With Approval of the Gods
"A guest, oh, Raoul, such short notice," Meg says into the receiver. Scanning the room frantically, she sighs. All is in order, thankfully the hotel maid was there this morning to clear the detritus the couple left the night before. Clothing tossed haphazardly over the back of the cream brocade settee taken to their bedroom and hung in their individual armoires. The bed made, in the event the visitor needed to use the water closet. Dishes washed and put away. The only thing left to do was set the table.
"I suppose that will be fine – everything is tidy." Neither of them was raised to do chores and, despite their mutual dislike for clutter, neither was inclined to alter their personal habits. Living in the Phantasma Hotel with all their household needs provided was quite a luxury they both appreciated.
When he suggested they make a life together away from the Phantasma family, she jumped at the chance to leave the place she found less and less tolerable. Their years in New York, living in a small hotel was uncomfortable and did not do much to endear them to one another at first. Meg often wondered why she ran off with the vicomte – the title simply that – a title with nothing to back it up socially or financially.
What Raoul brought to their situation was his ability to charm the managers of the different theaters to pay Meg a slightly higher wage than the other performers because of the aforementioned title. She was nobility of a sort. Once it was realized by the public became aware that the woman who was doing a striptease on the stage in front of them was a French noble, an extra dollar or two added to the admission fee was handled over gladly. The extra money paid for a maid every few days and kept the larder stocked sufficiently.
No matter how many wires Raoul sent to his brother, very little money was forthcoming. He thought it was likely because of the war – nevertheless, the family was wealthy still, or so he believed. The discovery of her pregnancy was a shock to both of them. Once he discovered Gustave was not his child, Raoul was convinced he was sterile. None of his siblings had children either. Phillippe never married and Meg assumed Sorelli took steps to prevent pregnancy, but the sisters being barren was odd.
For her, she had "lost" a number of babies with the help of a local midwife when her "veil" did not work properly. Being married to Darius was a blessing – she no longer had to perform in bed and found safety in his protection of her, but it was not a real marriage – he was her therapist – not her husband in so many ways.
Her mother's relationship with Nadir was a constant reminder of the night on the pier – he never let her forget what happened in the tone of his voice or a cross look in the deep green eyes. As for Adele, Meg had mixed emotions – a combination of love and hate, often leaning toward the latter. Blame for what her life became after leaving France always landed in Adele's lap when Meg was feeling depressed or out of sorts.
Ultimately, it was Erik and Christine's life together that found her growing closer to Raoul. Out of a shared sense of rejection and inability to entirely deal with that couple's happiness and what each of them felt they lost, they found a common bond.
What she discovered, little by little, being with Raoul was different from all her other relationships – be it with her mother, Erik, Darius or any of the people who passed through her life – was his need for her and because of that need, he was sweet and loving…and kind, asking only for her presence – whatever her mood. The depth of his loneliness matched hers and comfort was found simply in her being.
Their physical relationship grew out of compassion rather than passion – more comfort than lust and something new for Meg and she liked the feeling. And so, their ease in simply being with one another would see them as parents – a Chagny child. The line would die with Raoul and his siblings, or so he believed, until now.
"A guest? Who?" she asks. Neither of them has developed any friendships, even though they have been back for several months. Most of the company were gone for the winter and both of them carry the cloud of leaving over them.
"Chicken pie – which is perfect because it is really too late to change our order," she says, rubbing her stomach.
"Lemon tarts – extra because I know how you like them."
"All right, but I hope the surprise is not such I will faint," she laughs as she hangs up from the call, going into the kitchen to collect the dinnerware to set up another place setting on the dining table.
"The door is open," Meg calls from the small kitchen in the suite. Hearing the latch, she continues, "Just set the food up on the table, we can serve oursel…" Her instructions stop when she sees not the room service valet, but Raoul and Phillippe. "Oh. Dear. I was hoping to have dinner here when you arrived," she says, straightening her dress. "I did not expect you so soon."
"I called from the lobby." Raoul closes the door behind them, hanging his cap and jacket in the armoire by the front door, inviting Phillippe with a wave of his hand to do the same before walking over to Meg, wrapping an arm around her waist, encouraging her farther into the room. "It is fine, Meg, he wants to meet you."
"I am not certain I want to meet him. Had I known who your guest was…" she murmurs under her breath while smoothing a stray blonde curl from her forehead. "What is this all about?"
"Mlle. Giry, I apologize for the lack of notice – I was only made aware of your condition this afternoon," Phillippe says, stopping to clear his throat. "I have no intention of imposing on you now. If you would prefer, I will make an appointment for a meeting at a more appropriate time for you."
"That would have been two years ago. My husband…Darius…told me you have been in Boston for some time now," Meg says. "In any event, the person you should be apologizing to is your brother."
"We can talk about that after dinner, Meg, can we not?" Raoul pleads, taking her hands in his, pressing his lips to her fingertips. There were times when he hoped he could have a family. So many times when seeing the life Christine made with Erik, he felt envious. The man he believed to be a monster for so long turned out to be, from all appearances, a great husband, father and businessman. The idea that he was working for him was almost embarrassing.
