Thank you so much to my reviewers, I hope you like this chapter too!
Summary of chapter- Anne's family. Bitches!
Rating- PG
Warning- Nada.
Disclaimer- I own nothing but the clothes on my back. And my front.
Chapter 5
We were sitting in my father's Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost, his pride and joy for the past six months. Cars were relatively new to England and they were unreliable, slow, clumsy machines. This one was no exception. Chugging out smoke as we drove, the loud banging noises broke the silence, filling our tense environment with welcome cacophony.
Christian had been delighted to meet my mother, and, as they shook hands, made eager promises to make me happy and serve me well. She had listened sombrely and accepted him with a gracious incline of her head. 'Cold fish' did not do her attitude justice. With a superior tilt of her chin and an icy tone to her voice she had answered his questions, responded to his compliments and acknowledged his vows. We had taken a cruise liner back to Dover, the duration of which my mother had barely spoken a word to my fiancé. We were collected from the port by my father and his driver. I was afraid to even look at my father, frightened of how he would view me, and my fears were not for nothing. His eyes showed anger as he regarded me, and there was no warmth in voice as he greeted me. During the long, tedious ride to my parents' London townhouse, they had sat between Christian and me, their eyes focusing on the back of the driver's head, their expressions neutral.
After what seemed like a lifetime we arrived at the house. It was classic Victorian, built around fifty years before, with a solid stature and cheerful, red brick exterior. My older sister, Eleanor, and I had loved living there as children. We were through the front door, where the driver was told where to put the luggage.
"Christian's things will go in the second guest room… and Anne's may go in her own room please, Portson."
"Very good, ma'am."
I listened to the brief exchange with disbelief and anger. Why were Christian and I to be separated, when Robert and I were at perfect liberty to share our room in Paris? And why was Christian to sleep in the second best bedroom? I voiced my feelings of injustice, but my mother simply dismissed them.
"Now, now, dear, we are having guests up tomorrow, and this way it just makes more sense. Eleanor may share your bedroom, while your grandparents take the first guest room and the other guests, the other bedrooms." I was about to point out that it actually made no sense at all, but a soothing look from Christian silenced me. "Now- supper! I know you must miss good food, so I've had all your favourite dishes prepared."
I let the snide comment pass, and we were ushered through to the dining hall. The cook had prepared pheasant stuffed with truffles, toad in the hole, crimped skate and potatoes, with a molded fruit jelly for dessert. Far too much for four people, and I did not know what my parents were trying to prove. Also ignoring my parents' jibe, Christian sat down and began to compliment the food; how wonderful it looked, how delicious it smelled, what an efficient house they must keep to be able to order food like this made. I was touched at how much he was trying.
Supper was the same uncomfortable affair as the car ride had been. My father asked Christian half-heartedly about his work, to which he gave long, enthusiastic answers which nobody listened to. Nobody ate much, and we were early to bed, glad to leave each other's company. After about an hour, I tiptoed across the hall to the second guest room. Christian was reading when I opened the door quietly and entered.
"Something wrong?" He asked in surprise.
"Yes. I can't sleep. I miss you. Can I stay here?"
"It's your house!" He laughed as I came over to sit beside him. Although the furniture and decoration of the room was far better quality than our abode in Paris, it held no comfort for me.
The next morning, I was awoken by one of the maids placing a jug of hot water on the nightstand.
"Sorry, miss," she whispered as I sat up. "Only you weren't in your room, so I thought you be in 'ere and I was just-"
"It's fine. Thank you. Have my mother and father woken yet?"
"They're waitin' downstairs for you, miss."
"Thank you."
I woke Christian, and we dressed in a hurry to join my parents for breakfast. As we sat down, my mother leant forward and informed me of a party she was throwing later that day in celebration of our engagement.
"Just some family members, dear, and a few close friends for a light lunch. Nothing fancy. But you will have to put something else on; we can't parade you round in that old dress!" She twinkled in false good humour at my scruffy garment. I had almost forgotten I had a whole wardrobe full of clothes. "How about that black net reception gown I bought you last year?"
"Very well."
About three hours later, we were attired in our uncomfortably formal clothes. Christian was wearing a day suit borrowed from my father (it was a little big for him) and I was wearing a black, high necked, knotted net dress. It was lovely, and for a few moments I felt happy about being at home, in my beautiful house with my beautiful clothes. I smiled, putting my arm around my fiancé's waist as the guests began to arrive. The feeling did not last long. Quite soon, my mother came to 'whisk us away' to talk to one of her closest friends, Mrs Kathryn Saunders.
"Anne, so lovely to see you again! And in such happy circumstances, I do wish you every happiness," she told me warmly, taking my hand.
"Thank you, Mrs Saunders. And this is my fiancé, Christian." Conversation paused as the two shook hands.
"You know," my mother interjected slyly, "Kathryn's daughter is engaged to be married to a doctor."
"Really?" I feigned interest. "Well, congratulations to her."
"Thank you, dear. And what is it that you do, Christian?"
"I'm a writer."
"Indeed?" Kathryn asked, eagerly. "Have you written anything I would know?"
"Yes, he wrote Spectacular, Spectacular!" I told her, pleased that the conversation was not going the way my mother wanted it.
"Really? That wonderful Indian play? How fabulous, my husband and I saw it only a few months ago and we adored it!"
"Now prostitutes and impoverished musical tramps are 'fabulous'?" My mother 'joked'.
