AN: Wrote this quickly after spending three days at the airport so I'm exhausted, but I wanted to get an update posted soon. Some of you have started to get nervous about Peter and Lydia and where exactly Charlotte fits in . . . all I can say is, the course of true love never did run smooth. The last sentence should begin to set your hearts at ease . . . or actually maybe it'll just make you more concerned, haha.
Anyways, classes and job hunting start for me tomorrow, so updates on all my stories will probably slow a bit for the next week or two, and I'll certainly be spending my time writing whichever stories it seems people want the most, so reviewreviewreview if you want to see this updated. :)
Chapter Seven
"Here, Lu, try . . . this," Charlie encouraged, tilting the beret to the side and grinning at the round face beneath it.
"A chignon," Lydia suggested, which Charlotte liked the sound of. She spun Lucy around and quickly pulled her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, slightly to the opposite side. Lucy beamed at herself in the mirror and traced the brim of the hat Charlie was letting her borrow with her fingers.
"Look at you, little French girl," Susan teased, glancing over as she pulled her sweater on. Not that she had anything against Lydia, but she was beginning to like her more thanks to moments like these. That morning, she had been cheerful and friendly while the rest of the Pevensies struggled to paste on faces for church, and she had called the bakesale "absolutely delightful," helping Mrs. Pevensie man the table with Lucy while Peter, Susan, and Edmund showed Charlotte around the old church. It was probably even better that Lucy had been the one to stay behind, because Lucy seemed to be the one that disliked her the most. But if Susan's guess as to Peter's errand was correct, they had all better learn to love her quickly, because sooner rather than later she would be part of the family, it seemed.
Charlotte and Lydia were trying to teach Lucy to say, "Mon nom est Lucy. Je suis belle." She kept mixing the syllables up, though, the foreign words falling awkwardly from her mouth. Susan smiled at Charlotte, glad to see that the minor catastrophe of the afternoon hadn't affected her in the long run. Honestly, what had Peter been thinking? The more Susan was liking Lydia, the less she was liking her own brother.
Edmund had been explaining the architecture to Charlotte, something neither Susan nor Peter cared about in the least. Charlie seemed generally interested, staring up at the ceiling of the knave or at the pretty stained glass windows as Edmund rattled off designs and replacement details. About the things he was interested in, such as architecture, Edmund knew a lot, and Charlie seemed a willing ear.
Peter and Susan had wandered up towards the pulpit, and had only just reached the first pew when Peter suddenly asked, "Susan, what do you know about Charlotte's old life?"
"What old life?"
"You know, her life before you met her in Paris. I mean, what happened with her fiancé? What was her life like in Hollywood? Where has her family been in all—"
"Peter!" Susan had gasped, giving him a stern glare. "What business is it of yours?"
Clenching his jaw defensively, Peter had retorted, "Seeing as she's in our house, I would say it is some of my business."
"You're asking me questions about Charlie's private life. That's crossing the line. I'm not going to stand here and fill you in on the details—"
"So you know the details? Of her life I mean?" he pressed, and looked somewhat relieved by this.
She faltered, "Some of them. Enough. I don't understand what your point is."
"I've heard some things --"
"What sort of things?"
"Bad things, about Charlotte. Perhaps it's just rumors, but some of the things . . . some things are fitting together to make it seem like maybe the rumors are right. You said her fiance's name was Jack, and then the director's name was Jonathan . . ."
"Is there something you need to ask me, Peter?" Charlotte had suddenly asked, her and Edmund having approached without either of them noticing. The look on her face broke Susan's heart. She looked devastated. Her eyes were soft in her flushed face, the corners of her pink lips downturned as she glanced slowly between the siblings. Beside her, Ed looked simply confused and perhaps slightly annoyed with Peter.
Fortunately, Peter had the good sense to shut up. He'd stammered out that no, there wasn't anything he needed to ask her, shoved his hands into his pockets, and quickly walked away to find Lydia. Susan had quickly enveloped Charlie in a hug, despite her usual discomfort with physical affection in general. That was one of the many changes Charlotte had brought about in her; Susan had an easier time hugging without feeling uncomfortable, and she couldn't help but feel it was improving her relationships with Lucy and her mum.
"Why was he asking that?" Charlotte had asked, her voice small in the vastness of the empty church. "What does my fiancé matter to him? Why would he ask that?"
Ed had patted Charlotte's arm in a display of compassion that made Susan proud for her younger brother as he tried to comfort her, "Don't worry about him, Charlie. He's a know-it-all and doesn't know when to stop. It doesn't matter."
Susan had seen her sad before – actually, she had seen her devastated when news of the death of her her father had come so shortly after the death of her brother. Charlotte had been crippled with grief. This sadness was different; she looked hurt, offended, betrayed. Susan wanted to wring Peter's neck, but settled for shooting him death glares for the rest of the afternoon. He wisely kept his distance, hovering over Lydia's shoulder so that it looked like he was using her for a shield. By the time they had all rejoined, Charlotte had wiped the frown off her face, and so Lydia and Lucy remained blissfully unaware of the monster Peter had been to their guest.
