CHRISTINE
When Erik returned to finish their visit, Christine found herself quite withdrawn and distracted. Erik seemed to want to discuss plans for Sassan's upcoming visit, but Christine couldn't help but think about Raoul. Raoul, who had grown into such a handsome man, and who now had such a lovely little family, with his beautiful wife Apolline and adorable young daughter. But what did it matter to her?
Erik kept trying to engage her in conversation, but she'd let him do most of the talking, only nodding and smiling while her thoughts were consumed with Raoul. Her gaze kept drifting to the window.
"Now, you and the Vicomte, were you sweethearts? Is that why you keep glancing longingly towards the house?"
That got her attention and nearly made her drop her teacup. "No! Nothing of the sort!" she said indignantly. But that was a lie.
"All right, all right, calm yourself. Is that what's got you in a twist?"
"He seemed so droopy and sad. Like a lost puppy," Christine wound a loose lock of hair around her finger.
"He seemed enamored enough with you, in fact-"
"Stop it, will you?" she rolled her eyes. "Didn't you see the wedding ring? And his wife? And anyway, I've always regarded him as a brother." Another lie.
"If you say so, Christine," his lips were pursed but there was still a twinkle in his eye.
The rest of the visit passed by without mention of the Vicomte de Chagny (as Christine knew it was proper to call him). Sassan, who lived primarily in Paris, would be coming any day now.
Erik and Sassan had known each other for a long time and were… quite intimate friends. But they quarreled and irritated each other so frequently that Sassan spent half his time away in Paris. Surprisingly, the distance seemed to improve their relationship and when they were together, they got along swimmingly. Erik joked that it was the only thing that kept them from killing each other. Christine couldn't really understand it, but then again she'd only been in one relationship. One and a half.
Christine rubbed the scar on her hand. Erik, as much as he was entirely skin and bones, had always had quite an appetite and had finished off the cakes, while Christine, who had been ravenous before, found herself feeling too sick to eat.
She told him goodbye after an hour, promising to visit tomorrow. Her secondhand straw bonnet, which would have been out of style even ten years ago, did very little in keeping her ears warm as she trudged along. She did not consider herself very vain, although she supposed most people wouldn't describe themselves as vain either, she longed for either something decaying less or perhaps a woolen sailor's cap that would keep the chill out properly. Hmm, Madame Marcon was always knitting, perhaps she could trade a few lessons for something a little warmer.
She began to think about Raoul again. Why anyone would give up Paris for Perros, she could not understand. At least Erik had health issues that prevented him from living there, but Raoul? Paris was everything Christine had dreamed of as a child, and she had relished any snippet of information she could cajole out of anyone she vaguely knew who had been there. Free lessons could also sometimes get her a souvenir if she was lucky.
At the end of the bed, there was a chest Papa built, intending for her to keep her bridal trousseau in (although he had assured her that she didn't need to marry). There was plenty of room in the box, for she had long ago sold anything she had made or bought in anticipation of a marriage. She had no need for embroidered handkerchiefs or a lace veil anymore.
In the chest, she kept all her mementos and hopes and dreams, as if they were secrets she needed to hide from somebody. Well, she did need to keep them to herself, but it wasn't as if she needed to hide any of them. She lived alone and had no visitors, but it would have felt wrong to display her sizable collection of picture postcards or maps of Paris or even the little brass Arc de Triomphe (a gift from Sassan, hesitantly accepted).
She hadn't entirely given up hope of moving to Paris, although it was looking more and more unlikely as each year passed. Before Papa had gotten sick, he had saved assiduously so they could leave Perros, and Christine could enter the opera conservatory once she was old enough. But life had gotten in the way. Papa began to cough and was too sick to play the violin at fairs anymore. As their only source of income dried up, Christine had no choice but to dip into the jar they kept their savings in. Papa had protested, but she believed that if the medicine was expensive, it must work. Papa was dead within six months, and she had to use the remaining funds to pay for a funeral. After he was buried, Christine hadn't known what to do besides walking into the sea with stones in her pockets. It had only been the charity of the Cariou family that kept her from complete poverty, and that had some quite nasty strings attached.
