Hello, everyone!

I hope you had a nice weekend. I'm now back to posting one chapter per week, and more than anything I want to thank all of you who follow this story.

Extra thanks to those who review. You are great!

Hugs to Desiree and TOWDNWTBN!

Chapter 13- Chess strategies

"Look at that design I drew yesterday! That might work with the height difference," James said, pointing at a complicated system of ropes and pulleys that seemed to fill the drawing paper.

Erik remembered all too well that the boy had been highly impressed by the drafts he had designed almost three years ago as he had tried to find a way to lift the 24x18-foot false ceiling he had prepared. This sculptured gilt surface, which covered almost the entire ceiling, was extremely heavy. On top of that, it also had to lie at an angle and be able to adjust the degree of this angle as required. Only by manoeuvring a complicated system of pulleys and tackles had Erik been able to lift it into place, but not without pain and injuries.

He stroked his shoulder as he looked at James' design. He needed no reminder of the way he had dislocated it falling almost 15 feet while wanting to check how stable and secure his work had been. His work was fine; the ladder wasn't. He furrowed his brow at the memory, glancing quickly at James' flushed face. The boy was thrilled with this tree-house idea he had gotten.

"The angle is too great. This will break, no doubt," Erik said, pointing with his index finger at a weak spot in the design. "Don't forget the wind. We can only use the thicker branches, twelve inches or more…"

Sighing heavily, Erik took a sip of his cold, strong tea, his eyes never leaving the drawing before him. For more than two hours, he had been trying to explain to James that his design for a two-storey tree house, though ambitious, was at the very least difficult to execute. The two of them had already inspected the part of the oak forest which was within the borders of the Twin Houses' estate, had climbed numerous trees to check their strength, and to Erik's disappointment, had actually found a couple of trees that could be ideal for the unusual plan. At the moment, they were both leaning over the huge desk with every drawing and design laid out in front of them. After working with almost every kind of building construction that existed in western and eastern culture, Erik refused to be challenged by a tree house. But was it worth it? A two-storey tree house on the Red Door Cottage estate? This wasn't the Royal Forest of Dean!
The atrocious thing about the design was that its numerous attachment points on the branches for safety and security weren't worth the time or the effort, but James' hopeful stare was hard to miss and even harder to disappoint. With a few changes, maybe…

Emily's knock on the door was louder than usual.

"May I come in for a minute?" The scowl was evident in her voice. Emily would never get used to the idea of the locked library.

"Give us ten minutes!" James shouted in Erik's ear, earning the boy a highly disturbed look. The little devil knew all the man needed to tempt him was a good challenge, and that then he would have his way with the plan. It was written all over his freckled face.

"I would gladly leave you alone for as long as you'd like, but I highly doubt Mr. Hamilton will do the same. I have just seen him walk down the road towards the front gates…and he looked to be in a hurry!" Emily knew she had their undivided attention.

Erik could almost see her smiling behind the door while James unlocked it, muttering incoherent complaints to himself. The front gate's bell rang in the library as Emily walked victoriously into the room.

"There you are! Mr. Hamilton will be here in a minute. Do you want me to prepare some tea?" She smiled at them broadly.

"Prepare nothing! Mr. Hamilton is not my guest, and I find uninvited visitors extremely annoying." Erik sounded irritated. That earned him a raised brow as Emily silently questioned him regarding Christine. The "music teacher from the past" story didn't seem enough to satisfy her feminine curiosity!
"He won't stay long, I assure you," Erik commented, folding the designs.

Mr. Hamilton's knock on the red oak door was shy. A sound as if he was clearing his throat was heard as Christine opened the main door.

"Madame Giry! I've missed you this Sunday at church. Your presence alone can make Father John's long, boring sermons worthwhile."

Christine's soft chuckle was clearly heard in the library. Erik's hands squeezed the rolled-up designs he was holding a little harder.

"You're flattering me, Mr. Hamilton, but I doubt Father John would appreciate your opinion of his sermons," she commented lightly.

"I've asked you to call me Daniel. Your French accent gives an exotic aura to my overly common name…"

A look of disbelief appeared on Erik's face, quickly replaced by a look of pure disgust.

