Author's Notes: This chapter will shift point-of-views so hopefully it won't be confusing. Just a heads-up. Enjoy!
Chapter 8: Intertwined Fates
A strange man was announced that day at the de Chagny estate; an old man dressed in a long grey coat and toting a large blackened trunk. He was swept in as mysteriously and suddenly as the clear blue sky that winter day.
"Excuse me, Vicomte," announced the doorman at the entrance to Raoul's office, "But there is a man at the door with what he says to be an important delivery for both you and the lady of the house."
Raoul looked up from his rather messy pile of paper work and nodded, "I will be right down."
Meanwhile a maid likewise had called for Christine who was in the garden with Anne. The couple met in the vestibule and proceeded into the sitting room where the stranger was currently situated. Lost amid the splendors of the furnishing and looking very much out of place, the old man gawked foolishly at Raoul and Christine.
Raoul bowed politely," May we help you in anyway, Monsieur?"
"Yes, my name is Arthur Dupont and I believe I have found something which belongs to a Mlle Christine Daae. It was excavated with that name inscribed inside amid the remains of the old Opera Populaire earlier this week and I have taken the liberty to find and return it to the owner." He gestured to the trunk.
"Oh Raoul, could it be?" said Christine and tentatively she ventured forth and undid the broken clasp. "My God, I thought I had lost this forever! This is wonderful!" she exclaimed at seeing the contents inside. A bright smile at once lit up her face as Christine rushed to thank and embrace the surprised Arthur Dupont.
Though both Raoul and Christine offered monetary rewards for the lucky discovery of the priceless trunk, the kindly old man was equally insistent in accepting nothing but their gratitude in words. "It was fate that willed me to see it sticking up from the poor wreckage. And to see that lovely smile on Mlle Daae's face is thanks enough for me." He left soon afterwards but not before whispering with a merry twinkle in his eye, "Take care of her; you're a very lucky man," to the Vicomte.
Raoul simply smiled before the door closed, "Yes, I am truly blessed everyday."
Christine, meanwhile, had rushed back to the momentarily forgotten delivery and was now rummaging excitedly through it. "I feel like a little girl on Christmas day again, "she exclaimed to her fiancé, "This trunk is where I kept my childhood items, memories in and which I most grieved for among all of my possessions lost in the fire."
Raoul sat down beside her and amusedly examined the many strange knick-knacks Christine had hoarded over the years. There were some dried purple lilacs pressed between the yellowed pages of an old diary, a rag doll with one eye missing, and a ruffled white frock she had long overgrown, and a gold locket with a picture of "dear papa" inside which Christine with a tear in her eye immediately put round her neck…
"You still kept this for these years?" asked Raoul as he pulled from the store a torn, besmeared red scarf. Quite overcome, he reached down and planted a loving kiss on Christine's forehead.
"Of course, darling," she said tenderly caressing the bauble, "How could I not? For if not for this scarf, I perhaps might never have met you. Do you still remember, Raoul, that magical day at the seaside when we were children?"
Flashback
It had been a wet, foggy day at the beach and eight year old Christine had wanted to remain at home. But that was not the only reason for her mother had died around that time a year ago of consumption. And though she was young, in her mind Christine could still picture the sweet voice of her mother singing her to sleep each night.
Though Christine tried to remain cheerful for her father's sake, Gustav in his own grief could not be blind to the sufferings of his daughter. He was a good man with a passion even a genius for music, a man who admittedly tended to live in an idealistic world with his head in the clouds and as he grew older, sicker, and felt the mortality of man as one whose life was nearing an end was apt to do, Gustav believed that somehow he had failed Christine. She had been raised on dreams and fairy tales because that was all he could afford and a person cannot live on such things.
So that day despite her protests, he had insisted they take a walk along the beach together as a needed distraction.
"Yes papa," said Christine, bowing her head. Later hand-in-hand they had wandered across the smooth sand with the echo of ocean waves in their ears. Ever so often, the little girl had bent own to pick up a particularly pretty shell or pebble.
It was a windy day and ill luck would have it that a particular gust had torn the little red scarf from around Christine's neck and hurled it willy-nilly into the sea. She had been in utter despair for it had been one of the last gifts from her poor mother. Gustav who might have caught his death that day in going after the scarf was seriously considering doing so when from behind him, he heard a boyish yell.
"Don't worry, I can swim and will retrieve it!" shouted the voice, followed by a splash.
Both Gustav and Christine turned in horror to see a small boy flinging himself into the sea, fighting the waves, and heedless of their calls to draw back. Luckily he was a robust swimmer for it was only a second later when he stood dripping before them.