That whole experience had instilled in her a desire to never accept charity, and it was. why she wouldn't let Sassan pay for her to spend a week in Paris, as he had offered so many times. He was a good fellow and wanted to help her out of the goodness of his heart, but she could never be in debt to someone ever again
The Paris fund jar was now about a quarter full, but Christine knew she would probably need to withdraw from it again soon. The hinges on her spectacles were getting quite loose and she wasn't sure if they would be able to be mended again.
She usually tried to avoid stopping at any store in town after she had finished her daily tasks. It was foolish to go into the bakery and stare at the chocolate desserts that were simply not practical, when she could do just as well with the discounted old black bread in the cupboard at home, never mind that she had bought it three days ago. And the secondhand shop was another temptation because there were so many lovely things that she simply did not need. But today, despite herself, she found herself walking into the Desjardin's shop as if drawn supernaturally.
Monsieur Desjardins and his wife would pay a pittance for practically anything you didn't want anymore but could be useful to someone else. Christine, who hadn't had a frock that wasn't second or third hand since she was a girl, delighted in the bargains she could find. The shop was stuffed to the gills with clothes, kitchen wares, trinkets, anything you could think of. Most of it was rather disorganized, crammed into boxes under clothes racks, or piled into precarious stacks. But, if you dug hard enough, you'd find exactly the right thing.
The bell on the door chimed when Christine walked in, but no one was there to greet her except the pudgy cat who slept on the counter. Christine scratched his ears and began her search. What she was looking for, she could not say.
New (to her) boots would be a practical investment, so she headed to where the shoes were usually kept, although truthfully, they might be anywhere. She found a pile of mismatched shoes in the corner, under the rack of men's coats, and next to a pile of yellowing women's fashion magazines. She could vaguely hear the hum of a conversation in the back room. She could recognize Madame Desjardins' voice, but not the woman she was talking to, although she could feel a vague sense of dread.
"The Comte de Chagny, they say, had a new favorite girl at the opera every six months, until one of them got knocked up. At least that's what I read in the papers," said the unknown voice.
The mention of Raoul's brother made her ears prick up. Still, she tried desperately to ignore the conversation. Here was a perfectly nice boot that looked like it might fit if only she could find its match.
Now Madame Desjardins was talking. "How noble of him, pardon the pun. I hear he's got quite a little brood of bastards. I wonder if the Vicomte is very much the same. I hear the cousin he bought the house from is quite the playboy. He gave his wife something dreadfully nasty, syphilis I think, picked up from one of his whores. I heard it from her lady's maid when the happy couple visited last, two years ago."
"Well, that cousin, let the place go to shit, pardon. My son used to go there all the time when he was small and the Vicomte were playmates, best friends even. I'll have to ask him. I can't imagine that runt of a boy having such a sordid past, but why on earth would he come here?"
Listening to that lie made Christine realize exactly who Madame Desjardins was speaking to. She felt even sicker. She got up to leave, hoping to escape without being noticed, but banged her head on the coat rack, knocking over the whole thing as well as the stack of magazines. The loud thump startled her even more.
Lying slightly dazed on the floor, she became aware of the two women standing above her with a look of consternation. Yvonne Cariou and Madame Desjardins did not offer a hand.
"Oh dear little Christine, what have you gotten yourself into?" Yvonne clucked. The woman was old enough to be her mother, but the hint of affection in her voice was condescending.
She scrambled to her feet. "I am so sorry, I had a fright, I thought I saw a mouse."
"Mouse?" Madame Desjardins flinched. "I knew this would happen one day."
Christine tried desperately to pick up what she had knocked over, but Madame Desjardins stopped her with a firm hand.
"Never mind that. I'll pick it up."
Sheepish, and wanting nothing more than to get out of the shop, she picked a magazine at random. "Could I buy this?"
"A wedding magazine, huh, Christine? In the market again for a husband?" Yvonne smiled, although Christine shuddered.
"Uh… I just like the pictures," she felt horribly flushed. How stupid she was. But it was too late to back out now.
