Chapter Forty-Nine: Lorenzo's Friends

Climbing out of the buggy, Erik followed Mirielle up the stairs. The shop now had a number of people bustling about and taking care of the tour group's purchases.

"Anything you wish to take with you?"

"That laughter of yours." She gave his hand a squeeze. "We could take home a bottle for Lorenzo."

"And what would our Italian friend prefer?"

"Oh, I don't know. Your tastes are closer to his. What do you think?"

"I liked the flavor of that Blanc de Noir."

The dark and the light, she mused. How fitting for him. "A bottle for the evening?"

"Choose as you like. Lorenzo might like to make friends with Jeroboam or Salmanazar."

"What opera is that?"

"They are the sizes of the bottles, dear girl. My Julliette Really Makes Splendid Belching Noises, which stands for Magnum, Jeroboam, Rehoboam, Methuselah, Salmanazar, Balthazar and Nebuchadnezzar. There is also a rare Salomon and the gigantic Primat. There is a bit of difference between Bourdeax and Burgandy region names."

"Goodness, Lorenzo has a lot of acquaintances."

"Yes, but biblical ones rather than pirates."

"Well, invite his friends and we'll have a cozy evening in our suite."

Erik invited Jeroboam's four bottles.


Dinner was to be an informal affair with Josette and Radégonde at their home. Erik sat reading a book while Mirielle came through on a cloud of that wonderful perfume of hers. He assisted her with the closings of her dress. "What is that you wear?"

"The fragrance? It's just something I made up. I use drops of rose, jasmine, and lavender oils."

"It's very feminine."

"Thank you." She smiled shyly. She added her ear rings as she stood before him. "Did you call a cab?

"We can when we get downstairs." He extended his arm. "Shall we?"

"Yes, Monsieur Vachon."

"Mmm," he rumbled in her ear. "Practice saying that for later."

Down the stairs, he guided her towards the door of the hotel. Out on the curb, the occupants of a cab were climbing down. Erik turned his eyes away from the woman who was standing at the cab's door, tensing instinctively as her eyes widened.

The silly creature's shrill scream split the air. Mirielle's head turned in the direction of the woman, her fingers tightening upon his arm. Joining his hand to hers, he dipped his head and guided her to the cab.

"I wish you were still a magician," she said tightly. "You could make her disappear."

Knowing full well that people clustered behind him whispering behind his back, Erik ignored the group and stepped into the cab. He hazarded a glance at Mirielle's angry features.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"None of that," he chastised gently, reaching for her hand. "It's bound to happen again."

She pursed her lips before nodding. "I understand now why purchased the rail car for us."

"I did not want to embarrass you."

She shook her head vehemently. "I'm not embarrassed. I'm angry. I'm so very angry at how callously rude people are."

"Mirielle, I've dealt with it my whole life." He made a careless gesture. "It doesn't concern me anymore. If anything, I feel saddened that it upsets you."

"I love you. I don't like to think that people will treat you like this."

He grasped her hand in the darkness, feeling his ring upon her finger. "It will happen again, and we rise above it by treating it with the disdain it warrants."

"All right, Erik."


Josette's home was an unusual building standing in a row of homes. Since the surrounding structures were two stories, and Josette's was three, Erik wondered when the additional floor had been added.

Radégonde met them at the door, greeting Mirielle with a kiss and Erik with a firm handshake. Josette came from a room at the back with an apron on. "Hello, Mama. How was your sightseeing?"

"Fine. We took in several places including the tour at Piper Heidsieck." She offered one of the bottles of champagne to Josette.

"I haven't had champagne in a long time."

"How is Radégonde doing with his paintings?"

"He sold two. He still bemoans not being accepted into one of the galleries, but he did find an art dealer who will take him on."

"Oh, good. He just will have to bide his time and keep painting." She looked at her daughter. "And how are you?"

"Fine. Things are really busy at my job right now. Radé has been doing some portraits on the weekends for extra money. He's still at the factory, you know."

"Yes," Mirielle replied. "I suppose his painting gives him something to look forward to. The mill really took everything I had. Too much noise and everything hurried."

"Mama?

"Yes, dear?"

"I had a bit of a scare not long ago. I was late."

Mirielle held her breath. "Are you trying?"

Josette shook her head. "We can't afford it."