Now, watching Charlotte pin her own hat on, Susan reflected on what she knew in the hopes of figuring how why Peter would care to ask such invasive questions. Edmund was right that Peter liked to know everything, but never before had he so flagrantly disregarded common decency. Susan had already told him it was none of his business, and still he had pushed it!
Charlotte was born and raised in Oklahoma. Because of the American Depression, most of her family had moved to California, where Charlie sang in a saloon until some talent agent from Hollywood discovered her and began putting her in films. She wound up falling in love with Jack –perhaps he was the director, or another actor, or no one at all; Susan had never thought it mattered—and together they moved to Paris where Charlie could pursue her art degree. She wasn't clear whether they had arrived in Paris before or after Charlie decided she wanted to try art, but it really didn't matter. Charlotte had discovered Jack was with other women while she was in class; it had come to a head when he had left her at a nightclub to go home with another woman and no money for a cab. She had called the engagement off and moved into the apartment that had then burned down, using money her brother had sent her from home. Apparently, Jack had been using Charlotte's money to entertain the other women, leaving her utterly broke.
All of this Charlie had told Susan, frequently after one too many drinks. It didn't seem to be something she wished to talk about at all, and only the tongue-loosening effect of alcohol had gotten her to share even these details. What was so mysterious about any of it? Why was Peter being a nuisance? First and foremost, there was the question of why he cared about Charlotte's past in the first place, but furthermore, what made him think he had the right to press Susan for information? He had less right to ask Charlie questions than Lucy or Edmund did, and even Lucy seemed to have picked up on the fact that Charlotte didn't want to talk about her Hollywood days. From what Susan had gathered, it was an unending stream of shallow people using each other for glamour and money. Charlie had gladly turned her back on it, and especially now that she had been saved from the mixture of Paris and depression, was the sweet and friendly girl offering her arm to Susan as they began the walk to church for the Christmas concert.
Honestly, she really was going to throttle Peter.
"Susan, you've been scowling all afternoon," Charlie whispered, poking Susan in the cheek with a gloved finger. "Lighten up – we're going to a Christmas concert."
"I'm sorry."
"You're still angry with Peter?"
"Yes. He has no right to—"
Charlotte shrugged, "I'm used to it. You're the first person I've met who hasn't tried to dredge up awful memories. Well, Ed doesn't seem to care much, either."
"No, Ed's just thrilled you'll listen to his architecture babble," Susan laughed. She shook her head, "But still. That doesn't excuse Peter. You may have had to deal with it before, but you shouldn't have nosy people prying into your life in our household. I don't know why he even thinks he has the right to question—"
"I stopped trying to figure out people's motives long ago," Charlotte sighed. "But please don't let this ruin Christmas. If Peter wants to ask me something, he can. Otherwise, let's forget it happened and enjoy the music." Susan could see Charlie hadn't forgotten it; her eyes had taken on the betrayed look again, but she wasn't going to push it when her friend was being so charitable and forgiving. It only made her even angrier at her brother for being so rude to such a wonderful girl.
Charlotte slipped her hand into Susan's as they reached the church and gave it a squeeze; really, Charlotte was as physically affection as Susan was not. The wonder on her face was captivating as she gazed up at the decorated church in the dark of night. The decorations hadn't changed much since the afternoon, except that now candles flickered in all the stained glass windows and along the far wall of the church. Garlands draped along the staircase in the front, and bright red bows had been stuck to the ends of the pews, and everyone was grinning and chatting as proud parents and grandparents and community members slid into their seats. The Pevensies, Charlie, and Lydia were greeted by many of the parents of Mrs. Pevensie's students, and Susan noted proudly that everyone seem as captivated by Charlotte as she was by the Christmas decorations. Her smile was contagious, much more so than Lydia's, and that made Susan competitively proud.
Even Peter grinned affectionately at Charlie as she gasped, "My, you and I could sit in that wreath, Lucy!" Good; perhaps that meant Peter was getting past his rudeness and would treat Charlotte with the respect she deserved. Charlotte glanced away from the wreath, saw Peter's smile, and turned quickly away. Susan didn't notice this, but Lucy did, and it made the youngest Pevensie curious.
Charlie's grin continued, or perhaps intensified, once they had slid into a pew near the front and the singers began. She sat between Mrs. Pevensie and Susan and listened politely as Mrs. Pevensie pointed out her students and told inane anecdotes about them. Clearly she loved her work, and though really Charlie wasn't interested, she enjoyed being talked to, and enjoyed the pride evident on Mrs. Pevensie's face.
