Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge and its characters are owned by Baz Luhrmann, Bazmark, 20th Century Fox, and several other respective individuals most likely, and no copyright infringement is intended. People that you don't recognize who will make an appearance are mine, unless otherwise noted. The use of the name Margaret for Christian's sister is borrowed from fellow author drama-princess, and the portrayal of her is influenced heavily by the story The Price of Love by the same author (go read the story, it's lovely).
Sequel Note: This story is a sequel to Temptation, and intended to be the middle part in what will eventually be a trilogy. You don't have to read Temptation in order to read this, but I would recommend it, as there are references made to people and situations that you won't recognize otherwise, and some characters who will come out of the woodwork that appeared in the earlier story.
Revision Note: As of August 26th, 2003, this story is undergoing a complete revision. After much thought on my part, I completely removed the old story – including, unfortunately, all the reviews everyone was kind enough to offer – and decided to start again with a clean slate. A lot of things will be changed, some others will stay the same, but overall I hope it will be something we're all happier with. I thank everyone for sticking with me, and I hope all of you who reviewed before will be nice enough to offer comments and suggestions this time around as well.
Dedication: This is for everyone who read and reviewed Temptation, and offered their comments, suggestions, and encouragement to keep this story going. Thank you all.
Until
Though Satine had been preparing for two weeks to leave Egypt, now that the day had actually come, she found herself feeling quite a bit of trepidation over the matter. It would be good to get back to Europe – though she had not exactly seen a great deal of it from Montmartre, she missed greenery, and snow, and rain – but she and Christian had also made a home there in Cairo. They had been wed here; their son had been born here; they had made friends who would have to be left behind.
They had already exchanged their goodbyes with Joseph and Verona Paris, who had become quite good friends to them in the past several months, and bade their farewells to Dr. Morrow, who had taken care of Satine during her recovery and later her pregnancy. Their things were packed, the travel arrangements had been made, and now they would be setting off for Christian's family home in England.
Satine exhaled a small, wistful sigh, and closed her diary, where she had pressed a lotus flower between the pages.
"We can come back someday." Christian seemed to read her thoughts as he came up behind Satine and wrapped his arms around her waist.
She smiled, and turned to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "I'd like that."
He returned the smile, before leaning up and glancing around the room that was empty save the furniture that had been there when they arrived. "Did you get everything?"
Satine nodded, and slipped the little book into the smaller valise she would be carrying with her. "I think so."
"Then I suppose it's time for us to go."
"This is it?"
"This is it."
"Oh."
Christian watched as Satine leaned out the carriage window to look, and he didn't have to follow her gaze in order to know what she saw. The home of his childhood was a stately brick house that could be more accurately described as a manor, sitting on sprawling grounds with well-manicured gardens and even a pond, seeming much too elaborate for the family that inhabited it.
Satine shifted Olivier around in her lap, then took Christian's hand and grasped it tightly.
Reading into her trepidation, Christian returned the death grip with but a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "Don't worry, darling. It will be fine."
He had, of course, been trying to convince her of this ever since Margaret's letter had arrived, but it seemed as if he would have been better off saving himself the effort. He knew Satine was nervous, but he didn't think it quite constituted the amount of anxiety she was showing. Then again, Christian was also aware of the fact that he looked at the situation much differently – he looked at his father's success and saw too many years wasted behind a desk, that large house more like a prison of rules and propriety.
Perhaps he shouldn't have understated it all quite so much.
"It's so . . ." Satine started, but words failed her.
"Suffocating, uniform, boring," Christian suggested helpfully.
". . . big," she finished lamely.
I know," he responded with a slight nod. "It was Father's wedding gift to Mother, because she wanted a large family, but . . ." He went quiet for a moment, and Satine thought Christian would let the subject settle there, but he continued on after a beat. "I had two brothers who died in infancy, and my mother herself died in childbirth with Margaret when I was six."
Now it was Satine's turn to offer Christian her sympathy and support. After all, she understood what it was like to grow up without a mother. "It must have been very hard on you all."
Christian cast a thoughtful look out the window, as the house loomed closer and closer. "It felt . . . empty, after she died. Father started to work all the time – and even when he was home, he might as well have not been. We had the servants and a governess, but it wasn't the same."
He paused, shaking off the unpleasant emotions, the unhappy memories. "But that was a long time ago. Now we have the future to look forward to," he said firmly, offering a wan smile to emphasize his point.
