“Germany began to grow stronger under Nazi rule and it became clear that war was coming to Europe. Victor watched the political climate closely and he became so angry at the injustices of the Third Reich and what it meant for innocent people. It was natural that he gravitated towards the work of the various Resistance groups which were forming and he had friends in every country who were just as committed. He became more active and before long he was listed by the Nazis as an enemy of the Reich. I feared for him. He would be away for weeks at a time, travelling underground, infiltrating networks, recruiting people to the cause, motivating, leading … deep down I knew that it was only a matter of time before he was caught. He was captured twice and barely escaped with his life … I was frantic … the waiting, the not knowing … it was unbearable … finally, we moved to France where the Resistance movement was strong, and to Paris before it was occupied. A few weeks later, Victor left on another mission … but within only a few days I learnt that he had been captured again and that this time he was dead …”

Ilsa’s eyes filled with unshed tears but she continued.
“I was distraught. Victor had been my life and I’d supported him through everything and now there was just a void. His colleagues looked out for me, of course … they were so kind … but they had to continue working for the cause and I was left very much on my own, alone … until I met Richard.”
Even as she spoke his name, Ilsa’s voice took on a lighter note and she coloured slightly.
“He was so distinctive, so very American … tall and dark and handsome, in his own rugged way … he was running a saloon, refusing to let the threat of a German invasion get him down. That’s where I met him, in his bar … The Belle Epoque … and we got talking. We talked all night. Sam, the same musician that he hires now in his Café, played the piano while Richard taught me how to laugh again … it had been so long …”
Ilsa stopped to stare wistfully as if summoning up the past.
“We had a magical time together – driving in the Parisian countryside; taking a boat down the River Seine; dancing; dining … the German troops were edging ever closer but we seemed caught in time. I had fallen in love with him, Gwynneth, I had genuinely fallen in love. I still loved Victor, but as a brother … with Rick it was so much more …” Ilsa struggled for the right words, “It was deeper and more intense than anything I had previously known … he made me feel alive, the world seemed more alive when he was around …”

“Richard told me about his past and we realised that he would need to leave Paris before the Germans discovered him. He had fought against the fascists in the Spanish Civil War so, like Victor, he was a wanted man and I couldn’t bear the thought of another such loss. We agreed to leave, together with Sam, on the last train and I was packing my things when a message came for me … Victor was alive! He had been shot, then taken to a concentration camp. Somehow he had managed to escape and our friends were hiding him just outside Paris. He was desperately ill, they were worried that he might not pull through and he was asking for me … he needed me … There wasn’t time to speak to Rick or try to explain anything … I wouldn't have known what to say ... I had to get to Victor so I just scribbled a quick note and hoped that Rick would find it before he left. I tried to tell him how much I loved him but it was impossible … I felt so cruel, so heartless … we loved each other and I was leaving him without even saying goodbye … and yet what else could I have done? I had to help Victor and there simply wasn’t any time … Victor was my husband … I had no choice …”

Overwhelmed by emotion, Ilsa battled the tears, searching for something with which to wipe her eyes. Silently, Gwyn pressed her own fresh handkerchief into the shaking hands and Ilsa resumed her story.
“Victor recovered but it took many weeks and by the time he was fit to travel, Paris was occupied and we had a terrible time getting to safety. I thought of Rick every day, wondering whether he was safe and how he had reacted. Finally, I realised that my life had to be with Victor and that it was best not to dwell on what I had lost. I never thought that I would see Richard again, truly I didn’t, because I knew how it would hurt him … how it would hurt us both … If I had only known that he was here, I would have …” Her words trailed off for a moment.
“And now that I have seen him, all the old feelings have returned. I thought that I would be able to control them but it’s so very difficult … my head is telling me one thing and my heart another … the sooner that Victor and I are able to leave Casablanca the better … for all of us …”
Ilsa looked straight across at Gwyn who had been sitting motionless for most of the tale.
“You must despise me – marrying, then having an affair with another man?”

 

#76:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 10:32 am

Wow!!

What a heart rending telling of the tale Rachael.

 

#77:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 11:04 am

Wow - you tell it even better than the film Rachael, somehow you've captured perfectly all the heartbreaking emotion and the conflict of interests that Ilsa was feeling.

 

#78:  Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 1:13 pm

This is another of those posts that leaves you drained, and not knowing what to say. Rachael this is wonderful. The film really comes alive. It is s strange feeling coming back from wartime Casablanca to life today, I really felt as though I to was a part of the scene.

Really well written Rachael.

 

#79:  Author: Sophie, Location: Cambridegeshire PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 1:50 pm

I'm so going to watch the movie now. I always thought I wouldn't like it, but after this drabble, I'm a convert. I hope it lives up to your wonderful telling, Rachael. Very Happy You're such a vivid and involving writer, I am there in Casablanca whenever I read it.

 

#80:  Author: pim, Location: the place where public transport doesn't work properly! PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 4:39 pm

Rachael this is fantastic, so good I'm not sure I can wait until I go home for the summer to see the film again - I think I'll have to go and see if I can get it from the video shop!

 

#81:  Author: Angel, Location: London, England PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 5:14 pm

Rachel, I haven't seen much of the film, but this is wonderful, really really wonderful.

 

#82:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 5:33 pm

Rachael - you've already seen my comment on that last post - but for the benefit of everyone else:-

Rachael that was so lovely - you feel desperately sorry for Ilsa - and after
all she did nothing wrong - she thought Victor was dead when she fell in
love with Rick. *Sniff, sniff*

*Sure that Gwyn will be sympathetic!*

 

#83:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 6:57 pm

Crying or Very sad Rachel that was so heart-breaking, I could really emphasise with Ilsa.

 

#84:  Author: Kelly, Location: Auckland, New Zealand PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 9:05 pm

Rachael this is really wonderful.
I havent seen the film either but I am watching it this weekend because we are studying bits of it at uni! Also because of your fantastic writing!

 

#85:  Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2004 11:17 pm

Rachael, that was wonderful, and I'm sure that Matey, or perhaps we should call her Gwyn in this, will be sypathetic to Isla

 

#86:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Thu Apr 29, 2004 8:52 am

Thanks for the comments everyone - BTW, when I asked Lesley what made her think Gwyn wouldn't tell her to stop being a spineless jellyfish and snap out if, she made it quite clear that she was the one that did evil Matey Wink Very Happy


“Despise you? Of course I don’t!” Gwyn’s tones were matter of fact. “From what you’re telling me, you married at a very young age, after mistaking respect and friendship for love. You’ve been through a traumatic time during which you feared you’d lost your husband but then found real love with another man. Just as you were beginning to experience some happiness, you discover that your husband isn’t dead after all but he’s badly injured and you need to go to him. You have to wait for him to get better before you can leave occupied territory, knowing that you are being pursued by the Nazis, and no doubt embark on a perilous journey just to get this far. You don’t even get the opportunity to say goodbye to your lover but steel yourself to the prospect of never seeing him again because you’re married. You meet him again when you’re least expecting it and you don’t know what to feel or how to react … Ilsa, I feel very sorry for you … and there’s more isn’t there?”
Ilsa nodded.
“I went to see Rick late last night … Victor had gone to a resistance meeting … I wanted to explain everything … to say I was sorry … but he had been drinking and wouldn’t listen … it was my fault, I should have left when I realised he was drunk.”
“What did he say?” Gwyn registered the wounded look in Ilsa’s eyes.
“He wouldn’t listen to me … he accused me … he accused me of having other men” Ilsa’s voice had gone very quiet and Gwyn had to strain to hear the words. “He said, ‘Were there many in between or aren’t you the kind to kiss and tell’ …” The final words seemed to catch in her throat.
“Oh, Ilsa!” Gwyn was shocked in spite of herself. “I’m sure it was the drink talking … he couldn’t possibly mean it …”
“Perhaps” Ilsa shrugged. “I do not think he would have said it if he had never thought it.”