"Here, I believe this is yours," he said to Christine, handing the scarf back. He was a pale boy with amazingly clear blue eyes, flaxen colored hair, and an infectious smile.
"Thank-you, it is mine," she accepted the soaking thing and gave the boy her best curtsy.
"Young man, you need not have risked your life to save this scarf," sternly scolded Gustav. But his expression immediately softened with gratitude, "Would you tell us your name at least so my daughter and I can properly thank you?"
"My name is Raoul de Chagny, Monsieur," said the boy, "My family and I are staying over there for the summer." And he pointed to a spacious beach house that towered over a nearby cliff nearby.
"My name is Christine," prompted Christine, "You must come to our cottage and play with me sometimes. Mayn't he, papa?" She tugged softly at her father's coat.
Gustav, after the initial surprise of meeting such a small member of the de Chagny family all alone, smiled, "Of course, my dear." He turned to the boy and warmly shook his little hand, "Indeed, I would be honored, Raoul, for you have done so much for us already. My daughter here has been yearning for a playmate."
"I will come, sir," said the boy and smiled. Secretly, he already thought Christine more beautiful than an angel and was as much in love as a boy of nine years old could be.
"Don't forget," exclaimed Christine cheerily. "Here," and she gave Raoul the prettiest seashell she had found all morning, "A present from me because you rescued my scarf."
The two parties parted ways soon after Gustav made certain the boy got home safely and despite the sharp reprimand Raoul received from his worried mother for running off and then talking to strangers, despite being wet and cold and going without dessert as punishment, he considered that day one of the happiest and luckiest of his life.
End Flashback
"Of course, I remember," said Raoul turning to Christine with a mirthful smile, "Although it was wrong of me to have run off, I am truly thankful to have done so that particular day.
Christine both scolded and laughed," After we got home and papa told me who you really were, we both wondered why it was that you were all by yourself. But Raoul, this scarf would have been meaningless to me if you had drowned in attempting to save it."
"But I told you didn't I; that I could swim." Raoul replied teasingly. He stood up "Christine, this reminds me, I must show you something."
"What is it, Raoul?" asked Christine, curiously. She stood up and patted the dust from her dress.
"Follow me." he replied teasingly.
He led her to his office, extracted a small key, and with it opened a drawer in the old bureau at the far end of the room. As Christine peered closely, Raoul produced a medium-sized wooden box very ordinary in looks.
"I, too, save objects that were and still are precious to me," he said with a bright smile and opened the container. Inside were items only a boy could love: some glass marbles, a curious looking white stone, unfortunately a large dead beetle, colorful bottle caps, and finally lying amidst the pile of oddities was none other than the pink seashell she had given him that day.
"I have never forgotten," he said in a low voice laying the shell in Christine's hand, "And although you and your father moved away from the seaside several months later and somehow I thought I might never see you again, I have always kept this with me as a memorial of Little Lotte and of happier times."
She smiled with joy through lashes glistening with tears. "As long as we have each other, there will be countless happier times ahead." Standing on tip-toes, she placed her arms round Raoul's neck and kissed him sweetly. "We will continue to make memories such as these."
Erik smiled. The music, he could fell it flowing through him, flawless and pure as the air he breathed. Each note that flew from his fingers upon the ivory keys was like the period at the end of a sentence in its finality and assurance. There was magnificence; an awe-inspiring beauty that overcame the creature, for never was Erik more at peace than when he was composing.
However today for one of the first times, Erik did not smile for the music. He smiled at a foolish blond-haired girl who was out in the garden, twirling about foolishly like an airy sprite. The window was open but he had drawn the curtains to the drawing room though making sure to leave a small crack. And now he was watching with great amusement, clearly distracted whilst sitting at Madame Arlette's old pianoforte.
Meg, unaware she was being watched, did pirouette after pirouette, continued with a graceful battement jeté, and finished by curtsying quite composedly to a nearby stone angel. She had not danced since her last performance at the Opera Populaire or heard such lovely piano music before which seemed to flow just for her alone. Ballet to Meg was as much her great passion as music was to Erik; and so who could blame her for dancing carelessly in a restricting petticoat and slippers which pinched her feet when she ought to have been watering the newly planted flowers? Certainly not Meg, who saw the drawn curtains and did not anticipate a would-be-very embarrassing situation; for the rush of air, sunshine, and music called to her much more urgently and she could not but listen.
It was all too much for Erik as he watched her curtsy to that last stone angel. He attempted to suppress a chuckle which rose unexpectedly to his throat and in doing so played made a fatal mistake. The music ended on a discordant note.