"You're right," Satine agreed, though she was quickly enough reminded of her worries for that future when the carriage settled to a halt.
One of the dual doors that led into the house opened, and an older man with a stiff posture and an aloof bearing began to descend the steps. Momentarily, she wondered if that was Christian's father, but soon realized it was instead one of the servants coming to retrieve their baggage.
Christian stepped down and helped Satine carefully out of the carriage, as she was still holding Olivier, then turned and looked up at the door. A dozen different emotions flickered across his face at once, hundreds of memories flooding back to the surface as simply as that.
As Satine watched him, she could see in her mind's eye Christian as a child, doing things considered improper in the society in which he was raised, constraints similar to those that had prompted her to run away from her aunt's home so many years ago. She remained patiently quiet, willing to give him what time he needed.
It was a moment before he spoke again. "Well. Shall we go inside?"
Satine paused and glanced down at the baby in her arms, then looked back to Christian and gave her husband a resolute nod. "Come what may," she said.
This seemed to reassure Christian, and his expression became a bit less uncertain. "Come what may," he agreed, and began to lead the way up the front steps and into the house he hadn't entered in what seemed like a lifetime.
Satine was immediately met with a picture of elegant, but austere efficiency. The entrance hall was decorated with fine things in muted shades, not at all unlike her conservative aunt's Parisian home, and while sunlight streamed in through the long-paned windows and danced across the polished hardwood floor, something still seemed stifling about the air.
She had a very difficult time seeing Christian existing here. He was so vibrant and full of life, and certainly did not fit in with the orderly routine this household probably undertook each day.
"Master Christian!"
They both turned, somewhat startled at the sudden interruption of the silence, to see a woman had appeared at their right, a beaming smile on her round face.
Christian brightened immediately upon sight of the woman, and while it might have seemed inappropriate to hug one's household staff, he hadn't exactly always been one to adhere to formality, so he did just that. "Emma, it's good to see you again."
"Oh, you too, you too," Emma responded with a hint of sentimentality to her tone. Then she pulled back, almost as if inspecting Christian to see if he had taken care of himself. Seemingly satisfied by what she saw, she nodded and shifted her gaze to rest on Satine and Olivier.
"You must be Christian's wife!" she exclaimed excitedly. "And little Olivier . . . Oh, Margaret's told us all about you from your letters."
Overwhelmed by the sudden show of enthusiasm, Satine offered the older woman a smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you," she said, and instantly wished she had a bit more interesting conversation to add.
"I've been looking forward to meeting you for so long," Emma went on, not seeming to notice Satine's loss for words. Instead, she reached out for the baby, and then paused, remembering herself. "Oh, may I hold him?" she asked.
"Of course," Satine responded, holding Olivier carefully out to Emma.
"Oh, he's quite lovely," the woman said, sighing contentedly. "Looks just like his father when he was a baby, he does. How old is he?"
"Nine months," Christian provided with a sudden swell of pride. He moved over to wrap his arm around Satine. "Emma was my nurse when I was little."
The aforementioned nodded her agreement to this. "It's so good to have you back, Christian. Things simply haven't been the same around here without you – it's so strange to think you've been gone two whole years, and now here you are with a wife and an adorable baby!"
Christian's countenance sobered slightly as he glanced sidelong down the hallway to their left. "Where are Father and Margaret?" he asked after a second's hesitation.
"They're in the library," Emma replied, her voice taking on a similarly serious tone.
Satine looked up, offering Christian a smile of reassurance. According to Margaret's letters, his father truly had changed, and Christian's sister didn't come across as the type to lie. In fact, Satine was rather certain Margaret would even be mortified if she lied unintentionally. Even still, Christian's trepidation was understandable – he was about to see the man he had left on less than pleasant terms with two years before.
Christian returned a mustered smile of his own.
Emma handed the baby back to Satine and turned to look at Christian again. "I've had Matthew put your things in your old room, and we've prepared a nursery for the baby in the room right next to yours."
Then with a final smile to them both, the woman bustled off, leaving the couple. Christian fell in reluctant step down the hallway, leading Satine around a corner and toward a pair of doors. He reached to take hold of one of the door handles, but paused and looked back at Satine first.
She was almost as nervous as Christian, and reached down with her free hand to brush stray wrinkles out of her sensible suit. She had picked it for its simplicity, as it was not as bold or daring as the other things in her wardrobe, and on the lengthy trip back to London from Cairo, they had discussed just how much they should tell.
