A/N: ghostwritten2: The previous chapter was pretty much me trying to work out some anger inspired by the changes being made to the London production. I'm so glad I saw the show many times before the shutdown, because when it returns it definitely won't be 'the brilliant original' any more.

"Publicity," Christine said as Erik was about to turn off the bedside light. "That's what we need."

He blinked owlishly; he'd been dozing on and off through the evening, the migraine medication making him drowsier than usual. "For what?"

"The theatre, the variety show – a show which still needs a proper name, by the way."

"I thought Untitled: Vaudeville at the Vanburgh was quite good." He tried to stifle a yawn without much success. "It's being mocked up on posters."

She frowned. "Maybe. I'm still not sure about it. Don't go to sleep yet," she added quickly when he reached for the light again. "I've had an idea."

"A few hours ago you were sending me off to bed like one of the children," he complained, reluctantly rolling over to face her and propping his head on one hand. "You can tell me, but be aware I might not remember this in the morning. What's your idea?"

When she saw his eyes drift closed she immediately felt guilty for keeping him up. "No, it's not really that important. I'll tell you tomorrow."

Erik sighed. "Just tell me now, please. I'd rather that than being woken in the middle of the night because you can't keep it to yourself any longer."

"I only did that once," Christine objected with a pout, and his lips twitched slightly. "But if you insist," she said with a huff, "I just thought that we could have a social media blitz to publicise the theatre. I know I haven't done much with mine lately beyond liking cat photos on Instagram, but almost everyone we work with is on one or another. If we all share posts about the Vanburgh, word will get around."

"I thought that was what our new improved press office was meant to be doing."

"It will be; Raoul told me the new website will be ready to launch this week. It just occurred to me that we can take it further, make it more personal. Teddy and I must have a few thousand followers each, and of course there's Meg, I know she's gained loads after her fitness classes took off. If we were to share rehearsal footage, sneak peeks, that kind of thing, it could pique people's interest. Maybe we could even start a YouTube channel, upload clips." When he didn't respond she leaned closer, trying to determine whether he was still awake without touching him. After a beat one eye opened. "What do you think?"

He turned onto his back and released a long, slow breath. "I suppose these days one has to make use of social media, however much the thought irks me," he agreed. "And any positive publicity is to be welcomed."

"Then I should suggest we go ahead with it?"

"That sounds as though you've already discussed it with someone else," Erik pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I did mention it to Meg earlier," she admitted.

"But you waited until now to tell me."

"Not intentionally. I've been mulling it over a bit since then and you weren't feeling well," Christine reminded him. "I thought maybe I could record a bit of the chorus tomorrow, and get Meg to film the dancers if Madame will let her. Alfie's good with movie software; I can probably ask him to edit it all for me."

"If it means I don't have to stay awake any more I am quite willing to leave it entirely in your hands, my darling," he told her wearily, stretching a hand towards the lamp again. "You know far more than I do about these things."

She leaned over and kissed him on his twisted cheek as he switched the light off. "Thank you. I'm sure the others will be up for it."

He grunted. "Good."

"Everyone wants to do what they can to help us get back on our feet."

"That's very commendable of them." There was a pause. "Christine?"

"Yes?" she asked, already mentally working out which members of the cast and crew it would be best to recruit. Her hand stole towards the bedside drawer, where she kept a notebook and pen.

"Will you do something for me?"

She blinked, surprised by the question. "Of course. What do you need me to do?"

There was a dangerous note in Erik's voice. "For the love of God, go to sleep."

The next few days passed fairly uneventfully.

Those she approached about the social media campaign were enthusiastic about the idea and before long she was being bombarded with suggestions. With everyone keen to show proceedings from their own perspective, it seemed that they wouldn't lack content and she talked Raoul into agreeing to link everything back to the official Vanburgh sites. He'd already recruited a couple of the front of house team who wanted extra hours to take over curating the Facebook and Twitter pages. Initially Madame was reluctant, not at all sold on the idea of allowing cameras of any kind, even those attached to phones, into her dance rehearsals; eventually Meg managed to talk her round, pointing out that it was just the sort of publicity she'd tried in vain to persuade Erik to undertake the previous year.

