A/N- Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter… I have been finding it difficult to write as I said before but this chapter just seemed to come out of nowhere. Next chapter will probably be opening night and we are slowly drawing to a close. If I planned this out correctly there are probably less than 10 chapters to go.
RR- it makes my day.
"We do not indeed so often disappoint others as ourselves. We not only think more highly than others of our own abilities, but allow ourselves to form hopes which we never communicate"- Samuel Johnson, 1759
Chapter 51- Disappointments
Christine found the flutter in her heart both warm and sickening at the same time. As she lay on top of the covers in her room she could still feel the heat of Erik's lips against hers, the firm grasp of his fingertips as they dug into her thighs, as he pulled her closer… she still felt the beads of sweat that dampened the tiny space between their bodies…
Her eyes closed involuntarily as she thought about his hands on her body and his lips on her face. She could not remember ever feeling so content. But content quickly gave way to the turbulent feeling she felt when she had looked at Fiona.
Christine knew Erik's pain, she felt guilt too.
It was all very wrong, more wrong than she cared to admit… yet she had been unable to stop, unable to control herself. It was as though she had lost the ability to think for herself and instead all she could do was feel.
Feel and be swept away by him.
The knock at the door shook her awake from her heavy thoughts and she sat up and straightened herself out. 'Come in,' she said and waited.
James was carrying a tray and his face was dark with something… anguish, perhaps?
'I brought you some food,' he said, almost formerly.
'Thank you,' she said. 'But you shouldn't have.'
He shook his head. 'You need to eat, we've spoken about this before.'
Christine reached out and took the sandwich from plate. After swallowing a mouthful she looked up at him and smiled.
He did not return it.
'James,' she said, her heart faltering as she looked at his face. 'What's wrong?'
He seemed to ignore her and instead of answering he walked to the window, where he used his finger to push the drape aside. After a long moment of staring out across the garden, apparently looking at nothing in particular, he turned his eyes back on her.
'Where did you stay last night?' he asked, his voice barely audible.
'I stayed with Madame Giry,' she lied but she realised that she need not have bothered with the effort.
He shook his head. 'You don't need to lie to me, Chrissie,' he said quietly and moved in to the room from the window.
Christine looked up at his tall figure before patting the bed next to her, inviting him to sit down with her.
'I can't do that,' he said simply and Christine frowned in confusion.
'You're no longer one of us,' his voice subdued.
'I…'
His smile was sad. 'You're above me, above my station… I shouldn't even be alone with you,'
'Oh don't be silly!' she said. 'Please sit James, you're my friend.'
'You've always been above my station, Vicomtess,'
Christine blinked back sharp tears. 'Why are you doing this?' she asked, spasms of hurt wrenching her heart.
'You stayed with the Master last night,' he said.
She nodded.
'What about Madame Valesk… what about his wife, Chrissie?' he asked, disappointment clouded his soft eyes.
'I don't know…'
'What were you thinking?' he asked quickly, though Christine found no anger in his tone.
'I wasn't, James,' she said softly. 'I wasn't thinking at all… I was only feeling.'
'Don't you regret what you've done?'
She shook her head. 'No,'
'I don't understand,'
'Please sit down…' she whispered, feeling her voice crack under the weight of James' regret. He looked away, stared out of the window as if the answer was out there somewhere, then he sighed and sat down.
'Does he regret it?'
'I haven't asked him,' she said quickly. James let out a wry chuckle and shook his head. 'I don't think he does…' she corrected.
'Then what will you do?' he asked.
Christine shrugged, what was she going to do?
'Will he lie to her?' he asked, eyes searching her face for all of the answers. She didn't have answers, she had questions too… so many questions.
'I expect so,' Christine replied quietly.
'And will you two continue…'
'No,' she said firmly. 'I don't think it will happen again.'
'How can you know that?'
'Believe it or not, I am a woman of some integrity.'
