Disclaimer: I did not write the Phantom of Opera (thankfully, or I would be dead now, ha ha) or the musical. I do not claim any ownership of the characters from said book and adaptations. I only own this original side plot and any characters I have taken the liberty to add.
Summary: When still a young man Philippe de Changy's life changes forever. After the deaths of both parents, the once carefree Philippe must fill his father's shoes as Comte and take responsibility for his baby brother and a girl-child of mysterious origins...
Chapter One:
Philippe in Paris
When he was still a young man of five-and-twenty, Philippe de Changy's life unexpectedly changed for good. His mother had recently died in the childbed. Philippe needed to escape the family estate's now sullen atmosphere that steadily darkened as his bereft father raged one moment and wept the next. The Comte adamantly ignored his newborn son, apparently blaming the child for the death of his beloved Comtess. Philippe's two sisters dotted on up their baby brother through their grief. They seemed to be comforted by taking on the role left empty by their mother. Philippe and his father had always had a delicate, begrudging respect for one another, but now Philippe could not stand breathing the same air as the Comte. Determined not to feel anger at his new brother the way that his father did, Philippe decided that he needed time away from his family to lick his own wounds.
The loss of his mother had left a painful, gaping hole in his heart, but Philippe was not the sort of man who would mope and wallow about in self-pity. He needed action, distraction. What better place was there in France for finding diversions but Paris itself? Philippe moved into the family's fashionable row house and spent several weeks reacquainting himself with the joys of urban life as nobility: attending operas, dancing with lovely young ladies at balls, romancing pretty barmaids in the pubs, eating the best of food and sipping the best of wine at Paris' most illustrious restaurants, and strolling in the parks and city streets with his old cronies from the Universite´. Months flew by, and though time and good company did help a little to ease the worst of his pain, still there lingered what now seemed a permanent chasm in his soul that stubbornly refused to be completely ignored despite all of his best efforts.
One evening, while walking to meet some of the fellows at a bar not to far from his row house, Philippe bumped quite by chance into a tall, portly man looking very dignified in the uniform of the Paris police. When they each stopped to apologize for the minor collision, the policeman took one look at Philippe and clapped him heartily on the back, chuckling gleefully.
"Well now, if it isn't Monsieur Philippe de Changy. Where have you been, you young scoundrel!"
Philippe studied the man's grinning features for a moment before delighted recognition finally struck him all at once, causing him to grab both of the man's hands and shake them vigorously.
"Could it truly be? Monsieur Honore´ d'Chevalier! Why, I hardly recognized you in that uniform! I don't recall that moustache either. You look so dignified! How are you?"
"Actually, it is Chief d'Chevalier now, at your service."
The two men greeted each other warmly. It had been several years since they had seen one another, Honore´ having been three years ahead of Philippe at the Universite´. They stood on the street, speaking for a few moments. Philippe invited his old school friend to join him for a round of drinks with the other chaps, but Honore´ needed to get home to his young wife and child before his wife got ready to whip him.
"She is the chief of the home, you see," Honore´ explained with a wink.
"Well, you had better not cross her then. Off with you!" The men guffawed and prepared to go their separate ways. Before the chief of police could take more than two steps, however, Philippe turned back to him and called for him to wait a moment. "Hold on, chief. We must get together to catch up more thoroughly. When and where shall we meet?"
"Oh, why don't you come by the station tomorrow? You can meet my officers. There is a fabulous café just down the street where we can loaf about. I know the owner of the establishment: a good man. Is midday a good time for you?"
"Noon tomorrow it is then, friend." They grinned as they shook hands again. Philippe released Honore´'s hand and playfully pushed him away. "Right, run on home to the missus before she has herself a fit, old man!" Philippe watched as the police chief did just that. As they parted they continued to shout good-natured barbs and goodnights.
Philippe whistled cheerfully on his way to the bar for drinks and good company. The barmaid as this particular establishment was especially pretty, not to mention rather charming. He was looking forward to an amusing evening and a much-needed one-on-one meeting tomorrow with a dear friend from the past. Philippe had no way of knowing just what awaited him that following day at his friend's office. He was completely unprepared for what he found there.