"I think only the rich can 'afford it'. There is never a good time to have children. If you wait too long, you never will." She paused and slid her arm around Jo's shoulder. "I have one grandchild already. Don't hurry for me."

"It's Radé's parents. His Papa wishes him to give up his art and get a profession."

Mirielle made a disgusted snort. "The man's a bank teller. How professional is counting other people's money? As I recall, they didn't even help pay for his schooling."

"I know. But he harps on about a man supporting his family. I think Radé feels he isn't being a proper husband."

"We know better than that. Perhaps if he can interest Erik, we can bring some of his work to Paris."

"Would you?" Josette whispered.

Mirielle smiled at her child. "Of course, Jo. What else are parents for?"


Josette bemoaned her cooking skills, but being a bachelor for nearly fifty years had left Erik appreciative of anyone's cooking. Although not as grand a presentation as Hilaire's, the atmosphere was cozy and the conversation was lively.

Their home was almost provincial. The interior walls were thick stucco, and the floors were tiled. The central fireplace was stone rather than brick. The young couple's taste ran to the exotic. A colorful shawl draped their settee, an oriental style table sat near it, graced with a Moroccan lantern. Their eclectic taste made the small home vibrant with color.

Radégonde took him up to his studio on the upper floor. Apparently another artist had expanded the house, filling the upper story with windows. Erik noted a cracked window had been taped along the jagged edge.

"You should get that replaced. You must be losing heat up here."

The younger man looked at it silently. "I've got some cash coming in from a sale of a landscape. I keep using the cash for other things first."

"Surely your paints must thicken." Erik knew firsthand how temperamental oils could be. "I'll pay for the glazer if I can take one of your paintings in trade."

"Monsieur, you don't have to."

"Are you joking? You know your mother-in-law better than that. If she finds you are up here shivering, she'll be walking the floor at night. Besides," he pointed to a small unframed canvass. "I like your use of color in this one."

The subject of the painting was a girl sitting upon a door's stoop, her hand outstretched to pet a dog. The sunlit study was full of purples in the shadows and bright golden oranges reflected off the glass above her head. The dog stretched its nose to her awaiting finger.

"Thank you. She lived next to us when I was growing up. She moved to England and has four children now."

"I should select another, if this one has a sentimental attachment to it."

"Take it, Erik," Radégonde said with a smile. "If you are an artist you know all too well that every project has a sentimental value."

"True," Erik agreed. Hadn't Mirielle pointed out how his hands caressed the stone of the Garnier?

"May I sketch you sometime?"

Erik covered his shock with a self-deprecating grin. "Why would you want to waste your talents on my ugly face?"

Radégonde responded quietly, "Some day when my work hangs in some great hall, I'd like to be remembered for a rendition of the eponymous Phantom." He hastened to add, "None of the others have suspected yet. Paul and Hil don't go to Paris. A friend of mine gets the newspaper. He's been keeping up with the 'Velvet Widow'."

"Good lord," Erik groused. "I should have nipped that in the bud."

"Not to worry. Most people view it as just some spectacular nonsense. It will be replaced soon with a new feature. Unless I misunderstand the situation, the Ghost will be retiring from the public eye?"

"Yes." He thought of Christine. "I suppose I stayed on because of one of my projects."

"I've been thinking of doing illustrations for books. The east has always captured my interest. Will you tell me about your travels sometime?"

"Certainly. When you come down for the wedding, I'll introduce you to Nadir, a Persian gentleman I have known for years. He'll talk your ear off about his country if you let him."

"Thank you."

"Perhaps we can have dinner at a restaurant he and I frequent while the women are doing whatever it is they do before a wedding."

Radégonde carried the canvas down to the cab. Erik settled into the seat with Mirielle after a round of hugs from Josette and Radégonde. It was a short trip to the hotel, and a swift climb to their room.

He helped her off with her coat. "Are you tired?"

"My neck is a little stiff," she complained.

"Why don't you sit on the chaise and I'll massage that for you?"

They sat down together, her back to him. Erik rubbed his fingers to warm them before tracing the line of her neck from her shoulder to her skull. "You are tight."

Her giggle dissolved into a throaty moan. "Thank you."

"The neck or the shoulders?"

"My neck."

She eventually sighed and leaned back against him, right where he wanted her to be.


A/N: As this story progresses, there have been a few chapters with adult content. If you'd like to see the chapters, you would have to email me. If you wish the story published along side this with an 'M' rating, let me know.