“You were talking to him earlier though – had he come to apologise?”
“Yes, he wanted to hear what I had to say but Gwyn, the look that he gave me last night … it was pure hatred” Ilsa flinched. “I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Then he asked me whether the reason I had left was because I couldn’t face being on the run with him. I just felt that he didn’t … couldn’t … understand and that maybe it was better if we didn’t see each other again.”
“Is that possible? Casablanca is so small …”
“Victor and I are hoping to leave shortly, provided that we can obtain exit visas”
“And how straightforward will that be?” asked Gwyn.
“It’s difficult,” admitted Ilsa. “Victor is very high profile. Major Strasse asked, no, demanded, that he attend a meeting in Captain Renauld's office this morning. I assume it was to tell him that we wouldn’t be able to leave easily. I was waiting for him when you found me.”
“And here I am” a deeper voice intruded as a tall, fair man ducked under the canopy. “What is it, Ilsa? He told me you fainted” The stall owner was hovering behind Victor Lazslo.
Ilsa rose to meet Victor’s embrace and Gwyn watched the tender way he wrapped her in his arms.
“I’m fine, really Victor, it was just the heat and my friend here has been very kind. Victor, this is Gwynneth Lloyd … Gwyn, this is my husband, Victor Laszlo”
Gwyn rose to shake the proffered hand.
“I’m very grateful Miss Lloyd” Victor smiled before turning to bestow a kiss on his wife. “And thank you” he nodded courteously at the other man who left quickly, keen to return to his wares.

“How was Major Strasse?” Ilsa demanded, stepping back to scrutinise Victor’s face.
“As I expected” he joked. “Teutonic”.
“Victor, please” Ilsa was serious.
Victor sighed. He knew that he could not hide anything from his wife.
“Major Strasse …” he hesitated with just enough emphasis to show his disdain for the name’s owner. “Major Strasse made it extremely clear that I could leave as soon as I wished …”
“With what condition, Victor?”
“That I name the Resistance leaders and their whereabouts for every country in Europe”
There was a sharp intake of breath from both Ilsa and Gwyn.
“What did you say?”
“That as I had not given them any names when I was in their concentration camp and they had more persuasive measures to hand, then I certainly would not betray anyone now …” Victor spoke lightly, conscious of his audience. “I hope you are prepared to stay a little longer in Casablanca, my darling?”
“Whatever it takes, Victor” Ilsa’s response was measured.
“Thank you, Ilsa, your support means everything to me. I have some bad news though. Ugarte is dead.”
Ilsa’s hand flew to her mouth in horror as her husband carried on. “Strasse could not decide whether to report it as suicide or shot trying to escape.”
Both women shuddered.

“And is there still no sign of the letters of transit?”
“No, Ilsa. I know that Major Strasse has no idea of their location but then neither does anyone else.” Gwyn sat very still, thankful that both Ilsa and Victor were oblivious to her at that moment.
“In fact, I have just come from Signor Ferrari. He seems to handle a great number of exit visas in Casablanca.”
“And can he help?”
“He can get a visa for you, my dear. You could be on the plane tomorrow night.”
“And you, Victor”
“It will not be so easy” Victor smiled,” But I will find a way …”
“I won’t leave you” Ilsa was quietly adamant.
“Ilsa! You must …”
“And if I were in your position, Victor? If I could not get a visa, would you leave me?
“Yes, of course …” Victor averted his eyes, ostensibly to draw a cigarette from his case.
Ilsa gave a wry smile. “Yes, like you left me in Lille? And again when I was sick in Marseilles and we were held up for almost a week … no Victor, we leave Casablanca together …”
“Ferrari did say something interesting though,” mused Victor. “He said that we should ask Rick – he thinks that Ugarte may have left the letters of transit with Rick.”
Glancing at Ilsa, Gwyn saw her blanch visibly but Victor was turning to light his cigarette and missed it. Exhaling, he spoke again.
“We must try to speak to him tonight.” He turned to Gwyn. “I hope that we will see you there, Miss Lloyd. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
Gwyn made her farewells, watching them leave the marketplace, Victor placing a protective arm around Ilsa. It struck her that much of the man’s motivation, his raison d’etre, was in the woman at his side.

 

#87:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Thu Apr 29, 2004 10:47 am

This is so romantic, Rachael, it's like seeing it all over again.

 

#88:  Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle PostPosted: Thu Apr 29, 2004 1:32 pm

This is one drabble I really should only read at home. It is such a wrench leaving war-time Casablanca for real life. This is so fantastic and so well told.

 

#89:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Thu Apr 29, 2004 4:23 pm

I hope Rachael will send it to Liss for the fiction site.

 

#90:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Thu Apr 29, 2004 9:11 pm

Lovely Rachael! Heart

And the next bit really brings a tear to your eye! Twisted Evil






















*Think I could get used to this gloating lark! No wonder Rachael enjoys it so much.*

 

#91:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Thu Apr 29, 2004 9:18 pm

I loved Gwyns words to Ilsa at the beginning of the last post.

 

#92:  Author: Sophie, Location: Cambridegeshire PostPosted: Thu Apr 29, 2004 9:35 pm

Lesley wrote:
And the next bit really brings a tear to your eye! Twisted Evil


You big gloater you, Lesley! I'm sooo envious of your sneak previews, but at least we'll get to see the next part sooner or later...please, Rachael, make it sooner Very Happy

Quote:
It struck her that much of the man’s motivation, his raison d’etre, was in the woman at his side.

That is so romantic. *Sighs*

 

#93:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Fri Apr 30, 2004 8:13 pm

Largish chunk for now but probably no more 'til Tues as I need to be in the office to get inspiration and will probably be quite bus.... er .... occupied with other matters ( Rolling Eyes ) over the BH weekend - shopping etc!


That night, Gwyn entered Rick’s café to a scene playing out at the bar. A large party of German officers sat at a table with Major Strasse but one of their number was clearly escorting Yvonne, the young woman spurned previously by Rick. Yvonne was giggling and flirting with him at the bar. She had consumed a few drinks and she was enjoying the attention of her date. Suddenly, another man, clearly a French patriot, swung Yvonne around by her arm and hurled a torrent of abuse at her in French. Gwyn watched askance, realising that Yvonne was being called a collaborator and a German whore. Her consort may not have had the benefit of Gwyn’s trilingualism but he picked up the gist and sprang to Yvonne’s defence. Both men shouted in their mother tongues whilst an increasingly distressed Yvonne looked on. Rick himself arrived, just as the first punch was about to be thrown, and put a stop to the disturbance effortlessly, all the while maintaining his perennially composed demeanour.

The room was quite crowded and once she had her drink, Gwyn moved though, searching for a table. An elderly Jewish couple were talking to Karl, the waiter and he beckoned her to join them, explaining that they were travelling to America, and that they were keen to practise their English. They were immensely proud of their progress to date and earnestly asked for Gwyn’s opinion. It was all Gwyn could do to repress a chuckle as she had already overheard the very elementary English with which they had regaled Karl as they discussed the time.
“Liebling, what watch?”
“Ten watch”
“Such much?”
It reminded her of the polyglot English which many of the German and Austrian girls used when they first arrived at the school. Smiling warmly at them she tried the same tactic that had worked with many a struggling schoolgirl. She repeated their exchange in perfect English and then insisted that they repeat the phrases until she was happy with both their pronunciation and accent. The elderly couple were almost beside themselves with gratitude and plied Gwyn with further questions for some minutes. Gwyn was pleased to be able to help and when they retired for the night she wished them well in their new venture, satisfied that a few more useful phrases were etched in their memories.