Much as he appreciates Meg's supporting him now, his silent prayer is they get along. These past months, anticipating their own child softened her in a way he never expected. The accident and fear surrounding her vision, vanished when they were assured the baby would survive. Nevertheless, their emotional life was still unsettled – neither really wanting to commit to a relationship, but each day saw her more committed to him.
The day itself has gone really well – the new camaraderie with Gustave, the discovery of a talent he was unaware of…most of all Phillippe's presence. His brother was always important to him – he was his father for all intents and purposes – until today, however, he was not aware of how much he missed him. He did not want an argument to ruin everything.
"Would you care for a drink? We do not keep liquor, but a soda pop? Meg and I are partial to ginger ale," he says with a shy smile.
Before Phillippe can reply, there is a knock on the door.
"Our dinner." Raoul lets the valet in.
The brothers and ballerina root where they stand as the valet removes the lids from the different platters and lays out their meal. After what seems to be an eternity, the valet takes the platter with the desserts into the kitchen and leaves tucking a modest tip into his pocket, closing the door behind him.
Meg breaks the silence, taking her place at the round table, Raoul helping with her chair. "I hope you like chicken pie – since I have been with child, I crave it. Raoul has been most understanding."
"I am not sure I have ever partaken of the dish, but it smells wonderful," Phillippe sits across from her – Raoul sitting in between.
The meal takes all their attention, the dominant sound of silver against porcelain breaks the silence, conversation limited to passing condiments and requesting beverages – ginger ale all around. The main course finished, Raoul clears the table and serves each of them a lemon tart. Meg follows him into the kitchen, returning with a tea pot, cream and sugar.
Once again, the food is consumed with no verbal interaction.
Phillippe clears his throat. "If I may be so bold as to ask, is this some sort of American habit…a lack of conversation during meals?"
Turning to Meg, Raoul says, "Because of our position, each of us children were encouraged to introduce a suitable topic to discuss during meals. Personal issues were not recommended, but the political activities of the day often provided enough gossip to sustain a meal." To Phillippe he says, "As the youngest, I had the least experience and I am afraid, I never caught up. Even now, I find it difficult to converse easily."
Placing a hand on Raoul's, Meg says, "Raoul and I often chat during dinner – mostly about the park or, when we were in the city, about my act. Since you are not likely interested in the first and the last is now a thing of the past, I do not know what we might discuss that would not affect the digestion."
"You mean why I am here at Phantasma?"
"Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Please prepare your tea and we can discover what you are doing here now, rather than when you and your sisters arrived from France without advising Raoul of your arrival."
'Meg, I do not want to argue with him – it has been so long and I have missed my family."
Wiping her mouth with her napkin, she throws the linen square on the table. "It would seem the feeling was not mutual, Raoul. Why are you making excuses for him? Things get too dangerous for you in your beloved homeland, Comte?"
"The war is destroying France and much of Europe – I believed it best for the family to move…to save our lives and what personal property we could. My sisters were not equipped to deal with the poverty running rampant – nor is Veronique."
"Ah, Sorelli – you married her, did you?"
"Yes," he says softly, fingering the gold band on his ring finger. The barest smile crossing his otherwise tight lips, a flicker of light in his eyes before the flat gray clouds any further emotion.
"So you ran from your title and your lands." Warming to the discussion, Meg's own eyes flash.
"Not the word I would use, but, yes, we first moved to Perros, but after examining our options, the best plan was to cross the channel to England and find transport to America. The ship we were able to book passage on took us to Boston, which is where we settled."
"Even though you knew Raoul was in New York?"
"It was a family decision – none of us is particularly young and the stress of the previous year took its toll. Boston seemed as good a place to settle as any."
"You chose not to see…"
Raoul shakes his head, holding his hand up, he smiles at her before pursuing the questioning Phillippe. "Why did you not at least let me know you were here?" The presence of his older brother never failed to stilt his ability to express himself. Their father did his best to avoid him – unable to bear looking at the cause of his beloved wife's death. Phillippe, to his credit, spent as much time with him as he could – the same with his older sisters, but even as a young child, he felt their grief every time they looked at him. The guilt was almost unbearable, particularly when someone new met him and told him how much he looked like his mother.
The visit now was both bitter and sweet. He wanted this to be a good meeting. The desire for family and belonging somewhere an ache he was not aware of until now, but he could not simply let those lost years be forgotten without him, not Meg, confronting his brother.
"Veronique and I actually did make an attempt to see you at one of Mlle…I am sorry, how would you wish to be addressed?"
"Meg is fine – you came to see my act?"
"Yes. Veronique also wanted to visit with you – she misses Paris and dancing and the idea of speaking with an old friend was enticing."
"Why did you not follow through?"
"You had gone."
"So, this was recent?"
"Yes."
"My wires – how did you get them?"
"An associate in Paris still taking care of business – such as it is."
