Sorry I took a while updating and thanks for taking the time to read this!
By the way, I didn't think my French was strong enough to attempt the conversations in this, so it's all English!
Thanks again to all the reviewers (I'll slip you some cash later).
Chapter 3
I gradually settled into Christian's home over the next few weeks. I grew accustomed to his mood swings; when he was happy with the flow of his story he would be affectionate and cheerful, but when writer's block struck he would be withdrawn and irritable. I tried to be understanding and keep a distance when this happened. I usually went for a walk or to the shops to buy something we didn't need, such as flowers or sewing thread. Christian told me a little about the piece he was writing; it was a novel about two lovers who had married other people but then found each other again in later life. I had smiled to hear the subject. But what else could it be about, other than love? It was all he thought about. I was gratifying, in a way, that I had found somebody so in touch with his emotions, but sometimes it made me just a little uncomfortable.
One day, when Christian's mood had taken a turn for the worse again, I had made the excuse of our need for fresh bread and gone out. Luckily for me, it was market day, so I bought time by exploring the different stalls. My favourite was the grain stall. The vender sold various types of seed; corn, barley, sunflower and many others from great barrels. Lingering there, I plunged my hand into the corn and lifted out a handful, letting the seeds trickle from between my fingers. The sun was shining, and I tilted my face to the sky, enjoying the warmth of the air around me. I was lazily playing with the grains (to the annoyance of the stall holder), when I heard two women chatting over the fruit and vegetables.
"I must say, Chantelle, I am a little worried about him. I haven't seen Christian for days, and he was normally so polite when I passed him on the street but last week… nothing," said one middle aged woman to her younger companion.
"I wouldn't worry, Marie. It is probably that mistress of his. She must be keeping him busy!" Chantelle tittered, while Marie's ears pricked up.
"Mistress?!"
"Why, yes! Have you not seen them around the town? He mentioned to me that they are in love, but I can't see how. She has only just appeared."
"Oh, but it seems so unlike him! I thought he was such a nice gentleman! What was she like?"
"Pretty enough, I suppose. I'm sure she must be one of those terribly common women…"
The women started to drift off to a different stall, their voices fading as the discussion of me continued. I was so shocked I didn't realize that I had spilled a large handful of seeds on the ground, and the vender's annoyance had turned to anger. I paid him for the loss and set off home without any bread.
Christian seemed to be happier than when I had left him, which may have been something to do with the depleted whisky bottle I saw on his desk. I, however, was not, and flung the empty grocery basket on the bed in a display of irritation.
"What's wrong, darling?" he asked in surprise.
"Everything!" I cried, sitting down hard on the faded bedspread. He joined me, putting his arm around my shoulders.
"Could you be more specific?"
"I heard some women talking… they were talking about you and me," I declared dramatically. Christian tried to look sympathetic, but I could tell he didn't understand yet. "Christian- they called me your… mistress!" I spat.
"Oh… that's terrible," he lied.
He didn't understand. Throughout my upbringing it was severely drummed into me that I was going to be a "nice girl". I was going to be obedient and good at my few home studies, and when the time came I was going to marry a wealthy, respectable gentleman, have two children and live in a big house, go to church every Sunday and generally support my family for the rest of my life. Being a mistress was never part of the grand plan. Mistresses were what my mother called "immoral women". The word for me as a girl was generally linked to my father's wealthy (and married) clients. As I became older I learned what it meant, and I adopted my mother's view; they were immoral and disgraceful women. And now I was one of them!
"You mean I am your mistress?! I never even thought about it!"
"Well, I suppose… you could call yourself my lover instead, though."
"Oh, a rose by any other name." Now I had the idea in my head I couldn't let it go. Maybe I was blowing the situation out of proportion, but it had upset me. "I don't want to be a mistress."
"Oh." We were silent for a second. "Are you saying you don't want to be with me anymore?"
"Of course not!" All of a sudden it didn't seem quite such a vital issue. I didn't want to lose him. "Don't worry about it. It's not that important."
"It was a minute ago. I don't want you unhappy."
"Christian! It doesn't matter!"
