This is a re-send. For some inexplicable reason, when I uploaded this to the Fanfic site, it bunched up a large amount of text—my apologies for the inconvenience.

Yea! Lots of great reviews. And you didn't even know it was my birthday. Seriously, reviews mean a lot, so please drop one in. kudos to my beta, Amy.

Thanks- Leesainthesky

Re-Cap: Gabrielle and Erik spend some quality time together in the bedroom, his old nemesis and friend, Nadir Khan plans to visit to the Dupuis Manor.

Ch 29 Eavesdropping …

Spring came to Paris the like an opening night on Broadway: with much anticipation and fanfare, overwhelming the senses with a cacophony of color, sounds and scents. Once again, I was in love.

My relationship with Erik blossomed as well. We spent the majority of our time together. Often, we would sit in the library and read to one another passages from whatever book we had our noses in. Long hours were spent in his music room where I would teach him to play my guitar and he would help me strengthen my vocal prowess. I made him promise not to become impatient with my lack of talent; I was a passable choral singer, not a diva, and he was always patient with my inadequacies. Sometimes Erik would compose, and I would sit near him in an overstuffed velvet chair, with my legs curled under me, writing in my journal.

I continued to amuse him with farfetched tales of 2005. Naturally, Erik never tired of hearing about the technological and scientific advances of my century; he had actually predicted many of them. When I described architectural achievements like the Sears Tower or the World Trade Center towers, he was surprised only because they had been built sooner than he would have expected possible. Such designs had already been built in his imagination.

The advances of plastic surgery and nuclear medicine boggled his mind. I told Erik on many occasions how much of an asset he would be in my century, with his keen mind and brilliant creativity; there was nothing he couldn't accomplish. The sad part was in knowing that my society would have accepted him more readily than his own. Why couldn't he have come to my century instead of the other way around? There had to be a significant reason.

Our odyssey in the bedroom flourished. Erik and I spent an obscene amount of time exploring the avenues of eroticism that best pleased the other. He was a zealous, tender and attentive lover, with an ardent interest in the talents of my mouth.

Erik's need for physical contact was insatiable and I was more than happy to oblige him. Intercourse was, however, still taboo for us, not that I wouldn't have considered crossing that threshold with him, but only with extreme caution. Once that line is crossed, it truly does become the point of no return.

The temptation to go further nearly overrode Erik's sensibility, but he remained steadfast in his resolve not to consummate our relationship until he could at least say that he was in love with me. "Gabrielle," he would tell me, "you deserve to be with a man who can not only profess his love for you, but knows what it means. A true and devoted Mademoiselle like you needs a man who will make you his honest wife."

You see, in spite of Erik's dubious past, when it came to women, he lived mostly by a gentleman's creed. He was an ardent believer of respecting a woman's virtue.

I did know that Erik cared for me very much, but emotions confused him. With Christine, he thought what he had experienced was love. Perhaps it was, with a significant dose of infatuation tossed in. With little experience to go on and much to lose, Erik struggled with his emotional quandary until he could take it no more. He was, after all, a man used to being in charge; it rattled him to have his heart, his head, and his physical need warring with together. He needed the sort of guidance that only another male could give him, so he forwarded a letter to his ex-nemesis and current confidante, Monsieur Nadir Khan, the former police chief of Mazanderan, Persia.

Within days a return note confirmed that the Daroga would soon with us.

What to say about the Daroga? Monsieur Nadir Khan was a slight man in his mid-fifties. Most of the time he spoke French laced with a heavy Middle Eastern accent. He was polite, genial, and yet serious whenever it came to Erik. Theirs was an intricate relationship.

The Daroga once hunted Erik. My love, you see, served not only as a chief architect, but an assassin for the Sultan. It was a governmental position, one not uncommon in most of the world's regimes. Through a series of unusual events the Daroga helped Erik escape certain death at the Sultan's command and the two became unlikely allies.

Erik's lone disclosure to me was that he had designed a palace in the Mediterranean city. The rest I surmised must be one of few truths in Leroux's turn of the century Phantom of the Opera book, because Erik's eyes turned frosty and distant whenever I pressed him for details about those rosy hours spent in the service of Persian royalty.

Monsieur Khan came to call at the manor whenever he felt the urge to do battle with Erik in one of their unending chess matches. Although he lived in Paris, Monsieur Khan's visits had become less frequent due to his ailing health. My guess is the Daroga was also checking up on his old friend.

I'd had the pleasure of meeting the man only once, when I first came to live at DuPuis Manor. In the early days, because I was not yet well assimilated into 19th century customs and verbiage, I avoided lengthy conversations with most strangers.

Erik made casual mention of Monsieur Khan's visit. He was to arrive sometime after supper on March 14th and would be with us for two days and a night. I asked Erik if the man would enjoy dining on a selection of foods from his native homeland.

