Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who is still reading and reviewing this story. I really appreciate the support!

Chapter Fifteen: Sing for Me

1.

Christine raised the fork to her mouth and closed her eyes. "Mmm. That tastes like heaven. Have you tried it, Erik?"

Erik stared down at the large slice of chocolate cake on his plate. She watched as he broke off the tiniest piece, chewed it slowly, and nodded.

"It's very good," he said, laying his fork aside.

She frowned. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Not especially."

"But you're always hungry."

He glared at her. "Thank you."

"Well, it's true. What's the matter?"

"Nothing, Christine."

Erik had been like this for five days now: sullen, moody, and uncommunicative. At their lessons, most music was declared to be 'too boring' or 'too difficult'. He criticised himself constantly for the most minor mistakes, and he had stormed off into the wings twice. Yesterday, she had asked him if he wanted to accompany her on one of their dawn walks, and he had declined. She had finally managed to lure him from the theatre with the prospect of cake, but now she was getting the impression that he was just going along with the excursion for her benefit.

Frankly, she was getting tired of it all.

"Erik, is there something on your mind?"

"It's nothing."

"It's something, I think."

He continued to stare moodily at his plate. "I was just wondering what the cake was like in Paris."

She looked at him in confusion. "Well…it's very good. We have these places called patisseries. They serve all kinds of wonderful cakes."

"Sounds fancy." He paused. "Do you miss it?"

"The cake?"

He still didn't meet her eye. His next word was very faint. "Paris."

Ah. So that was what was bothering him.

"Is this about my conversation with Raoul?"

He did look at her then, his eyes widening. "I wasn't eavesdropping. At least…not on purpose."

Christine wasn't entirely sure she believed this. Erik had a habit of creeping around the theatre with a silent tread. She had seen him eavesdrop on other members of the company, particularly Gerard.

"When I was going back upstairs, I heard him ask if he could see you again."

She closed her eyes briefly. Damn. "I see."

He dropped his gaze to his plate. "I…didn't expect this – whatever it is – to last, Christine. Now your viscount has come for you, you'll go back to Paris, back to your old life."

Christine sighed. First Raoul, and now Erik. Why did everyone expect her just to drop everything and go back to Paris?

"First of all, he's not 'my viscount'. And secondly, I'm not a piece of lost luggage to be collected by anyone. Finally, I have no intention of going back to Paris. I like it here."

He looked perplexed. "You…do?"

"Yes, Erik."

"But I thought you loved him. I thought it broke your heart when you left."

"It did, but people change. And it was never going to work." She reached across the table and caught his hand. "I'm not going to lie to you, Erik. I do love Raoul. He's my dear friend. But it's…different…to what I feel for you. He's here for a month, and then he's going back to Paris. Alone. So can't you just relax? Please?"

The corners of his mouth turned up in the smallest of smiles. "Very well, Christine. I'm sorry."

"That's quite all right." She let go of his hand and picked up her fork. "Perhaps, if I do ever go back to Paris, you could come with me."

He blinked. "Go…with you?"

"Why not? I could take you to a patisserie, and you could judge the merits of Parisian cake for yourself."

"I'd like that." His smile widened. "Are you quite serious?"

"Of course." She paused, holding his gaze. "Erik, you understand everything I've said, don't you? About Raoul? And Paris?"

His mouth twisted a little. "I'm trying my best."

"Good." She smiled, and reached for his hand again. "That's all I ask."

2.

Gerard arrived at the theatre one afternoon to find a young gentleman waiting at the stage door.

The gentleman was finely dressed in an elegant suit and top hat. He looked well off, and for a horrible moment Gerard was worried that he was a lawyer sent by Messieurs Gilbert and Sullivan, to sue him for the use of 'Poor Wandering One.' Or perhaps he had forgotten to pay an important bill.

The young man stood up and doffed his hat. He smiled at Gerard in a friendly, open way. "Mr Gerard, I presume?"

His English was heavily accented. French, if Gerard was not mistaken.

"I'm Gerard," he said guardedly. "How can I help you?"

The young man laughed. "Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. I am the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny."

Gerard's eyes widened. A viscount! An actual aristocrat, in his little theatre! This was certainly unexpected.

"Vicomte!" Gerard found himself giving a little bow. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Do you perhaps require tickets for tonight's performance?"

Raoul smiled. "That would be charming, but I've actually come to speak to Miss Daae. Is she here?"