As for Erik himself, he concentrated on knocking the new production into shape, keeping well away from any filming. By the middle of the second week of rehearsals the running order was nearly settled and Robin, one of the older members of the ensemble, had been cast as Sir Hugh Branch, the 'ghost' who was to oversee proceedings. He asked to have a go at writing his own links and if the ad-libs he'd been throwing in were anything to go by, in Christine's view at least they would probably turn out to be better than the script that was being prepared by a friend of Gene Reyer's. A particularly overblown panegyric on Theodora's talent had resulted in most of the cast convulsed with laughter, not least the subject of the praise herself.

While Erik was keeping his distance from the many camera phones around the theatre, he was also doing a very good job of avoiding Raoul. Though the discussion of the orchestra's future had ended civilly enough, Christine knew he was still angry; his pride bruised by the encounter, and at present had no desire whatsoever to speak to the theatre's new business manager. Slipping back into his old habits, he managed to disappear after rehearsals, steering clear of his office when he thought his old rival might be looking for him. It was frustrating Raoul no end.

"I'm not spoiling for another row," he said to Christine one afternoon, "I only want to talk to him. Where the hell has he gone this time?"

She shrugged, knowing where Erik was likely to be but not inclined to reveal the existence of the flat in the Vanburgh's basement when she knew he was ducking down there for a bit of space and solitude. "I don't know. Have you checked his office?"

"Funnily enough, that was the first place I looked." Raoul huffed impatiently. "Anyone would think the man could vanish into thin air; he was only on the stage five minutes ago!"

"Maybe he went to speak to Gene about the orchestrations. He's busy, Raoul; I've hardly spoken to him myself."

"And I'm not? I've got deadlines to meet, too; the tickets go on sale to the general public on Monday and the advertising suite hasn't been agreed yet."

"That's not Erik's responsibility, is it?" she asked, frowning.

"No, but -" When she looked at him askance he sighed and ran a hand sharply through his hair. "I'd value his input, that's all," he admitted. "He has a good... eye for these things. And..."

"And...?" Christine prompted.

"There's something else I need to speak to him about." Raoul glanced round the auditorium as though he was hoping Erik might pop out of the walls. "Something that doesn't involve the Vanburgh."

That sounded strange; she'd never known him to want to discuss anything remotely personal with Erik before. "Raoul, what's going on? You can always talk to me, you know; I can keep it to myself," she reminded him. "Is it something important?"

"Not earth-shatteringly, no. But I really need to talk to you both, together."

"Mr de Chagny!" someone called from the door to the corridor that led out into the foyer. "Telephone call for you!"

Raoul swore. "Look, when he decides to reappear, will you tell him I've been trying to find him?" he asked before he hurried away.

"I suppose so," she murmured, feeling hopelessly confused.

"Mum, can you help with my French?" Allegra asked. "I've got to learn these words by tomorrow."

Christine, distracted by the washing she'd just taken in from the garden, glanced around the room. "Can't you ask Dad? He speaks it much better than me."

"He's downstairs in the studio. He said some urgent work needed doing and he didn't want to be disturbed." Allegra pouted. "Please, Mum?"

"After dinner, sweetheart. Gigi, don't touch that!" Desperately Christine lunged for her younger daughter, who was about to tip a pan of water all over herself. Thankfully the hob hadn't been switched on. Now that she was working again she found herself wishing they hadn't lost Chloe when she returned to her family at the start of the first lockdown; though she had never wanted anyone else to raise her children, the au pair's assistance around the house had been invaluable. "Allegra, go and tell Dad I need his help up here. Whatever he's working on can wait."

Allegra got up from the kitchen table. "He'll shout," she warned.

"I don't care! He knows the family comes first. When everyone is fed and watered, then he can lock himself up with the piano."

While Allegra went to beard her father in his den, Christine carried the washing upstairs, taking Gigi with her so that she couldn't get into any more trouble. When she'd returned from stacking everything in the airing cupboard her eldest was back poring over her French book but there was no sign of Erik.

"He swore. A lot. In Italian," she said in explanation. "At least, I think it was Italian."