She relaxed at her table once they had gone, noting that Rick was standing only a few feet away, checking the reservations book. A very young, dark-haired girl approached Rick cautiously, wanting to know if she could speak with him for a few minutes. Rick was deep in thought and curt in his reply but the girl persisted, explaining that she had only been married for eight weeks and that her husband was playing at the roulette wheel, hoping to win enough money to purchase their exit visas. She was softly spoken and Gwyn strained to catch her words. She seemed to be asking whether Captain Renauld was trustworthy and if he would keep his word. Rick was dismissive but despite her youth she was determined. Gwyn was appalled as it dawned on her that this was one of the ladies who Captain Renauld promised to assist if they returned the favour. Rick was ending the discussion.
“My advice ... go back to Bulgaria … everyone in Casablanca has a problem, yours may work out …”
The girl left in the direction of the private gambling room and Gwyn followed her, wanting to see the husband.

As she rose, she was conscious of a slight change in atmosphere, as though the room had suddenly become charged. Glancing at the entrance, along with many others, she saw that Victor and Ilsa had arrived, the former locking eyes with Major Strasse before moving on. Ilsa saw Gwyn and smiled before both women went on their way. In the back room, Gwyn was taken aback and slightly shocked by the number of people gambling, although she soon realised that for many this was the end of the road, a final chance to try to win enough money for an exit visa. Walking towards the roulette table, she watched the game, fascinated by the spinning wheel and the ball dropping into one of the many slots. The girl was standing behind her husband, a dark, intense-looking boy who seemed even younger than his wife. He seemed deflated, as though everything that he tried had failed. Unexpectedly, Rick strolled up behind him and whispered in his ear. The boy straightened and placed all his chips on one number. The croupier glanced at Rick then spun the wheel … the ball eased into the slot with the boy’s number.
“Leave it there” murmured Rick and the action replayed.
“Cash it in and don’t come back” warned Rick then walked away, stopping only to ask the croupier about the takings for the night.
The croupier drew himself up to his full height, looking slightly offended.
“A couple of thousand less than I thought they would be!” he protested.

There were rumblings from some of the players that the gambling was fixed but Rick managed to dispel these smoothly.
“Just a lucky guy”, he insisted.
Captain Renauld appeared. He had clearly been gambling in another part of the private room but had taken the situation in with one glance. Philosophical, he chided Rick.
“As I suspected – you’re a rank sentimentalist”
Lingering only to suggest that Rick did not pull such a stunt again, Renauld carried on into the main room. Rick went to the bar where Karl was speaking to Sasha. As Rick approached, Sasha leant over, cupped Rick’s face in his hands and planted a large kiss on each cheek, much to Rick’s discomfort.
“Boss – you did a beautiful thing!”
“Get off me, you crazy Russian” was all Rick would say, deftly closing the matter before Karl could add his thoughts.

Gwyn watched, pondering on the riddle that was Richard Blaine. On the one hand, he remained the detached loner but on the other? Gwyn had seen a side to Rick tonight that she had suspected lay beneath the cool exterior but which she had not witnessed. Now, she understood that Rick was indeed a complex character. The hurt that he carried from his liaison with Ilsa had made him develop a thick veneer of indifference but he was unable to completely turn his back on human pain. In fact, his actions tonight had exposed a romantic side despite his best efforts to conceal it. Evidently, Victor Laszlo had come to the same conclusion. Gwyn saw him draw Rick to one side, presumably to ask about the letters of transit. As she passed them, she heard Victor refer to Rick’s history and his track record of fighting for the underdog. Rick was shrugging this notion to one side, refusing to say anything about the letters of transit other than that Victor should ask Ilsa.

The two men parted, Victor intent on returning to his table and Rick standing at the edge of the room, viewing his clientele. The German party had begun an impromptu singsong that was becomingly increasingly strident. Now they stood, waving their beer glasses and launching into a Nazi anthem about the Fatherland which threatened to eclipse the music from the band. There were mixed reactions across the room, mainly astonishment at such a crass display of nationalism. Everyone seemed frozen: everyone except Victor Laszlo. For a second, he seemed rooted to the spot with fury. Then, galvanised into action, he paced abruptly towards the band and demanded that they play Le Marseilleuse. The band leader glanced across at Rick for approval and was met with a terse nod. Victor began to conduct and as the band stood and the introductory notes were played, he raised his voice in song. One by one, the other patrons stood and joined him, adding their voices passionately to the uplifting chorus. Major Strasse urged his compatriots to sing louder but to no avail. The stirring music resounded throughout the room as, defeated, the Germans sank back into their seats. Even Yvonne, at the bar, was singing her heart out, tears cascading down her cheeks. Gwyn also found herself standing and mouthing the beautiful words. Too choked to sing, unbidden memories filled her mind and her eyes were moist as she thought of her old friends. Where were they now? Had they escaped Austria successfully? All she could do was hope and pray that Therese Lepattre, Jeanne Lachennais and Julie Berne were out of harm’s way and that Simone, Renee, Suzanne, Yvette and all the other French girls had somehow fled to safer, freer lands.

 

#94:  Author: Chelsea, Location: Your Imagination PostPosted: Fri Apr 30, 2004 8:55 pm

Great as always.

But what is a BH weekend?

 

#95:  Author: Catherine_B, Location: Oxford, UK PostPosted: Fri Apr 30, 2004 8:57 pm

Oh!

Rachael, I've never seen Casablanca but I'm all tingly after that last part. Wow!

ETA: BH = bank holiday, i.e. Monday is not a working day Very Happy

 

#96:  Author: Sophie, Location: Cambridegeshire PostPosted: Fri Apr 30, 2004 9:07 pm

Where's the darn tissue box when you need it? Crying or Very sad That was amazing, Rachael! I have got to see this film.

Very sorry we won't get more 'til Tuesday, but hope you have a lovely BH weekend. Will just have to hum the Marseillaise to myself until then.

 

#97:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Fri Apr 30, 2004 9:26 pm

That last section was amazing!!!
Quote:
Too choked to sing, unbidden memories filled her mind and her eyes were moist as she thought of her old friends. Where were they now? Had they escaped Austria successfully?

The emotion is palpable isn't it.

 

#98:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Sat May 01, 2004 12:13 am

Told you it would bring a tear to your eye!

Wonderful Rachael!

 

#99:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Sat May 01, 2004 11:31 am

That was so emotional Rachael, really brought the situation home!

 

#100:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Sat May 01, 2004 11:48 am

This is so full of emotion, Rachael, I have tears in my eyes.

BTW: is a BH weekend a B****y Housekeeping weekend?