"Come in…Daniel. I'll let Erik know you're here," Christine's voice replied with a hint of amusement.

The cup of Russian tea that Erik was holding slipped onto the desk, spilling its contents all over the parchments.

"Damn it!" Erik exclaimed, adding some curses in French as he tried to control the damage with his handkerchief. Emily approached, eager to help.

"Everything is fine now!" she said after wiping the desk with a clean cloth.

"Fine?" he growled, looking at her as if she had said the greatest absurdity possible.
Erik glared at her, fuming as he threw a completely ruined design into the fire. Tea had blotted the sketches beyond repair.

"Damn!" he grumbled, walking to the window.

After a couple of minutes engaged in what seemed to be an intimate chat, Christine walked into the library with Mr. Hamilton just a step behind her. Erik had his back turned to them, looking at the lake, tapping his long, ink-stained fingers on the windowsill. When he heard them coming, he turned to face them. He could swear Mr. Hamilton took a small step back at the sight of his brooding face. A wicked half-smile formed on his lips, but faded soon under Christine's reprimanding stare.

"Mr. Hamilton! I was not expecting you!"

Mr. Hamilton blushed and cleared his throat again in anxiety. Erik got mad at himself. It was hardly his intention to make the man feel comfortable, but there was no need to demonstrate such poor social skills once more.

"I apologize, Mr. Rochelle, but I didn't have any other way to inform you, so I took the liberty of coming uninvited," Mr. Hamilton said with a shy smile.

"Inform me of what?"

"You see, I'm leaving due to family reasons, so if you have any orders from the town or London, I'd be glad to help you… if I send the orders now, they will arrive by the time I'm back," Mr. Hamilton hastily explained. "I have also brought your mail," he added, handing him a pile of letters.

"When are you going to be back?" Erik asked with no real interest in his voice, looking at his mail – the monthly report from his accountant in Paris, a letter from his solicitor in London, another from Alexander Arnaud, a London newspaper. As he left the newspaper on his desk, another, smaller letter slipped through the pages into Erik's hands. It wasn't difficult to recognize the familiar hand of his very own "ghosts." Frustrated, he opened the note and quickly read it before tossing it away to the blazing fire. "Nonsense!" he mumbled, gritting his teeth.

"Is anything wrong, sir? I hope it's not bad news!" Mr. Hamilton asked with unwanted concern, which annoyed Erik even more. He looked at Christine apprehensively, but unlike Mr. Hamilton, she didn't seem to notice.

"It would be nice if it were news at all! Some silly joke, nothing more. Some children with a sick sense of humor about the 'residential' ghosts. Nonsense, really. So when are you coming back?" Erik rushed to change the subject. The last thing he needed at the moment was to have to explain the silly notes to Christine.

"I hope you don't think I had anything to do with that joke!" Mr. Hamilton worriedly said, looking solemnly at everyone in the room.

"Do not worry, Mr. Hamilton. I assume you have far better things to do. You haven't answered my question, though," Erik said in an impatient manner.

"Well, I'll be back in about three to four weeks, no more." The man sounded more relaxed now.

"In that case, there are some supplies I will need. Take a seat, please." Erik could not have him standing while he wrote the list, even though it was very tempting. His eye caught Emily, who clearly had been standing by the door all this time. It seemed that only James had considered it polite to leave the room before Mr. Hamilton came in. Erik disliked audiences when music was not involved. He looked at her through narrowed eyes, but Emily continued to look at him expectantly.

"Would you like some tea?" He resigned himself to his fate of having a guest against his will, and gestured for him to sit on the sofa.

"I'd love it!" Mr. Hamilton eagerly replied.

To his guest's delight, Erik almost filled the parchment with his orders. Christine had joined them for tea after Erik's suggestion. After all, it was the polite thing to do, even though he hardly appreciated the way Mr. Hamilton was looking at her or the easy talk between them. Erik tried to overhear what they talked about, and found it trivial and unimportant. Yet, Christine was smiling at Daniel and offered him muffins.