"I am certain he has not enjoyed much of it since coming to live in Paris, I myself often miss the aromatic dishes of the Middle East. Do you know how to prepare such authentic cuisine Gabrielle?" Erik posed the question to me with wonder.

"Sure. In Chicago, there were several authentic Middle Eastern restaurants. I told you I loved to eat and cook, so naturally I learned to make many of the dishes. You'll have to fill me in on which dishes you are most fond of so I can do a little homework on how to prepare them 1877 style."

"There was a dish made with chicken or lamb, tomatoes and onions and I think saffron served with basmati rice. Most of those days I try to blot out of my memory, but I did enjoy the food. I believe that particular dish was called Joojeh Kabab," Erik offered.

"It actually sounds familiar, the ingredients anyway. I'll check it out when Marie and I go to market tomorrow. If you recall anything else, let me know. Are you sure this is a good idea, Erik? I don't wish to resurrect bad memories for you."

"Besides stunning sunsets and the scent of jasmine blooming, Persian cuisine is the only other thing I miss. Perhaps you can find mangoes this time of year too," he added hopefully.

Being able to create the deliciously pungent taste of the Middle East thrilled me. I was growing weary of fine French cuisine. My trip to market proved fruitful; Erik's mangoes were even available so I could make pudding for him. I shook my head when I thought of the voracious sweet tooth we both shared. The evening's menu would consist of herbed Naan bread with potatoes and feta and a salad of yogurt, cucumber and onion.

I dressed for supper, donned an apron and spent the hours up to mealtime preparing my Mediterranean delights. I'm not sure why it was so important for me to please Erik's curious confidante, but the drive was there and I intended for every dish to be perfect.

Dinner was served promptly at 8:30. Thankfully, the Roux's joined us because Erik was not always the winning conversationalist and I felt somewhat suspect around the Daroga. Perhaps it was his history in law enforcement that affected me in such a manner. When I'd finished serving the guest, I took my usual seat at Erik's right hand. Banal pleasantries such as weather, crops and who was to blame for some of Europe's' economic woes were discussed. All went well until the Daroga brought up America.

"Madame Gabrielle, how do you think the Americans will respond to receiving the gift of the statue of Liberty from the France? She's meant to be seen as an enormous symbol of freedom to the new world. I have heard many Europeans label Americans as being too gauche to know true art if it swatted them in the face. I am curious to hear your opinion on the matter, Madame?"

I wanted to tell him what she meant to those returning from the world wars, and of the brave and proud men and women of 9-11. To us, she was a symbol of strength and hope, a reminder that no matter how bad it got, we loved our country.

"I think Americans will accept her presence in our harbor most graciously, Monsieur Khan," I replied.

This answer earned me curious stares from four sets of eyes. "The harbor? There has been much speculation as to where her final American home will be.

"How can you be certain she will be affixed in the New York harbor, Gabrielle?" the Daroga asked.

Yarks, I forgot she was still five years away from being shipped to America, and there had been much speculation as to where Mademoiselle Liberty would take up permanent roots.

"Not that I truly know, Monsieur, tis the only natural place, don't you think? Anyone going in or out of the port; traders, emigrants, weary travelers returning to their home will be cheered by the sight of the monumental Mademoiselle and her torch illuminating a safe passage."

Heads nodded all around the table.

"A sensible conjecture," the Daroga replied.

Phew, good save, I thought.

"Do you hear from you family much, Madame?"

Geez, was this conversation or interrogation?

I dropped my head and answered with all the brave sadness I could conjure. "Unfortunately, because my parents were along in the years when I was born, I am an only child. My relatives have all perished. The only ones living are my former in-laws in America. Since I'd yet to produce a grandchild for them like a proper daughter-in-law, they had little use for me, so I was shipped off to England where Monsieur Mangeot, my late husband's only brother and his family reside. Gracious people though they are, I'm afraid they have their hands full with six little ones."

Marie Roux straightened stiffly in her chair and held her head high while she spoke, "It is most unfortunate what a woman must go through in order to secure a suitable existence for herself. One would think our modern society would have advanced beyond such unfair practices of shunning women devoid of children, property or husbands. Why, it is criminal, I say!"

Well, you go old girl!

I was surprised to hear her speak so strongly on the matter of her century's sexual caste system. "Madame Roux, I could not agree with you more. It is most unfortunate that a woman cannot be allowed to care for herself. If it were not for the generosity of our Monsieur Dupuis, I may well be living in the alleys of Paris, fighting the dogs for scraps to eat."

I turned to Erik and smiled brightly, "Monsieur, I shall never be able to show my gratitude enough for allowing me an occupation and a roof over my head here at the manor. I do not know how I can ever repay you, Monsieur."