 

#101:  Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire PostPosted: Sun May 02, 2004 6:31 pm

Thanks Rachel, for that lovely long post. And yes Lesley, you were right.
*Sniffles quietly*

 

#102:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Tue May 04, 2004 10:49 am

The singing finished to a burst of triumphant clapping and cheering. Cries of “Vive la France! Vive la France!” reverberated through the room. With a face like thunder, Major Strasse beckoned Captain Renauld across and demanded that the café be closed immediately. Such a display of solidarity was more than he could tolerate and too well he recognised Laszlo’s ability to raise morale, whatever the circumstances. Renauld protested that there were no grounds on which to shut the café but Strasse would brook no debate. Blowing his whistle, Renauld ordered everyone to leave and the bar began to clear. Rick challenged Renauld, pointing out that there was no good reason. Clutching at straws, Renauld found his reason, without even a trace of irony.
“I’m shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on here …” he stated, even as the croupier approached him.
“Your winnings, sir”
“Oh, thank you” he replied, tucking the money away furtively, before continuing to supervise the emptying of the building.
Shaking her head, Gwyn withdrew for the night.

She slept until mid morning, the unaccustomed late nights, combined with the tension so paramount in Casablanca, catching up with her. Taking her coffee on a cafe verandah, she was joined by Ilsa, a nervous, agitated Ilsa.
“May I speak with you, Gwyn” she implored, ignoring the usual protocol of greetings.
“Yes, of course” Gwyn replied, casting a practised eye over Ilsa’s white face and drawn features with some misgiving.
“I need to talk to someone” began Ilsa, struggling to know where to begin. “Victor was arrested last night … he’s being detained in the Prefect’s office … I don’t know what to do … and I did something foolish last night … but I was so confused … and now, I don’t know … I may have made matters worse …”
“Why don’t you try to tell me about it?” suggested Gwyn calmly.
“I think Victor knows about Rick and I … last night when we got back to our room, he had to go to a Resistance meeting but before he left, he told me … he told me that Rick had the letters of transit but that he wouldn’t part with them, not for any sum of money. When Victor asked why not, he said to ask me … then Victor asked me whether I had been lonely in Paris, when he was in the concentration camp. I told him that, yes, I had been lonely but I’m sure that he had guessed … he even asked me if there was anything I wanted to tell him and I said there wasn’t … it was as if he was giving me an opportunity to tell the truth … but I didn’t want to hurt him … only now, I’m not so sure …” she tailed off.
“Ilsa, you have nothing to reproach yourself for,” Gwyn spoke evenly. “You thought that Victor was dead and Rick made you happy. It’s unfortunate, yes, but you’re not in any way to blame. Please try to see that …”

“You don’t understand” sighed Ilsa, resuming her confession. “After Victor left for his meeting, I went back to Rick’s to talk to him … to try to persuade him that we must have the letters of transit. I explained how important it was, not for us, but for Victor’s work … the cause he was fighting for … but he wasn’t interested. He said, ‘I’m not fighting for anything any more … I’m the only cause I’m interested in …’ He seemed so heartless … even when I said that without the letters, Victor would probably die in Casablanca, he didn’t care, he just said that he too would probably die here so what of it? I went back to tell him the truth, to make him see that he was our last hope … our only hope … and that he had to help … but still he wouldn’t listen. I was desperate. He turned away and I pulled my gun on him, telling him to get me the letters of transit or I would shoot. He refused, he didn’t seem to care about dying and I couldn’t pull the trigger … you see, I … I still love him …”
Ilsa’s head dropped as she began to cry, allowing Gwyn’s face to register a number of emotions in quick succession. – shock at Ilsa’s admission, horror at the knowledge that Ilsa had considered shooting Rick and a deep, deep pity that such a woman could be brought so low.

“And then?” she probed gently.
“I turned away and the next thing I knew, I was in his arms and it felt so right. I felt that he would make everything all right. We sat down and talked. I explained everything … that my marriage had been kept a secret to protect me because Victor was concerned that people would try to attack him through me … that I had feared him dead and then had to go to him when I realised he was still alive. It was a relief to get it all out. If I had tried to contact Rick at the time, he would have wanted to stay but I couldn’t risk it … he was also wanted by the Germans and if he had stayed and been caught … I don’t think I could have lived with myself. I love him too much, Gwyn …”
And, almost against her better instincts, Gwyn’s heart went out to the woman by her side.
“I told him that I couldn’t fight it any more, that I didn’t know what was right any more and that he would need to think for both us. He seemed to accept it … what did he say? ‘It’s still a story without an ending … what about now?’ Oh, I don’t know what to do or what to think! When I’m with Victor, part of me wants to stay with him, to help him with his work but when I’m with Rick, all I can think or feel is that I want to be with him and I hope that he can find a way for Victor to escape and for us to be together …”
Ilsa finished on a slightly defiant note and avoided Gwyn’s eye, acutely conscious that the other woman might be disapproving.

Gwyn thought very carefully before she made her response.
“Ilsa, thank you for trusting me enough to share this with me … I hope that it’s relieved some of your burden. If you’re expecting me now to judge you or condemn you, then you’ll be disappointed because I can’t do either of those things. From what you’re telling me you’re in an impossible situation and I have no words to make you feel better or advice to help you make the right decision. As you say, Rick is thinking for both of you and you must trust in him now …”
Ilsa looked up, a little incredulous and with gratitude showing in her eyes. She had half-expected a lecture from her no nonsense friend.
“I will say this, though,” and Gwyn thought hard about how to phrase what she was going to impart. “At the school, we try hard to teach the girls to take responsibility for their actions and to make decisions based on what they know is right or wrong. We try not to shield them from the unpalatable aspects of life in the hope that they grow up to become resilient, capable women, not spineless jellyfish …”
Ilsa smiled at the unfamiliar phrase.
“… I think you have an enormous amount of inner strength, Ilsa and I also think you are about to be called upon to stand tall in the face of adversity. Just remember that whatever happens, you will not be alone. I will be praying for you and you have only to ask for help yourself in your own prayers to find additional support. He is always there for you, if you only ask Him to show you the way …”
Gwyn finished a little uncertainly. She was deeply private in her beliefs and was not sure how Ilsa would react to such an open testament of faith.

Her doubts to the contrary, Ilsa was very moved by Gwyn’s speech and appreciated the sensitive way in which Gwyn refused to criticise her but instead offered reassuring words of wisdom.
“Thank you, Gwyn” she said, “Thank you for listening and for being so understanding. I will try to remember what you’ve said.”
She looked at her watch. “I must go. Captain Renauld told me I could visit Victor now …”
She collected her things, then paused.
“Thanks again, Gwyn – you’re a good friend”
Gwyn smiled and waved as Ilsa made her way through the crowd’s towards the Prefect’s office. Then her attention turned to the Blue Parrot Café. She had seen Rick enter there a few minutes before whilst Ilsa had been talking and she was keen to spot him leaving. If at all possible, she wished to engage him in conversation.

 

#103:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Tue May 04, 2004 12:21 pm

Oh!

Matey is wonderful in this!
Quote:
If you’re expecting me now to judge you or condemn you, then you’ll be disappointed because I can’t do either of those things.
, and then her use of the SJF phrase, but in such a way that it didn't sound as if you were aping EBD but in a way that came naturally to the character!
Quote:
We try not to shield them from the unpalatable aspects of life in the hope that they grow up to become resilient, capable women, not spineless jellyfish …”


I could copy almost the whole post here to say which bits were good! Matey is just so wise and sensitive, yet absolutly true to herself.

 

#104:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Tue May 04, 2004 12:26 pm

Thanks, Carolyn - much appreciated!
I wasn't quite sure of that last bit until Lesley said it was OK Very Happy
(and couldn't resist sneaking in SJF as it is Matey's special phrase!! Wink )

 

#105:  Author: Chelsea, Location: Your Imagination PostPosted: Tue May 04, 2004 1:34 pm

Thanks for a lovely long post.

I watched "Casablanca" this weekend (seems to be an epidemic of this) and kept expecting to see Matey in the scences!

