CHRISTINE
Good things could never last very long, Christine had always thought. That was especially true after she left her last lesson. The fishing had been so poor this year that another family could no longer afford to pay her. It wasn't as if she had unlimited clientele to choose from, either.
As she was walking home, Lise Moigne waved her down. The woman, a few years older than Christine, had always remained friendly, even after Christine's dramatic falling out with Lise's cousins, which included Daniel. Lise's friendliness didn't seem put on either, she seemed to genuinely care about Christine.
"Christine!" Lise kissed both of her cheeks. "It's been too long. But I have good news, another student for you is on the way! Matthieu and I are having a baby!"
Poor Lise had miscarried or given birth to a stillborn child several times now. She kept a brave face on, but Christine could tell she was desperate for a child.
"That's wonderful news, Lise," she said. "I'm so happy for you."
"I just wanted to warn you, my cousin is coming next weekend with one of his other doctor friends, one who knows a lot about babies and can help me, so perhaps it would make things easier for you if you laid low while he's here."
The concerned look on Lise's face had no malice. It was clear the woman was looking out for her.
"Thank you, thank you very much," Christine said, repressing any stupid emotions that might have flared up otherwise. "I will keep that in mind."
They made small talk for a bit before Lise remembered she was cooking dinner. And Christine continued on her way. By the time she reached home, she was ready to fall asleep, even though it was still light out.
She had been so consumed with her lessons and worrying about other things (which definitely did not include Raoul) that she nearly forgot that Sassan was coming. She initially intended to go over at six, giving the two lovers time to reconnect, but by the time she remembered, it was half-past seven. It was amazing how she could while away the hours doing absolutely nothing but fretting about how she would pay to fix the roof, frantically going over her ledger to try to find the money in her meager income. She'd have to take another loan.
The air was noticeably getting cooler, she mused as she walked. Her gloves, mended so many times that hardly any of the original material was left, did little to keep her hands warm, so she shoved them in her pocket. Christine breathed a sigh of relief when Erik's cottage came into clearer view.
She knocked, casting what she hoped was a furtive glance at the larger house. She might have caught a glimpse of someone in the window, but she dismissed it as wishful thinking.
Sassan was the one to open the door and she flew into his arms.
"I've missed you so much!" she said. "I've so much to tell you."
"Erik has told me his half of it," Sassan patted her head. "But I hear the new master of the house is a friend of yours."
"Yes," she sighed. "A good friend, and nothing more, despite what Erik might tell you."
"Just like Sassan and I are good friends," Erik chortled, kissing Sassan on the cheek in a move that was clearly not platonic. "Actually, I think we bat our lashes and sigh at each other less than you and Raoul."
"I've told you before," Christine sputtered. "I see no need to give up my independence. I am much happier on my own. And even if I were interested in Raoul, which I am categorically not-"
"Could have fooled me-" Erik coughed, prompting Sassan to lightly hit his arm.
"Let me finish. Raoul would never, ever think that way about me."
Sassan began to speak. "Well, as long as you think-"
"What would you think, Sassan, of a man who asks me twice as many questions about Miss Daaé here than he does about what I plan to do about his house? He follows me around sometimes and the topic always turns to Christine. We could be talking about any subject you can imagine, shades of wallpaper perhaps, and he'd find a way to compare colors to Christine's eyes."
Christine blew a piece of hair out of her face. "Perhaps I just have nice eyes. Can we talk about something else?"
"What would you prefer?" Erik sighed.
"Perhaps we shouldn't talk at all, at least not about me," said Christine. "I'd like some wine."
"I'll open the bottle, mademoiselle," Erik bowed in mock deference. "Your wish is my command." He went into the other room, whistling.
Christine took Sassan's hand. "How have you been, how is Paris?"
"Beautiful and dirty all at once, as usual," his strong hand squeezed hers. "But it's my city and I can't bear to leave it for long, especially when Erik is being so Erik-like to you."
She had to laugh at that. "Erik-like, what a delightful turn of phrase."
"Really, truly, you must come with me back to Paris. At least think about it," Sassan urged. "They're holding this great exhibition with displays from all over the world. I know you would love it. Last time, they built the most peculiar tower I've ever seen."
Christine furrowed her brow. "Perhaps, if I've saved enough."
"It would be my treat," he said, his kind, dark eyes twinkling. "For looking after poor, unhappy Erik when I'm away."
"I had no idea Christine and I's relationship was so transactional," Erik called the other room. "I would have hoped my charms and stunning good looks would be enough for her."
"I'll… think about it," she said, ignoring Erik's interjection. But she could tell Sassan knew she was lying. It wasn't that she didn't want to go, it's just the thought of being indebted to him, even if she knew very well he never intended on collecting anything in return, unsettled her stomach. It unsettled her quite a bit. She took a big gulp of wine.
RAOUL
Philippe's telegram came at the most unwelcome time. Truly, any contact at all from Paris was unwelcome, especially after that last incident, but the extended Chagny family, especially his siblings, had a knack for inserting themselves into places of Raoul's life he didn't want them. Case in point, Perros.