James nodded. 'I know you are…'
'I love him James…' she whispered. 'I've always loved him.'
XXXX
Nadir stared at Erik for a long time before he found the calmness to speak.
'What the hell have you done?' he asked, knowing full well what he had done. He knew last night when he saw Erik in the garden. He knew it without even seeing her there. 'You didn't even come home Erik…'
Erik's cool blue eyes fixed on Nadir. 'I was tired,'
'I'm sure you were,' Nadir said, rolling his eyes. 'Have you lost what very little sanity you had remaining?'
He saw Erik's eyes narrow.
'Seriously, Erik,' he said firmly. There was no fear in Nadir right now, there was nothing but exasperation from the Persian to the Frenchman. 'You're insane.'
'We both knew that,'
'Not murderous insane Erik…' Nadir growled. 'Just absolutely, stark raving mad.'
Erik laughed.
'And you're not even taking it seriously,' the smaller man let out a long sigh. 'This is serious Erik.'
Erik's eyes clouded, the pupils grew slimmer as his glare focused onto Nadir's dark face. 'I'm not stupid, Daroga,'
'I knew this would happen…' he shook his head. 'As soon as I saw her Erik… I knew what you were saying, I knew it was all a front.'
'It wasn't,'
'Then what was it?' the Persian asked.
'It's my business,' Erik snapped. Nadir shook his head and glanced out of the window at Fiona working with the gardener in the fruit garden.
'Look at her, Erik,' he said, pointing outside. 'Just look.'
Erik stared at Nadir, the Persian good feel the blue fire of his eyes on his shoulders, but then he turned his head slightly and looked out of the window.
'What has she done to deserve this?' he asked. He watched as Fiona rested her hand on the gardeners shoulder and lifted herself back to her feet. She had dirt on her knees, her face was slightly red and her hair had fallen over her face.
Erik said nothing in response and Nadir turned to look at him. 'It's true that you have served her well Erik, she wants for nothing…'
The Frenchman's gaze found him and then remained there unwavering.
'But how many women do you know that will get down on her knees and dig in the mud with the staff?'
Erik shrugged. 'Perhaps she wasn't made for aristocracy,'
Nadir sighed sharply. 'Neither were you friend,'
'No,' Erik conceded, though his eyes stayed fixed to his friend.
'She's been good to you,' Nadir said, though feared he was starting to anger the phantom.
'I don't deny that,' Erik said simply.
'Yet you have a wild tryst with your employee in the garden whilst your wife is ill in bed at home?'
Erik nodded. 'And that is all it was,'
Nadir raised his eyebrows.
'Christine kept me company last night Nadir, nothing more,'
'Is that what they're calling it now?'
'Why are you attempting to make me feel as though I have wronged Fiona…'
'Which you have,' Nadir interjected.
Erik nodded. 'And taken advantage of Christine's innocence,'
Nadir laughed. 'She has no innocence left for you to take advantage of,'
Erik's eyes narrowed into a hard scowl, as the blue of his eyes darkened further. Nadir stared at him, resisting the urge to back away as he spotted the sharp flecks of gold caught around the Frenchman's iris.
'She is more innocent than you will ever understand, Daroga,' Erik's voice was deep and icy, and Nadir almost shivered at its gust.
'That is innocent?' Nadir asked, rediscovering his courage.
'And by that… you mean?'
Nadir took a step away from Erik before responding: 'Last night,'
'Innocent cannot simply be described in the terms of ones sexuality, Daroga, don't be so naive.' Erik, stood quickly from his seat causing Nadir to jump back. 'Her innocence is in the fact that she still trusts me… me, Nadir… this creature of the night who has murdered men without a second thought, who has held her fiancé captive, threatened his life… this man who stalked her around the Paris Opera House… her innocence is that she still believes in innocence and that she still believes in me.'
Nadir swallowed. 'And last night was just a wild tryst?' he said, finding his voice somewhere beneath his fear.