 

#106:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Tue May 04, 2004 2:32 pm

wonderful, thank you Rachael.

I'm still so impressed at how you are managing to make this so true to the film and weavig to two stories together!

 

#107:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Tue May 04, 2004 4:20 pm

Thanks Rachael, you've really made me feel as if I'm watching Cassablanca all over again.

 

#108:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Tue May 04, 2004 11:20 pm

Wonderful! Love all of it, love the Renauld bit and gambling, love the SJF love Matey (Yes,you heard right!)

Thank you Rachael! Laughing

 

#109:  Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire PostPosted: Wed May 05, 2004 5:39 pm

Loving all of it, in a way I wsh I didn't know how the story ends.

 

#110:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Wed May 05, 2004 8:28 pm

A lovely long post, Rachael, and so emotional.

 

#111:  Author: Ciorstaidh, Location: London PostPosted: Thu May 06, 2004 12:02 am

Crying or Very sad Crying or Very sad Crying or Very sad has me going, even though I know the thread of what's happening - Rachael, this is quite frankly inspired.

please,,,,,,MMOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!

*edit to stop the post scrolling!*

 

#112:  Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks PostPosted: Thu May 06, 2004 1:52 am

Quote:
Loving all of it, in a way I wsh I didn't know how the story ends.



I don't Embarassed - so Rachael please can you post some (= lots) more and let me know

 

#113:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Thu May 06, 2004 9:56 am

She was not disappointed. A few minutes later, Rick emerged. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out reflectively before crossing the road and taking a seat at the other end of the verandah. It was clear he expected to be left alone but, taking a deep breath, Gwyn picked up her handbag and joined Rick at his table.
“Mr Blaine, what a surprise, I’m so pleased we’ve bumped into each other again …” she began.
“Miss Lloyd, isn’t it? Good morning, but really I had hoped to …” Rick endeavoured to be polite but it was clear he was trying to gain a little privacy.
“Two coffees, please” Gwyn smiled at the waiter and Rick subsided. There was something about this lady which made her very difficult to contradict. Had he but known it, there were a number of schoolgirls, past and present, who would have agreed with him. Gwynneth Lloyd was not by nature a very forceful person, but when she spoke, you listened.

“I had a coffee with Miss Lund earlier” Gwyn stated, carefully avoiding Rick’s eyes.
“I see” Rick’s voice gave nothing away.
“She seems very much in love with you … as much as you are in love with her.” The words were very simple, understated even.
“What of it?” retorted Rick with more than a hint of ‘And what business is it of yours?’ in his tone.
“It’s a very difficult situation” countered Gwyn, smoothing the waters, “And I know she’s relying on you to make the next decision for both of you … for all of you …”
Her voice lingered on the last few words and Rick looked at her sharply.
“Who are you?” he murmured to himself before addressing her directly. “Well, if Ilsa trusts you, I guess I could do worse than tell you … yes, I am thinking for both of us … I’ve thought and the upshot is, we’re leaving … Ilsa and I … we’re taking that plane to Lisbon and on to America … we’ll start again … build ourselves a future …”
“And Mr Laszlo?” enquired Gwyn gently but with an edge.
“He knows the score” muttered Rick.
“Does he?” The gentle voice continued to interrogate.

Rick sighed and picked up his coffee cup. Taking a sip, he savoured the strong, almost bitter flavour and made his decision. He would talk to this woman. What did it matter? Nothing that she could say was likely to change his resolve and already the wheels were in motion. By this time the following day, he and Ilsa would be many miles away, looking forward to a new life.
“Yes, Victor Laszlo knows … he knows all about Ilsa and I … or at least enough … He came to the café last night. His meeting had been broken up and he had cut his arm trying to escape. Karl brought him into the bar when Ilsa was with me … I assume she’s told you all about it?”
Gwyn nodded.
“Well, we had finished talking. Victor didn’t know she was there and I asked Karl to escort her back to her hotel room. I joined Victor and asked him why it was so important to him … why his cause meant so much. I guess I wanted to understand his motives and I was right, I think this cause means more to him than Ilsa, more than life itself even …”
“Or that’s what you want to think?” suggested Gwyn, thinking back to her first glimpse of Laszlo and how besotted he had seemed with Ilsa.
“No, I asked him whether he thought it was worth it and do you know what he said? That fighting the cause to him was like breathing … ‘If we stop breathing, we’ll die … If we stop fighting, the world will die’ … those were his very words.” Rick grimaced. “He even seemed to think that I was running away from myself!”
“And are you?” Again, just the plain question.

Rick chose to ignore it.
“Miss Lloyd, Victor Laszlo knows about Ilsa and I, he guessed some time ago. He told me so last night. He knows about us, he knows we’re in love and he knows that it’s no one’s fault. He even said that because no one was to blame, he would demand no explanation. In fact, he’s smart enough to realise that if he really wants Ilsa to be happy, then she should be with me. He knew I had letters of transit and he asked me to use them to take Ilsa out of the country. So yes, I’m sure that he doesn’t love Ilsa as much as I do and no, I’m not running away from myself … I’m being true to myself … I love Ilsa and I’m going to be with her … I’ve sold the café to Ferrari, that’s where I’ve just come from and we’re leaving … on tonight’s plane”
The passion in Rick’s eyes belied the forced calm with which he spoke.
“And as it happens, Miss Lloyd, Strasse’s soldiers arrived at the café last night with a warrant for his arrest. He is currently being detained under Captain Renauld’s guard. It seems that destiny has taken a hand …”

 

#114:  Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire PostPosted: Thu May 06, 2004 1:34 pm

Thank you Rachael, I am just soooo impressed with the manner in which you've weaved Matey into this story.

 

#115:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Thu May 06, 2004 2:25 pm

Its odd even though i know how this ends i find I'm not sure how it will get there or what going to happen in between!

 

#116:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Thu May 06, 2004 3:56 pm

Rachael, more please, very soon. I'd almost forgotten 'Casablanca', now it's bringing it back.

 

#117:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Thu May 06, 2004 10:48 pm

Rachael is the ending going to be the same as the film?
Looking forward to more!

 

#118:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Fri May 07, 2004 11:00 am

Gwyn sighed. “Yes, Ilsa was going to visit him when she left me. Unless they release him I don’t see how Laszlo will ever escape …”
“Oh, I think they’ll release him”
“Whatever do you mean? You just said …”
“Well, I don’t intend to leave anything to chance, Miss Lloyd. I’m about to visit the Prefect’s office myself to see Renauld. You see, we’ve got a little bet going on … have done ever since Laszlo arrived in Casablanca. If he escapes, I win ten thousand francs and if he doesn’t Renauld takes the money. Well, now I’ve got a vested interest in him staying. I want him out of the way so I can take Ilsa away, call it a smooth passage if you like … I’m going to let Renauld know that I’ve got something big on Laszlo and I’ll suggest we make a deal. Renauld will release him on the understanding that he’ll be at mine tonight … that will give Ilsa a chance to make her peace with him. When Renauld arrives, Laszlo will be holding the letters of transit and he’ll be arrested. Ilsa and I will catch the plane out of here …”
Rick gripped his cup and looked purposefully, almost belligerently at Gwyn.