Gerard knew exactly where Miss Daae was. He had just seen her go into the small coffee shop down the street. With Erik. But there was no reason to tell the viscount this. Gerard was not stupid; he had seen it all before. There was a chance this young man was Miss Daae's admirer. There was absolutely no reason to push him away by telling him that she was in the company of another man.

"I'm afraid Miss Daae won't be here until an hour before the performance," said Gerard.

"Oh." The viscount's face fell. "I'm sorry to hear that. We're old friends from Paris. From the Opera."

Something clicked in Gerard's memory. "From the Opera, you say?"

"There's something I wish to give her before I return to Paris. Some music I've written which I feel might suit her voice. Perhaps…perhaps I could leave it with you, and you could pass it on to her, with my compliments?"

"Music, you say?" Gerard summoned his most charming smile. "Vicomte, would you care to take tea in my office?"

The viscount looked a little uncertain. "Well, I…"

"There's something I would like to discuss with you. Just a little idea I've had. And you can wait in comfort until Miss Daae arrives."

"Oh, I…" The viscount looked momentarily uncertain. Then he smiled. "Very well. Thank you."

Gerard led the viscount to his office. He couldn't help noticing the young man's brow crinkle a little as he beheld the slightly gloomy, dusty interior. But Gerard knew he had it in his power to win him over. He made them both a cup of tea in his best china cups, and took out the tin of Extra Special Business Biscuits.

Then he sat down opposite the Viscount, and gave him another big smile.

"So…Raoul. May I call you Raoul? I suppose you've heard all about Miss Daae's success at our little theatre?"

Raoul's face lit up. "I saw the review in The London Times. I would have expected nothing less from Christine…I mean, Miss Daae."

He blushed a little, and Gerard raised an eyebrow. He wondered if Raoul's interest went beyond simple admiration.

"Have you followed her career for a long time?"

"For years." Raoul seemed to check himself: his expression became guarded. "I'm sorry, was there something you wished to discuss with me?"

Gerard nodded. "I think, under the right conditions, Miss Daae could become a big star. Don't you agree?"

"She was much admired in Paris," said Raoul.

"Then you're clearly well aware of how talented she is." He offered the viscount another biscuit. "If she was a star in Paris, I'm quite sure she could be a star here. But, if you'll forgive me for being so blunt, what she really needs is a supportive, influential patron who could introduce her to the right people, the right audiences. I'm sure the London elite would love her, but most of them are unlikely to visit my little Music Hall." He paused. "Would you perhaps consider offering your patronage, Vicomte?"

Raoul looked startled. It was a moment before he replied. "I'm…afraid that won't be possible, Monsieur."

"Oh. May I ask why?"

"I'm only in London for a few weeks. And besides, I don't want to interfere." He stared at his clasped hands. "I was Christine's patron in Paris, and I fear I ruined things for her. I don't want to do that a second time."

Gerard recalled the rumours he had heard swirling around his theatrical circles about two aristocratic French brothers fighting over an opera singer. He had always suspected that Miss Daae hadn't just come to London for a change of scene, but he hadn't quite expected romantic intrigue. He sensed the chance of gaining the viscount's help was slipping through his fingers.

He had to think quickly.

"That's very gallant of you," said Gerard. "But you wouldn't have to offer Miss Daae your patronage directly."

Raoul frowned. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You could become a patron of the Music Hall itself, with a view to supporting all the acts." Gerard paused, and smiled. "But particularly Miss Daae and Erik."

The frown deepened. "Erik?"

"Certainly. Miss Daae and Erik work as a pair. They have an act together, a combination of magic and music. It's quite something."

"I see. So I would be Erik's patron, too?"

"Yes. Would that be a problem?"

Raoul looked away. "I…find him a little unnerving."

Gerard nodded. "He's an unusual performer, to be sure, but I promise you, he has a great rapport with Miss Daae."

"Does he?" Raoul's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Is he respectful towards her? Is he trustworthy? Because if he's going to do anything to risk her reputation, or mine, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline."

Gerard felt a pang of annoyance and sadness for Erik, whom the viscount did not know. But then he wondered if the young man's attitude was entirely coloured by prejudice. Could it be possible that he was jealous of the magician?

"Erik may seem a little rough around the edges, but he's really quite a gentleman," said Gerard. "His relationship with Miss Daae is entirely professional, as far as I can make out. She has been giving him singing lessons."

"Yes. She told me." Raoul looked guilty. "Forgive me. I have no right to judge Erik. I suppose any friend of Christine's should be my friend, too."

"Does that mean we can count on your patronage?"

"Yes, I suppose you can." Raoul smiled. "In fact, I have an idea, a way I could introduce Christine and Erik to some of my London friends. But I would like to speak with her first. I need to know that she's happy for me to help."

