Whoo, took a long time to write this! Ok, my only real problem was the money. I didn't have a clue how much Christian would have been given for his book, so I guessed. I'm probably way out. And I don't know about the postal service in France in the early 1900's either, so that's probably wrong, too!

The other thing is Christian's surname, which I have made up as I couldn't find his real one.

Thanks again to the reviewers, you know what to do!

Chapter 3

I wrote the letter to my parents after Christian had gone back to sleep. Using some of his typing paper and an old, heavy fountain pen, I wrote a short message addressed to my mother. Not knowing how Christian would feel about my request, I did not tell him about it, but hid it in the folds of a dress until I could post it. I still had no idea whether I would even receive a response or whether my family had effectively disowned me, but I had to find out. I had kept the tone cheerful and casual, as such;

Dear Mother,

I hope you, father and the rest of the family are all well. I am staying in Paris with my fiancé Christian MacKinlay. He is a locally celebrated writer with great prospects, and he has sworn to love me unconditionally and give me a wonderful future. I would love for you to meet him, and I hope you will allow us to come and stay with you and father for a short visit.

My only qualm is that there is, currently, no money to spare on a trip. Christian will be able to provide for the pair of us in due course, but I would be grateful if you could aid me for this purpose. I would, of course, give you back every penny.

I hope to receive a reply from you, should you decide that you still wish to have me as your daughter. For this, I have enclosed to address of the hotel in which I am staying.

Best wishes to the whole family,

Anne.

I took it to a nearby post office, but the area was not renowned for its speed of communication, so I could only hope that the letter would reach my family in time for them to reply before we were evicted.

During the next few days, Christian's behaviour became more regulated. His moods were consistent and happy, and he drank much less than usual. If it hadn't been for the worry about a response for my letter nagging at the back of my mind I would have been just as happy as him. I was very comforted by the frequent sight of him working at his typewriter and I began to wonder if I had been too hasty and not had enough faith in him. Perhaps he would be able to finance a trip to England himself. Perhaps I would not even have to ask my parents for money once we arrived!

Suddenly I was wondering why I had been worried in the first place. As my anxiety decreased, more and more of the pleasures of living in Paris came to my attention; the weather was so fair and pleasant (especially compared to England), the architecture and edifices were so beautiful, the people were so charming, the language was so pretty… Paris was, after all, the most romantic city in the world. Christian and I had begun to share a kind of bubbling happiness to be around each other. We barely spoke, but we laughed over nothing at all and smiled at anything and everything. I did not have a ring to signify our engagement yet, but I knew it didn't matter. Christian's word was much stronger than a little band of silver, and he had told me, with grim determination, that he would buy a beautiful ring as soon as he could afford it. I laughed and told him not to worry, but he kissed me and told me he would have the money soon enough. I humoured him, but I couldn't have been more surprised the day he declared that he had sold his book.

"They bought it!" He had cried, bursting through the door one afternoon. I was resting- I thought he had gone out for more paper for the typewriter.

"Who bought what?" I asked sleepily, patting my pillow and laying my head back upon it.

"They bought my book!" He declared, eyes shining.

"Christian, what on earth are you talking about?" I asked, convinced he had gone mad. He ran over and perched on the side of the bed, rolling me over to face him.

"I didn't want to tell you, I wanted it to be a surprise! But I finished the book."

"You did? When?"

"A week ago."

"What?!"

"I know. And the publishing house, Claude & Bonneville, they've published a few of my short stories before, they're buying this one!"

"What one?" I was very confused by this time, and I was wondering whether he was drunk again.

"The one I've been writing," he explained, patiently. "I finished it, I took it to the publishing house a few days ago, and today they agreed to buy it."

"Oh my God!" I exclaimed, suddenly realizing what he was talking about. "Are you serious?!"

"Yes!" He cried, evidently glad that I had grasped what he was saying.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd finished it?!"

"Because… what if they hadn't agreed to publish it? I didn't want to let you down."

"You…" I half laughed, shaking him, and wondering whether to be angry and deciding against it "…angel!" I kissed him, and we both laughed with relief. I felt like a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders, and I couldn't stop smiling. "So it's definite?"

"Everybody's signed on their respective dotted lines. They can't get out of paying me now!"

"So, money?"

"How much?"

"That's right."

"Well… the original offer was for a thirty thousand francs advance…"

"That's fantastic-"

"But because Spectacular, Spectacular was such a success, they agreed to give me forty thousand and a forty per cent!"

"Christian!" I shrieked, leaping up and down on the bed (causing the floorboards to groan). "That's wonderful! We can afford our own house!"