"I'll be having words with him about that. Is he coming?" Christine asked, and Allegra just shrugged. Christine nearly screamed. Before the pandemic she would just have ordered a takeaway, but all that went out the window with concerns over Covid and food hygiene; they hadn't eaten anything prepared outside the house for over a year. She started rummaging in the freezer, having no energy for starting a meal from scratch; normally Erik could be relied upon to take over the cooking in these circumstances but evidently he was no more in the mood for it than she was. A few minutes searching for inspiration ended with her deciding upon plaice and chips for them and fish fingers for the kids; she'd tipped the water originally intended for potatoes away and was about to put the fish into the oven when the doorbell rang. Now she did scream, or rather gave a yell of frustration, banging shut the oven door.

Allegra watched her, wide-eyed, the pencil she'd been chewing halfway to her mouth. "Mum, are you and Dad OK? You seem a bit... stressed."

As the bell rang again Christine took a deep breath and straightened, trying to get a hold on herself. "Everything's fine," she said, forcing a smile and hoping to convince herself at the same time.

Typically, her daughter wasn't buying it. "We need Chloe back," she said, and Christine couldn't disagree with her.

"Keep an eye on your sister," she ordered, and went to answer the front door.

Much to her surprise, she found Raoul on the step, a bunch of tulips in his hand and a smile on his face, a smile that dropped when he got a good look at her. "You look frazzled, Chris," he observed. "Is anything wrong?"

"No more than usual when you're trying to juggle two kids and a job," she replied, grimacing. "What're you doing here?"

"I said I needed to speak to you; since Erik's been in hiding at the theatre for days I thought it might be easier to run him to ground at home." He proffered the flowers and produced a bottle of scotch from behind his back. "I brought a peace offering. Is he in?"

"Oh, thank you! And yes, he's in the studio, though if he doesn't get his bony arse up here soon he'll regret it." She took the tulips and stepped back slightly. "You'd better come through."

"Is it a bad time?" he asked, keeping his distance as he followed her through the house. "I can always come again, maybe at the weekend - "

"To be honest, there's rarely a good time round here, at least not at the moment. I'd almost forgotten the chaos that comes with sorting the kids out after we've both been at work. I have no idea how we're going to manage when the performances start; I suppose we'll have to ask Erik's mother to babysit when it's my turn on stage."

"I thought you usually shared the roles with Theodora?"

"Oh, I do, and she generously lets me cover the matinees, but I still do two evenings a week normally," Christine said, leading him through to the kitchen. At the sight of him both the girls' faces lit up. "I'm not sure how the current show's going to pan out; it's a bit of an unusual set-up for us."

"Uncle Raoul!" Allegra exclaimed; she remembered just in time that hugs were still banned, pulling back and keeping to the other side of the table. "Do you know any French?"

Raoul exchanged a glance with Christine. "Not really, no," he said honestly, and she bit her lip to hide her smile.

Allegra frowned suspiciously. "Isn't your family from France?"

"Well, yes," he admitted when Christine mouthed 'Get out of that one' at him. "But they left over two hundred years ago; the Comte de Chagny ran away before he got his head chopped off. I've lived in London all my life, like you."

"Have you come to see us?" Gigi asked, bobbing up and down on her toes as her sister pulled a face. "Can you tell me a story?"

"I would love to, princess, but I'm not really allowed in the house. Maybe after I've spoken to Mum and Dad, if they don't mind you sitting in the garden this late...?" He glanced at his ex fiancée.

"We'll see," she said, just as Erik finally appeared. When he saw Raoul his expression, which was already stormy, darkened even more. Christine opened the back door. "I think we'd better go outside."

Allegra looked between her father and their visitor, accurately reading the atmosphere despite her tender years. "We'll stay here," she promised, grabbing her sister and shushing her when Gigi started to protest.

"To what do we owe this honour?" Erik enquired when the three of them were out on the patio with the door closed. The girls, naturally curious, had migrated to the living room and Christine stayed near the French windows so she could see what was going on inside.

Raoul put the whisky he was carrying down on the table. "I come under a flag of truce," he said, holding up his hands. "I know you're pissed off with me over the cutbacks and I'd guessed that's why you've been impossible to pin down the last few days." The older man frowned, tentatively turning the bottle to read the label. "I need you to know that I'm not your enemy; I want what's best for everyone."

