A/N: I'm going to admit to not being completely happy with this chapter. It doesn't really flow that well from one situation to the other but I'm fed up with fighting with it. Hopefully it's not too disjointed.

It was dark by the time Raoul left and the kids were so keyed up from his visit that it took even longer than usual to get them to go to bed. Allegra's French words had been almost forgotten in the excitement, and it was fortunate that when her father was coaxed out if his bolthole in the basement to go through them with her she had retained all but two of them from her earlier study. Only a promise to test her again before school in the morning would convince her to settle down; Christine knew that she would be reading within five minutes of the light being turned out but was too tired herself to bother arguing.

Instead she showered and changed and curled up on the sofa, trying to make sense of the latest series of Line of Duty while Erik sat with a notebook on one knee, scribbling comments on that day's rehearsal, a sheaf of set and costume proposals spread out around him.

"That was a surprise," she remarked.

"Hmm?" He turned a page, scratching out something else, and she realised from the movement of his hand that he was, either consciously or not, actually jotting down musical notes on the paper instead of words. The fingers of his other hand were tapping out a tune on the arm rest, crotchets and quavers sharing space with a critique of Mike's performance of If It Wasn't For The 'Ouses In Between. "What has Ted Hastings done now?"

"Not him; I meant you, agreeing to think about this wedding business."

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that." She sat up slightly, resting her head on one hand. "I thought you would have sent Raoul off with a flea in his ear for even suggesting such a thing."

He considered for a moment, stretched out his fingers as though they were touching a keyboard and returned to rapidly marking out the notation on the stave he'd scored across the top of the page. "I'll admit, that was my first inclination."

"So what stopped you?" Christine asked.

Irritatingly, Erik responded with a question of his own. "What is Raoul's sister like?"

"I didn't know her that well; she was still in junior school when I was finishing my GCSEs." She thought back, trying to remember the little kid who used to hang around when she went over to Raoul's house. One incident she thought she had forgotten suddenly sprang vividly to mind: ten-year-old Felicity loudly demanding in front of the whole family to know whether the teenage Christine was having sex with her brother. "I suppose she's a bit of a spoilt brat, really, being the youngest. Everyone's lives revolved around 'baby', as their dad used to refer to her. In his eyes she could never do anything wrong."

"And does the current head of the de Chagny line feel the same way?"

"Phil? I suppose so; he wouldn't have agreed to stump up for this huge wedding bash if he didn't want to indulge her. He's likes the good life, but otherwise he's pretty careful about his money."

"So I'm aware." He grimaced. "That makes his agreement to this proposal of Raoul's even stranger. After our recent altercations I would have thought I was the last person he would want near a family function like that. And he would hardly be likely to issue an invitation to you when you didn't turn up to your own wedding."

Christine shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't know."

"That's a distinct possibility," Erik agreed, closing his eyes as one hand conducted briefly in the air, leading whatever piece of music had wrapped itself around his brain this time. She propped her chin on one arm and just watched him in fascination; she hadn't seen him compose like this in ages and was still confounded every time by his ability to conjure beauty out of nothing, not even needing an instrument to assist him.

"I didn't leave Raoul at the altar," she corrected a few bars later. "You make me sound like Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride."

"The date was agreed and the church booked, though, weren't they?"

"Yes, but it hadn't got any further." She narrowed her eyes as the corner of his mouth twitched. "You know that it didn't."

"You told me that his mother had already bought her hat," he said, giving her a sidelong glance.

She huffed. "Can I help it if she was over-eager? Anyway, it was partly your fault that my wedding was called off, and you haven't answered my question: why did you tell Raoul you'd think about our performing at Flick's do? I assume you're not going to agree."

"Most probably not. But it doesn't hurt to keep the request in my pocket."

"What're you up to?" Christine asked suspiciously.

"Me?" His eyebrow and its missing twin rose in an attempt to look innocent. "Absolutely nothing, my love. It just occurred to me that we didn't have any discussion with the boy regarding our fee should we accept. I hope he wasn't imagining we might do it for free."