Though they didn't want to lie, they had decided that there were a few things that Christian's family would probably be best off not knowing. Both saw no reason to say anything about Satine's previous place of employment, the Moulin Rouge. Thomas James had heatedly told his son before he left that he would waste his life at the infamous nightclub with a can-can dancer, and it was likely to give the old man a heart attack if he knew the truth.
They also decided that, while it was accepted by their friends, they were not going to mention they had been married only six months. It could create a scandal for the family, and they didn't want Olivier to, someday in the future, have to deal with such things as the fact that he had been born before his parents were wed. They had been together longer, of course, and that was what really mattered. Their real vows had been exchanged far before any rings or formal ceremony.
In fact, they were probably the only couple in the world that could profess true love occurring atop a fifty foot elephant.
Christian opened the door of the library, and together they stepped inside.
On the divan rested a young woman that had to be Margaret, a book held in her hands. At seventeen, she had the sort of prettiness that was uncultivated, so to speak; a feminine figure left almost shapeless by modest attire, her glossy hair of chestnut brown pulled into a perfect chignon that seemed too severe for the sweet face. There were a few subtle similarities in appearance between her and Christian, but the most obvious was their eyes, though Margaret's tended a bit more toward grey.
"Christian!" she exclaimed, and immediately moved to throw her arms around her brother's waist in a hug that shattered the prime and proper picture Satine had created.
Satine stepped back to allow the two siblings their moment, then offered a smile as Margaret turned back to her, more timidly assessing her new sister in law.
"And Satine," Margaret said softly but genuinely. "It's so nice to finally see you. I've been looking forward to this for quite a while." She paused, and her attention shifted to the baby. "And Olivier. Oh, he's so beautiful."
As Margaret cooed over Olivier, Satine turned just in time to see Thomas James rise from his leather upholstered armchair. The older man straightened his waistcoat and cleared his throat, and Christian seemed to want to hesitate, but he continued further into the room. He stopped a few feet from his father, and remained there, not quite certain what to do or say.
"Hello, Father," he said quietly.
"Christian," his father returned formally, extending a hand to his son as if he were a stranger.
Satine was taken aback. Though she could hardly remember her own parents, this was not how she felt one should act toward their children. A handshake, of all things?
Christian, however, was unfazed. He gazed down at his father's hand for only a beat before he accepted the gesture and shook it, tentatively reaching out to settle his other hand on the older man's shoulder. "It's . . . good to see you again."
"Indeed," Mr. James returned, releasing Christian's hand and turning to face Satine. "I assume this is your wife?"
Satine, often taller than the men who had courted her, felt two feet tall under the scrutinizing gaze the man offered her from beneath his bushy eyebrows.
"Yes, Father," Christian responded, his voice gathering strength. "This is Satine."
For a moment, Christian's father paused. It seemed for a heart-stopping moment as if he would utter some word of disapproval, but he finally nodded somewhat curtly to his daughter-in-law. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The same to you, sir," Satine responded politely. It took the summoning of all her good manners for her to continue to function under the pressure of this meeting, but she was managing to pull it off rather stunningly.
"And," he said, his eyes settling on the baby, "this is my grandson?"
Satine nodded, an idea springing to mind. "Would you like to hold him?"
For the first time, a smile appeared on the man's severe features, and he nodded. "Why yes, I would."
After dinner that evening, Christian sat alone with his father in the seclusion of the older man's study, fidgeting in his place in the leather armchair. Satine had gone off with Margaret, who intended to give her a tour of the house, and they took Olivier along. Judging from the expression of Margaret's face and his father's own behavior, Christian had the distinct feeling it had all been orchestrated in order to allow them the opportunity to talk.
He watched as his father poured two glasses of brandy and accepted a tumbler of the liquor as it was handed to him. Though he rarely drank – aside from wine with dinner and the absinthe Toulouse and the other Bohemians occasionally coerced him into during his time in Montmartre – Christian took a sip of it to calm his nerves.
"I'll be the first to admit," his father said, moving over to the take the armchair across from Christian, "that I had my doubts about your going to Montmartre."
Christian suddenly became very interested in the contents of his glass as he wondered just where this conversation was going to go. Was his father going to suddenly say, 'and I was right,' then say something disapproving of Satine?
"But," the older man went on, "I see now that you've done better than I had expected. You have a lovely wife, Christian . . . and a fine grandson for me."