"I see," Madame Desjardins pursed her lips. "I'll give it to you for a sou "
Christine dug in her pocket for her purse and produced the coin. It wasn't hard to find, considering how little money was in there.
Blushing more than ever, she left with a nod, humiliated and one sou poorer.
Any qualms she had about asking Raoul for a job dissipated. It would be at least a few months before she could visit the second-hand shop again, once the rawness of her embarrassment had healed. In the meantime, she'd have to buy from somewhere else.
She'd pay a call on Raoul tomorrow.
RAOUL
God, Claude had left the house in ruins. If he thought the exterior was in disrepair, it didn't prepare him for the inside. It was barely habitable, with peeling wallpaper and cracking plaster, broken windows boarded up. At least it was relatively clean, although the rugs could probably use a good beating. Raoul resolved to begin addressing the many issues the next day.
The nursery was in such disarray that it only made sense for Clémentine to sleep with him in his bed. He just hoped it wouldn't become a habit again. It wasn't that he minded his daughter sleeping in bed next to him, it was just that all the parenting advice he had heard warned against it.
Lunel came over in the morning by his request. Christine truly had such a strange choice in a husband, although Raoul could not find it in himself to hate this man.
"And what exactly have your responsibilities been up to this point?" Raoul said, surveying the fireplace for loose bricks. It was easier than making eye contact.
"Well, your cousin essentially paid for me to make sure the house stayed standing and not much else. I would write to him about issues with the house, but he was most concerned with preventing vagrants and schoolboys from breaking in, he didn't give a damn about the preservation of the floors or the crown molding. Forgive me, Monsieur le Vicomte, I do not wish to speak ill of him-"
"Please do speak ill of him, Monsieur Lunel," Raoul's mouth curved into a small smile. "Claude is an idiot and I hold no affection for him, only his late mother."
"I'd much rather you call me Erik unless you find that too familiar."
"All right, Erik, as long as you call me Raoul. Then I'd say we're even," he outstretched a hand.
Erik took his hand with overeager force. "That sounds fair."
"I intend to fix up this place as quickly as possible, and with no expense spared. I want it to be like it was when I was a child. But truthfully, I'm not sure I know enough about construction to properly supervise the renovation. I trust you know more about the area than I do, and could help me find someone to be in charge."
"If you don't mind, I'd suggest myself for the job. In the past, I have worked as a foreman."
"That sounds perfect, especially since you live so close. And you and your wife-"
"Wait a moment. What did you just say?" Erik turned his gaze directly to him. Raoul suddenly felt like a butterfly under glass.
"You live so near and you and your wife-"
"Raoul," he said, with all the seriousness in the world. "Who do you think my wife is?"
He felt tremendously stupid as he said "Christine?"
Erik made a valiant effort to remain straight-faced for a moment before bursting into hysterical, booming laughter. It went on for entirely too long and made Raoul deeply uncomfortable.
After a minute or so, Erik wiped tears from his eyes, and his cackles tapered off. "No, no, I assure you. I am a lifelong bachelor and intend to keep it that way. Miss Daae and I remain purely friends."
Raoul's face was hot as he fiddled with his wedding ring (an artifact he kept on out of guilt). "And Christine's husband…"
"She hasn't got one and as far as I know, she's never had one. Her own choice, I might add."
So what was Christine doing keeping company with a bachelor? He pushed that thought to the back of his mind for now.
"Well, thank you for clearing that up," he mumbled, anxiously shoving his hands in his pockets. "Do you think you could look into getting electricity installed for me first? It's awfully gloomy in here, especially with the weather being so poor."
"I'll see what I can do," Erik gave another friendly but disconcerting smile. "I'll go into town and see. Good day, Raoul."
Watching the oddly lanky fellow set off, Raoul was still unsure what to think of the strange man, so cheerful and constantly humming yet looking almost corpse-like. He decided he liked Erik a lot better now that he knew he wasn't Christine's husband, but he still felt uneasy that Christine passed the time alone with a bachelor. How odd.
He glanced out the window and saw the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. Perhaps some fresh air would do him some good, their attempts to air out the musty house were unsuccessful so far. He found Apolline trying in vain to braid Clémentine's hair in the sunroom and asked if they'd like to go for a walk.
