ALL I KNOW OF LOVE
Erik and Christine are the creation of Gaston Leroux; the reference to Persia and some of its customs are derived from Susan Kay's book, "Phantom". All other characters and the backdrop of the story are the creations and property of GerrysJackie.
Some places and all names are fictional.
PLAYERS:
Erik – Gerard Butler - Perfect
Christine – The face and coloring of Zooey Deschanel (Failure to Launch, Elf) – and the body of Marilyn Monroe, except 3 inches taller
Gustav - Billy Connelly – Because I really like him.
Patrick Connelly - Paul Bettany – (A Knights Tale, Firewall, A Beautiful Mind)
Pascal – Mel Gibson's looks (slightly older with graying hair) with the cunning and cruelty of J.R. Ewing from "Dallas".
Madam Marie Forsythe – Miranda Richardson
James Lumpkin (the butler) – Daniel Davis (the butler from the TV show "The Nanny")
Kamilla – Georgie Henley (Chronicles of Narnia)
Duke Sergei Beauvais – Derek Jacobi (Underworld:Evolution)
Kaveh Hushmand - Oded Fehr (The Mummy, The Mummy Returns) - Thank you Mlle.Fox, for suggesting this striking actor as a model for Kaveh.
Use your imagination on all others.
This story has taken a while to develop, but I hope it has been worth it. I have several chapters already written, but I am taking my time. There is humor, drama, and romance in this story, so I hope you will enjoy it.
This rendition of Erik is one of a man who has suffered greatly in his life, at the hands of just about everyone in his life, but his spirit is still intact. He is less self-loathing than others that I have written, but he is very much aware of his self-proclaimed faults. He is dangerous and ruthless, but has had enough of death and destruction. Women are still a mystery to him, and he needs a strong, independent woman who is his equal in every way.
This Christine is not a drop-dead gorgeous woman, but her beauty is less assuming and soft…Erik will see it.
I will try to update twice a week, depending on how quickly I write chapters. I don't anticipate this being a particularly long story, but we'll see.
Enjoy.
Thank you for all your comments and uplifting words. Thank you to my beta, Mlle.Fox - for her candor and suggestions - and especially for her time.
God bless you all.
CHAPTER 21
In reality, Sergei wasn't pacing the floors, he was sitting in the parlor listening to Giorgia and Kamilla play the piano and sing. It was quite entertaining, and it served to remind him of his grandchildren.
"They'll do that for hours if you keep encouraging them." Erik warned.
Sergei looked up to find him standing in the doorway observing his daughter and niece having the time of their lives. Giorgia was doing the singing, as she had only had two piano lessons to date and was not prepared to grace the public with her abilities.
Kamilla, an accomplished pianist at the age of eight, was completely overpowering Giorgia's soft, lilting voice; but no one seemed to care - they were completely content.
However, at the sound of her father's voice, Kamilla jumped from the piano bench and threw herself into his arms.
"Papa!"
Erik hugged her slim frame and then lifted her into his arms. She was going to be as petite as her mother had been; which made Erik thankful - she hardly resembled Pascal at all.
"Your playing was quite good sweetheart, just watch your trills - especially in the upper registers." He instructed.
She nodded her head and hugged his neck, accepting all the help he could give her.
"Papa, are you and mama leaving today?" Kamilla asked, poutingly.
Erik smiled and tweaked her chin, "Yes, we are going to be leaving in a few hours. Aunt Beth will be here with you."
"When will you be back?"
"Tomorrow night, I don't see us needing any more time than that."
She didn't like the idea, but she didn't fuss about it. She was just happy that her papa and mama seemed to be getting along splendidly.
Five hours later, Erik, Christine, Kaveh, and Sergei were on their way to a remote area nestled in the mountainous region of eastern France.
Sergei had commissioned his personal locomotive for the trip; knowing it would be faster and more comfortable than traveling on public transport. The journey would last a total of five hours, and they would arrive in the late afternoon.
"This is really quite extraordinary." Christine exclaimed to Sergei, admiring the luxury of the train and the smoothness of the ride.
He smiled, accepting her compliment, "Thank you my dear."
Erik had drifted to sleep in the seat beside her and she could not resist reaching over and caressing his cheek, just to be assured that he was real.
"It does my heart good to see the love you have for him - it has been too long in coming."
Christine smiled and briefly raised her eyes to his.
"I think it was God's plan for you two to wed – He just used me as the vessel to make it happen." Sergei acknowledged, "You are the perfect woman for him."
"He is dear to you, isn't he?" Christine asked, seeing the fondness in his eyes and hearing it in his voice.
Sergei nodded and smiled brightly, "Yes, he is the son I never had."
"Do you have any children of your own?"
"Oh yes, a daughter….she is married and I have grandchildren." Sergei stated, "My wife had serious problems bringing our daughter into the world – I thought it best not to risk another child."
Christine empathized with him, and could see the desire he had once had for a son to carry on his title.
"I miss her terribly." Sergei murmured. "I should have been over this a long time ago."
"No one ever fully recovers from the loss of a loved one, your grace…her memory will always live on."
Sergei smiled at her words, "I must say, my dear, you are everything I knew you would be…I know your father – or at least I know of him."
"Really?"
Her arched brows and inquisitive eyes were the exact image of Gustav. Sergei nodded his agreement and continued to smile.