Mr. Hamilton was having an "Emily tea," which, according to the house language, meant at least two kinds of muffins and finger sandwiches. Most importantly, it meant that Emily, for some unknown reason, favored the man. Erik raised his visible brow when she entered the room with the large tray in hand. He hadn't had an "Emily tea" for more than a month, and he didn't want Mr. Hamilton to feel too welcome. He also could see no reason for such festivities.

"When are you leaving?" Erik asked the man as soon as Emily left the room with a constant, extremely annoying smile on her face.

"Tomorrow, I guess. I have everything prepared... It's not a long trip, but it will be quite tiring," Mr. Hamilton replied, helping himself to one more cucumber sandwich.

Erik nodded. Should he ask where he was going? Would it be appropriate? Would it be expected? He sighed heavily. He didn't care where the man was going, but he didn't want to appear rude or without manners. He remembered the golden-eyed lion in the painting over Mr. Hamilton's polished desk that James had described years ago. Erik had seen it himself the last time he visited the Englishman's office. Was he fond of painting? The stag's head with the cold glass eyes, just opposite the desk – probably the owner's latest hunting trophy – was nearly at the level of Erik's head as he stood. The poor taste of Mr. Hamilton's "trophies" display was almost unbearable. No, this was no man of the arts.

Erik thought of all the boring hunting stories a relevant question might initiate and remained silent. He realized he ought to thank the man, since he had come all this way from the village, but he wasn't persuaded that this was the real reason for Mr. Hamilton's visit. He took another look at the man now talking to Christine again! He wore a grey jacket that contrasted with his light brown hair, which shone under the fading sunlight. He surely wasn't an ugly man, but neither was he a handsome one. His face had such plain features that they made it extremely difficult to recall after a while. His most interesting feature was the color of his eyes, a light blue so like ice that they usually made him look cold and serious. Traits Erik had appreciated in the past, but at the moment seemed to be absent from his visitor's behavior, especially towards Christine. Erik concentrated on Daniel's features. No doubt nothing special. But still, he was not an ugly man! He was a plain-featured younger man.

Erik stirred in his chair. Should he find a topic for discussion? He knew all too well that he looked completely unsocial, hardly saying a word, still sitting at his desk rather than joining them on the sofa, but he couldn't help it. He was feeling uncomfortable around people, and this was still his house. Christine obviously enjoyed Mr. Hamilton's delightful company, but he certainly didn't! He hated that feeling of helplessness as he watched them laughing at Mr. Kessler's new adventure. Who the hell was this bloody Mr. Kessler, and how did Christine know about him?

The whole situation had started to get to his nerves. How long would the man stay, eating his muffins and enjoying the "Emily tea" which should be meant for him? Blue must have sensed his master's tension, because he left his usual spot on the chair by the desk and placed his head on Erik's knee, earning a light stroke behind the ears.

"This is an excellent chess set, if I may say so." Mr. Hamilton's voice caught Erik's attention. "I haven't seen anything like this! The board is exquisite, but the pieces…the king, the pawns…it's a work of art…" The man was so impressed that he stood up to take a closer look at the table with the chessboard.

Erik nodded in agreement. It was indeed a magnificent piece of work, made in Spain. The trick was in a lever that moved the board inside an area in the table when it wasn't used. On top of the board, when it was lowered, was a fitted piece of sparkling crystal the size and shape of the table which protected the pieces from damage or dust. The most unique trait of the workmanship was the actual rough design of the pieces. The black pawns were carved from an almost black, dark-colored rock, like marble or granite, while the white were transparent, made of thick crystal similar to the material that covered the table. Mr. Hamilton noticed that some pieces had been moved into the positions of a game apparently left unfinished.

"It's hard to find someone who enjoys chess around here…" he noticed, obviously curious about the identity of the other player.

