Phillippe, the Comte de Chagny had only been to England twice; once he stayed at the Duke of Devonshire's estate located along the South coast, and the second he had visited London to personally resolve some issues when his father's personal holdings had been placed in probate. He had never intended to visit his brother and the woman he had married, leaving his mother to address that particular issue in her own way, but Raoul's letter regarding his mother's declining health had made the journey a necessity.

Phillippe had declined his younger brother's invitation to dinner on the evening of his arrival, instead opting to have a private meal in his hotel roon. Unlike his mother, he had chosen to stay in London's largest and most modern hotel: The Langham in Marylebone. State rooms, such as his own, had integrated water closests, electric lighting, and were accessible by one of the hydrolic lifts. The grand foyer was an opulent mixture of white and black marble, gold leaf bannisters and replicas of renowned artwork. His room was decorated in a simular vane, with dark oak furniture, baroque furnishings, heavy curtains and a wall with floor to ceiling windows.

After the butler cleared his plates and the servants were dismissed for the evening Phillippe removed Raoul's letter from his breast pocket and refreshed his memory of its contents. Raoul feared his mother was losing her sanity, but Phillippe was more inclined to believe she was suffering with the symptoms of old age and would be fine once she returned to her estate. The letter outlined the Doweger's belief that her personal items were moved or stolen, only for them to be in their usual place when Raoul searched. It was clear from the wording that Raoul disliked that hos mother accused the staff, but Phillippe dismissed this as his brother trying to assert his authority rather than his mother being unreasonable. The Comte wouldn't have been surprissurprithe cause of his mother's surposed illness was the whore of awoman his brother had married, as he was certain she would have learnt tricks from her mysterious lover.

The only aspect of the letter that did concern the Comte was that his mother was hearing voices of people she insisted were spirits. Phillippe knew that such events could be a sign of old age, but it could also be something much worse, and was certainly something he needed to discuss woth bith his mother and brother.

The luncheon Hall of The Langham was an oval shape, with floor the cieling windows at one end and cieling to floor glass doors at the other. Raoul thought it seemed more opulatent than The Ritz, his mother's preferred hotel, and dared not to think of the price Phillippe would be paying to stay in such a place.

Upon his arrival he was escorted to his brother's table and the normal formalities of dining took place. At first they talked about Phillippe's channel crossing and what he intended to do while in England, then they discussed politics and the French navy's current exploits. It wasn't until the dessert of lemon torte was served that the Doweger was finally mentioned.

"Honestly Phillippe, she isn't well. It is much worse than I described in my letter. She is barely sleeping and is neglecting her appearance", the youngest de Chagny son outlined as he took another sip of his all-too-sweet dessert wine, hoping his brother would understand his mother's dire need for intervention, "I wouldn't have written if I didn't fear for her mind",

"Are you sure this isn't your pretty little wife putting ideas in your head?", Phillippe replied showing no remorse for his disdainful words towards Christine, "the woman has such control over you that it is worrying. Why do you think mother has stayed so long? She is worried about you"

Ignoring his brother's comment about his mother Raoul continued his attempt to make his brother understand. "I assure. ou Phillippe, this isn't about Christine. Mother is losing her mind and needs to be in an asylum", he spoke with a raised voice that earnt him a few questioning glances from other guests, "come to the house and see. Then you will believe me".

--xxx--

Christine sat waiting for Erik in the cabinet peculiar tapping her fingers impaitently on the table. It was unusal that she would be in their meeting place before him, and even more uncharacteristic for him to be late, causing her to feel both concern for his wellbeing and annoyence at his level of disrespect. Her main fear was that the longer she waited the more likely it would be that she would lose her nerve.

Normally Erik would make the room seem more appealing, placing a white lace trimmed cloth over the table and decorating the room with flowers to remove the musky smell. On the occasions she had arrived before him she had barely spent anytime in the room and hadn't noticed the slightly peeling wallpaper and water stained ceiling and cornices.

Erik always brought her gifts when they met, and she wondered whether he was late because he was busy purchasing her something special. His gesture of the cake in her room had been an unexpected treatand she felt like a naughty girl back in the ballet dormitories sneaking pieces qwen noone was looking. She hoped that whatever gift he bring would be consumable, because it was much easier to hide.