Erik just sort of looked at me, struggling to appear non-pulsed. I was being a booger and he knew it. He actually brushed his leg against mine underneath of the table. I had to stifle a giggle that threatened to burst forth from my mouth.

"Monsieur Mangeot was in need of a favor and I was in need of a cook. It has worked out to all of our advantages, wouldn't you agree Madame?"

Again, I averted my eyes like a proper servant, "Oui, Monsieur DuPuis, you are a most benevolent man. Well then," I perked up, making an attempt at redirecting conversation, "It appears you are all finished with the main course. I have baked a fallen chocolate soufflé with fresh cream for dessert—is anyone interested in partaking of it?"

No one turned down my offer. I excused myself to the kitchen to fetch the soufflé and cream, returning with the warm soufflé and two pitchers of clotted cream on a tray. I moved around the table, scooping servings of the decadent dark chocolate desert onto the plates and placed two creams on the table before re-seating myself next to Erik.

Taking a bite of the soufflé, I had a flash of another way to enjoy it. I made eye contact with Erik while slowly sliding the bit of chocolate from my spoon. "Smells divine dear," remarked Madame Roux. "It is, believe me," I said enthusiastically.

"Our Gabrielle is quite the chef superbe," complimented her husband.

I shrugged, "You are too kind; it's simply a hobby I picked up from my father. He enjoyed culinary pursuits as much as he did his science. He spent most of his time seeking to prove the theory of time travel."

I had to give my father a background, why not his true profession? It's not as if anyone in the 19th century would have heard of him. As far as the world was concerned, Thomassen had passed away several years ago.

"Time travel, eh? Did your father make much headway with his theories?" the Daroga inquired.

I shook my head, "Sadly no, he had many fine theories, but he never had the opportunity to prove any of them before he passed away. But he has many contemporaries who have taken up his baton of research."

"Do you subscribe to your father's vision, Madame Gabrielle?"

"Because something has yet to be proved, does not mean that it cannot be so, Monsieur."

"True words," Erik interjected. "Look at me, Daroga. Would you have ever thought I could become a respectable member of French society?" Erik joked dryly.

"Right before my eyes, the miracle of miracles!" teased the Daroga at Erik's expense.

"And how is your London project coming along?"

I sensed that Erik was glad to have the subject swing in a different direction.

"We have completed the first phase of the foundation. I calculate it will take the masons another six months to complete the other phases before we can begin work on the structure, providing no unforeseen problems arise. Monsieur Mangeot does not press the workers to expedite the work as I would, were I on site. I suffer the aggravation so I do not have to spend endless days among the tiresome British. Besides, I have much to attend to here at the manor," Erik explained.

The Daroga took a sip of his wine and gestured toward Erik, "What do you have here that is so pressing as to keep you from overseeing the London project?"

Naturally, everyone at the table was looking at Erik, waiting for his reply. He took a bite of his dessert, and chewed slowly making the Daroga wait for his answer. He stole a quick glance at me before answering, "My...compositions, of course, Daroga. The Lyric Theatre is expecting to have the score of a new opera in ample time for next season. It must be finished and in the director's hands no later than June," he said, as if this were common knowledge.

The Daroga nodded in acceptance of Erik's words and continued, "I certainly hope those fellows are paying you handsomely for your talents, Erik. They should realize what a master they have commissioned to provide entertainment for their wealthy patrons."

"So my friend, you now wish to oversee my financial affairs do you? Dear Daroga, I can assure you that I do not dole out my time for a mere pittance."

I reached over and touched Erik's arm briefly, "And you shouldn't either, Erik. You are the most innovative composer of the 19th century." Once again I felt all eyes on me. Erik flashed me an odd look.

"Is that so?" laughed Monsieur Roux. "Perhaps Madame Gabrielle is clairvoyant. You seem to possess knowledge that the rest of us are not privy to, dear."

Erik smiled at me and spoke evenly, "I am sure Madame meant to say will be. Gabrielle and I share a considerable love of music; she has come to be my most ardent advocate."

Oh no, foot in mouth again, I cringed inwardly.

Yes, of course, I meant to say will. Forgive me, Erik, sometimes the mind and the mouth do not agree."

My attempt to laugh off the slip drew polite laughter from everyone. Once again, I was off the hook.

After supper, Erik and Nadir retired to the library for cognac and talk. I knew the men would want time alone to catch up with one another, so I remained in the kitchen area to clean up from our meal. Once all of the dishes had been washed and set out to dry, I began returning my spices and other condiments to the pantry. It was there that I realized I could hear every word of conversation being spoken from the library on the other side of the pantry.

- O -

Eavesdropping? Well, what's a girl to do? An interesting discussion with Erik and the Daroga is on the way. Please, please review. More chapters to come soon – Leesa