"Do you mean - "

Erik switched his pen to the opposite hand and played a few notes on the cushion beside him before returning to his scribbling. "If Philip de Chagny is willing to pander to his sister's every whim then assuming she wants us badly enough there may be some room for... negotiation."

"Negotiation with regards to the Vanburgh." She shook her head, biting her lip as an involuntary smile crept onto her face. "You really are a devious git sometimes, Claudin."

His face was partly turned away, but she could make out a definite smirk. "I believe you were already aware of that when you married me."

"Then shame on me for not making sure you grew out of it."

"You have a definite capacity to wound, Christine," he told her plaintively, raising his eyes heavenward.

"Bullshit," she retorted. "If you're plotting any tricks - "

He gave a snort. "Perish the thought! When," he enquired as he gestured to the paperwork spread out across the coffee table, "precisely do you think I would find the time for such petty indulgences? Sometimes there are barely enough hours in the day for me to deal with my legitimate occupations."

"Good. I hoped we'd moved beyond all that."

"We have; I'm merely holding true to the old adage and keeping my friends close but my enemies closer. It's probably true that this may not be useful in the long run, but I would prefer to keep it as an option, that's all."

"That's all right, then." Christine sat back and reached for the remote; she'd have to rewind half the programme to have even a faint chance of understanding what was going on now. "I'd hate to think you were using me as an insurance policy."

"Not a policy as such," Erik assured her. He scrawled a few more notes and glanced up at her, a definite twinkle in his eye. "More an understudy, kept in reserve in case the principals should fail."

"I don't know," Meg said, taking a bite out of her sandwich. "It all sounds a bit fishy to me."

"What, you reckon Raoul's plotting something?" Christine laughed. "Hardly. I don't think the idea would even occur to him; he doesn't have a manipulative bone in his body."

Her friend shrugged. "Why not? Erik's obviously spotted the potential for a bit of blackmail."

"Now Erik does have a manipulative bone. Lots of them, in fact, despite my attempts to alter his anatomy over the years."

"Well, then: what if Phil sees it the same way?"

"You mean, he might force us into performing at Flick's wedding by promising to keep the orchestra at full strength if we do?" Christine asked, and Meg nodded. "I think he and Erik would be on the same page there, and either way when it came to the Vanburgh Phil would lose."

"But he'd win as far as the wedding was concerned."

Christine frowned. "Perhaps. It'd cost him a lot more than it would us, though."

"Whatever you're talking about, it sounds very convoluted," Theodora remarked, sitting down on the grass the requisite six feet away and gracefully folding her legs to one side. She opened the paper bag she'd been carrying with her free hand and withdrew a Chinese-style wrap from the nearby coffee shop; Christine could smell hoisin sauce. "Is it a private dilemma, or can anyone join in?"

"It's just the usual," Meg told her before Christine could open her mouth. "Discussing ways to skewer our tight-fisted overlords."

"Ah." Teddy nodded sagely. "The eternal struggle of the artistically-minded against the keepers of the cold, hard cash. I know it well." She took a sip of iced tea. "I'm glad I found you, Christine; I've been meaning to speak to you all morning but that husband of yours has had me going through my first number for the past hour and a half. I had an idea for this YouTube channel you've been talking about."

Immediately interested, Christine sat up straighter as the other woman started on her lunch. "Oh, that's wonderful! What was it?"

"A sing-off," Teddy said, knocking a stray piece of lettuce from the corner of her mouth with one perfectly-manicured nail. "You and me, on our stage. Alfie will film it, and we can use the crew for an audience. The one with the highest score after a certain number of rounds wins. Any good?"

There was a brief pause, and then Meg applauded enthusiastically, earning them a few stares from other visitors to the park. "Brilliant! We could do the same with the dancers!"

"That's what I thought. We can film it in heats; get the public to join in by asking them to vote."

"Sort of, The Vanburgh's Got Talent." Meg grinned.