Once upon a time, she had sung in Christmas concerts, too. Charlie wondered if it was a story that Lucy would enjoy hearing, but there wasn't really a story. Just as a little girl, she had frequently been dressed in a white sheet with gauzy wings and a wooden halo with all the other farm kids, and the families had come from homesteads for miles around to watch dirty little children put together a haphazard production. They hadn't sounded good or looked good, but it was one of the few times everyone could stop thinking about the drought and the economy and the winds and sun and the dropping price of cotton. Really, it was sort of depressing to think about . . .
The choir concert held Charlotte entranced, and she was genuinely disappointed when the last song was sung, the last prayer recited, and everyone told to go safely into the night.
"Oh, that was charming," Lydia grinned, slipping her arm into Peter's. "So delightful, and so . . . English." Lucy sent Charlotte a confused stare but Charlie didn't really see what was so English about a Christmas choir concert.
They stopped at the doors of the church to tighten coats and scarves for the walk home – even with the cold, they were close enough to church that Mr. Pevensie insisted they walk, and Charlotte liked it, liked the way a few snowflakes managed to sneak out of the clouds and tumble into her outstretched hand. Mr. Pevensie was explaining a Christmas pageant from his childhood ("what year was that again, Dad?" Edmund snickered), and they had just begun to take a few steps towards home when someone inside suddenly called out,
"Charlotte!"
Her name wasn't uncommon, but still Charlotte hesitated and frowned; Susan remembered her saying how much she disliked being recognized from the movies, though at least it happened less in Europe than in America.
She began walking again, but the male voice called again, "Charlotte, wait! I know you hear me!"
With a sigh, Charlotte turned to make absolute sure the voice wasn't aimed at her, then suddenly gasped, "Lesley Stevens!" Suddenly Susan was alone on the sidewalk as Charlotte launched herself forward and threw her arms around the neck of the man. He spun her around in the air once before setting her carefully back down.
This time Susan gaped alongside Lucy, though, because while Charlotte's film career was a mystery to them, they certainly knew who Lesley Stevens was. A Scottish actor, he'd made a handful of movies that had all gone over very well in England. In fact, Susan had taken Lucy to see one in the cinema shortly before leaving for Paris, as a sort of goodbye outing for the two of them.
Lucy suddenly sighed, "I think I'm in love . . ." which made Susan laugh but not pull her eyes away.
In person, Lesley was even more beautiful than the camera gave him credit for. Dark eyes, thick dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a grin that seemed to melt the snow around where he and Charlotte stood, still holding hands and quickly figuring out just how they happened to run into each other. Wasn't he supposed to be filming in California? No, he had met up with his parents in London where his sister lived with her husband because she was going to have a baby soon, the first grandchild. Wasn't she supposed to be in Paris?
"Oh, no!" Charlie grinned, suddenly remembering her manners. "I came to spend the holidays with my dearest friend Susan and her family." She tugged him over and apologized, "I'm so sorry, I was too excited to remember . . . this is Lesley Stevens, a good old friend. Lesley, this is Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie and that's Lucy, Susan, Edmund, and Peter, and Peter's sweetheart Lydia." Lydia, clearly as smitten as Lucy and Susan, had the grace to blush and loop her arm back through Peter's. Mr. Pevensie shook Lesley's hand, and then Peter decided he needed to do the same, giving Lesley's hand a firm jolt. Edmund uncomfortably accepted the hand Lesley held out to him, not seeing what the big deal was, while the girls just blushed and smiled.
"It's a pleasure to meet you all," he insisted, his accent dancing around their ears. "I'm glad to hear Charlotte has made such good friends in my absence. Someone needed to keep her smiling and honestly, Lottie, you look lovely. Even lovelier than I remembered." Lottie. She had always been Charlotte or Charlie to the Pevensies, and so to hear her called "Lottie" by this famous Scottish actor was beyond strange.
She beamed and blushed at his praise, then insisted, "Oh, I don't want to keep everyone standing in the snow, but it's so good to see you—"
"Yes, please, you really must come to dinner with my parents and I sometime soon, if you don't mind letting her go for just a short time," he suddenly turned on Susan.
She, of course, had no defense against the assault of such a warm smile and could only stammer, "Oh! Of course! No, that would be fine, I'm sure she – that's very kind of you."
He turned his attention back to Charlotte, "I'm staying at the Savoy. Ring me and I'll clear my schedule for whatever is best for you. Mum and Dad will be so excited to meet you." He gave her another kiss on the cheek, nodded to the Pevensies, and then bustled back into the church.
"I didn't know you knew Lesley Stevens!" Susan gasped after a moment of stunned silence.
Charlotte was the first to begin walking again, reclaiming Susan's arm as she explained, "Yes, he was my first friend when I started acting. He was the lead in the first film I made. I only had a small part, but he was very kind and helpful. I really had missed him terribly . . . it's a Christmas miracle that we've run into each other again!"
Lucy, still in an adolescent swoon, sighed, "Is he too old for me, Charlie?" Charlotte laughed and took Lucy's hand as well, all the sadness gone from her eyes as they stomped home through the snow.
Peter waited an hour by the fire that night before, exhausted by events of the day, he gave up and went to bed.