"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it, Mrs Saunders. If you're interested, my next book is about to be published," Christian said, ignoring my mother.
"Well I shall certainly look out for it. It was nice to meet you, Christian."
And off she walked. Christian and I exchanged a smile, but my mother pretended not to notice. Instead, she intercepted my sister's husband, William, and asked him to 'be a dear and fetch Eleanor'. While we waited she regarded us silently, challenging us to call her on what she was doing. After a short time, William returned with my sister, whom I embraced happily. We had not seen each other in so long! After a few minutes of pleasant banter, Eleanor asked if she could have a word with me alone. Christian took the hint and excused himself, while my sister took me into a corner.
"Are you really set on marrying this man?" She asked me in a tone that suggested she was addressing a child.
"It would appear so," I replied cheerfully. "But evidently you have some argument with him."
"It's not that I have anything against him, Anne… he seems like a pleasant and charming boy. It's his status I'm concerned about." I gave a sigh. Would I have to listen to this again? "He's a writer, and not very well known. Yes, there's this play he's written, but that was a long time ago. In the letter you wrote to Mother you said you could not even pay for the trip to England, and she and I were rightfully worried. The whole point of marriage is that your parents stop providing for you and your husband does instead. If you have to ask your family for help, what future is there for you?"
"Well, I was under the impression that one gets married because they are in love. How I have been mislead," I droned sarcastically.
"My dear Anne," she answered. "You are still young. When you get to my age you'll understand the ways of the world so much better. Right now, you're confused-"
"You're only three years older than me!" I laughed. "Look. You can try and talk me out of this marriage until you're blue in the face; it's not going to make any difference."
With that, I turned back to the party. As soon as I had found Christian again, my mother found me again. I exhaled with frustration as she told me she had somebody else for us to talk to, and proceeded to lead us to an elderly-looking couple.
"Surely you remember the Grovetons, dear? They used to live close by."
"Of course," I lied, forcing a smile for the sharp nosed woman and her stout husband. "How do you do?"
"Very well," she answered in the most nasal-sounding voice I had ever heard, while her husband regarded me with his small eyes. "The country air agrees with me."
"Mr. And Mrs. Groveton live in Dorset now," mother reminded me.
"It's a nice little town," the latter told me. I nodded, wondering if I could escape. "And what is your name, sir?"
"Christian. I'm Anne's fiancé, madam."
"Mrs Groveton, please," she objected. I beckoned Christian to bend down, so I could whisper in his ear.
"I think she was born Mrs. Groveton," I muttered to him. "Her husband probably has to call her that."
"What are you two smirking about?" My mother scolded us. "Anne and Christian live in Paris, Mrs. Groveton. In a hotel."
"A hotel?"
"We don't live there, we're just staying there!" I protested. "Until we buy a house. Which shouldn't be too long."
"Indeed? Paris is a nice little town; I visited it quite some time ago. A hotel, you say? How peculiar."
"Christian is a writer," mother told her, rolling her eyes, as if inviting her to disapprove. Mrs. Groveton accepted the invitation gladly.
"Oh, dear. What an unhealthy situation to marry into, my dear," she admonished me. "What if you never have money? Besides, I do not care for literature, it enforces silly ideas." As I was about to reply, we heard from her husband for the first time.
""I'm just going over to talk to the Johnsons," he told his wife. "See you in a minute, Mrs. Groveton."
At that, Christian and I could not control our laughter. As the pompous man left our company, his wife and my mother stared at the pair of us, bent at the middle with mirth.
"Whatever has gotten into you?" Mother asked me incredulously.
Dinner was served at six o' clock, and the dining room was filled with dignified talking. Gentlemen conversed about business, while ladies chatted about clothes, children and men. Christian and I were separated, placed between old friends of the family, to whom we did not speak. Despite being a few seats apart, we spent the meal exchanging smiles. My mother tried to engage me in conversation with a painter, but it was fairly one-sided. The man seemed to have more interest in steering the topic around to pain and suffering, and I was not in the mood. His answers to my questions about where he lived showed his annoyance.
We had planned to stay three more days, but we had finished packing by the following morning. I had introduced Christian to my family and now we were ready to go home. I packed an extra trunk with some of my belongings, and bad a lukewarm farewell to my mother and sister. They had accepted my pitiful excuses to leave without argument; they too knew the visit had been a disaster. My father travelled to the port with us in the same car in which we had come. We were able to catch an earlier ferry back to Calais.
After saying the briefest of goodbyes to my father, we boarded the ship and prepared for the journey. It was a difficult one and we were both sick from the rocking of the boat. I felt depressed about the outcome of our trip, and the stormy-grey colour of the sea reflected my mood.
Our hotel room seemed empty as we arrived back. After paying our driver and dragging the luggage upstairs, Christian put his arm around me and asked me what I wanted to do next.
"I want to get married," I replied.
Five days later we made the short journey to a chapel close to the Pont Neuf. We emerged as a married couple. We had had to pay the vicar extra to hold the ceremony at such short notice, but it was worth it. We did not need family there to spoil our day for us. Regular church goers sufficed as witnesses, and we only needed cheap rings.
The following morning, we received a letter from my mother, telling us that she had started to make arrangements for our wedding.
You know where the review button is! (Thankee)
AN- for those who don't know, toad in the hole is a dish consisting of sausages baked into batter.
The dress Anne wears is real and from I want it.