Gwyn returned the gaze thoughtfully, her face impassive. Inwardly, she was sickened by what Rick was saying and yet … and yet, she could not bring herself to believe that what he said was true. Surely this could not be how he really thought and felt. She contemplated her next move. Rick appeared to be on the brink of taking action that may have been in character with the cynical loner he purported to be but was certainly not in keeping with the sensitive, humanitarian she had caught a glimpse of on more than one occasion. She would need to handle this situation with exceptional caution. Richard Blaine was a different proposition altogether to the young schoolgirls who came to her for help or needed a firm hand to guide them back on track. There was an obstinate streak in him that she did not wish to cross for fear of strengthening his current resolve. It was a difficult predicament and she debated her options for the best approach. Finally, she decided that honesty, delivered in her own inimitable style, was the best way forward.

“Mr Blaine,” Gwyn’s voice was at its crispest. “I don’t believe what you’re saying for one moment and I rather think you don’t believe it yourself. Are you actually telling me that you would see a man wrongfully imprisoned simply to ensure your own trouble-free escape?”
“It’s all organised, Miss Lloyd” replied Rick recklessly, “The café’s sold, I have the letters of transit and this time tomorrow I will be in Lisbon … with Ilsa. Nothing you can say or do will make me change my mind.”
“I have no intention of attempting to change your mind, Mr Blaine, nor to lecture you on what is right and what is wrong,” and despite her diminutive stature, Gwyn seemed to straighten in her chair and assume an unconscious air of authority. “What you do is entirely your own business. However, I can not help but think that you have failed to consider the bigger picture in your deliberations … and I would be failing in my civic duty if I did not point these shortcomings out to you. I may not expect you to act on my concerns, but I certainly expect you to listen.”
Rick shifted uneasily in his chair, realising that there was no escape. He could not fathom this woman. Unfailingly polite, she had an uncanny habit of homing in on the root of an issue and whilst she said little, somehow, she contrived to say everything.

Warming to her theme, Gwyn continued to speak sternly, but not unkindly.
“I accept that you may think I am prying unnecessarily, Mr Blaine. However, in the short time that I have been in Casablanca, I have seen for myself how the heat and tension of the place can drive people to do things that in any other circumstance they would never consider. You are a case in point. When I first saw you, I was taken in by your tough exterior. I thought you really were indifferent to the troubles around you and I applaud your deception. However, your actions speak louder than your words – Fighting for the loyalists in Spain? Helping that young Bulgarian couple get enough money to purchase their exit visas? That’s no cold-blooded mercenary … it’s you, acting from the heart, Rick … it’s who you really are… but this?” Gwyn flung out her hands as if to encompass the problem. “This isn’t you … callously condemning an innocent man … and for what? A woman?”
Rick’s face hardened at the scorn she could not keep from creeping into her voice and he made as if to speak.
“No Rick, listen to me! I don’t blame you for growing bitter after Ilsa left you … who wouldn’t? It’s obvious you love each other … deeply … but Victor Laszlo loves her too and it’s not his fault that Ilsa fell in love with you. It’s not her fault either … or yours … and that’s the tragedy of this situation. Nobody is to blame, least of all Victor …”

“Ilsa and I are meant to be together … she doesn’t love Laszlo”
“Maybe not but does he deserve to be arrested?”
Rick refused to comment.
“And what about his work? How do you think he will find the strength to continue without Ilsa at his side?”
Rick looked confused. “I don’t understand. Laszlo loves his work more than Ilsa, he’ll just bury himself in it to get over it …”
“Whilst in gaol?”
Rick blanched at Gwyn’s dry questioning but again said nothing.
“I think you’re missing the point, Rick. Victor loves Ilsa as much as you do, in some ways more. I wouldn’t expect you to have seen that, you’re too in love with her yourself, but it’s true. Don’t you think he needs some respite from the work he does? The fear, the danger, the intrigue? Can’t you see that Ilsa grounds him? She provides him with the light and hope to carry on – without her, he’s nothing.” Gwyn dropped her voice. “And without him, the Resistance is nothing …”

There was a long pause as Rick attempted to digest her words. Gwyn watched him, acutely aware of the cultural and language barriers that were making communication so difficult. How she wished fervently that she had listened more closely to the slang and idioms used by such stalwarts of the Chalet School as Cornelia Flower and Evadne Lannis. They could probably put the point across more forcefully and succinctly to their compatriot. She tried again.
“Rick, I don’t know whether you can see it but this situation is about far more than the relationships of three people. We are in the middle of a war and right now the enemy is winning. People like Victor Laszlo are our best hope if we wish to prevent the world falling into darkness. There’s very little that people like you or I can do to help him but what we can do … we must …”
Leaning across the table, Gwyn clasped Rick’s hands. Peering intently into the dark eyes, she willed him to see sense.
“Rick, we all make our own choices in life … sometimes they’re good ones and sometimes they’re bad … but when our actions affect more than just ourselves, we have a duty to think twice as carefully. Whatever you do today, please, for your own sake, make sure that it’s something you can live with, not just today but for the rest of your life …”
Rising she looked at the bowed head now considering her words. “I’ll say no more Rick, other than whatever you decide, I wish you the very best. Good luck!”

 

#119:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Fri May 07, 2004 11:12 am

Well done Gwyn (and well done Rachael)! I'd always wondered about that bit and how Rick suddenly changed form seeming to be on the brink of one thing to do the opposite, it all makes much more sense with Gwyn involved.

Very pleased to find more of this here...am failing even more miserable than normal to do any work! Just can't settle!

 

#120:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Fri May 07, 2004 1:26 pm

Terrific, Rachael. I'd never really thought of Matey as a humanitarian before.

 

#121:  Author: caz, Location: Cambridge PostPosted: Fri May 07, 2004 2:26 pm

wow. I'm finding it very hard to believe that this wasn't in the film, it fits in so perfectly.

 

#122:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Fri May 07, 2004 2:32 pm

I think they'll just have to do a new version of it.

ETA: Suggestions for casting the main parts please.

 

#123:  Author: Chelsea, Location: Your Imagination PostPosted: Fri May 07, 2004 3:54 pm

I wonder if Matey is here, it just opened:

http://www.rickscafe.ma/

 

#124:  Author: pim, Location: the place where public transport doesn't work properly! PostPosted: Fri May 07, 2004 4:07 pm

wowowowowowowowowow I think sums up my feelings perfectly. Rachael this is soooooooooooo good.

 

#125:  Author: Ellie, Location: Lincolnshire PostPosted: Fri May 07, 2004 8:21 pm

Oh, I love the idea of Matey being the one to change Ricks mind. It so could have happened like that.
Thanks again Rachael.

 

#126:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Fri May 07, 2004 8:23 pm

Wonderful, Rachael. like a number of the others, I'm going to have difficulty seeing the film again without expecting Gwyn to be there! Laughing

 

#127:  Author: Sophie, Location: Cambridegeshire PostPosted: Fri May 07, 2004 10:27 pm

Wonderful scene, Rachael. How did the film ever work without Matey in it? I've got the DVD now, set to watch it over the weekend...or should I wait until I've read the end of this? Can't wait for more.

 

#128:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Tue May 11, 2004 2:34 pm

Thanks for that last bit Rachael! Very Happy

 

#129:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Thu May 13, 2004 9:34 am

Sending this up to the top to remind Rachael that it still exists. Hopes RL is not interfering too much, and sends a kick for it, if it is.

 

#130:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Thu May 13, 2004 3:21 pm

*g*

It certainly has been, Jennie! - am off on hols for a fortnight on Sun and am trying to get everything done, including this!! However, realised that I wouldn't be able to concentrate on work until made some progress on this so here's the penultimate post! (With much gratitude to the film itself!!)


