A/N - Thanks firstly to Lisa, for telling me who wrote Faust - apparently it's Gounod (I'm ashamed to admit I've never heard of him) and to l'ange de la nuit who tells me that the FANTASTIC poem I put out an appeal to find the author of earlier in the story is hers!!! Truly truly brilliant poem :) everyone should read it.
I also should say thank you to Jedi Skysong, one of the many people who threw in ideas for how this should turn out; she said something very interesting, that Christine could become Erik's strength just as he was hers ... well, I got to thinking about that, and the first scene of this chapter is kind of all about that. :)
T'Res - I know! I know, and I am sorry, I wish I had time to write more frequently as well, but with all the coursework I've got on at the moment, and mocks in three weeks ... hell, I should be doing nothing but schoolwork! So I'm sorry, but it's not going to change :s.
This chapter is set quite a while after the last one; Erik has all but recovered, but he's still got to take pretty good care of himself, Christine's been mother-henning him to death (OK, bad metaphor!!) but they're still tiptoeing around the subject of their feelings for each other.
What else ... Erik makes some revelations, Christine ventures outside for the first time, and Nadir decides he's sick of all these misunderstandings and resolves to do something about this entire stupid situation.
Erik
I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her scurry about checking temperatures, adding ingredients, and generally looking like the perfect little woman in the kitchen with pleasure. In the heat of the kitchen, her face was flushed and her hair was in complete disarray, held back with one solitary clip and falling backwards over her shoulders in a dark mass of wavy curls.
She was so incredibly beautiful ...
As if in slow motion, I saw her move forward to take a pan off the hob, saw her touch her finger accidentally to the side of the pan, drop it, and heard her hiss out a word I hadn't even been aware she knew from between clenched teeth.
I raised my eyebrows in not altogether displeased amusement.
She whirled around, going scarlet as she caught sight of me. I fought the impulse to laugh, and moved towards her in order to take a look at her finger.
She made an embarrassed little dismissive gesture, confirming my original thought that she hadn't really burned herself at all, just been caught off balance by the unexpected heat.
She glanced helplessly around the disordered kitchen, colouring as my eyes took in the dirty pans heaped on every available worksurface, a bowl with some sort of mixture in it balanced precariously on top of a pile of unwashed crockery.
"I ..." she began, her cheeks flushing red as she sought frantically for something to say to ease her embarrassment.
I smiled slightly, fighting the impulse to cheer. This was the first real sign that she had given of feeling even slightly at home ... and I think destroying my kitchen can fairly be translated to an increased ease around my house.
"What are you trying to do, my dear?" I asked finally, releasing her from the agony of embarrassment allied to demolishing her host's kitchen.
She shrugged helplessly, still staring at the floor and looking as though she wished it would open and swallow her whole.
"Christine?"
"I ... I wanted to make something nice for dinner," she said softly, not meeting my eyes. "You don't eat enough ..."
Casting her eyes around the muddle she had made, she suddenly looked ready to cry.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'll clean everything up ..."
I groaned silently to myself. Whatever progress she had made was rapidly being swallowed by a belief that I really gave a damn about my kitchen.
"Don't be silly, my dear," I said gently. "If I help you clear it up, we can make something at least partially edible from whatever's left over from this assault on our food supplies. Will that be all right?"
She nodded wordlessly, swallowing hard.
"And after all," I said lightly, "anything that's left over we can give to Ayesha and pretend it's caviar!"
She looked hesitantly up at me, then the corners of her mouth curved and she started to laugh. Really, she never ceased to amaze me ... she seemed to have grown up so much since my last attack! She had become an unlikely pillar of strength and the neurotic fears of a child which she had harboured for so long seemed to finally have been vanquished.
I was prouder of her than I can say ...
Christine
I took a deep breath and tapped lightly on Erik's door, pushing it open before he had a chance to reply. I'd made my decision but I had to do it now before I lost my courage ...
He looked up, startled, from his desk, where I could see yet another pile of precariously-balanced music scores. He rose automatically and gestured towards an armchair.
"My dear ..."
I nodded my thanks and sat down, perching on the edge of the seat and twisting my fingers in the folds of my skirt, tapping my feet on the floor.
He smiled slightly. "What's wrong, my dear?"
I looked up at him, shaking my head. "Nothing ... I've just been thinking a lot lately, about this whole situation, and ..."
A sheaf of music slid to the floor in a graceful white shower as his hands clenched involuntarily on the desk for support.
"And, my dear?" The words were carefully chosen and seemingly indifferent, but the tremor of his hands belied the calmness of his tone. I cursed myself silently as I realised that he had misinterpreted me; did he think I was going to leave? Where did he think I'd go?!
I took a deep breath and screwed up my courage.
"And ... I think I'd like to go to Mass today."
He turned towards me, the surprise in his face evident even behind the mask. I knew he didn't approve of religion, but I'd missed the weekly ritual, and I believed that God would have wanted me to continue with my life ...