Once they were all bundled up, Clémentine's hand in his, they set off for the beach. Apolline's boots were quite unsuited for walking on the sand and Raoul almost advised her to remove them entirely, before realizing that could be construed as inappropriate. For once, he avoided putting his foot in his mouth.
Clémentine tugged on his hand. "Papa, can we go swimming?"
"It's much too cold for that, darling. But when the weather is nicer, we will. Do you see that rock over there, doesn't it look like a chair or a throne?"
Clémentine modded, eyes alight with the possibilities of new games.
"Miss Christine and I used to climb all over it, pretending we were all sorts of things. Mermaids, usually. But one time, the tide came in, and we were trapped on there without wearing our bathing costumes. At least, I was. I was too timid to jump back into the water, and my dear friend Christine had to get her father to rescue me."
"You were very silly, Papa! You love water," she giggled.
"Yes, I was wasn't I?" Raoul laughed. He picked her up and swung her around. "But not as silly as you are when you won't eat your vegetables."
He hoisted her onto her shoulders. Clémentine was growing up so quickly, and soon he wouldn't be to toss her around like this. The thought alone almost put him in a sour mood. Still, it was hard to be glum, despite the weather, when his daughter was so happy.
They made their way down the beach, Raoul stopping to point out the landmarks from his childhood, from the stone staircase carved by nature to the cove where he scraped his knee nearly every single time. Clémentine asked to be let down so she could collect seashells, and Raoul obliged, content to watch her forever.
After fifteen minutes, Apolline (who was now carrying her boots in her hand after falling on her face) suggested they return to the house before Clémentine caught a chill.
As they turned around, Raoul caught sight of a recognizable figure dressed in a cloak that might have once been black but had now faded to gray. Christine
He longed to run to her, to pretend things were like they used to be. But their friendship had been changed irrevocably by the passage of years. Things couldn't just go back to the way they were.
Clémentine surprised him by bounding ahead of him, Apolline trying desperately to catch up.
"Miss Christine! Your hair is so pretty when it's long!"
Christine clapped a hand over the back of her head.
"Oh dear, have my pins fallen out?"
Indeed they had and the wild curls he had once brushed for her were now blowing in the wind. Raoul felt a lump in his throat. What the hell was wrong with him?
Christine dropped to her knees and searched frantically around the sand. "Oh goodness..."
Raoul attempted to aid in her search, scrambling over to help her dig through the sand. "Did you drop something important or just the pins?"
She glanced up at him. "Pins are important, especially when they cost a whole lesson's wages for a new pack. I try to reuse them as much as possible."
He bit his lip. "I didn't mean to sound dismissive, I only meant that... I'm sure there are pins in the house, from Aunt Hortense or one of my sisters... You needn't get sand all over yourself."
Clémentine crouched down, digging now too, giggling as if it were some kind of game. All she seemed to accomplish was getting her new gloves soiled.
Christine let out a sigh. "I suppose it would be impossible to find them, they could have fallen anywhere."
Raoul extended a hand to help her to her feet. "Come inside, and we'll find you some pins."
"All right, I suppose your wife might have some?"
Raoul felt sick all of a sudden. How much did Christine know? He swallowed. "No, my wife never had the fortune to visit here before she died."
Christine covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I only thought that... I assumed-" she pointed to Apolline before dropping her hand.
"Apolline?" he was confused for a moment, then felt a laugh in his throat.
Christine wrapped her arms around herself, blushing. Raoul felt guilty immediately
"You'll have to forgive me, Christine. It is slightly amusing that your thought dear Apolline, Clémentine's nanny, was married to me. Poor Manon, my wife, she died when Clémentine was born. She has been a great help, and she does resemble my daughter, but as far as I know, they are not related. But what's really funny," he grasped her gloved hand and adopted a conspiratorial tone. "What's really funny that I assume you were Madame Lunel."
Her eyes widened for second before she burst into laughter as well. They shared a lovely moment until Clémentine tugged on Raoul's coat.
