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Chapter 2
I spun around to look at him, furious. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Because I want to stop you making a mistake. Because I love you."
"Christian, I can't do this! You can't do this to me, I'm getting married soon!"
"You don't have to. You can stay here with me. We can get married. We can have a family and a future, exactly the same, except it will be with somebody you love."
I slumped onto the bed. "Who says I love you?"
"I can tell. And you've already told me you don't love Robert. Come on, stay with me. I love you, and I always will."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "But we've known each other for two weeks, Christian. It's pretty soon to start proclaiming everlasting love. You know I can't stay."
"You can if you want to. If you can't tell me now then think about it tonight. Tell me tomorrow before you leave."
I shook my head. "I can't, I'm leaving early. Sorry, but it's not going to happen. We had a good time together. I liked being with you, it was a good affair while it lasted. But that's all it was, an affair. I am going back to England tomorrow, and I am going to marry Robert." I stood up and walked over to him. "It was lovely knowing you. I hope you find love and happiness." I kissed him once on the lips, and walked out, feeling terrible. I had never meant to let it get so serious.
When I got back to the chateau, I was alarmed to find that Robert had returned before me. I had just entered through the front door of the building, when Antoinette grasped my arm and took me aside.
"Your 'usband 'as come back early!" she whispered frantically. My heart skipped one beat, but then I calmed down.
"What did you tell him?"
"I say you are going for a walk. I think he believed me, but this was more than one hour ago."
After thanking Antoinette and giving her another five francs for her trouble, I went up to our room where she had told me he had been waiting. Pushing the door open, I pretended to smile with pleasure at seeing him.
"Robert! What a wonderful surprise! Why are you back so early, I thought you had to see a colleague?"
"I did," he answered tightly, "but seeing as you have refused to come on any of my visits, I thought I would come back to take my beloved fiancée out for dinner. Only to find her not here."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I was out walking. But we can still go out, shall I get ready?" I walked past him, acting nonchalant, and sat down on my bed.
"Where have you been, Anne? You can't have just walked for over an hour!" Robert's face was twisted, his eyes narrow and suspicious, and I felt nervous.
"That's what I was doing, Robert," I lied, not meeting his eyes.
"You were with a man, weren't you? That's why you won't tell me."
"Of course not!" I cried. "I swear I wasn't, Robert, just-"
"Don't lie to me!" he shouted, and I looked up. I had never heard him shout before, and had never seen him like this. He was so angry he could barely keep still, and his eyes were wide in his face.
I hurried over to him and touched his arm. "Darling, calm down. I promise you, I was just out walking."
"Get off me," he ordered, breathing heavily. Uncertainly, I slid my hand up to his shoulder, trying to soothe him. "I SAID GET OFF ME!" He yelled, and flung me onto the floor. I lay there, shocked, as he looked down at me. Then I noticed something. There was no remorse in his eyes, neither was there satisfaction. He thought this was an appropriate way to punish me for disobeying him, and he wasn't sorry.
This is the man I'm marrying, I thought, this is what it will be like. I got to my feet and slowly, as if in a dream, walked over to my closet. I took out my suitcase and laid it on the bed, then began to carefully remove my clothes from where they hung, laying them into the case. When the case was full of half my clothes, I fastened it shut and set it on the floor.
"What are you doing?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"I'm packing," I replied, matter of factly. "Well, now I've finished. And now I'm leaving."
He didn't try to stop me as I walked towards the door. "Where are you going?" he asked as I opened it.
"To my lover's." I couldn't resist answering so bluntly to see his reaction. I could see he hadn't been expecting it, even though he had been suspicious. After a pause, he nodded in resignation.
"Go on."
With a trembling hand I shut the door to my old life and took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to keep walking down the hall, and opening them, descended the staircase, struggling with my heavy bag. I looked around, and saw there was nobody to help me with it. No paid porter to assist me. I kept going, and eventually arrived at the front door. The doorman nodded sombrely as he opened the door, and held it open while I took my case out. I heard the door shut behind me, and the panic began to set in. What would I do now? I began to shake, and had to lean against the wall of the chateau. Instead of feeling free, I felt terrified and helpless, alone in a city I barely knew.
Angrily pressing my hand against my eyes to wipe the tears that had involuntarily appeared there, I decided that it would be best to head for Christian's house, as I had told Robert. I had to take a few moments to remember the way, but I soon managed to walk out of the property and along to the road, where I hailed a horse drawn cab. I only had a little money on my person, but it was more than enough to pay the cabby to take me to the Rue des Rubis. Arriving there, I paid him and helped me with my bag, then wished me well in French. The landlady was able to let me into the building again, and I ran straight up to Christian's room and banged on the door until he opened it. He looked confused, but his expression turned to surprise when he saw me. Without saying a word, he stood aside so that I could go on in. I crossed over and sat down on the bed, where he immediately joined me. I could see he was anxious to know why I had come back, but I couldn't bring myself to talk. Propping my chin on my elbow, I stared at the wall, waiting for him to speak first.
"Are- are you here to stay?" he finally asked. I nodded. "Did something happen?" he asked a couple of minutes later.
"Yes. I changed my mind," I replied. I didn't want to tell him about Robert pushing me. I had a feeling it may cause trouble. Men tend to feel a need to avenge any act committed against somebody they love, even if that person doesn't want them to. They take it as a question on their masculinity if they don't.
"Good," he whispered, and tentatively put his arm around my shoulders. I felt him relax as I leant into his body, and pull me closer.
