AN: Thank you to all those who've reviewed! They are a great source of motivation :) Please, keep 'em coming!
According to his letter, Erik had traveled to Verona Italy, where he had secured a position as the new producer, and director for the city's famed opera house, Arena Di Verona. He had also purchased a small home a few blocks away from the opera house; Mme. Giry explained to Christine that Erik had a respectable fortune stashed away after years of collecting his 'salary' from the Populaire's managers.
Two days after the letter arrived, Christine boarded a train on the outskirts of Paris. The train would take her in to Milan, and from there, she would have to find a coach to take her the rest of the way into Verona. Mme. Giry and Meg escorted her to the station, and when the final boarding call was announced the Girys both embraced Christine in a tight hug and wished her luck on her journey.
As Christine pulled away, Mme. Giry handed her a velvet bag which contained roughly 200 francs, enough money, the madame hoped, for food and board, and if needed, enough to get back to Paris. Christine hugged and kissed her maman one last time and boarded the train.
Her journey aboard lasted a day, and Christine spent most of it asleep. It was the first time in five weeks that she was not plagued with nightmares.
She arrived in Milan feeling refreshed, and was fortunate to find a hansom soon after her arrival, to take her all the way to Verona. The coach journey to Verona was less enjoyable. On her last day in Paris Christine had decided that when she arrived in Verona, she would immediately seek employment with the Arena Di Verona.
When the coach lurched forward, officially beginning the final steps to Erik, a sudden onset of nausea swept over her; she spent the first part of the journey fidgeting and biting her nails.
Five hours in to the journey, after she'd eaten and relaxed, she spent the rest of her time leafing through the compositions that she had salvaged from the Populaire. Christine looked through each piece, taking the time to read and sing each note, picturing in her head Erik conducting a grand orchestra, and herself on stage, gracefully dancing only for him.
The last piece she came across was a single sheet that was both incomplete, and had the most revisions out of all the pieces. It was also the only piece that had a title: La berceuse de Christine (Christine's Lullaby). She read through the notes and sang each softly; it was perhaps the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. Christine's heart fluttered and her cheeks reddened, humbled by the captivating song written solely for her. She closed her eyes again and continued humming the notes of her lullaby. It was only a few moments after, that she found another peaceful slumber......
Knock Knock Knock
"Mam'selle?" Christine's eyes shot open and she took in her surroundings," Mam'selle, we've arrived in Verona." She looked over to the carriage door and greeted the driver, "Good morning, Lorenzo."
"Morning, Miss Daae. Where to from here?"
"To the Arena Dumos, please."
Lorenzo climbed back to the top of the carriage, picked up his reins and directed his horses to the opera house.
They approached the Arena Di Verona; a massive limestone amphitheatre, with an outer structure designed much like Rome's Colosseum. They passed the Arena and the carriage pulled up to the Dumos, a white marble building with a high staircase and roman columns, located at the rear of the Arena.
Christine exited the carriage and asked Lorenzo to please wait for her. She entered the building and was instructed by an usher to the managers offices.
Their door was ajar and Christine saw two men inside, one sitting at his desk chair, the second with his back to the door facing the first man.
Christine knocked gently on the door, "Pardon me, signors."
They turned and ushered her inside. Christine stepped in and opened her mouth to speak, but the younger of the two men spoke first, "It can't be Christine Daae?!." His voice surprised and his face smiling.
The older man turned then and took her in a second time, "Mademoiselle Christine Daae, Anthony, and yes, I believe she is. Please, come sit mam'selle." He walked over to the front of the desk and held out his hand, "I'm Joseph Castarinie, and this is my nephew, Anthony. It's a pleasure, Mam'selle." He kissed Christine's hand and held out a chair for her, and Christine sat down.
"You know me, signors?"
"How could we forget the famous Christine Daae, " said Anthony, "My uncle and I were fortunate enough to see your performance in Hannibal last spring. May I say what an absolute privilege it was to hear you sing. "
Christine blushed and looked down at her hands. "Thank you. It's very kind of you to remember me." She looked up and smiled back.
The older gentleman then spoke, "We could not forget such an angelic voice. How lucky the Populaire was to have you, and how fortunate for the musical community that you escaped the disaster... Such a tragedy. Now, what brings you to Verona?"
"I've come to sing." she said bluntly.
"All the way from Paris?" inquired Joseph.