"I want to go in now, Papa," she said.
Apolline, who seemed deeply uncomfortable by the proceedings, took Clémentine's hand.
"If it pleases you, Monsieur le Vicomte, I'll take Clémentine inside if you still wish to talk with … Mademoiselle Daaé."
"Yes, that would be perfect," he said. Try as hard as he could, he could never get Apolline to call him by his first name. He crouched down before Clémentine. "Will you be good?"
She nodded. "Promise to tell me a story tonight, Papa?"
"Of course," he kissed her forehead.
"Goodbye, Miss Christine!" she said before skipping off, Apolline trailing behind her.
"Your daughter is so beautiful and so well mannered," Christine said at last after an interminable silence.
"Much better behaved than two children looking for korrigans and getting horribly dirty in the process"
"Or poking around in dusty attics, looking for treasures…" Christine said dreamily.
They drifted into a comfortable silence, for a moment it was like no time had passed. He impulsively took her hand again.
"You said something earlier about lessons? Violin, perhaps?"
"No, you know just as well as me that I was even more hopeless at the fiddle than you, Raoul," she said. "Father is buried with his 'second child'. I teach voice and piano mostly, I took a correspondence course in teaching. And I play the organ for the church. That's actually why I was coming here."
"To play the organ?" he said stupidly.
"No, to ask you for a job. I hear there is a position open for someone to teach music to little Clémentine."
"Oh, Christine, I could never have you work for me… You're a friend, like.. ahem, family!"
He could tell by the tight-lipped expression on her face that she didn't like his answer. He became aware that despite how lovely she looked, her straw hat was battered and had clearly seen better days.
She gritted her teeth. "Raoul, I could really use this job. Madame Archambault doesn't think her twins are learning fast enough, even though they are both tone-deaf and it's only been a month, so she's canceling her lessons."
"If it's money you want-" he started, before she indignantly interrupted him.
She shook her head vigorously. "I don't want charity, Raoul. I'll accept hairpins, but not much else. I probably don't compare to some fancy conservatory-trained Parisian-"
"That's not why I said it, it's not that at all. There's no one I trust more to teach her than you… I just felt sort of funny about being your employer."
"We're friends, first and foremost. And I can see how you treat your staff, like family, eh?"
"Yes, well, Clémentine never had a mother, much like me, so Apolline is the closest thing. I suppose I should call her Mademoiselle Druset, but truly it feels so odd and formal. Of course, she refuses to call me Raoul." He stared at the ground, kicking up a little sand.
"I am so sorry to hear about your wife, Raoul…" she took his hand. "How awful, I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."
"It's all right, Christine," he said, meaning it truthfully. "Like you said yesterday, there's nothing you could have done. I should have invited you to the wedding."
At the time, Raoul had agonized overextending an invitation to Christine, ultimately deciding that he could very well lose his nerve to go through with it if he looked into the crowd during the ceremony and saw her.
"Never mind that…" she wiped a tear from his cheek with the pad of her thumb.
Oh god, he'd started to cry. Idiot.
He cleared his throat. "I am sorry… I prefer not to think about her, although it's hard when her daughter looks more and more like her every day."
"We needn't discuss it, then," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
"Would you like to come in?" he took in a deep breath. "We'll get you some pins and we can set up a lesson time. I will warn you that despite Erik's efforts, it is truly a mess in there."
"Do you have a watch with you? What time is it, if you don't mind me asking?" she fidgeted with her hat.
He fished it out of his jacket pocket. "Nearly half-past ten, why?"
"I've got to get to my next lesson, I'm so sorry." She seemed pained.
"But what about the pins?"
"I can't be late for this one, it's a twenty-minute walk and I need to be there in fifteen. I'll make do."
"Wait a moment," he said, producing one of Clementine's ribbons from his pocket. "At least you could tie your hair back, perhaps?"
"Thank you," she smiled. "You're always saving the day."
She gave him a kiss on the cheek that seemed to shock both of them. Raoul felt something in the pit of his stomach that he hadn't felt for years. Her face was crimson as she bid him a good day and ran off.
All he could think of was the red scarf and another kiss.