"I have to organise myself," I murmured into his arm after a while. He let me go, and I lifted my case onto the bed. Opening it, I pulled out some of the clothes and lay them across the half of the table which the typewriter did not sit on. Christian watched me, following my movements with his eyes. When I had finished, I returned to the bed, and we lay down to sleep. We didn't speak.
I woke up at almost midday, despite going to sleep so early. Christian was already awake, and I could hear the keys on the typewriter clicking away. With my head resting on my hands, I opened my eyes and looked up at him; he looked so intense and deep in concentration that I couldn't help but smile. He was wearing an old white shirt with trousers with braces; completely the opposite from Robert who would never be seen without clean, pressed clothes. A cigarette was held in Christian's mouth as he typed quickly and steadily. I swung my legs off the bed and yawned loudly to let him know I was awake, and he started at the noise and looked over at me. I smiled, and he reciprocated, nodding to a basket in the corner.
"Breakfast."
"A man of few words, I see," I teased, standing up off the bed and walking over to inspect the contents of the basket. I was still dressed in my clothes from the day before.
"Sorry. I'm writing, I don't like to be distracted," he replied simply, turning back to the typewriter and resuming his work. A little put out, I sifted through the basket and took out a small bread bun and began to pick at it, not at all hungry. I watched Christian as I ate, willing him to look at me, but he didn't even glance.
A while later, after amusing myself by seeing how many popular tunes I could play by tapping my fingernails on the bedpost, I announced to Christian that I had to go out. He barely looked up, and I changed into a different dress and walked out of the hotel. There was little to do on a Sunday in Sacré-Coeur, but I managed to find a lone stall-holder, even though it was not market day. He was very scruffily dressed, with an oddly shaped hat perched atop his greasy hair, and he was selling strange jewellery that he had clearly made himself. Out of boredom, I purchased two necklaces made from a very few small, rough wooden beads strung onto a simple thread, costing half a franc each. He grinned widely when I paid him, and proceeded to have a very one-way conversation with me in French. I understood next to nothing of what he said, but politely smiled and nodded as he told me about the weather, the town, himself, or which ever equally important matter he was discussing, occasionally commenting "ah, oui," or "d'accord."
On my return, I found Christian arranging his work on the desk,having moved my clothes onto a stool, folding and smoothing sheaves of paper. It looked like he had finished, and I smiled with pleasure that I would actually have some company.
"So, how's the work?" Well, I had to at least seem like I was interested.
"Not great," he replied sombrely.
"What's the matter?" I asked, walking over to him and kissing him. "Writer's block? Lack of inspiration? Forgotten how to spell 'love'?" I grinned to show I wasn't serious, but he didn't find this amusing at all.
"It just… it just won't come together the way I want it to," he explained, gesturing with his hands, evidently frustrated. "It's just not right, I can't do it. I think maybe I'll start again with it."
"No, don't do that!" I blurted, horrified at the idea of him spending even longer like this. "Try- try and think about what you want to it to do… just think about how you can do it."
He dismissed my suggestion with a shrug, and took a drink from the bottle of brandy standing next to the pile of papers. "You can't help. I just can't do it."
Assured that I could do nothing for Christian, I turned away, for the first time of what would be many. I found spaces to keep my clothes, and sorted them all out. As luck would have it, I had packed one, very old novel, which had been written for me by my mother's sister, my Aunt Lily. It was in bad condition because I took it everywhere. Contrary to my parents' belief, I always brought it with me not because I was so fond or reading it; in fact, the true reason was that I had never been able to read past the first few pages of the book and was desperate to finish it. I enjoyed the beginning, and was intrigued as to where the story would go… it was just that as the plot developed, it became too complicated for me, and I always tired of labouring to understand what was happening. I had terrible concentration and I always bored of everything easily.
Nevertheless, any port in a storm. I opened the book at the first page, and for the hundredth time, read the first chapter. I soon lost myself in the tale as usual, and with monumental effort, turned the fifteenth page; this was the furthest I had ever read! After looking briefly up at Christian, I read the top of the new page and felt the familiar tedium sink in, but did not give in. Three and a half hours later, I turned the last page and finished the book. It was quite good, actually, now there were no disturbances. My lover was still working, and now there was nothing left to do. A thought occurred to me.
"Christian!" I called quietly across the small room, and he looked at me questioningly. "Have you eaten at all today?"
He appeared to consider the matter. "No, I don't think so."
"What do you mean, you don't know? How can you not know whether you've done something or you haven't?"
"Sorry darling, when I write I just lose track," he responded, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
"Evidently."
"What does that mean?" I frowned, and walked over to him.
"Nothing. I just thought that maybe, since I've just left my family and my life for you, that you might actually speak more than three words to me, or even act like you are happy that I'm here, but obviously that is too much to ask!" I was shouting, and the anger I'd kept inside during the day was fuelling my outburst. I expected Christian to argue back, and was surprised when he merely nodded and put his arm around my waist.
"I'm sorry. I should have paid more attention to your needs. It won't happen again, I promise." He stood up and hugged me, and I felt a moment of relief, until I realized that I still didn't feel quite satisfied. Yes, he had agreed to spend more time with me than his typewriter, but why had he given in so easily? It made me feel like he was victorious, not I. That he was humouring me. I supposed it was like the saying, "having is not the same as wanting"; once you fhave something, you may suddenly find that you don't want it anymore.
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