"Mrs Claudin!"

Christine turned in surprise to see a tall fair-haired woman she vaguely recognised as Allegra's teacher approaching across the playground. Though she had seen her at various school events, they hadn't met in person; Allegra only started in her class in September and the usual parent-teacher meetings had been necessarily abandoned during the pandemic. Unlike her secondary school counterparts, Helen Carter wasn't wearing a mask, and Christine found herself surprised and strangely pleased to see a near-stranger's face properly for once.

"I'm glad I caught you." Mrs Carter's hand moved from her side and then dropped in an abortive attempt to offer it to be shaken. She glanced at her charge, who had just climbed into the car, and smiled. "Allegra showed us the video of your singing competition."

"I hope she didn't badger you too much." Christine also shot a look towards her daughter; Allegra's expression suggested that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. "I don't want to be the cause of any distractions in class."

"Oh, no, not at all. She was obviously very proud, and we always like to find out what the kids have been up to," the older woman said cheerfully "Most of them are usually glued to the X-Factor when it's on so something in the same vein naturally went down well. I think you may have gained yourself a few new fans."

"That's good to know. It's just a bit of fun, but if we can get them interested in different kinds of music along the way that would be wonderful," Christine replied, knowing that Allegra was grinning behind her. "The earlier they start the better; my two have been surrounded from birth by everything from Bach to Burt Bacharach."

"I'm rather fond of Tchaikovsky myself," Mrs Carter admitted, adding in a low voice, "But I can still enjoy a little Jason Donovan when the mood takes me. Dancing round the kitchen, you know..."

Christine laughed. "Absolutely nothing wrong with that. Too Many Broken Hearts is a classic."

"I'm glad I've finally met someone who agrees!" the teacher cheered, chuckling too. "I have to say, though of course we knew you and your husband were professionals, hearing you sing was quite a revelation. For some reason I thought your background was musical theatre; I had no idea you were classically trained."

"Erik was my tutor; it's all been down to his guidance. That's how we met, actually. He's a very talented man."

"So I understand. Allegra talks about her father all the time; it was nice to finally put a face to the name. Are we likely to be seeing Mr Claudin at the next parents' evening?"

"Ah." Christine chewed her lip. She should have known that question would be coming. "It's doubtful. He's... rather shy I'm afraid."

Mrs Carter looked disappointed, but she just nodded. "That's a pity, but I do appreciate that performers often are. A strange paradox, isn't it? We would have been delighted if the two of you – or even just yourself, of course – might be interested in helping out with some of the school productions, when we're allowed to get them up and running again. I know it's not for months but I'm sure the Christmas concert would benefit a great deal from your expertise."

And there it was: the real reason she'd been collared. Christine sighed inwardly; it seemed that everyone was trying to get them to commit to something lately. It was annoying, but she was used to making excuses for herself; almost every teacher of Allegra's had asked her if she would give lessons or help with an after-school music class at some point and she was unsure how much longer she could continue making polite refusals. Evidently Erik's sudden appearance and the curiosity it provoked was just going to make it worse.

"We'd have to see," she hedged. "It's a long time in the future and we're both very busy. We might not be able to - "

"Of course, of course! I completely understand. It was just a thought, that's all," Mrs Carter assured her. "We do so like parents to become involved where possible; it's wonderfully enriching for the children to meet people from different walks of life and share their experiences."

"Yes, well, as I said, we'll certainly consider it," Christine told her, glancing back at the clock on the dashboard. She flashed an apologetic look and began to open the car door. "I'm afraid I really must be going; I have to collect my younger daughter from her grandmother's and then we have an appointment at the dentist's. It was nice to meet you."

"Oh, likewise." The other woman smiled broadly. "Farewell for now."

Christine did her best to smile back.

"You won't though, will you?" Allegra asked as they finally pulled away. "Help with the concert?"

Christine checked her mirror. "It's unlikely. Can you see your Dad conducting a group of your classmates singing Little Donkey?"

"Not really." She giggled. "I wish I could though; that would be funny."