Erik tried to trace his guest's thoughts. A stiff Frenchman, a reclusive freak, could hardly have any friends. For all Mr. Hamilton knew, Erik was a wealthy hermit living in a supposedly haunted cottage with a housemaid and an imbecilic boy. However, "Christine Giry" was a different case for Hamilton. Her presence alone brought light into the room. Her beauty was laced with an aura of nobility which had more to do with her moral character than her moronic husband's family status. It was palpable, even with the modest dresses she was wearing and her plain hairstyle; there was no doubt about it. She was gentle, polite and always smiled, even though that smile never reached her eyes. Did Mr. Hamilton notice the sadness underlying every graceful movement, every glance from her eyes? Was it deafening for him as it was for Erik?

On the other hand, Hamilton might easily think that just living with Erik could be enough cause for anyone to be in a permanent state of sadness. The constant frown on the visible half part of his face enhanced that idea. He watched Daniel Hamilton as he stared at Christine, obviously trying to evaluate the nature of her relationship with his client.

"I'm playing with a friend from abroad. It's a slow game." Erik answered the unspoken question, unwilling to give more details. "Do you play chess?" he asked in an attempt to be polite, hoping it wouldn't sound like an invitation.

"I could hardly consider myself a good player, and chess is not my favorite kind of game, either…" Mr. Hamilton had a strange way of speaking, as if he wanted to say more, but every time, he decided against it. It seemed as if he usually left his sentences unfinished.

"And why's that, if I may ask?" Erik sounded a bit more interested than before.

"Well, I believe that in order to win in chess, you have to know…or at least a player of my intellect has to know the opponent very well. It's not a matter of foreseeing every possible move. I can't do that. I'm not so intelligent… it's a matter of judging the other player's character. What movements will he prefer? What risks will he take? What pieces will he sacrifice at what stage of the game? Will he guard his queen, his castle, his knights, and at what cost?" His eyes sparkled. He was standing, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the back of the sofa as he spoke.

"Interesting thought. In every game, though, some pawns have to be sacrificed in order to win," Erik noticed.

"According to my theory, the interesting part is which sacrifices the specific opponent is willing to make. If I knew that, I would win every game!" Mr. Hamilton exclaimed enthusiastically, showing a passion Erik would never have guessed he possessed.

"I haven't heard that point of view before." He sounded almost intrigued.

"It's either a point of view or a shameless excuse for being such a mediocre player!" Mr. Hamilton shrugged his shoulders.

Erik half smiled at his comment. Mr. Hamilton relaxed even more, sitting again on the sofa beside Christine. His eyes took in the details of the enormous room before resting on the chessboard again.

"It would be highly unprofessional of me not to make an offer…I have at least two clients in Worcester and Swindon who would pay a small fortune to own this magnificent chessboard." Having said that, Mr. Hamilton actually offered an absurd amount of money that made Christine look at Erik with apprehension.

"The chessboard is not for sale, Mr. Hamilton," Erik replied, easily mastering an expressionless face. Mr. Hamilton naively made a new, even larger offer.

Erik's former good mood quickly vanished under Mr. Hamilton's persistence.

"As I've told you before, the chessboard is not for sale, nor is anything else in this house!" Erik's tone was cold and distant. Would that man never leave his house?

"I do apologize, Mr. Rochelle. I'm afraid I would never forgive myself if I didn't make the offer…" Mr. Hamilton said in a light manner. "I saw you have a grand piano in the other room. Excuse my interest again. It's more of a professional habit to look at the surroundings, the furniture…" Mr. Hamilton explained, smiling at Christine, who was looking at him tensely, clearly afraid that a new offer would make Erik explode. Erik saw her worried expression and forced himself to relax, or at least to seem relaxed. He would be damned if he let his temper get the best of him in front of Christine.

"It belonged to the previous owner of the house," Erik replied wearily.

"Ahh, yes, the two spinsters!" It seemed Mr. Hamilton, oblivious to Erik's mood, was fond of small talk.

"I thought one of them was widowed," Erik commented hoarsely. He tried to appear civil, but in vain! He was not a man of patience. No matter how hard he tried, he would never be a man of patience. He growled at the sight of Mr. Hamilton taking another sandwich. That only managed to earn him a look of disapproval from Christine. He took a deep breath, looking again at his oblivious guest.

"Yes, you're right…I wasn't living in the village when it happened. I don't know a lot about them… do you play the piano? " Mr. Hamilton asked with great interest.