When Erik finally entered the room he was in a flustered state, clearly having rushed to their meeting. He removed his cape in one sweeping motion and Christine noticed signs of perspiration on his temple.

"You seem hot and bothered" she commented as she approached him, placing a comforting hand on his arm and offering him a smile, "can I help?"

Erik swallowed, if only the poor woman understood the double entendre she had just made. "I was engrossed in a task and time got away from me", he responded matter-of-factly stepping away as to not allow the risqué interpretation of what she had just said to get the better of him.

"I apologise for my tardiness. Please give me a moment to compose myself before we begin", he spoke as he made his way to sit on one of the aged dining chairs. His eyes scanned the table for the decanter of water that normally sat there, before remembering that he hadn't paid the manager to organise such amenities for this particular meeting.

Unable to quench his thirst, he closed his eyes and focused on steadying his breathing, allowing the quietness of the room and the scent of Christine's oils and perfume wash over him.

"Where is your violin?", the question interrupted his thoughts

Realising that he had left the instrument at home he quickly devisied a way to cover his second mistake of the day and save fave, "no accompaniment today - just voice".

She nodded and sat opposite him. Erik noticed she seemes to be regarding him with a different expression to normal, one that seemed more relaxed and much more coy. She was also wearing a corn blue dress simular to one he had gifted her, and that her hair was no longer tightly woven upon her crown, instead her curls cascaded down her back. As far as Erik was concerned Christine always looked like an angel, but her current appearance reminded him of the time they had spent alone before the blasted Vicomte had come into their lives and ruined everything.

Christine reached across the table and lightly ran her fingers over Erik's hand. He immediately startled at the unexpected contact, causing her to withdraw and hik to curse himself for his foolishness.

The Vicomtess silently stood and moved around the table to face him. Before Erik could fully register what was happening Christine had placed bith hands on either side if his face and was kissing him. His immediate reaction was shock, but when his senses returned he ran his hands through her thick curls until she broke the kiss.

"I will sing for you" she said in a tantalisingly seductive tone, "but on one condition".

"Anything" he breathed

"You must leave Raoul's mother alone"

--xxx--

Raoul was relieved Christine wasn't home when he escorted Phillipe into their home. The butler offered the Vicomte a hand posted letter on a silver tray, but knowing it would be rude to open it now Raoul placed it on the sideboard to read later.

After seeing and speaking with his mother it became apparent to Phillippe that Raoul was not exaggerating, and his mother's grip on reality had certainly become tenuious. The two men decided it would be in their mother's best interest to return to France and seek medical help from their family physican, rather than risk being sent to an English asylum.

"You are aware it is the stress of your marriage that has done this?", Phillipe said in a tone full of resentment, "if you hadn't married that chorus girl..."

Raoul cut his brother off annoyed at his persistant criticism of Christine. He knew Phillippe wanted him to take Christineas a lover, the same way he had done La Sorelli, but Raoul'sdesire and feelings for his wife went far beyond carnal lust. "This is nothing to do with Christine. Christine is a kind and loving soul who has put up with mother's horrid behaviour without a bad word said. Mother is unwell. Be it her age or something else, but she is unwell, and it isn't Christine's fault"

Phillippe took a swig of whisky before he rang the bell for the butler. "She may not have done anything. But this is her fault. She got her vulturious claws into you and that drives your actions even now. You place that woman above your own family. Your marriage has placed undue stress upon mother, and even if it isn't he primary cause it has helped".

Raoul was about to protest, to remind Phillippe that Christinewas his family, but the butler entered the room and Phillippe ordered his carriage be prepared. "I am going to make preparations for mother to return to France with me" he said puttong on his gloves and hat, "but your role in her declining health, and the issue of your wife is far from over".

Following Phillippe's departure Raoul poured himself a large measure of whisky and slumped into his wing-backed chair. "Maybe I should just let her sing" he mumbled to himself before downing his drink. It certainly would resolve his problems: fiscal and otherwise.

Closing his eyes and willing sleep to come he remembered the letter from earlier. Confused about who would hand post a letter he opened it, not caring to find the letter opener. When he saw a familiar script his heart sank.

The Opera Ghost was requesting his presence at the theatre at 10pm.