"You're right, it would." Christine couldn't help grinning at the mental image. "Maybe we should sign him up, just so we could watch."

"Mum, that's very naughty," her daughter opined seriously, and then completely spoiled the effect by sniggering.

Christine made a valiant attempt to sober herself as she turned onto the main road, out into the mid-afternoon traffic. "I know. I'm sorry. We shouldn't do something like that to your father; at his age it wouldn't be good for his blood pressure."

A companionable silence followed that pronouncement, until Allegra switched on the radio, searching through the stations until she found something she liked. As it seemed to be quite often, her choice was Absolute 80s and before long they were both singing along to Cher and Tina Turner, Christine tapping out a beat on the steering wheel as her daughter happily belted out Simply the Best. Most of the girls' initial introduction to contemporary music had come on car journeys, she reflected; it was listening to her favourite singers that had ultimately led to Allegra seeking out classic pop and rock, borrowing her mother's CDs during lockdown and evolving a much more eclectic taste than many others of the same age.

"Mum, exactly how much older than you is Dad?" she asked idly when they were halfway to Angela's and an advert for insurance was blathering away in the background.

"Well, he was born in 1966 and I was born in 1985. You work it out."

"Nineteen years. That's a big gap," Allegra mused. "How come you didn't marry someone your own age, like Uncle Raoul?"

"You want the simple answer?" Christine enquired, lifting a hand to acknowledge the kind person who stopped to allow her to pull out into a busy high street. She was grateful; normally she ended up being stuck at that junction for at least five minutes. "I fell in love with your Dad, that's why. Age didn't really come into it."

"Did Uncle Raoul ask you to marry him?"

Christine glanced at her eldest child. "You're asking a lot of questions today, toots," she said, and sighed when Allegra just looked at her expectantly. "Yes, Uncle Raoul did ask me to marry him."

"Before you met Dad?"

"Well, sort of. I knew Dad, but at the time I didn't realise I loved him. When I did, I broke up with Uncle Raoul." Allegra frowned, and not for the first time Christine wondered why kids always had a knack of asking awkward questions at inopportune moments. "It's all very complicated. You'll understand when you're older."

Her daughter considered this, watching the houses and shops pass through the car window. There were people in masks queuing patiently outside the bank and the post office; it was odd how normal such a sight had become. "I don't think Dad was what Mrs Carter was expecting," she remarked eventually.

"He's never what anyone's expecting." Christine could remember the first time she'd caught sight of Erik as though it was yesterday: an imposing, impossibly tall figure in a long black coat with an old-fashioned hat pulled low over his face, lurking in the shadows that lined the wings of the Vanburgh's stage after hours. A shiver had run down her spine, and it hadn't been entirely due to nerves, the anticipation that flooded her veins now she'd finally managed to convince him to meet her face to face.

"Is it because of the mask? People think it's weird?"

"Some people. But we don't take any notice of them," Christine told her firmly. "Do we?"

Allegra shook her head. "Mrs Carter couldn't have seen the mask, anyway," she reasoned. "He wasn't wearing it in the video."

"No. I think that people are just surprised because he's not like everyone else. Some of them find him intimidating."

"What's 'intimidating'?"

"Scary."

Allegra laughed at that suggestion. "Dad's not scary!"

"Not to you, maybe. That double glazing salesman who interrupted your father when he was right in the middle of a composition would probably beg to differ."

"I don't understand why anyone would want to be just like everyone else," Allegra said, wrinkling her nose. "We can't all be the same. That would be so boring."

"How very true. You're getting wise in your old age," As they drew up outside Erik's mother's house Gigi was at the front window, ducked beneath the net curtain and waving excitedly. "At this rate you'll be advising the rest of us before you hit your teens. By the time you get to twenty you'll probably be running the UN."

"I don't think so. I'm going to be a famous artist. Or a vet. I haven't decided yet."

"You might want to speak to Dad about that," Christine suggested, amused. "He's already got you down as a concert pianist or first violin of the London Philharmonic, and if you don't fancy either of those, prima donna at Covent Garden or the Met."

Allegra's expression was less than impressed.