"He is one of the most respectable men I have ever had the privilege of doing business with; although I doubt he remembers much about me."
Christine giggled, "That's true; he is horrible with faces. He probably forgets what he looks like the minute he steps away from the mirror."
The conversation lulled, and the next thing she knew, Christine was waking up to the sound of a train whistle as they pulled to a stop in a small community called Nouri.
Erik sat bolt upright when the whistle ended; his hair touseled and his eyes still blurred with the touch of sleep. He took a minute to acquaint himself with his surroundings and then smiled at his wife.
"Pardon me for being completely rude, I apparently needed the rest." He stated with a yawn and a stretch.
"I can't imagine why, you are still newlyweds, are you not?" Sergei said with a teasing smile.
If possible, Erik actually appeared to blush at that comment and glanced at Christine's smiling features. He reached over and took her hand as the train completed its stop.
They exited the car and watched as their luggage was loaded onto the carriage.
The far mountains were capped with the white tips of a late snow and the air had a slight chill as the breeze swept down upon them.
"It's beautiful!" Christine exclaimed, breathing in the crisp, mountain air.
Erik looked around with shadowed concern in his eyes. His features had dropped shortly after stepping off the train. He had yet to say anything, but remained quiet and aloof.
Christine went to him and slipped her hand into his, drawing his attention to her.
"Are you alright?"
He gave a crooked smirk, but the tenseness did not leave his eyes.
"Fine…" he uttered, a bit more tersely than he had intended.
Christine creased her brow and continued to stare at him. Her stare drew his eyes back to hers and he noted the concern.
"I'm fine...really." He pulled her hand to his lips for a tender kiss.
Sergei and Kaveh approached, having noticed the rigid stance of Erik's shoulders and the way Christine looked at him.
"What is it?" Kaveh asked.
Erik seemed hesitant to answer and refused to make eye contact with anyone.
"Erik?" Kaveh warned. "What is bothering you?"
Erik finally closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
"Can I have no secrets?" He exclaimed. " It's just a feeling - but I think I know this place." His voice was low and strained, but the trepidation in his words was palpable.
"You were here…as a child?" Christine asked.
Erik could only assume that to be the answer. There was so much around him that seemed familiar – even the smell of the mountain air.
"After a long journey – that's how I got here…the images are so vague."
Everyone stood deathly still as Erik took in his surroundings. His eyes closed as distant, long suppressed memories floated to the surface of his mind.
He was completely unaware of the people at the small train depot whispering and averting their eyes, but Christine was not.
A middle-aged couple passed him with awkward stares and Christine heard the man whisper in an almost inaudible pitch, "Gypsies…why do we have to put up with their kind around here…after all these years."
When Christine whirled around to catch the eye of the old man, he blushed and looked away…but Christine had heard his words – very clearly.
She stared him down with angry eyes, daring him to utter one more word.
Sergei put a calming hand to Erik's rigid shoulder, interrupting his trance, "There is something I need to tell you...you are part gypsy, Erik….your mother…"
Erik didn't look at Sergei; but kept his eyes fixed on the horizen. The words Sergie spoke found a home in his heart and Erik experienced a peace of mind he had never known.
It explained a great deal, really; the way his skin would remain dark, even after months of being imprisoned underground in Persia, his raven hair and long dark lashes; he was certain there were more attributes he acquired from them as well. He should have figured it out long ago.
No wonder his father always said there was witches blood in him…his mother's people…no – his people, were often regarded as witches because of their practices.
Knowing there was gypsy blood in him made his abuse at their hands even harder to understand; he was one of them.
"Come." Sergei instructed, guiding them through the curious onlookers and into a waiting carriage.
"Why would my own people torture me as they did?" Erik asked as they rode the carriage toward his past.
"There are different camps, Erik…gypsies are nomadic and at war with one another – it is quite possible that the camp you were imprisoned by was at war with the camp you were born into."
"How do you know these things?" Erik asked.
"Many hours of study. My men have spent years searching for any information that I could pass on to you...I drank in the information they obtained so that I could properly relay it to you."
Erik nodded, allowing other memories to seep through. He seemed to remember the fierce battles he witnessed while caged and confined.
There had been a few rare moments in his young life that had been peaceful, but they were rare indeed. He remembered that they always locked him in his cage, covered it with black blankets, and hid it in the trees – never wanting him found.
She had looked for him…his mother and her people – that is why they hid him.
The knowledge that she had looked for him relieved the heaviness in his heart that had been there for many years; this was a journey that Erik wished could have been made two decades ago.
The carriage came to an easy stop and Sergei gave Erik one more affirming look before he opened the door to allow their exit.
"Are you ready, Erik?" he asked softly.
Erik nodded, "As ready as I'll ever be."
The carriage door shut behind him and Erik felt frozen to the ground. He was once again a scrawny, scarred boy with little hope in the world and no friends.
His reservations were put to rest, when a woman in her mid fifties came toward them. She was clearly NOT a gypsy, with her faded blond hair and pale complexion; but her eyes found Erik, and her hand flew to her mouth as tears flowed down her face.
She stopped directly in front of him and then smiled into his striking eyes, "My lord, it is an honor to finally meet you…please follow me, Manuela has been anxiously awaiting your arrival."
Erik repeated the name in his head, and let it roll off his tongue. He felt an odd pressure in his chest at the sound of the name - the name of his grandmother.
TBC