'Last night was yesterday,' Erik snapped. 'Today is a different day.'
'And your heart, Erik, where does that lie?'
'What heart?' Erik snarled as he disappeared through the door to the hallway.
XXXXXXX
Fiona sat on the bench in the back garden, in the warm glow of the sunshine, relaxing as best she could with the weight of that morning crushing down on her shoulders. She had been through a lot in her life. Her father, like Erik's, had died when she was only young and her mother had been ill for most of her life, before she died seven years ago. Fiona had nursed her all alone for the last few years of her mothers fading life.
She had been courted by a couple of gentleman, one of which was in the nobility in Spain and one who was nothing, and everything, more than an English blacksmith. She had loved the blacksmith dearly, more than she ever could have loved the Spanish man.
It was not to be, however, as status was everything. Fiona may not have been upper class but she was certainly upper- middleclass. She often remembered her blacksmith fondly in her darkest moments. Fiona had actually resigned herself to remaining a spinster until that fateful night on the cross over from Spain the England almost eight years ago.
The night she met Erik Valesk.
She thought that he was the most mysterious man that she had ever seen. He and the baby.
Remembering the night brought warm tingles to her spine, she had wanted to know him, she had needed to know him. Nadir had greeted her so readily, invited her into their fold, made her feel so welcome. Fiona smiled at the thought of the little Persian. Such a good man, she thought, such a very good man.
Erik had not been so welcoming.
His resistance was almost tangible as she tried to speak to him, often the conversation seeped through Nadir who did his very best to hold their chat together. And, as it turned out, his best was good enough. The mask was odd, she had thought, and she wondered why he wore it but it never put her off. A man that felt he had to cover half of his face was obviously as human as a woman who felt the need to tie her hair back and cover it with a dark hat.
The first time that they had kissed she felt his virtue on the tip of her tongue. He was inexperienced but tender, and that was simply enough. She had loved Erik Valesk from that moment.
She loved him then and she loved him now.
'Fiona,' his voice from behind her made her jump. He had the ability to sneak up on people that way, without them hearing even a rustle.
'Erik…' she said, her voice trailing away.
'I'm sorry I stayed out and did not send word home,' he said quietly. Fiona was surprised at the apology, astounded in fact. He had been so angry that morning that it would not have surprised her if she did not see him until he was leaving for the opera that night.
'I'm sorry I was angry,' she said softly. She meant it.
Erik took the seat opposite the bench and leaned forward. He reached out and took her hands in his, he stroke the back of them, raised one to his lips and kissed it softly.
'There are things we should talk about…' he said looking into her eyes. His eyes so earnest that she felt her heart jump. 'They aren't urgent… they are about my past.'
She nodded, listening.
'Now is not the time,' he said squeezing her hands gently. 'But tonight, when I come home, we will talk and I will tell you about my life,'
Again she nodded. Fiona never went to opening night with Erik, that pleasure was reserved for young Joshua. It was only right to allow father and son to share the most special night of their common enjoyment together. Fiona would go another night.
As they both sat there, facing each other, the silence around them nothing but a comfort after their morning argument, she thought about his words. What could he have to tell her about the past that he had not told her before. All of their life together he had been, for want of a better word, reluctant to disclose the events of his life but still he had told her plenty. She knew that his father had passed away suddenly when he was but a child. She knew this his mother went downhill from that moment and eventually she disowned him.
Fiona even knew that he had met Antoinette Giry at a carnival when they were teenagers and that they had been friends since. She knew that he had worked at an opera house in France, that he had designed buildings there and in Egypt.
What was he to tell her that he had not told her before and why now did he feel that he had to do so?
Fiona's looked up from her hands and her eyes drifted over Erik's face. They caught glimpses of it's purity, the smoothness of his strong jaw the angle of his powerful cheekbone… but always, always and always she found herself staring into his eyes and losing herself in the blue of their ocean.
Let me drown here, she thought, for I think I can not live without these eyes.