Not having expected such a change in the direction of the conversation, Christian looked up abruptly from his drink, and knew the surprise was evident on his features. "Th-thank you," he stammered self-consciously, still amazed at how even now he had a difficult time standing up to his sire.
"I've also read your book," his father continued.
Christian raised his eyebrows in anticipation.
"Granted, not the sort of literature I would typically indulge in, and I will say I found the story a bit risqué for my liking, but it was an admirable work."
Vaguely, Christian wondered if the giddy feeling forming in the pit of his stomach was from the liquor he'd imbibed or the off-putting fact that his father was actually praising him – approving of what he had decided to do with his life. "I . . . thank you," he said again, for lack of anything better. For a poet, he felt of few words indeed at the moment.
"I'm proud of you, son," Thomas James said. "And I'm only sorry it's taken me this long to say it."
When Christian left the conversation with his father and returned to his old bedroom, Satine was sitting at the window seat with Olivier in her lap, gazing out across the grounds. Though it was dark outside, she could tell why Christian had preferred this particular bedroom, even when there were larger ones to be had in the stately house. It afforded a perfect view of the sprawling lawn and gardens.
She looked up from her perusal as Christian entered the room, and offered him a smile, noticing that he didn't seem at all unhappy or distressed in the aftermath of his conversation with his father. "This is a beautiful place," she said. "How did your talk with your father go?"
"Better than I expected, actually," he admitted, closing the door and moving over to sit alongside Satine. "How did you know?"
"Margaret told me while she was showing me the house," Satine explained, handing Olivier to Christian as the baby reached out for his father.
Christian smiled softly and contemplatively as he gazed down into the face of his son. Somehow, having a child of his own helped him to understand his father better – he could actually comprehend the protective feeling that a parent had for their child. "He told me that he thinks you're lovely," he said, "that Olivier is a fine grandson, and . . ."
Hesitating, he looked up at Satine again. "And that he's proud of me. I never expected to hear something like that from him; he was always so against everything I wanted to do with my life. But I suppose I realize now that he was only trying to look out for me."
Satine nodded her quiet understanding. "Your father loves you and Margaret both. I could tell that even from being around him a short time. He seems to have a rather gruff exterior at times, but it's not so hard to see that he cares."
Christian nodded in return, just as Olivier let out a wide and sleepy yawn. He laughed softly, and rose from his seat, walking to put Olivier in the cradle that had been brought into the room. "And what did you think of Margaret?" he asked, after he had the baby settled for bed.
"I think she's perfectly nice," Satine said honestly. "She's a dear girl."
Christian paused for a beat, before moving to close the other window to block out the night chill. It was midsummer yet, but the evening air and a light rain made it cooler than the Egyptian climate they were used to, and the once unnoticeable humidity was now almost stifling.
"Do you think you could be happy here?"
"Of course," she replied without hesitation. "I'm happy wherever you are, darling, no matter if it's here, or Paris, or Cairo."
Satine held out her hand to Christian, and he resumed his seat alongside her again. Taking his hands in her own, she entwined their fingers together. "Once I was jaded," she sang softly, "thought I knew a few things . . . understood so little, had so much to lose."
"Once on a journey, through the streams and mountains," Christian returned, "I stumbled on the rock that brought me close to you . . ."
"I will follow you, I will follow you . . . even when winter is coming," Satine continued, leaning in to press her lips gently against Christian's.
"If I caught the world in a bottle, and everything was still beneath the moon . . . without your love, would it shine for me?" Christian sang contemplatively, wrapping his arms around her.
Satine smiled and settled into the comforting circle of his embrace. "Here in your arms where the world is impossibly still, with a million dreams to fulfill . . ."
"Here in your arms when everything seems to be clear, not a solitary thing do I fear . . ." Christian turned to gaze out the window, a smile curving his lips as he focused on the sky. "Oh, if I caught the world in an hourglass, saddled up the moon and we would ride until the stars grew dim, until the time that time stands still . . ."
And as they sat there in the comfort of each other's arms, it seemed as if even a single moment of happiness could be made to last a lifetime.
Author's Note: Lyrics are Felicia Sorenson's "Once," which can be found on the soundtrack to Le pacte des loups (or Brotherhood of the Wolf), and Sting's "Until," which I edited a bit to suit my purposes, is on the Kate & Leopold soundtrack. Many thanks go out to Mary Helen (fellow author Natasha Rostof) for beta reading and actually asking me occasionally about this story!