"Sit down, Raoul," Christine told him, and he did, leaning back and resting one ankle on the opposite knee.

"This is a nice garden," he remarked, turning in his seat to get a better look around him at the colourful bulbs that were popping up in the planters and flowerbeds. "I don't think I've seen it in spring before."

"I'm sure you didn't come here just to tell us that," Erik observed as he folded his long frame into a chair.

"If you'd actually been in your office this week I wouldn't have needed to come here at all," Raoul countered. "I thought you might like to know that I made recommendations to the board based on your suggestions and they've agreed that we can keep the musicians on furlough for now, though the ultimate future of the orchestra is still under consideration."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean to say that you couldn't make the decision on your own?"

"That's wonderful, Raoul," Christine said, glaring at her husband. "It'll be a huge weight off our minds. Won't it, darling?"

"Of course, if you'd deigned to appear before me I could have told you days ago," Raoul told Erik, who just fixed him with a hard stare. "You might have saved yourself some stress."

"I assume that's not why you came all the way over here from your millionaires' enclave when a phone call would have done just as well," Erik retorted, needled as he always was when any weakness on his part was suggested. "Even an email would have surely been more sensible than running around the entire theatre trying to find me; expending so much energy on one small goal surely isn't a reasonable use of time and resources."

Raoul stared at him. "You knew I was looking for you all along, didn't you? Were you lurking somewhere, watching me go from pillar to post trying to track you down?"

"I can assure you that I have more important matters to occupy my time than spying on you, de Chagny."

"Erik, stop it," Christine ordered. "You're setting a terrible example to the girls. Raoul's made an effort; you can at least meet him halfway."

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Oh, very well. Thank you for letting us know," he said gruffly.

"And?" Honestly, it really was like dealing with another child sometimes.

"And for the scotch. It's a good choice."

Raoul smiled slightly. "Only the best for you, Erik."

"So, what else did you want to talk to us about?" Christine asked before her husband could respond to the facetiousness. "I assume you didn't really come over just to tell us about the orchestra."

"No. I..." He hesitated; Erik opened his mouth and Christine shot him a 'don't you dare' look. "Actually, I have a favour to ask. Do you remember me saying that Flick was getting married?"

"Yes, you mentioned it when we were at the surgery. Have they set a date yet?"

Raoul nodded. "October. Hopefully by then they can have a huge do, as she won't be satisfied with anything less, but Phil's insisting on a back-up plan, just in case; he said he's not paying out for hundreds of guests if they end up only being allowed to have fifty. It's going to be at some huge castle in Scotland; I forget the name now. Turrets and pipers and kippers for breakfast. Honeymoon in Bali. If anyone's ever allowed to leave the country again, of course."

"It all sounds very nice. "Christine exchanged a confused glance with Erik. "I don't quite understand how it involves us; I assume we're not on the guest list."

"Ah. Well, we were talking about it the other day – actually, that's pretty much all she talks about – and she was saying that she'd really like someone to sing between the wedding breakfast and the evening do. Someone really good. So..."

Erik's brow arched. "So...?"

"So..." Raoul turned to Christine with what she assumed was a hopeful smile but that came out more like a wince. "I... might have suggested you."

"Me?" She stared at him, shocked. "Why? I'm not a wedding singer, Raoul."

"Certainly not," Erik said dismissively. "You are far, far better than that."

"Oh, I know you're not, Chris," Raoul assured her. "It's just that she was harping on about wanting someone who was a cut above, someone with a bit of class, and I couldn't help it: your name sort of... slipped out. You're the best singer I know, after all. You'd blow them all away, especially if Erik was to come with you."

"What?"

"Erik? Perform with me at a wedding? Are you kidding?" she asked as her husband sat up straight, his face a picture of horrified astonishment. "He won't even get up on stage in his own theatre. Why would you suggest something like that?"

Raoul shrugged. "I just got carried away, I suppose, telling her that you're always saying what a brilliant musician he is, and how he's done wonders with your voice, and before I knew it she was telling me to book both of you."

"I assume you neglected to tell your sister about this?" Erik demanded, gesturing to his mask. "I'm sure she'd be delighted to have me looming around her nuptials, frightening the guests."