"Whoa, steady," he laughed. "One thing at a time. We have so much to sort out- the ring, the debts, a new place to stay…"

As Christian began to talk about our future, it dawned on me that I wouldn't need money from my family anymore, and I wondered if it was too late to send a letter. Oh well, I thought, I may as well wait, then give the money back when I go over. I realized that I needed to tell Christian about wanting to visit my family, or he would end up spending the money on an expensive engagement ring.

"Darling, there's something I want to do before we start thinking about things like that."

"What is it?" He asked, puzzled.

"I'd like to introduce you to my parents. At their home."

"You mean in England?"

"Yes. London. I know I all but ran away from them, but I think it's important that they meet you-"

"Of course!" He smiled again, still excited. "When?"

"Well… soon, I suppose. I'll write to them right away."

I decided not to tell him that I had already contacted them because I knew his pride would be wounded. Besides, as I had not received a response, there wasn't much to tell.

The next day, as if in an attempt to dampen our good spirits, the weather took a turn for the worse, and we were awakened mid-morning by a barrage of rain against the window. The downpour immediately succeeded in diluting our happiness, but only a little. The temperature was cooler than the previous day, and as soon as we were dressed against the cold we felt better.

"I, er, have a few details to work out with my publisher," he told me, pulling on his shoes after an hour or so.

"Would you like me to come?" I asked.

"That's alright," he said, coming over to kiss me on the forehead. "I won't be long. Don't go outside if you don't have to, alright? I don't want my fiancée catching pneumonia!"

He laughed and I smiled as he walked out, shutting the door behind him. There was nothing to do, so I began to gather up some of the rubbish lying around the room. Neither Christian nor I were particularly responsible or domestic people, and we hardly ever cooked or cleaned properly. Piling bunches of dead, dried out flowers into my arms, I turned the door handle with my elbow and walked down into the street, where I dropped the waste on a corner, as, shamefully, I didn't really know where else to put it. I rubbed my arms against the cold wind that had started to blow and hunched my shoulders to avoid the drops of rain before turning to walk back inside, when I saw a familiar figure approaching the building. It was a woman- she was wearing a shawl over her head to protect herself from the precipitation, but I could still recognize her face…

"Mother?!" I called in disbelief. The figure looked up, and I saw that it was indeed her. "Mother!"

I ran the few steps towards the shelter of the doorstep, where she hurried to join me. I fumbled with the front door, opening it and hustling her through, before shutting it behind me to keep out the weather.

"Mother!" I hissed. "What on earth are you doing here? I mean, how..?" I broke off, lost for words.

"I was terribly worried about you when I received your letter, Anne," she told me matter of factly. Perplexed, I gestured for her to climb the stairs, and we entered my hotel room.

"Why?" I asked, as we seated ourselves on the bed. "I wrote that letter to give you good news and tell you that I was happy. Not in trouble, engaged, for God's sake. Why on earth did you feel you had to come all the way out here?"

"Dear, this is so unlike you! I was worried that this man must have manipulated you in some way, to make you behave so out of character!"

"Christian would never do that," I told her, softening a little. "We're very happy together, mother, and the problem I wrote to you about- well, it doesn't even apply anymore. He's sold his book, we have money now!"

"Anne, look at this place! You are practically living in a brothel!" She said, looking around the room in distaste.

"This isn't a brothel, it's just a hotel! I've never been to a brothel before in my life!"

"Even so, it's not right for you to be living here."

"We'll find somewhere else to live soon! Look, Christian is wonderful. He'll be back soon and you can see for yourself- and fairly soon we are both going to come to England so I can show him to the whole family!"

"Your father will have something to say about it," she warned me soberly.

"I know. He'll just have to accept it, won't he?"

I was scared of showing disrespect for my father… he had always made it clear, even when I was little, that he was a powerful man who could make bad things happen if people didn't show him enough respect. I remember a colleague of his who had betrayed his trust once- my father had been so angry he had cut off all acquaintance with the unfortunate man, and refused to help him ever again. The colleague had apologised, afraid of losing business clients without my father's support, but my father had remained stubborn. The man ended up losing over half of his income and having to sell his family home, and still my father would not forgive him. Therefore, I found it difficult to insult my father on this occasion, despite my frustration with him. Besides, I had always been taught to respect my elders. Funny that it backfired- at that moment, the people I respected least were my parents, and the person I respected the most was Christian.

"You're really set on this, aren't you?" Mother asked me, looking straight at my eyes.

"I am," I told her firmly. "There is nothing you can say that will make me change my mind- just so you know that."

"Well. I suppose we'll have to meet him then." She knew when to admit defeat. We exchanged half a smile, before she said, "I always expected something like this of you."

I didn't have the faintest idea what she meant, but something told me the next few weeks were not going to be easy- at all.

So there's chapter 4- I hope you all liked it, please review now!