A/N: Chapter 20! And still no end in sight! haha I know where I'm headed, don't worry, but completely surpassed my original estimate of 15-20 chapters.
For those that wondered how Erik felt about Anne's hands-on approach ;) there'll be an upcoming chapter that focuses solely on his feelings. My reason for excluding any mention of it in the last chapter is because I am not even sure he realised what was happening. He was angry, he had a preconceived outcome in his head that just didn't happen and he'll need some time to process everything before he can reflect on it.
Phanma: Your review was HUGE! Thank you! I'd love for him to playfully quote that line from Romeo and Juliet. I'm not sure there'll be a scene like that in the future but if then I will try and include it (though funnily enough there'll be a mention of another Shakespeare play in this chapter). I completely take your wish for a passionate Phantom onboard. I think while Christine met him under the disguise of the phantom- this mysterious, powerful being- Anne has encountered him so much more as a simple man. It was the phantom that allowed Erik to exude confidence when dealing with Christine and to disguise some of that...lack of experience and shyness that he also possesses. But I will try to bring out that other side in him.
And lastly: Shout-out to TheAwesome101 for following!
On with the story!
Chapter 20: Erik, 1883
Once more I am to become a ghost. However, this time I can't shake the feeling that I've been hired. Anne's invitation was as odd as it was surprising, but I could not possibly deny the spark of excitement that had possessed her the minute she had uttered her proposal. And I must admit that , despite my advanced years, it even fills me with a sense of mischief.
When it is finally time to make my way to the house, I have decided to dress for the occasion. I am certain Anne will appreciate the irony. According to the bold Italian fashion, I have exchanged my usual black cloak for a long burgundy coat and brown waistcoat that interwoven threads of gold elevate to more elegance. My white mask has been exchanged for a more understated black one.
When I arrive, I instantly recognise the carriage with the flamboyant emblem as the one that's previously whisked away Anne's sisters and conclude that the guests are already inside. The driver seems sufficiently distracted and so I stalk past him and a smaller vehicle to the front door. I only push it open a fraction of an inch and already music and voices drift towards me. It appears that Anne did not underestimate the level of distraction.
Of course, I should make a beeline for the cellar but what a wasted opportunity it would be, if I didn't at least take a peek. The family has assembled around a large dining table that appears to be aching under the weight of an obscene amount of food. The wine flows freely and everyone converses in broken pieces of English and Italian which repeatedly prompts the two oldest women to break into guffaws of laughter. I cannot say what's more embarrassing, their poor command of the respective language or the forced air of levity they're putting on display.
Anne is sitting next to her sisters, opposite her a young man who seems entirely too eager to engage her in a conversation. Her smile resembles a toothache but nonetheless she answers his questions with a politeness and patience not everyone could have mustered. It is amusing to watch this little farce in front of me, safe in the knowledge that humans are simply too ignorant to notice anything they do not wish to see. But gradually the noise and the gossip offends my ears and I withdraw to the sanctuary of the cellar.
The outer shell of the press is still hidden under the same sheets but when I lift them up, a note flutters out and falls to the ground. I pick it up and read what's been written in a spiky but neat handwriting:
Buonasera Signore,
Believe me that I do not exaggerate when I tell you that your presence here tonight gives me the greatest of pleasures. I shall hold on to that thought and try to preserve my sanity while suffering through dinner. You will find that I have placed a small crate of candles next to the printing press, as well as a couple of the smaller items you've requested. Teodora sought me out yesterday to deliver them. It is not much but I nonetheless hope you will have enough to entertain yourself. I shall come to see you as soon as the possibility arises; three taps on the door will alert you to my presence.
Anne
Her words bring a small smile to my lips and I gingerly fold up the note and tuck it away safely in my coat pocket. Then I set up a few candles, not too many should I suddenly have to hide but enough to make sure that even my eyes won't overlook anything and then I begin to work. The cylinders, wheels and rollers don't require much force but a determined focus and patience that is ideally suited to the current situation. Progress is slowly made and by the time I approach the second set, three soft taps on the door signal Anne's arrival. I don't answer but set aside my tools and rise to my feet.