"Of course I didn't tell her! Knowing how touchy you are about it I wasn't going to bring that up, was I?" Raoul raised his hands, whether in surrender or just ward Erik off Christine wasn't entirely sure. "There's no need to jump down my throat; I just promised I'd ask, that's all."

"I suppose it is quite flattering," she mused, ignoring her glowering other half. "To be specifically requested, I mean. Has Flick actually heard any of my work?"

"Yeah, when she seemed keen on the idea I downloaded one of your albums for her; she's been playing it on repeat. She particularly complimented the piano playing," he added with a sidelong glance at Erik. "Said it was wonderful."

"Of course she did," Erik muttered, not convinced by that for a moment. Christine tried not to laugh. You had to hand it to him: Raoul was trying. In more ways than one, sometimes.

"Her taste in music is pretty awful but she loved it immediately."

"Right. Thanks. I think," she said, bemused.

The uncovered side of Erik's mouth twitched. "I have a feeling that may be what's known as a back-handed compliment."

Raoul's gaze moved back and forth between the two of them. "Will you at least think about it?" he asked. "You don't have to give me an answer now, but I know it would mean a lot to her."

Christine wasn't so sure about that; Felicity was six years younger than her and they'd never had much contact. From the little she could remember, Raoul's youngest sister was somewhat shallow and extremely self-absorbed and the wedding was likely to be something of a circus, but she didn't say so in front of him. She knew how much he cared about his family. "I suppose we could consider it," she said, looking at Erik. If nothing else, it would be a way of drumming up some interest in her recording career, such as it was. She was well aware that the only reason she was able to pursue it was down to Erik's clout and the fact that Jimmy knew the owner of the small independent label she was signed to.

For several moments she thought her husband would dismiss the idea out of hand. Even had the request come from someone other than the de Chagnys she knew his opinion would be exactly the same: he regarded those kinds of engagements as beneath her, suitable for struggling singers trying to launch their careers, not a successful operatic performer with a slew of major roles under her belt. It therefore came as a complete surprise when he nodded. "We'll let you know," he told Raoul, who sagged with relief.

"That's great," he said. "I've done my bit, so that'll get Flick off my back."

Erik's eyebrow quirked again and he sat back in his chair, folding his arms. "She didn't really like my piano, did she? I doubt she even knew who was playing."

"Er... no," Raoul admitted. "Actually she was curious after seeing you at the doctors' the other week and said she wanted to meet the man Chris chucked me for."

There was a pause, and then, much to everyone's astonishment, especially his ex-rival's, Erik laughed out loud. "Oh, my goodness... did she really say that?" Christine asked, hiding her traitorous smile behind one hand when Raoul tried to look wounded.

"Apparently she can understand why you went for 'tall, dark and mysterious'," he said. He shot Erik a sly glance as he got to his feet. "I'd watch out, mate, she might be reconsidering her options."

"From what you were saying a few weeks ago, I doubt I could keep her in the style to which she seems determined to become accustomed," the older man replied, amused.

The door opened behind them and Allegra stuck her head out. "Mum, as he's cheered Dad up does Uncle Raoul have to go right now?" she asked. "We never get to see anybody."

"You see Granny. And Nana and Auntie Meg," Christine pointed out.

Her eldest scrunched up her nose. "I know, but they're not as much fun."

Christine looked at Erik, who just shrugged; it was his usual response when he thought she would go ahead and do what she wanted regardless of his objections. "It's up to you," he told her. "Unfortunately I can't sit around chatting all night; I have orchestrations I need to work on."

"In that case I'll make tracks," Raoul said, taking a step towards the door. "I don't want to derail your evening."

"Oh, take no notice; it won't make any difference," Christine assured him. "He'll just go and lock himself in the studio again and I won't see him until he decides to come to bed. Have you eaten yet?"

He blinked at the unexpected question. "No; I was going to grab a Chinese or something on the way home."

"How would you feel about fish and chips? They're frozen, but you won't have to risk queuing with other people and they'll still be hot when you eat them."

"I think that after the day I've had they sound absolutely wonderful," he replied with a grin. "Thank you."

She turned back to her daughters, who were watching her with hopeful expressions, and smiled. "Looks like Uncle Raoul's staying for tea."