Theodora shrugged. "If you like."

"Maybe we could persuade Erik to be Simon Cowell."

Christine nearly sprayed the mouthful of water she'd just taken all over the picnic blanket. "You're on your own with that one, Meg."

"Do you think he'll let us film it between rehearsals?" Teddy asked, passing her a paper napkin. "We'd need good acoustics."

"I don't see why not; I'll ask him later if I get a chance." Christine mopped at the front of her sweater. "He'll probably agree to anything as long as he doesn't have to appear on camera himself."

"That's a shame. I was going to say we could ask him to compere but on consideration I think he'd be the teensiest bit biased, and we all know towards who," the other soprano said with a wink.

Christine blushed. "He'd be the model of impartiality."

"Yeah, right," Meg snorted. "Next you'll be telling us he thought Carlotta was a good singer."

"He never said she was a bad singer, just that she'd lost her soul. She was going through the motions all the time. And she'd fallen into bad habits."

Her friend just smiled. "Of course he did."

"To be fair to Erik, he's pretty much on the button there," Theodora told Meg. "I heard her towards the end of her career and it wasn't great. Sloppy phrasing, poor posture and an attitude the size of the Empire State. Not what you want from a leading lady." She looked thoughtful, sucking up the last of her drink through its straw. "I felt kind of sorry for her in the end."

Christine's phone beeped, making them all jump. On investigation she found an irate text message from her husband, demanding to know where they were. "Oops, I think we're running late," she said, checking her watch.

"We'll need accompaniment, of course," Teddy reminded her as they scrambled to get their things together. "Depending on what we choose to sing."

"I'll speak to him tonight," Christine promised as her phone chimed again, somehow sounding more agitated than before. "Right now, I think we'd better hurry, before my dear lord and master blows a gasket."

"Yes, you can use the auditorium. And before you ask, no, I am not being involved," Erik said, setting the warmed plates down on the island. "And that is final."

"Don't be such a grouch, Dad," Allegra scolded, and he just grunted. "I think it's a great idea. What will you win, Mum?"

Christine laughed, twisting the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. "I don't think there's going to be a prize as such. And you're assuming people will vote for me over Auntie Teddy."

"Of course they will!" her daughter replied with a roll of the eyes, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Auntie Teddy's good, but you're the best."

"I quite agree." Removing a dish from the oven, Erik started doling out the contents: cottage pie topped with crunchy mashed potato. Christine hid her smile; somehow it still amused her to see him in apron and oven mitts, doing something so utterly mundane. "That doesn't mean, however, that I have to have anything to do with what my cast decide to get up to in their own time."

"Yeah, but it would be so much better if you did," Allegra insisted. She glanced back at her mother. "You're going to need music, right, Mum?"

"Naturally," Christine agreed. "A couple of instruments at least."

Allegra smiled triumphantly. "Then there's a job for you, Dad!" she declared, to everyone's surprise. "You can play the piano, then you could both be in the show!"

"It's only a bit of fun for YouTube, toots, not prime time on ITV," Christine reminded her.

"I know that, but everyone would be able to see what I do at home and find out how great it is."

"Eugene Reyer is a perfectly competent pianist." Erik reached for his own drink and took a slow sip. He looked slightly rattled by her sudden enthusiasm. "I'm sure he'd be happy to oblige."

"Mr Reyer's nice, but if he plays I can't tell everyone that it's my Dad, can I?" Allegra asked with a pout.

"She's got a point," Christine told him. She hadn't intended to even suggest his participation, but it was difficult to disagree with Allegra's argument. The fact that Erik kept aloof from his daughters' lives had always bothered her but she knew why and had gone along with it even though she knew there would come a point when they would start to question the situation. It looked as thought that moment might have come. "When can she ever show anyone something and say 'That's my Dad's work', look how good he is?"

He went to fetch the vegetables from the microwave. "Anyone can come and see one of my shows; my work speaks for itself."