Philippe had written that he intended to take a weekend away from the city, but what he really meant is that he intended to impose on Raoul so he could report back to the rest of the family on his condition. It was true that he hadn't responded to most of their letters, but how could he when all of them began with accusatory questions and ended with demands for him to return. He wasn't a little boy anymore and he certainly wasn't the lad of eighteen who tried to play Russian Roulette with all the chambers purposefully loaded. He was nearly thirty years old and a father of a young daughter besides that.
Raoul's reply to the telegram had been an empathetic "NO", although with the added message that perhaps, if he insisted on coming, that Fanny Sorelli and her daughters might like to come as well. Philippe's lack of further reply assured Raoul he had a reprieve for now.
Philippe served as "godfather" to his paramour La Sorelli's daughters, although it was clear to anyone with eyes or a rudimentary knowledge of biology that it had not been an immaculate conception that resulted in the birth of Giselle and Aurore. The two of them (named after their mother's most famous roles) might even have a new sister or brother on the way. The Chagny genes were truly so strong that any member of the clan was instantly recognizable.
Fatherhood had somewhat changed Philippe, who was still unmarried even though he was creeping closer to fifty and farther from forty every day. He did seem more at ease and claimed to get less of those crippling headaches from worrying about his brother. For a while, his stern fatherly focus shifted from Raoul to Giselle, who he spoiled endlessly. What use did a mother of pearl and ruby-encrusted baby rattle have to a newborn? But Philippe, ever the multitasker, still found time in his busy schedule to try to dictate how Raoul should live his life.
He was still seething that night, of course pausing his irritation when he was around Clémentine, the light of his life. But, as soon as he put her in bed, his moodiness flared up once more. He sat in the study, perhaps having an additional glass of scotch that wasn't strictly necessary. He gazed out the window, which gave him a rather clear view of Erik's cottage, as well as Christine's if he squinted. Which he only sometimes did.
Speaking of Christine, he thought he spied her trudging along the path to the cottage. Not that he was spying. It was just by happenstance he could see her walk up to Erik's door and knock, Raoul's heart skipping a beat when she looked up at the big house before she entered.
Rather unusual time of a day for a visit , Raoul thought, it was nearly eight o'clock. Still, it was none of his business, and he tried to get back to his book. Maybe another scotch might serve him well.
He did read, for a while, only occasionally getting distracted by speculating what exactly was going on in the caretaker's cottage. But only a normal amount of speculation, of course. After an hour had passed, he decided some night air might do him some good. Without telling anyone, he found his coat and hat and set out for a walk. How refreshing, to come and go as he pleased. But, just in case anyone on the property questioned why he was out and about, which he didn't anticipate happening, he slipped Erik's notebook into his pocket. The man had simply left it behind, and Raoul would return it, if necessary. Nevermind the fact that it seemed Erik always left it behind, probably purposefully, but that story didn't matter, because Raoul didn't intend on going to the cottage anyway. Probably.
The autumn air was quite chilly that night and Raoul wished he had brought a scarf almost immediately. Still, there was no need to go back in, perhaps attracting more attention to himself. For reasons unclear even to him, he was trying to not draw attention to himself.
Still, like a moth to a flame, he found himself walking in the general direction of the cottage, but certainly not towards the cottage. But, as he grew closer, he could indistinctly see the shadow of three people inside. From here, he could hear piano music and uproarious laughter, the highest pitched of the trio striking him to the core.
And like the idiot he was, he knocked on the door. Just as the last time he had knocked, Christine answered, only this time she was in a merry mood and wearing a crown made of paper.
"Raoul," she tilted her head, the smile on her face broadening."It's past your bedtime!"
"I could say the same for you," he said, trying to match her jovial tone and utterly failing.
She giggled as if he was the funniest man in the world, her face flushed. "Come in, come in!"
She grasped his hand to tug him inside. Was she… was she drunk?
Erik had his back turned, pouring cups of some fragrant tea while a stranger, perhaps the most stunningly handsome man Raoul had ever seen, rose from his seat to greet him.
"Ah, Monsieur le Vicomte, Erik and Christine have told me all about you," the bronze-skinned man grinned, revealing perfect white teeth.
Christine took her hand out of Raoul's and he felt the absence acutely. "This is Sassan, he's from Paris, he's Erik's friend-" she paused to let out a snort. "And I suppose he's my friend too when he's not beating me at cards."
"Come, come, we can't all be perfect and handsome like me," Erik turned around, bearing cups of steaming tea. Raoul sensed immediately that something was wrong with Erik's face, but couldn't put a finger on it.
This Sassan man seemed to realize as well, tugging on Erik's sweater. "Your nose."
And indeed, there was a gaping hole surrounded by twisted flesh in the middle of Erik's face. Perhaps Raoul had been too distracted by the stranger's beauty to pick up on that. Or he was drunk.
"Everyone look on the floor!" Christine shrieked. She was drunk.
Raoul, deeply confused and slightly horrified, was the only one to not drop to his knees. "Do you think it can be sewn back on? Is this some sort of medical condition?"
"Only the medical condition of being born, I'm afraid," said Erik. "So sorry to frighten you, Raoul."