Rick sat in silence for some time. Eventually, he made his way, as promised, to the Prefects Office and spoke privately with Captain Renauld, making the same arrangements that he had previously declared to Gwyn. He then proceeded to organise the necessary details with Laszlo. As he left the building. Gwynneth Lloyd’s trenchant comments echoed in his mind, intermingled with Renauld’s final, candid words.
“Ricky, I’m going to miss you – apparently you’re the only one in Casablanca with even less scruples than I” Renauld’s reaction had been one of surprise, coupled with not a little awe at such audacity.

***

That evening, Gwyn kept her dinner date with Signor Ferrari at one of the other bars in Casablanca. Rick’s Café Americain was closed. She never saw Victor Laszlo or Ilsa Lund again and she never knew exactly what happened next.

***

Victor Lazslo and Ilsa arrived at Rick’s in the evening, both dressed for travelling and Ilsa looking troubled. Tense as she was, she completely trusted Rick to make the decision for both of them. Rick produced the letters of transit and handed them silently to Laszlo, refusing to take the proffered money. As the documents changed hands, Captain Renauld stepped out from the shadows and arrested Laszlo. But even as shock drained the colour from Ilsa’s face and Laszlo cast a look of betrayal in Rick’s direction, Rick himself took a step backwards from the group and produced a small pistol from his mackintosh pocket. Aiming it at Renauld, he commanded the Captain to take a seat.
“Under the circumstances, I will sit down” replied the Frenchman wryly, as he obeyed.
Rick pushed across the telephone and ordered him to ring the airport and explain that two passengers with letters of transit were on their way. They were not to be delayed.
“Remember, this gun is pointed at your heart”
“That is my least vulnerable spot” responded Renauld as he dialled.
What Rick could not realise was that instead of calling the airport, Renauld had rung Major Strasse’s direct line. He spoke as though he was speaking to an airport official, calmly ignoring the German’s gesticulations and ensuring that his message was relayed. Victor Laszlo and Ilsa Lund were on their way to take the last flight out of Casablanca. There was to be no trouble because they had the appropriate letters of transit.

The party arrived at the airport. The evening was dark and very misty as Laszlo went to transfer their luggage to the plane’s hold. Rick instructed Renauld very clearly to complete the letters of transit under the names of Mr and Mrs Victor Laszlo. Dismayed, Ilsa began to protest and Rick drew her away from Renauld in order to speak privately, to try to make her understand that Laszlo had to get on that plane and if she did not accompany him, they might both end up in a concentration camp.
“Inside of us, we both know you belong with Victor … you’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it … maybe not today … and maybe not tomorrow … but soon and for the rest of your life …”
“But what about us?” implored Ilsa.
“We’ll always have Paris … we didn’t have … we’d lost it until you came to Casablanca … we got it back last night”
“When I said I would never leave you …”
“And you never will … but I’ve got a job to do too … where I’m going, you can’t follow … what I’ve got to do you can’t be any part of …” Rick paused. “Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world … some day you’ll understand that …”
A solitary tear escaped from Ilsa’s eye. As he spoke Rick cupped her face tenderly, brushing it away with his thumb and admonishing her not to cry.
“Not now … here’s looking at you, kid”

Laszlo returned, glancing at them curiously. Rick looked him in the eye and explained that Ilsa had come to him to beg for the letters of transit. He also specified that Ilsa had pretended to still be in love with him to get the letters, indicating that it was Ilsa who had changed his mind. Laszlo nodded his understanding and gripped Rick’s hand.
“Welcome back to the fight”
“Goodbye, Rick, God bless you” said Ilsa quietly and, as Laszlo turned back towards the plane, she met Rick’s gaze fleetingly for one last, precious moment. Then she slipped away from him into the mist.

Rick walked slowly back towards Renauld, listening to the hum of the plane’s engine as it taxied across the runway. A jeep arrived, screeching to a halt beside them and Major Strasse leapt out. He was on his own. He had instructed his own soldiers to meet him at the airport and the sounds of other vehicles could be dimly heard in the distance. Strasse made for the telephone to contact ground control and halt the plane. Rick warned him to get away from the phone but was ignored. The plane’s engines revved in final preparation for take-off and Strasse began shouting down the phone. Rick warned him again but was ignored once more. A shot rang out and Strasse slipped to the ground, still holding the receiver. His soldiers arrived just as the final plane to Lisbon took to the air, lumbering awkwardly but relentlessly into the sky.
“Major Strasse has been shot!” Renauld’s statement was firm.
There was a long pause as he exchanged a look with Rick, then turning to the soldiers, Renauld calmly relayed his order.
“Round up the usual suspects!”

As they hurried to comply, Renauld motioned for Rick to join him and they walked away from the scene.
“Well, Rick” he observed, “Not only are you a sentimentalist, but you’ve become a patriot.”
As the two of them reflected on what might happen, they realised that they would probably be seeing out the end of the war together.
“Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship …”

***

 

#131:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Thu May 13, 2004 3:35 pm

Great, Rachael, so moving. Hope all goes well for your hols.

 

#132:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Thu May 13, 2004 3:49 pm

The penultimate post you said Rachael? So does that mean we get to so how Gwyn leaves Casablanca?

Still really enjoying this, thank you for finding time to post this bit!

 

#133:  Author: caz, Location: Cambridge PostPosted: Thu May 13, 2004 4:49 pm

Thank you, Rachael.

 

#134:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Thu May 13, 2004 5:18 pm

Thanks Rachael Very Happy
Looking forward to the last post!

 

#135:  Author: Vikki, Location: Possibly in hell! It's certainly hot enough....... PostPosted: Thu May 13, 2004 7:54 pm

*hopes Rachael doesn't plan on keeping the last post until she returns from her hols............* Wink

 

#136:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Thu May 13, 2004 8:47 pm

Vikki wrote:
*hopes Rachael doesn't plan on keeping the last post until she returns from her hols............* Wink


I don't mind if she does! Twisted Evil

Rachael - already said everything about this - let me reiterate - this is wonderful!

 

#137:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Thu May 13, 2004 9:50 pm

Rachael, that was wonderful. It brought a tear to my eye just int he same way the film did when I first saw it. The way you have blended in the quotes is excellent.

 

#138:  Author: Sophie, Location: Cambridegeshire PostPosted: Thu May 13, 2004 11:07 pm

Oh, this is just fantastic. I had a tear welling up in my eye there. Wonderful. And there has to be another installment, because Matey hasn't got her fez yet!

Hope you have a great holiday, Rachael.

 

#139:  Author: Kathy_S, Location: midwestern US PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 12:44 am

Amazing, Rachael!

*sniffles*

(hopes poor Matey isn't left totally without news)

 

#140:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 7:52 am

Final bit!