"That's not the same thing, and you know it. Give her something she can share with her friends for once."

"So that they can all ask why her father has only half a face?" he asked bitterly, twisting the pepper grinder to season some swede.

"Erik, it's the twenty-first century; no one is going to be bothered by your mask," Christine said, frustrated that they were returning to the same old argument, even though she knew it would never change; she winced as the serving spoon hit the plate with a bit more force than strictly necessary. "They're not going to send a mob after you with pitchforks and flaming torches; the world has moved on a bit from medieval times."

He had his back to her but his free hand gestured towards his damaged cheek. "Do you honestly think that they wouldn't be just a little bit curious what lies beneath it? It's human nature; they wouldn't be able to help themselves."

Allegra frowned. "Dad, these days people aren't allowed to judge you by what you look like. Isn't it illegal, or something?"

"It is if it strays into discrimination," her mother agreed.

"You're the best piano player, and a lovely singer," Allegra said, throwing her arms around her father's waist and hugging him tightly; startled by the ferocity of the gesture, he nearly dropped the spoon he was holding. "I know that, and I want everyone else to know it, too."

Erik turned slightly in her embrace and patted her on the head. "Thank you, sweetheart, but I'm afraid that whatever you say, once people saw me all consideration of my abilities would be likely to fly right out of the window."

"But why would they do that?" she asked, confused. "Are they stupid?"

"Yes," said Christine. "Very stupid."

"It's happened before," he reminded her.

"A very long time ago," she retorted. "Things change; people change."

He shot her a look, jaw set. "Just leave it, Christine, please," he said in a tone that signalled the end of the discussion.

She sighed, tracing lines in the ring of condensation her glass had left on the counter top, and glanced at Allegra. "You'd better go and find your sister: it's time for dinner."

Reluctantly, their eldest released Erik and went; he was focussed on dishing up, rummaging in the drawer for cutlery, but Christine didn't miss the disappointment on her daughter's face and it nearly broke her heart.

"There's no point asking me; my mind is made up."

"About what?" Christine asked, even though she knew the answer. She'd been half expecting this; he was quiet all through dinner and afterwards locked himself in the study to pound the piano, typical behaviour when he was angry or upset about something. Hanging up her dressing gown on the back of the door, she slid into bed beside him.

"You know what: this competition Theodora has cooked up." Erik didn't look at her, apparently very interested in the book he was reading despite the obvious tension in his voice. "You were going to try and convince me to take part, and sent our daughter in to bat for you."

She stared at him in disbelief. "Do you honestly think I would do something like that? The first she'd heard of it was when I mentioned it to you; her opinions were entirely her own," she told him sharply. "Why would I even bother trying to talk you into it when you made your feelings on the subject perfectly clear? Once your shutters come down on something it's like trying to argue with a brick wall."

"I have my reasons; I thought you respected them. I've already agreed to accompany you in the show itself, against my better judgement; is that not enough?"

"Of course it is, and I do respect your decisions, you know I do. But if you did join in with Teddy's idea, and I'm only talking hypothetically," she continued before he could respond, leaving her own novel on the bedside cabinet and turning to face him, "would it really be so bad? If someone saw you on camera, ultimately what can they do? They're just people, people you will probably never meet. Their opinions don't matter."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew she had probably made a mistake but it was too late now. "Do they matter when they've posted rumours about me all over cyberspace?" he enquired sourly.

"They're already doing that: I've seen everything from rants about you being a cover for a computer programme used to digitally enhance my voice to an apparent certainty that the Vanburgh is actually being run by me under an assumed name." She might have laughed when his eyes widened in surprise at the last one but she didn't feel amused in the least. "Wouldn't it be better if what they were posting was true for once?"

"What they are writing is just conjecture, a fiction spun out of the little they know."

"If there are gaps people will always fill them, and if they don't know the truth they'll make it up."

He shrugged. "They're fairly harmless. The suggestions might even be amusing if they weren't so puerile."