She sweeps in wearing a full gown of orange brocade and golden stars, her hair tied back firmly in a bun which not only ages her but also makes her look much too severe.
"Signore, I'd like a word." She opens strictly but despite her tone I can see a smile playing on her lips.
"I am at your disposal," I say, taking a mocking bow before stepping closer.
She reaches into the front of her bodice in a way that has me hastily averting my eyes and at last produces a piece of paper.
"I received a correspondence today from France from a certain Nadir Khan?"
I look back at her and nod. "I trust he not only sent that but also the payment I'd requested?"
"Indeed," she confirms, "but Signore, have you been lying to me?"
"Pardon?" I ask in puzzlement.
"I believed you to be a free man and yet it turns out you have "a little lady" back in Paris?"
My stomach turns as the thought of Anne finding out about Christine is utterly repellent. I do not think she'd judge me any more or less harshly than she has done already but somehow I do not wish Christine to touch Anne. It would only break something, of that I am certain.
"Apparently Ayesha is expecting your return and does not take to him at all."
Relief makes me break into laughter.
"Oh stop teasing me," I tell her, "Ayesha is my cat."
"If you are certain," she grins though her shoulders grow visibly less tense.
I wonder what had her so worried.
"Is the little get-together a success?" I ask, holding out my hand for Nadir's letter.
She passes it over wordlessly and shrugs. "To some extent, I suppose."
I pocket the note and take in her whole appearance yet again. "Did you fall into a powder pot?"
She blushes and her face turns even redder.
"Is that another one of your strange compliments?" she asks. "Mother insisted to help me get ready. After all, I am meant to impress Signor Benigni."
"And reddened cheeks are thought to have an appealing effect?" I probe and she shrugs.
"So I am told."
I take another step closer and run a finger along her cheekbone to remove the offending substance. "What utter nonsense. You looked far more becoming the other night with your hair wild and tangled and your cheeks naturally flushed from the fresh air."
Her gaze remains fixated on me although the rest of her seems to have frozen entirely.
"Forgive me," I sigh, stepping away from her again, "I tend to forget how unnaturally cold my touch feels to others."
"It wasn't that." She hesitantly offers after a moment and wipes the rouge off of her other cheek as well.
Helplessness takes hold of me once more and in order to avoid the lingering eye contact, I retreat to the corner and begin working on the next piece for the printing press.
"Is the young man to your liking?" I ask her when she continues to stand and stare at me.
"He's pleasant enough." She waves off my question.
"But not entirely…satisfactory?" I venture further.
"He's…" she pauses and when I glance up she really seems to mull over her answer, "he's not as bland as the men I've been set up with in the past but I guess I have just developed a natural objection to any match chosen by my parents. I feel that they might contaminate the relationships so that even if I were to like this man they'd somehow be in the shadow pulling strings."
"I see," I nod even though I don't.
In my experience you either fall for someone wholeheartedly or you don't and if you did then surely nothing else would matter?
"He has invited me to the opera but so far I have avoided answering."
"I suppose that is the best way forward if you are uncertain."
"I am not even overly fond of opera myself," she sighs, "my experience is limited, of course, but I still have nightmares of pompous men walking on stage to deliver their pieces without any expression on their faces, as if they had forgotten that they also needed to breathe life into their characters rather than simply singing a song. Or terrible sopranos screeching and clawing at the high notes…" She shudders. "I much prefer the theatre. The spoken word in its rawest form…all the comedic and tragic aspects of our lives laid bare."
"Which are all present in opera." I argue and she chuckles and then glances at the door.
"I see this is a topic you feel quite strongly about. Perhaps we can resume this conversation when I next manage to sneak away?"
"Won't your family grow suspicious?" I ask but she only chuckles.