"Dad's home early," she observed as they pulled up outside the house, pointing to the low-slung black Mercedes with tinted windows that was indeed parked in its usual space. When Erik had bought the car, Meg joked that it looked like the Batmobile; the withering look he gave her had been an absolute picture. Christine had doubted its practicality but he wouldn't be swayed; from necessity her car was used for family outings as they would never all have fitted into the Merc. "Did he have the dentist, too?"

"He didn't mention it to me, and if he had we would have seen him there. I hope there's nothing wrong at the theatre." A familiar tendril of worry started to curl in Christine's stomach. Maybe it wasn't the Vanburgh that had problems. Once inside the house she made sure Gigi - who was chattering unconcernedly about her day at nursery, and how they'd learnt a song about a frog that she just had to sing to Daddy - had hung her coat and tidily lined up her shoes and headed with a little trepidation for the study door. There was usually only one thing that would make Erik leave work before the end of a rehearsal and she dreaded what she might find.

A tentative tap elicited no response, but she could hear shuffling and the rustling of clothes in the room beyond so he was obviously conscious and moving, which was a relief. She waited a little longer before trying again, but when she still didn't get a reply she decided just to get it over with and curled her fingers around the handle, throwing the door open with such unintentional force that it banged against the wall behind. The sound was enough to startle him: he'd evidently been intent on some sheet music that was propped on the piano but he leapt up at the sudden intrusion and spun round, eyes briefly flashing with panic before the visible side of his face twisted at the sight of her there in on the threshold.

"What do you want?" he snarled, the naked fury in his voice so different to his usual smooth tone that Christine heard a gasp from one of the girls, who naturally had followed her. "For the love of God, does no one in this house ever knock?"

It took her a couple of moments but Christine recovered from her initial shock. He'd obviously been home for a while as there were papers spread all over the desk, as well as across the piano lid; pencils and other artists materials among the detritus as well as his open laptop and a half-empty coffee mug. There was nothing to suggest a reason for such sudden ferocity, however, and she glanced back at him, noting in concern that he was trembling, though whether from rage, surprise or something else she couldn't tell. "Go upstairs and get changed," she told her daughters quietly. "I need to talk to Dad."

Allegra nodded, putting an arm around Gigi, who was looking somewhat shaken. She wasn't used to her father shouting; he never normally raised his voice around them, not even on the rare occasions when they were being so trying it might have been understandable. "Is Daddy angry with us?" she asked in a small voice; in the corner of her eye Christine saw Erik's expression crumple, the rage apparently draining away as swiftly as it had appeared.

"No, sweetheart, you've done nothing wrong. Daddy's just had a bad day, that's all," she told her. "Go and sing the frog song to your sister." She watched them retreat and shut the door, counting slowly to ten before turning back to her husband. He was gathering paperwork and stuffing it into a drawer, hastily shutting the lid of the laptop. Christine balled her fists against her hips and demanded, trying to keep her voice low, "What the bloody hell was that performance in aid of?"

"You startled me," he said without turning round. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon."

"And that's an excuse to scare the kids? What's got into you?"

"Nothing has got into me. I was busy; I didn't hear you come in, that's all."

She folded her arms. "It didn't look like that to me. You jumped up like a man who'd just been found out and was desperately trying to deflect attention."

Erik glanced round at her, brow raised. "Found out doing what?"

Christine shrugged. "You tell me. What's all that stuff you just hid? And don't try and flannel me; I saw you shove it all away."

"It's nothing. Just some rubbish I've been messing about with, that's all," he said quickly, stepping in front of her when she moved towards the desk. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "It's embarrassingly bad; I'm going to chuck it all, start again."

"You're being very defensive about 'rubbish'," she objected.

His lips twitched. "Well, I do have a reputation to maintain."

"Hmm." She wasn't convinced but decided to let it go. There was a more important matter to deal with. "Why did you come home early? Are you not feeling well?"