"Not to me, they're not," Christine retorted. "It may only be a tiny corner of the web, but in some circles they don't even believe it is me singing; I've been accused more than once of misleading my fans, and that hurts, Erik. I try to shrug it off but it's not fun having your integrity questioned, especially when it's something you've worked really hard on."

He sat up straight at that, furious at the implication. "How dare they - ! Show me the accusations; I will refute every single one!"

"How, precisely?" she asked, and his eyebrow rose. "You don't have an online profile, you keep completely below the radar. As far as most of the world is concerned, you don't even exist; if you were to pop up now to defend me I doubt if anyone would believe you. I'm surprised you even let me tell people we're married!"

"Is it wrong of me to prefer to keep my private life exactly that: private?" he countered, bloated lip curling in a sneer. "Should I instead be telling everyone what I had for breakfast, and airing my opinions of last night's Eastenders? Or would you rather I shared pictures of you and the girls to all and sundry, possibly putting you all in danger?"

"That's not what I meant." She looked down at the duvet, balling it in her fist in frustration. "I just - "

"Just what? Christine, we've been over this before, many times," Erik sighed, sounding suddenly weary. "You know the answers to these questions; I've explained it to you often enough. Why do you need to drag it all up again?"

For a moment she wondered that herself; it had only a been a couple of weeks since she had been fiercely protecting him, defending his reasons to Raoul. Why were they even arguing about something that had been decided and accepted years ago? Then she remembered Allegra's face earlier, how sad she'd seemed. "Because," she said, "while you're worrying about the opinions of complete strangers online, our daughter wants to share you with her world. Her real world, the one she deals with every day. How are you intending to explain it to her? Most of her friends have fathers who take an active, visible part in their lives, even if their parents are no longer together. They go to sports day, talk to the teachers, show an obvious interest. I know you do your best," she added quickly when he looked about to object, "You give her so much love and support. But you can't deny the fact that, outside the house at least, most of the time you're not there for her, not physically, not when other people are around. You've never met her at the school gate, or taken her swimming, or spoken to her friends when they've come for tea."

She expected an impassioned rebuttal and braced herself, but to her surprise for a long time he said nothing, his gaze turned away from her, mouth a thin line. Eventually he murmured, "She knows why."

"Oh, she knows why things are that way, but that doesn't mean she really understands. Why would she? She's only nine, after all, and she's grown up with your face; she doesn't see anything wrong with it."

"She'll understand when she gets older."

"That's a long time to make her wait. Will you meet her first boyfriend?" Christine asked. "Can I expect to have to find someone else to walk her down the aisle when she gets married?"

"Don't be ludicrous," he snapped. "She is my daughter! Why would I allow anyone else to do such a thing?"

"Well, I have to consider every option if you're going to hide away forever," she retorted, the words pouring out before she'd realised what she was saying. Once again, he was silent; hunched over, he sank his head into his hands. Tentatively, she rested a hand on his back. "I'm sorry, darling. I just... well, you should have seen her face earlier. She was so excited that she might finally be able to show you off, and then - "

Erik's voice was muffled by his fingers. "I can't see why she could possibly want to show this... carcass off to anyone."

"Why wouldn't she want to show everyone what her incredibly talented Daddy can do? I used to get my father to play his violin when my friends came round; he was probably sick of doing it but he always obliged and I loved it, especially when they gave him a round of applause at the end. It felt wonderful that I had a dad who was different, who did something no one else's could." She rubbed a gentle circle between his shoulder blades. "If she's anything like me," she told him quietly, "she'll be so proud of you that she'll want everyone else to feel the same way she does."

For a long, long time, he was still. She continued to massage his shoulders, hoping to bring him some comfort, until abruptly he pulled away, slipping out of the bed and throwing on his robe.

"Where are you going?" she asked as he tied the belt, his face still angled away from her.

"I just... I need a little time to myself," he said. "Go to sleep; I'll be back up in a while."

"Erik - " Christine began, reaching out to him, but in a moment he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.