"It's fine-" he started.
"Aha!" Christine held a triangular piece of flesh-colored something aloft. "Found it!"
Erik snatched it from her hands and popped it back in. Raoul took the liberty of falling back into an unused chair.
"What exactly just happened?" he said, once everyone had scrambled to their feet.
"I'm afraid I was born without a nose," Erik said. "I wear a false one, just to be polite and avoid questions. I know I'm an ugly, gaunt-looking fellow, but without the stage paint, I look even worse."
"Stage paint?" Raoul asked, questioning but not derisive.
"I've spent some time abroad, dabbling in all sorts of trades, I may have mentioned. Spent some time performing and learned a bit about how to conceal the worst of it. Transformed me from a freak of nature to just unfortunate-looking. The false nose has the great added benefit of preventing dust from getting in my lungs while we work. Would you like to take a look at it?"
Erik removed his nose and hesitantly held it out. Raoul took it gingerly, afraid he might break it. To his surprise, it was flexible but still held some rigidity.
"What's it made of?"
"Rubber," Erik said. "I actually made this one myself."
"Well," Raoul said, carefully. "I suppose you haven't shown this to Clémentine..."
"No, I didn't want to scare her, of course not." Erik rubbed his hands together anxiously.
"See, that's your mistake. You could play the ultimate game of 'got your nose'," Raoul gave a small grin.
It was as if all the pressure had been left out of the room. Christine and Sassan burst into laughter, followed quickly by Erik.
After the laughter had abated, Christine spoke. "Shall we continue with our reading? Perhaps Raoul would like to join."
Before Raoul could ask for clarification, Sassan interjected. "Monsieur le Vicomte, when I come to pay a call on Erik and we have our little parties, Erik plays the piano and we'll sing through operas, sometimes we'll do dramatic readings of plays. Well, I have a middling voice, so I usually read the stage directions while these two sing. It's quite fun."
"I can imagine, Christine has always had a lovely voice. I'd enjoy just watching, I think," Raoul said.
Christine fumbled around, looking for something and hiccuping. She seemed more than a little tipsy. "Where's my score? I know I left it somewhere…" She downed the rest of her glass of wine.
Sassan seemed to share Raoul's concern for Christine's condition. "Perhaps, you should retire for the night, Christine, I'll walk you home."
"What?" she cried, slurring almost imperceptibly. "I've hardly… oh… well, I suppose."
"Monsieur Sassan," Raoul said. "I'd be glad to walk her home. If that's what she wants."
There was a sense of general uneasiness in the air that hadn't been there moments ago. Erik and Sassan shared a look.
"You're right, Sassan, I should go home," Christine ruffled his hair. "And you probably would rather rest, you've had a long day of traveling. Raoul can walk me."
"Well, of course," Erik said. "Just, Raoul, tell me when you come back, so I know she got home safe."
It was a rather big production to get Christine properly bundled up. She wanted to kiss everyone on the cheek.
As they walked, the cool air seemed to sober Christine. Her chattering, which Raoul made sure to hang on to every word, reduced in speed. As they neared her house, there was a lull in the conversation, after which Raoul finally spoke.
"I don't suppose Monsieur Sassan's wife ever pays a call to Erik."
She snorted. "Sassan has no wife."
Something that had been brewing in the back of Raoul's brain all evening came to the forefront.
"Christine," he said carefully. "Are you sure you should be hanging around these two bachelors alone?
She froze. "How can I be alone when I'm with two people?"
He knew by then he had made a mistake, but perhaps mixing drinks made him continue.
"You know what I mean… unchaperoned?"
She started walking again, so briskly that Raoul had to catch up.
"And who, pray tell, should serve as my chaperone?"
He could not see Christine's expression when she was walking so fast, but he could tell she was irritated with him.
"I mean, it's just that… They both seem quite nice, but… well, you just don't know if their intentions are pure."
She spun around, fury written on every feature of her face.
"I've known these men five years and haven't seen you in over a decade. How do I know your intentions are pure?"
Raoul took a step back. "I didn't mean that. Christine, I would never, you just don't have a father to-"
"Protect me? Oh thank you, Raoul, I had quite forgotten that my father had died, thank you ever so much for reminding me."
He was a complete idiot, he knew that full well by now. He knew he had to be careful. He had only just regained Christine's friendship, he couldn't bear to lose it again.
"Christine- I only meant that- I'm trying to look out for you."
There was a coldness in her features that he had never seen before. "Ah. Look out for me. Monsieur le Vicomte, I have taken care of myself quite well over the years without any man's interference. While you were in Paris, chasing a bit of skirt or whatever it is that Chagny men do, I have lived my life, and yes, supped with bachelors. I know I am perfectly safe. I don't need to justify myself to you or anyone else. Goodbye, Raoul."
With that, she stumbled up the steps to her cottage and slammed the door.
God, what had he done?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: So sorry for the wait! Thank you to all my lovely commenters.I am still kind of fudging historical details. Without giving everything away, there was a World's Fair type of exhibition in Paris in 1889 and in 1900. My story takes place in between that period, but I still wanted to include it... you'll find out more later.