"I'm fine. I just wanted some peace and quiet, somewhere to think. My office has been like Piccadilly Circus today; the phone has hardly stopped ringing and de Chagny seems to think he can just pop in and out whenever he feels like it." He growled, striding over to the window. "I can't think; there's no music in my head, just a mindless cacophony of noise."

"That's still no reason to bite my head off for walking through the door. And for your information, I did knock. Twice, actually."

"I know. I'm sorry," he said sincerely, turning back to her. The anger was well and truly gone now, contrition very obvious in its place. "I seem to be saying that all the time lately, but I am, honestly."

She inclined her head, accepting the apology. "You need to explain to the girls, too. They didn't deserve to see that," she told him, and he nodded miserably. "I know I'm not perfect; I have the occasional lapse. I'm human, we both are, but don't yell at the kids, Erik. Even if you've had the day from hell, it's not their fault."

"No, it's not." Erik ran a hand over the side of his face, and looked surprised when he felt the mask instead of flesh beneath his fingers. Evidently he'd been so intent on whatever it was he'd been working on that he'd forgotten he was still wearing it. He snatched it off and tossed it onto the desk, closing his eyes and massaging the spot where his right brow should have been with his thumb. "I'll make it up to them."

"Good." Christine crossed the room to wrap her arms around his waist. "We always said we'd never be those people, the ones who can't control themselves in front of their children, and we've done so well, all cooped up in here together for so long... I don't want all that to change now we're finally getting back to normal."

He patted her hand. "It won't, I promise."

"So..." She pressed her forehead between his shoulder blades, forcing herself to relax. "What's got you all worked up this time?"

There was a pause, and then he released a long, gusty sigh. "Control," he said. "I feel as though I'm losing it."

"I don't think that could happen," she told him lightly. "You're the biggest control freak I know."

He chuckled a little at that, but the amusement soon died. "Then why is everything slipping out of my hands? The money, the show, my private life..."

"Ah." Christine drew back a fraction and he twisted in her embrace, looking down at her with a puzzled frown. "This is about the interview, isn't it?"

Erik shook his head. "No, not entirely. I've spent so long being in sole charge of that theatre it's... difficult for me to let go and entrust so much to other people. That boy of yours is there all the time, changing things, bringing in new people... it doesn't feel like the Vanburgh is mine any more."

That explained a lot. "Raoul's taking over."

"If that's the way you want to put it, yes." He pulled free and stalked across to the piano, leaning on the closed lid, knuckles white as he gripped the edge. "I know he's trying to help us and I don't want to be churlish but it's driving me insane, Christine," he admitted. "I'm not sure how much longer I can put up with it. He's talking about more visibility, trading on my name, and yours. I'm supposed to be a director, for crying out loud, but it seems just at the moment that my focus is being diverted from what's important and I'm being dragged along in the wake of an out of control publicity machine."

She rested her hands on his shoulders, gently massaging the tight muscles. "Then you need to talk to him. Not snipe, or threaten to eat him like the big, bad wolf, actually talk to him and tell him how you feel. I know Raoul; he's not completely insensitive, even if he often gives that impression. If you explain that you feel he's pushing too hard, he'll back off."

"With his brother putting pressure on him at every turn?"

"Raoul doesn't care about pissing Phil off; he's been doing that all his life. But I think he will care if he was brought in to take the pressure off you but finds he's doing the exact opposite." Christine ran her fingers up his neck, pushing her thumbs into the hollow at the base of his skull. He groaned as she loosened the tension there. "I know I've been saying it for years, but if the pair of you would just speak to each other civilly for once you might actually find you have something in common."

Erik snorted. "Highly unlikely."

"Oh, I don't know. You both fell for me; that proves you share impeccable taste in women," she teased when he glanced back at her. "And you both hate what Phil's doing. That should unite you if nothing else."

He smiled and shook his head. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am. Now," she said, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it, "Come and apologise to your daughters before they become too traumatised. Gigi has a song she's dying for you to hear. She thinks it'll be a hit."

"Oh, really? What's it about?"

Christine led him out of the study. She was still curious about the papers he'd shut in the desk, but she could leave that for another day. "Well, there's this speckled frog, and it sits on a speckled log..."