The next morning Gwyn entered the Blue Parrot Café for a final coffee with Signor Ferrari. They had enjoyed a quiet, companionable dinner the previous night, chatting about their previous lives and plans for the future. Laszlo, Ilsa, Rick and the letters of transit had not been mentioned although Ferrari had confirmed that he had bought Rick’s café. Now, she eased through the customers towards the back of the room to find Ferrari in his customary position, a fez balanced once more on his shining pate. He was smoking a large cigar and languidly swiping at some insects with a large fly-swatter. Ever the gentleman, he kissed her hand and ordered two cups of coffee before proceeding to tell her the latest news.
“It seems that Victor Laszlo and his beautiful companion have managed to escape from Casablanca …” he began, watching for Gwyn’s reaction.
“Oh, that’s wonderful news!” exclaimed Gwyn, her very genuine delight for the couple masking her more personal pleasure at Rick’s evident return to his senses. “I’m so pleased for them. That means that Mr Laszlo will be able to get back to his job”

Ferrari smiled at Gwyn’s understatement.
“I understand that they finally found the elusive letters of transit … as supplied by Rick”. Again he watched her closely.
“So it seems he had them after all” smiled Gwyn, remaining noncommittal. “So where is Rick now? What will he do without his café?”
“That remains to be seen” said Ferrari, “I do not think that anyone has had a chance to speak with him. He has been closeted with Captain Renauld for many hours, perhaps because Major Strasse was shot last night.”
“Yes, I heard a rumour to that effect as I walked here” mused Gwyn, her face clouding. “You don’t think …?”
Ferrari shrugged expressively. “Who knows, Gwyn. For you it is difficult to comprehend, I know, but we are at war and in Casablanca … human life is cheap …”
They sat in silence for a while as Gwyn digested the implications of his words. When he spoke again, it was very gently.
“So, whilst I am very disappointed that we must say farewell, in many ways I am pleased that you will be moving on tonight. Casablanca is not a desirable location for respectable ladies such as your good self. ”

“That’s very kind of you to say so, Signor Ferrari” returned Gwyn. “Although, I must say that I’m surprised that you remain here yourself …”
Ferrari chose to respond to her veiled question. “I have been here too long to make any changes now. The war is not as intrusive as you might think and I have a good business here. I am getting too old for change. You though … you are still young and I think that you are longing to get back to your school?”
“You are very right, Signor, but I am concerned that there will be no flight to Lisbon tonight. I hear the borders are closing.” Gwyn’s composed exterior belied a very real concern.
“That is something I wished to talk to you about. You are quite correct. The final plane for Lisbon left last night with the Laszlos aboard and we must find you an alternative route. I have been considering this for the past twenty four hours and I apologise for not discussing it with you but I did not wish to concern you until I had a plan.”
Ferrari regarded Gwyn contemplatively. He did have a plan but it was far less straightforward than the hour’s flight to Portugal. However, in the short time that he had known this woman he had seen enough grit and determination in her to know that she had the mettle to face whatever fate had in store.

Later that evening as dusk was settling over Casablanca, Ferrari escorted Gwyn to the port. There they were met by a couple of sailors of indeterminate nationality who wordlessly took her suitcase and stowed it below deck on their small fishing boat. Shaking hands with Ferrari, Gwyn returned his double-cheeked kiss.
“I can’t thank you enough” she told him.
“You’re very welcome” he replied. “ It has been a great pleasure to have been of assistance to you. I wish you well in your journey. I fear it will not be easy but I know that you are strong and that you will soon be back at your school.”
“I hope so, although at the moment that life seems as though it’s in a different world”
“For you, I think it is …” Ferrari clasped her hands. “You are a good woman, Gwynneth Lloyd, and I suspect that you have been more instrumental in ensuring that the Laszlos escaped together than you would ever reveal. Don’t worry!” He held up a hand to forestall her reply. “I don’t intend to pry. I just wanted to let you know that I know. I would have seen through Rick if he had not intended to sell his café. I’m not sure what was done or said but I am convinced that at the last minute you persuaded him to take a different course. You have provided a great service. We need men like Victor Laszlo and whilst there are women in the world like you to ensure that he is free do his work, then … well, we can have confidence that the world will become a better place.”

The colour rose in Gwyn’s cheeks as she made her farewell. She was extremely touched by Ferrari’s words and suddenly very sorry to be leaving Casablanca. Accepting his arm she stepped smoothly into the boat, to the surprise of the sailors who had been expecting a novice and had been gloomily discussing between themselves that it promised to be a long journey. Ferrari passed down her handbag but as the sailors made ready to depart, Gwyn suddenly grimaced.
“What is it?” he asked, concerned.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really” Gwyn did not want to make a fuss. “It’s just … with everything being so very different here … and I doubt that I’ll ever be able to return … I just wish that I’d picked up some momento from the marketplace … to remind me … “ She tailed off, feeling rather silly.
“Here!” With a one sweep of his hand, Ferrari plucked off his fez and tossed it gently into the boat, just as the vessel left its mooring.
With a big grin, she called out to him. “Thank you, Signor! Thank you very much!”
Then, waving until his corpulent frame was no more than a distant speck on the horizon, she settled herself down for the final stage of her voyage home.


THE END!

 

#141:  Author: Angel, Location: London, England PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 7:59 am

wow

wow

*tears up, and hurriedly sorts out mascara before going to work.

 

#142:  Author: caz, Location: Cambridge PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 9:32 am

That was fabulous, Rachael. Thank you.

 

#143:  Author: Nell, Location: London, England PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 9:39 am

Hurrah!!! So thats how she got the fez!!! Rachael this has been wonderful throughout, faithful to the film yet adding a certain extra dimension, and I really liked Matey in this!

 

#144:  Author: Pat, Location: Doncaster PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 10:15 am

Thank you Rachael. I've enjoyed every moment of this. Enjoy your holiday.

 

#145:  Author: Cazx, Location: Swansea/Bristol PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 1:13 pm

Thanks Rachael, this has been great! Hope you have a nice time on holiday!

 

#146:  Author: Jennie, Location: Cambridgeshire PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 1:21 pm

Lovely Rachael, true to the film but with those great extra touches.

 

#147:  Author: Sophie, Location: Cambridegeshire PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 1:46 pm

Rachael, this truly has been a masterpiece of writing, even down to the touch of Ferrari throwing the fez down to her in the boat, right at the last. I really do thank you for it.

As far as I'm concerned that really is how Matey got her fez, and every time I read Rosalie now I shall smile to myself when Tom finds it in her drawer because I shall know where it came from. Wink

 

#148:  Author: Rachael,  PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 1:47 pm

Many thanks, everyone! Very Happy

I really enjoyed writing it - so much easier when you know exactly what's happening Wink

Take care & "see" you in June .....

 

#149:  Author: pim, Location: the place where public transport doesn't work properly! PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 3:06 pm

Thanks Rachael, this has been brilliant. Let's just say, I'm now counting the days til the sumemr holidays just because I want to watch Casablanca so much! Absolutely no other reason whatsoever.

 

#150:  Author: Lesley, Location: Rochester, Kent PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 9:01 pm

Rachael has already had my comments but just to add to them - I will never be able to watch the film Casablanca again without wondering where Matey is! Totally faithful to the film, yet with the added dimension of an outside observer. Gwyn is now needed in the film to ensure everything happen as it should!

Thanks Rachael!

*Know she won't see this as she's off on holiday - jealous? Of Sri Lanka and the Maldives? You betcha! Laughing *

 

#151:  Author: Dawn, Location: Leeds, West Yorks PostPosted: Fri May 14, 2004 11:54 pm

I promise I will watch the film next time it's on - but don't blame me if I complain bitterly cos it's not like Rachael said!

I have loved this so much, it seems completely real & I will actually be fascinated to see the film and see how different it is and where Matey shold fit in

 

#152:  Author: Susan, Location: Carlisle PostPosted: Mon May 17, 2004 3:48 pm

Sorry Rachael I have been a bit slow catching up with this. It is such a wonderful story. As others have said so true to the film but with lots of added extras. Is a definite must as an alternative to the original.

Hope you are having a fantastic holiday.

 

#153:  Author: Carolyn P, Location: Lancaster, England PostPosted: Mon May 17, 2004 9:00 pm

Only just caught the last episode, but what a wonderful ending. Thank you so much Rachael, loved the last scene with Matey receiving the Fez, and she remained in character throoughout. Brilliant.

 

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