"Yes. I think I do," Erik replied coldly. The man seemed not to notice.

"Will you play something for us?" Mr. Hamilton asked with a smile which slowly faded as he looked more closely at Erik's expression.

Christine held her breath. The visible half of Erik's face turned red, contrasting with his white mask. He looked like a man trying very hard to restrain himself.

"What do you think I am, sir? Your monkey… to order me to play the piano? Who do you think you are? My master?" His voice was cold and deliberately low at first, which made him look even more intimidating, but as he spoke, it gradually rose.
Mr. Hamilton flinched but remained calm at this highly inappropriate outburst.

"It seems I have to apologize again, sir… for my rudeness this time. I didn't mean to insult you in any way…you see, I'm one of the unfortunate people who can't learn music no matter how hard they've tried. I'm really incompetent in that field, but I appreciate music more than anything in the world. I deeply cherish whatever chance I have to enjoy it," Mr. Hamilton explained in a hasty manner. "If you'd excuse my enthusiasm and accept my apology, I would greatly appreciate it…" He looked genuinely remorseful. Erik looked at the man. Christine's frightened look didn't escape him, either. Once more, he had effortlessly managed to embarrass himself with his ugly, brutish manners. What did she expect of him? To play "best friends" with the man or get violent in front of her? Her look indicated that the latter was what she was afraid of.

"Apology accepted, Mr. Hamilton," Erik growled. "I'm afraid I don't share your 'enthusiasm' for music," Erik lied, looking straight at Christine as he handed the man the list. Let her add "liar" to her list! I don't care, he thought. He wasn't ready to open his soul to anyone. For a minute, Mr. Hamilton gazed at him seriously as if he doubted the truth of his statement. "Enjoy your trip. I appreciate the effort it took to come all the way here." Erik started to walk towards the window, indicating the visit was over.

"Thank you, Mr. Rochelle. It was my pleasure!" Mr. Hamilton replied to Erik's turned back, and walked out of the room.

Erik bent his head in shame. His vulgar nature had managed effortlessly to resurface in front of Christine. His façade of being a changed man living among normal people had been destroyed in less than a few weeks' time. After all, she had only watched him interact with the two people Erik paid to be with him. Pathetic!

He heard Christine's soft steps as she slowly approached him by the window. Erik didn't have the strength to look at her face. At that moment, he actually hated her. With that woman, everything was different. He hated the way she so easily exposed his misery, his inability to live as a normal man, no matter how hard he tried. She made him feel more vulnerable and useless than ever. Less than a man, not capable of bearing a decent conversation, hardly finding anything to say unless he barked and frightened people away. His hands clenched into tight fists. Ridiculous!

Maybe it was for the best. That would drive her away, and the sooner she left, the better. He stiffened as he felt Christine's warm hand on his shoulder. He knew she would eventually leave. It was a matter of time till she regained her confidence, her hopes. The world needed Christine among the living to be a brighter place, and when she was healed, she would need a vibrant place to glow. There was nothing here for her, and he had been clear about his feelings from the beginning. He didn't love her, probably never really had, but at least he hoped…his pride required he not lose his dignity until that time came.

Christine's hand kept stroking small, hesitant circles on his back. He was amazed by her touch. Gentle, soft and warm.

"Mr. Hamilton is the sixth person who has ever set foot in Red Door Cottage," Erik said coldly, his eyes fixed on the lake's green waters. "I'm not used to people. I will never be," he stated. There was no time for false hope and pretending.

"It's all right, Erik. He was rude," Christine said softly, but she withdrew her hand from his back and let it fall by her side. He saw her trying to meet his eyes, but they were well hidden under his furrowed brow and his mask. He looked at their reflection in the window's glass, hardly recognizing her in the reflection of the woman who looked back at him. As for Erik…only his white mask was visible.

"Can't teach an old dog new tricks," he said coldly, straightening his shoulders. "Perhaps you should reconsider your decision to stay here. I could arrange work and accommodation for you at the London Theatre." He continued as though he were talking to a stranger. He didn't even look at her before he left the room with silent steps.