Meg froze, turned, and saw to her astonishment the singular shadow of Erik behind a crack in the curtains. From her varying complexion, she was both mortified and not a little upset. Quickly, she darted out of sight from behind a tree and waited.
He pulled back the curtains after Meg's mysterious disappearance and leaned curiously out the window just in time to be hit squarely in the chest with a damp clump of dirt, "What the devil did you do that for?" he exploded.
Meg stood her ground, watched his countenance darken, and for a moment was afraid of his wrath. This was a dangerous and temperamental man and she certainly did not fancy she could understand him after only a couple of weeks spent under the same roof. However she could not suppress her tongue as always, "That, sir, was for spying on me!"
Whatever murderous thoughts he was currently thinking of, Erik luckily did nothing more than glower. "Spying is hardly what you should be accusing me of," he retorted. "Especially," Erik continued almost peevishly, "when it was a certain someone who interrupted my music by idiotically prancing about alone."
"Idiotic prancing!" exploded Meg who at the same time could not help but blush furious, "I'll have you know, you thick-headed boorish man, that I was dancing." She paused and swallowed heavily, attempting to calm herself, "And besides that song you were playing, it reminded me very much of the music I used to perform to at the opera house."
He lowered his head as if to hide the expression in his eyes after Meg mentioned the Opera Populaire. "I'm glad you liked it. It was a piece that I composed myself."
She suddenly felt badly for her behavior; he always seemed to have this way with her, of making her pity him when she ought to have been angry. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have thrown that at you," Meg said and surprised herself by walking towards the window and offering him her handkerchief, "Here, use this."
He accepted the offering and rubbed furiously at his shirt, succeeding in only smearing the dirt further. "At this rate," he remarked, "your mother and Mme. Arlette will certainly ban me from the rest of the house."
Meg, watching his little struggle, could not help but burst out laughing to the surprise of Erik. To think the feared Phantom of the Opera was so helpless in domestic matters. She wanted very much to ask him how he was able to survive alone for so long in the opera dungeons but was again afraid of offending.
"I'm glad you find this so amusing," he told her wryly.
"That's because you're doing it all wrong," said Meg, successful in suppressing her mirth. She took the handkerchief from him and demonstrated across the window sill. "See," she said, "Try making sweeping motions instead of scrubbing."
The dirt gradually came off though Erik hardly noticed. He was only too painfully aware of the feel of Meg's hands innocently brushing across his chest and the glow of the afternoon sun highlighting her golden hair.
"There," she finally exclaimed with a satisfied look, "Except for that little spot, it's mostly gone and Maman won't even notice." Erik realized that he had somehow been holding his breathe and exhaled in what might have been a little sigh as Meg moved away.
"Thank you," he murmured very slowly, unused to speaking such words of gratitude before.
Meg grinned, "For what; for spraying you with dirt in the first place and then cleaning some of it off? If so, then you are very welcome." She bent to pick up her fallen watering pot, "Now if you don't mind me continuing to twirl foolishly in the garden, I will get back to these thirsty plants."
Erik nodded and pulled back the curtains but did not close the windows. Minutes later, the same song floated soothingly through the morning air as Meg bent smiling and humming carelessly over her work.
As peaceful as these two pictures have proved to be, elsewhere in Paris darker people and doings nevertheless lurked. It was in the midst of a wealthy, urbanized section of the city, where bachelors were known to rent spacious flats and spend their days smoking cigars, debating politics, and lounging idly about in ubiquitous cafes. In one such dwelling, we encounter a man and a woman sitting side-by-side on a well-worn but comfortable sofa. The rest of the room was tastefully furnished with gleaming mahogany and most noticeably: towering shelves of books which encompassed one entire wall.
"Do not worry, my dear," said the man comfortingly, "It will be a success." He leaned closer towards the lady in order to better catch the scent of magnolias on her skin which he adored.
She, on the other hand, turned her face away and stood up abruptly. "I really wish you wouldn't be so forward with me anymore," she remarked bluntly.
"Ah but you very well already know my feelings." He rose as well, closed the distance between them, and whispered seductively into her ear, "That I would do anything for you."
Shivering slightly, the woman felt warm lips proceed to plant soft, urgent kisses down the length of her neck. "But must you make this so much harder?" she grumbled but turned around anyways, placed her arms round his neck, and succumbed beautifully. They share a passionate kiss in the dim sitting room; her eyes tightly closed as if to shut out both light and reality.
Thanks for Reading: Think of this chapter as sort of the calm before the storm. -laughs-
Anyways, please leave a review and much thanks goes to those who already have. I'll try my best to respond to as many as I can via PM.