"So you don't want to be my mistress… and you don't want to leave me… how about being my wife?" My head was in my hands again and it took me a couple of seconds to register what he had said. I slowly turned my head to face him. He was smiling.
"Is that a proposal?"
"Yes. Anne, will you marry me?" He took my hand and I stared at him. Was this a good idea? After thinking for a second I replied.
"Fine." Keeping straight faces, we nodded and turned away, before bursting out with laughter and excitement. "Oh my God, we're getting married!"
"Yes, we are!" Gripping hands, we both exclaimed with happiness, then embraced. That night, in celebration, we finished the whisky and all of Christian's wine, although afterwards, I found myself surprisingly sober.
The next morning I woke at about nine o'clock to the sound of hammering on the door. Christian was still fast asleep, so I wrapped the bedspread around my body and hurried over to answer it. Making sure I was sufficiently concealed, I opened the door a crack and looked outside. Standing there was the landlady with a large, blue volume under her arm.
"Can I help you?" I asked, rubbing my face and to wake up.
"Yes. Let me in," she answered in clipped tones. I cast a glance over at the bed; my fiancé was naked from the waist upwards but covered with a worn brown blanket. Gripping the bedspread even tighter, I pulled the door open and stood to the side to allow her entry.
"I'm sorry, Christian's still asleep," I told her, feeling self conscious.
"I can see that," she said, raising her eyebrow at the sight of him. "But never mind, you pass on this message for me. I am the owner of this hotel, and I have a living to make. I cannot let Monsieur carry on the way he has been with the money. I have been generous by allowing him to hold off paying me this long, and I am tired of it. Tell him that he must pay me what he owes me by the end of ten days, or I shall have to evict him from the room. Do you understand?"
"Urm… urm… yes, of course," I stammered.
"Very well. Good day to you, Madame." With this, she nodded to me and gave a grim smile before exiting the room, pulling the door closed firmly behind her. The sound made Christian stir, and I strode over to the bed.
"Wake up!" I shouted, tugging the blanket off him. He sat up in shock before groaning at the light.
"Wha'?" Shutting his eyes, he lay back down again and groaned. "My head."
"I don't care. Get up, that was the owner." I received no reply, so I gave him a hard shove. "Christian! She's saying she'll throw us out if you don't pay her!"
"She's always saying that," he mumbled, swatting at my hand.
"Well she sounded pretty serious this time. Do you have any money?"
"None t'speak of. I could pay her in dead flowers though," he laughed, gesturing around the room at all the flowers I had bought while Christian's moods were bad.
"It's not funny! Get up!" I yelled, causing him to groan again.
"Shush! Not so loud, please!"
"I don't want to live on the streets! Get up!" I shouted even louder and he cringed and began to manoeuvre himself out of the bed. "What are we going to do?"
"Calm down! Even if she throws us out we can stay in another hotel," he protested.
"So that's what you're offering me, is it? A life of going from hotel to hotel?"
"What's wrong? You knew I didn't have much money when you agreed to marry me, Anne."
"I thought you might have enough to at least rent an apartment or house." I was upset at our row and Christian's careless attitude. "I can't live in a hotel all my life."
"I don't want you to, but I can't afford for us not to at the moment." His eyes were beseeching, asking for forgiveness. "Give it time. I'll come up with something."
"Two weeks, Christian. If we can't find a place to live in two weeks, there isn't much point in us carrying on together." He looked at me, astonished.
"You're giving me an ultimatum now?" As soon as he'd said the words I was sorry.
"I don't know… I'm sorry, I shouldn't be doing this, I love you… but I don't think I can live like this."
"I understand," he comforted, putting his arm around me. "I know it's different. I don't suppose you have any money?"
"Not enough."
Just then, a thought occurred to me. I would have to introduce Christian to my family before the wedding (whenever that would be) and I could ask them for some financial support. It would take a swallow of pride on my part, but I didn't think they would let me down. My mother, at least, would want to help me, I thought. I hoped it would work and made the decision to write a letter to my parents that very night.
Thank you for reading! Please review, thank you!