"Perhaps but I cannot help that I happen to have an upset stomach on this very evening. If I keep this up I might not even have to give the man an answer. Men find you less desirable if you appear to be less than perfect."
"What a strange world we live in." I offer dryly and then watch her go.
In her absence, I manage to set up the second line of wheels, cylinders and ink rollers and read over Nadir's letter. As always, it is filled with clumsy, affectionate sentiments, a dash of curiosity and an expected amount of annoying preaching. He has taken a far too great liking to playing the role of conscience.
His paragraph about Ayesha touches me and makes me feel guilty for abandoning her. I knew that she would struggle to adjust and since Nadir has never been overly fond of felines, I doubt he has put much effort into winning her over. I miss her companionship and the eagerness with which she always greeted me and I do believe that at her old age she should be with someone who'd love her and care for her. But the journey to Italy would've been much too strenuous for her and I don't like to confine animals to leashes or cages.
I can feel myself slip into a dark mood and am grateful when Anne appears in the cellar once more.
"How do you feel about Othello?" she asks and I abandon my handiwork and place it back in its hiding spot.
"One of Shakespeare's less refined works," I shrug eventually, "that demonstrates how tempers can flare when we love passionately."
To my surprise my answer seems to amuse her.
"I think it only shows how pride can twist men and how fragile their egos can be. Did Othello ever consider asking Desdemona about other possible relations? No! Instead he believed the words of the one man most likely to hold a grudge and allowed himself to be manipulated."
"Do you really think she would have answered truthfully had she been unfaithful?" I mutter.
"But she wasn't!" Anne insists firmly. "He should have trusted her!"
"How could he have trusted her when he knew of the deceptive nature of females? How could he have trusted her when he differed greatly from everyone at court and it could have been all too likely that her affections were really just a ruse?" I bellow, completely forgetting myself and within two stride Anne reaches me and covers my mouth with her finger.
"I underestimated how passionately you'd feel about this." She whispers. "Clearly we don't agree."
She accepts my mask as if it was my face itself and simply stares up at my eyes. I exhale against her fingers and my lips taste her skin, unbidden. I can't resist. I need her to see what a monster I am but now that she sees me, she still doesn't back away.
"Why the questions?" I ask and she slowly lifts her finger.
"I shall, unfortunately, attend Rossini's Othello with Signor Benigni and I wondered if you had an opinion on the opera."
"I have several…" I reply unexpectedly and she sighs.
"And I don't suppose you'd be willing to share them now so I can estimate how much of a disaster that evening shall become?"
"You could not avoid saying yes, I presume?"
"No, mother all but cornered me." She mutters angrily. "But no harm…I shall endeavour to enjoy myself nonetheless. Perhaps you would like to accompany me on another walk afterwards?"
"Surely your suitor will be kind enough to walk you home?" I ask, feeling at a loss now that I no longer have something to busy myself with.
"That's not the point," she waves off my remark, "you could wait by the wall again and introduce me to more of the splendours of Rome that Giovanni showed you? We could continue this debate about Othello and I could let you know if I consider the music to be as spectacular as it is apparently hailed to be."
I do not know what to make of her enthusiasm but her proposal seems genuine and it would, therefore, be unkind to turn her down. I know it is foolish of me to spend more time with her than necessary as it will only weaken me to the urges that still occasionally tug at me. But as long as I don't give into the ludicrous belief that this might evolve into a regular arrangement, I suppose there's no harm in seeking out her companionship.
"As you wish." I agree and am rewarded with a glowing smile in return.
"Marvellous! He said he would take me for the Wednesday evening performance. It starts at 9, I believe."
"Then I shall be waiting at the usual spot around midnight." I bow and she chuckles.
"How very formal of you, Erik. I promise I'll try my best not to keep you waiting long."
"We shall see," I smirk and she laughs loudly, a sound that's utterly delightful and one which she unfortunately chooses to smother much too soon with the palm of her hand.
"You derive great pleasure from opposing your family." I comment while she walks to the door.
"You have no idea." She replies and with a last glance at me, slips out.