"Until the Populaire is rebuilt, I'm in need of work. I thought the renowned Arena Di Verona would be perfect. That is, if you'll have me, signors."
"We'd be delighted, mam'selle, to grant you employment," said Joseph, "though, you should still give a formal audition to our producer. A Monsieur Erik Destler, from Paris actually. Are you familiar?"
"I cannot say for sure, signor." Christine said, doing her best to hold back the sudden flush in her face.
"No matter. I'm sure he will appreciate a singer of your caliber. Such a peculiar man, though, eh, Anthony?" he turned towards his nephew.
"Quite," replied Anthony, "but a musical genius, and a professional none the less."
"So, mam'selle, are you up for an audition first thing tomorrow? Lets say 8 am?" asked Joseph.
"Absolutely, signor. Thank you very much." Christine smiled and stood up.
"Very well," Joseph clapped his hands together and walked over to his desk located on the opposite side of the room, "do you require board while you're here?"
"Yes, actually. For the time being. I was hoping you could recommend a suitable hotel."
"A hotel won't be necessary. We have a very nice suite that is now vacant." He spoke while shuffling through his desk. He picked up a pamphlet and started leafing through it, "Ah! Here we are. The Prima Suite; room 45A. Our lead soprano Lenora Ferrario purchased her own home several weeks ago and is no longer in need of it. It's yours, if you'd like."
"I'd like that very much. Thank you both so much for your hospitality." Christine walked over to Anthony and then Joseph, and shook both their hands.
"It is our pleasure, mam'selle," replied Anthony, "have Antonio show you to the Prima Suite once you retrieve your luggage, and we shall both see you tomorrow."
"Thank you, again. I promise to work very hard for you both."
"And we look forward to your contributions to our theater, mam'selle," replied Joseph, "now, with it being Sunday, our rehearsal theater should be vacant. I believe Monsieur Destler has gone home for the day, and he usually leaves the piano on the stage, and the doors to the house open. You're free to use them."
Christine thanked them both again and she left the office and headed towards the exit. She met Lorenzo at the curb and he helped her carry her trunk into the Dumos. She paid him handsomely for his services and bid him farewell.
Antonio met her at the entrance and took her trunk from her and led her down a long candlelit hall to the Prima Suite.
"There is a bathing room just next door, and there is a kitchen down this same hall and to the right." He reached in to his pocket and pulled out a key attached to a lavender ribbon, "The key to the room, mam'selle. Now, should you lose this, the managers do have another." He bowed to her then and bid her good night and turned to leave.
"Thank you, Antonio." She too bid him goodnight and entered her room, closing the door behind her.
Her new quarters were far superior to her rooms in the Populaire. The room she now occupied contained a queen four poster bed with a white and lavender canopy, matching sheets and a matching area rug that covered the majority of the room's marble floor. There was also a white vanity with several drawers and a mirror, a tall white armoire, and a small white writing desk. There were several candles around the room and a gaslit lamp on the bedside table.
Christine unpacked her trunk, hanging her dresses and rehearsal attire in the armoire, along with her corsets and chemises. She placed her shoes and ballet slippers in the bottom drawers and stood her trunk up in the corner of the room.
The hallway clock then struck 6 p.m. and Christine suddenly desired a hot bath.
Christine exited the bathing room almost two hours later, and entered her room, changing in to her nightgown and terry robe. She lit the candles around her room and retrieved Erik's music from her knapsack and exited her room again and headed for the theater.
Like Joseph Castarinie had said, the house doors were open. Christine entered, and walked up to the stage. She sat at the piano and placed her lullaby at the top and positioned her hands on the keys.
She played through what little of the song existed. She repeated it four times, each time, singing each note, her voice ringing throughout the theater. When she finished, her eyes were full of tears. The lullaby was beautiful; more captivating then what she had heard in the carriage.
She wiped her eyes and went about practicing her scales. She rehearsed her aria from Hannibal twice, stopping several times to repeat certain measures where she had missed a note, or stumbled over a word. When the theater clock struck ten, Christine picked up Erik's music and headed back to her room.
Locking her door behind her, Christine blew out her candles, and snuggled underneath her covers, placing Erik's music on the nightstand.
She reached up and turned off her bedside light.
Closing her eyes, Christine tried to find sleep quickly, doing her best to not think about what would be happening in ten short hours: Erik's reaction to her sudden appearance in Verona.