He had never expected to see her again.
Yet standing in the parlor of the little flat on the Rue de Rivoli, like a vision from heaven, was Christine Daaé.
No, Nadir corrected himself, the Countess de Chagny.
She was lovelier than Nadir had recalled. The same elegant Scandinavian features remained, the exquisitely delicate coloration, and graceful mien. Pain and fatigue had lined her face throughout their previous acquaintance, but these were now smoothed away. She looked, if not happy, than at least quite content. Nadir was glad for this.
"I hope I am not intruding." She held out her gloved hand with such ease that Nadir found it hard to believe she had not been born into her aristocratic role.
"Not at all, Madame," Nadir replied.
Darius brought tea and a plate of sweets, and Nadir found himself speaking with Christine as if she was any other mild acquaintance. Weather and travel, new literature and tepid scandals. They did not mention the theater.
Inevitably, despite Nadir's best intentions, they touched on the subject of him.
"I did not see the advertisement in the Époque until several weeks after the fact," she said. "We were in Sweden at the time; Parisian newspapers are a rarity there. I could not quite believe it- Erik is dead."
"It must have been… a relief," Nadir commented. It had been for him, though the relief was mingled with something like regret and something like grief.
"A relief?" the Countess asked philosophically. "Yes, I suppose it was. But it was also… Erik." She whispered his name, as if he could still hear her, still find her.
"Exactly so."
A minute passed as they both sipped the cardamom spiced tea. "I did not wear his ring," she said quietly. "I felt rather wicked at first, but I could not."
"You could hardly have been expected to," Nadir replied. "Even Erik—I do not think even he really expected you to."
She dismissed the comment with an airy wave of her hand. "I do not know what he expected. But—I want to keep the other promise."
Oh, unhappy woman! Nadir lamented for her. To be free, and yet still beholden to that monster. It stuck him as strange that two individuals as wholly unrelated as the Countess de Chagny and himself could have such commonality. Though perhaps it was not so surprising, if one considered that the bridge was Erik, and Erik had been the most singular individual on earth.
"I think it important that he have a proper, Christian burial," Christine continued.
"I am not sure that Erik would have counted that as important. I never knew him to care much for any god."
"He did want to be married in the Church of Madeleine," she protested.
Nadir chose not to reply to that point. "What does your husband say?"
"Raoul is away." She laughed. "Ah, my dear Raoul. You know, everyone tried to prepare me for being the wife of a count. No one tried to prepare me for being the wife of a sailor. I thought perhaps that he would have given up the sea, just as I gave up the stage—but I was wrong."
"He is still young," Nadir intoned. "He may yet be drawn to land."
"Oh, do not mistake me! I would never begrudge him his career," she lost her air of gaiety and set down her teacup. "It helps him, you see. It helps steady him and it helps him forget."
"Forgetting is, at times, the best course of action."
"Ah!" She smiled again, albeit grimly. "You try to dissuade me, Monsieur. But I cannot be. For I recall this unmet duty every time I hear his voice, and hear his voice whenever I sing—and I will sing until the day I die."
The memory of Christine singing—inhabiting—Marguerite was still fresh in Nadir's mind. "As well you should, Madame."
She leaned across the table and touched Nadir's fingers with a feather-light hand, earnest as only a child could be. "Will you help me?"
Being the closest thing to what Erik could call a friend had never been easy. Nadir always felt that there had been some immense score to settle between them, but had never been sure who it was in favor of. Perhaps this one last service would finally bring them into equanimity, and perhaps Nadir's soul would rest easier for it.
"Of course, Madame," he sighed. "Of course."
As a note- I've never read Susan Kay's novel. Therefore, my Persian has no real relation to her Persian. However, I've decided to use the name Nadir, as it appears to be the most common and acceptable thing to call the good Daroga. (It does seem to suit him rather well!)