Gerard arranged his face into a serious, understanding expression. "Of course. Of course."

"Perhaps you could secure me a seat for tonight's performance after all?"

"It would be my pleasure." Gerard refilled the viscount's teacup. "And now, tell me your ingenious idea."

3.

Christine stood in the wings, smiling.

Erik was giving a much better performance tonight. He had relaxed, and the emotion had crept back into his voice. He no longer stood so stiffly, and his long, elegant fingers had unfurled themselves, his hands moving as if conducting his own music. His singing invited warm applause which left him looking slightly stunned.

As soon as his act was over, she hurried to her dressing room and began to change in readiness for their lesson. She was eager to congratulate Erik, and keen to present him with a new aria which she felt sure would be a good fit for his voice.

There was a knock on the door. Christine sighed. Why was she constantly being disturbed?

She went to answer, and found Gerard…and Raoul.

The impresario was smiling. Raoul looked slightly reticent.

"Mr Gerard," she said. "Raoul…how nice to see you."

"I do hope we're not disturbing you," said Raoul. He was speaking English, obviously for Gerard's benefit.

"Not at all. Please, do come in."

Gerard strode into the room without hesitation. Raoul still looked a little uncomfortable.

"We're sorry to keep you here after the show," said Gerard. "But we wanted to share our news. Our friend the viscount here has agreed to become a patron of the Grand Music Hall."

Christine stared at Raoul. "You…have?"

Raoul gave the tiniest of smiles. "It would seem so."

Christine remembered Raoul's expression of distaste when he had first visited the theatre. His interest left her thoroughly confused. Unless he was doing it to somehow compensate for what had happened in Paris. He was certainly capable of such a gesture.

"That's very kind of you, Raoul," she said. "But I didn't think the music hall appealed to you."

Raoul frowned. "I'm sorry, I never meant to give you that impression. I'd like to help you and your friends here. I watched the performance tonight, and you do keep very talented company, even if it's not exactly what I'm used to."

"Tell her your idea," said Gerard.

"Well, as I mentioned before, I'm currently staying with my aunt," said Raoul. "She lives in a townhouse in Belgravia. She's a great lover of the arts, particularly music, and she occasionally hosts little recital evenings in her home. Salons, if you will."

"I see." Christine had enjoyed the salons she had attended in Paris…until the aristocracy had turned against her, and stopped issuing invites. The thought of attending one now left a slightly bad taste in her mouth.

"I was wondering if you would care to join us as a special guest? We would have dinner, and you could sing."

"Just me?" she asked.

"Well, I also wanted to invite Sorelli, as my aunt is very fond of ballet." Raoul paused, and glanced briefly at Gerard, who nodded encouragingly. "I also thought Erik might like to perform."

"Erik?" Christine tried to imagine Erik at one of Raoul's parties. He would hate it, she was sure.

"Mr Gerard tells me that you always sing together. I had my misgivings, but that duet you sang tonight was really quite extraordinary."

"Thank you," she said. "I'll have to ask him, of course…"

Raoul nodded. "Certainly."

"So you'll sing?" asked Gerard, with a hopeful smile. "I think it would really help raise the profile of the music hall. Help us find new audiences."

"Please," said Raoul. "You would be doing my aunt and I a great honour." He gave a wistful smile. "It would mean so much if I could hear you sing, just one last time, before I go back to Paris."

His words catapulted her back to the Opera of her memory. It was the night before they had planned to elope. She had wanted to leave straight away, but Raoul had dissuaded her. "Stay and sing just one last time…"

As it turned out, "one last time" had never happened.

Christine felt herself soften. Perhaps this would be a way to truly heal things between them. Perhaps it would help them both let go. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Thank you. That would be…lovely."

"Well, that's excellent!" said Gerard, grinning. "When will you hold your salon?"

"A week on Saturday should give us enough time," said Raoul. He hesitated. "There is one small thing."

"Yes?"

"My aunt always insists on evening wear." Raoul paused. "Will you tell your friend Erik? I'm afraid that feathered cloak, spectacular though it is, may prove a little...eccentric for her."

"Oh..." Christine wondered if Erik even owned an evening suit. "Yes. I'll talk to him tonight."

"Thank you." Raoul smiled, took her hand, and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. "I'm so happy you'll join us, Christine."

"Yes…" she said, already regretting her readiness to agree. "Me too."

They said their goodbyes, and Christine was left alone, staring at her face in the mirror.

Stay and sing, Christine. One last time…