"The estate?"
"No longer exists – we still have some funds, but Eleanor and Caroline's husbands and I are using our combined skills helping other immigrants find housing, set up bank accounts, other legal issues."
"Working for a living, are you?" Meg smirks.
"Yes – I actually find it refreshing. Despite what you might think of me, I always had Raoul's best interests at heart, but, in my own way, was a prisoner to a life style I did not choose."
Raoul's feelings are mixed at Phillippe's confession – such as it was. His staying away when so close still made no sense. "Why did you not get in touch?"
"You seemed fine…"
"You are my brother – how could I be fine when you rejected me this way. I was laughed out of Paris. The man who almost killed me is more welcoming than my own flesh. My, god, Phillippe."
"I had nothing to give you – our finances…"
"Be damned." Raoul pounds the table, getting to his feet. "Is that what I am to you – to all of you – some blood sucking pariah?"
"Raoul! Please sit down," Meg says. "Phillippe is here now – we should at least listen to what he has to say. I, for one am interested in his answers." Standing up, she presses him back into his chair, rubbing his shoulders.
"He…you sounded desperate in the wire about the thousand dollars, mentioning the boy and buying a boat – the possibility of a business," Phillippe says, folding his hands in front of him. "I suppose it was the fact you had a plan for yourself. Frankly, it was only recently we could offer you any help."
"Are you hand delivering the money?" Meg asks.
"Meg," Raoul takes hold of one of her hands. "You were right – let us hear what he has to say. Sit, you need to stay off your feet – remember what the doctor said."
"Actually, that is exactly what I came to do – to give you the money – to repay the loan from Gustave and help build your business. Also, considering Meg's condition, this will help support you and your…our new family member – $5,000," Phillippe says, drawing an envelope out of the inner pocket of his jacket, holding it out for Raoul to take. "Most of our wealth is gone, but the family agreed it was time to become a family again."
Raoul looks at Meg, who says. "Take it."
"Are you sure?"
Phillippe nods. "I am sorry it took so long – pride is a foolish thing. I have to admit that book raised my hackles. But, as with most gossip, interest in the tale faded due to the war." Taking a sip of his tea, he attempts a smile. "May I ask if you were working on your new project with the boy?"
Raoul stares at the older man for a moment. How difficult was it for this proud man to admit to what, in his mind, was likely a mortal sin – lack of wealth.
"In a manner of speaking," he replies, his blue eyes brightening – accepting this was the most Phillippe was going to say on matters of money. Turning to Meg, he says, "Gustave and I were working on the plans for the Pirate adventure – we got into an argument about the shape of the building – he was drawing boxes and I tried to explain to him how a boat is shaped…"
Phillippe laughs, "You were quite vocal about how a boat is supposed to look – we heard you out in the hallway even before the door was opened. What was it you were telling him about how the bow is formed to cut the waves?"
"We?" Meg asks.
"I was in the lobby of the hotel when I ran into Christine – Erik came along and offered to take me to where Raoul was working in the Eyrie, I believe they called it."
"I see," she says.
"It was a stroke of luck, I had no idea where to find you."
"It was so exciting, Meg." Raoul stands up he spreads his arms describing how the boat should be shaped. "I began drawing my idea – I never drew anything before – I never knew I could, but Gustave said I was doing a good job, so I continued." He sits back down, face shining, a big smile on his face. "It was good, Meg. I felt good doing the drawing. Working with Gustave…arguing with him…plotting the way we could turn a building into a boat felt so…good. I cannot think of a better word to describe my feelings. Good."
Meg smiles at him, taking his hands in hers. "I can see that. I know how that feels and I see the joy in your eyes."
"You did seem to fancy art when you were a child – it just was not something to be encouraged," Phillippe says. "I am sorry. There is so much to be sorry for."
"Gustave used his own money to buy the sailboat I will be using for my boat rides – I can pay him back now. The rest will be put aside – I am earning a salary for my work on the Pirate attraction."
"A perfect day, I would say," Meg says, her voice edged with a touch of sarcasm as she releases Raoul's hand and sips her tea, "One cannot often say that here."
Phillippe raises an eyebrow. "A fantasy land does not offer up perfect days? I am surprised."
"We have had our share of imperfect times here, but today is perfect, is it not? I have my brother and, soon, my sisters again, work I enjoy, money to repay a debt and the woman I love carrying my child," Raoul says, beaming. "I do not believe I have ever been happier or felt so fulfilled."
"I would not get too carried away, brother, life can be quite fickle."
"Like lovers," Meg smirks.
"Those days are past, Meg," Raoul responds. "This is a new beginning for us and our child. You have been so strong I do not know where I would be without you."
"Perhaps a toast is in order," Phillippe says, "if there is any more of this ginger drink, I am certain that the gods who oversee toasts would not think us remiss it is not champagne – it certainly has the appearance of the bubbly."
"Of course," Meg says, rising from the table, "we live in Phantasma. Everything here is not quite what it appears to be. I am certain the gods will approve."