"Well, my dear ... you are most certainly welcome to do so if you would like to ..." He laughed slightly. "I'm afraid you've caught me off balance, I wasn't expecting this ... but if you feel you'd like to, I will of course support that."
He paused for a moment, then continued with the air of one choosing his words with more than a little care now.
"Who will you be going with ... Mlle. Giry, perhaps ...?"
I shook my head. "No, I'd like to go alone ... I don't know that I want to see Meg again quite yet."
He nodded. "Quite understandable."
There was silence for a moment, then he glanced at a clock and raised his eyebrows slightly.
"What time will you need to leave, my dear?"
I looked at the clock.
"Oh, God! I should go ... are you sure you'll be all right here? Nadir said he'd come by later, so if anything's wrong ..."
He gave me an ironically patient half-smile.
"Child ..." Child!
"I will be perfectly all right. You really must stop this worrying ..." his voice trailed off, then he gestured towards the clock. "And you would be wise to hurry."
Erik
After she had gone, I moved restlessly around the house, trying to find something to occupy my mind and stop myself going quite insane. She'll be fine, I told myself. It's hardly as though she's never been out before, she's not a child ... she'll be perfectly all right.
I almost laughed at the absurdity of the last futile attempt to allay my fears. Not a child? If she were halfway as strong as the average child, she would be in no need of my protection and would have left long ago ... if indeed she had ever returned.
At length, I resolved to try and create at least something good out of this damnable mess; heading for the music room, I made to drown my fears in music as I had done so many times before. I sat down at the organ and looked around for the sonata I had planned out yesterday. I clicked my tongue in irritation; however well her motives were, I would never get used to Christine's attempts to civilise me by tidying this most precious of rooms. Frowning, I began to move sheaves of thick creamy writing paper over which were scrawled my rough drafts ... a slight noise from outside the door distracted me, and a pile of music fell unheeded to the floor.
With several quick steps, I moved to the door and flung it open, half expecting to see Christine returned, ignoring the logical part of my mind which told me she would be at least an hour, and probably more.
A slight noise came from the floor, and I looked down to see Ayesha, plainly seeking attention and, with her head tilted slightly upwards, looking at her most angelic. I smiled in spite of myself; this manipulative little lady had not been named after She Who Must Be Obeyed for no reason!
I knelt beside her and tickled the furry little cheek. "Come, my darling ..." I murmured. "I have work to do ..."
The expression on her face made me want to laugh; every muscle in her small, perfectly formed body screamed So what! as loudly as was humanly possible.
Offended, she turned and stalked away. I sighed; Ayesha was a tiny angel to me, and not for a moment have I ever regretted taking her in, but she truly was the most wilfully manipulative creature I had ever encountered!
I closed the door and retreated back inside my sanctuary, sighing as I saw the state of the music which had scattered lazily over the floor like a quietly disruptive paper snowfall. I knelt and began to gather the papers together, reflecting ironically that even if they had remained on top of the piano, their carefully organised arrangement would most likely not have survived Christine's war upon the imaginary dustmites she seemed to fear inhabited all the rooms in my house.
My fingers touched something hard and rectangular, and from underneath a sheet of truly abysmally depressing work slid a small, dark blue book.
I picked it up and turned it over in my hands, curious as to what it might be and whom it might belong to.
The second question was answered easily enough; I recognised Christine's beautiful copperplate handwriting across the front of the book without taking in what was written there. I opened the cover and riffled through the pages, almost tearing the pages in my insane curiosity to know what the book was, and exactly why she would have left it here.
The first thing I noticed were the two names repeated on virtually every page; mine and her vicomte's. My confusion deepened as I flicked through the pages, faintly scented with lavender and covered with even, sloping script.
Suddenly, a phrase leapt off the page and hung in my brain for a moment without registering. Then it fell with blinding speed, landing on my solar plexus and whiplashing the wind out of me with ruthless efficiency.
"I'm quite sure Erik isn't in love with me anymore ..."
I must have sat there for over an hour, staring dully at the madness set out so neatly in rounded copperplate. Slowly I began to return to my senses, and as I flicked through the pages, my incredulity grew.
How could she believe that?
Christine
I entered the house, happy and uplifted by the comforting familiarity of the Mass service, and pushed back the hood of my cloak, fluffing my hair.
I began to make my way to Erik's room, but stopped short at the sound of raised voices from there within. I backed into the shadows and listened, a sudden forboding sense of nervousness settling over me.
I could hear Nadir's voice, raised, almost angry ...
"Are you completely blind, Erik, or is it just a little show put on for my benefit?"
I held my breath, waiting with a kind of terror for the violent explosion of Erik's anger which I was sure would follow. But it didn't ... his reply, when it came, was taut with self-control with just a tremor of emotion beneath a finely-veneered indifference.
"I would appreciate it if you would not meddle in matters which do not concern you," he said icily. "I think perhaps you should leave now and return me to my privacy."
There was silence for a moment, and then Nadir's voice came again, flat and wearied with a kind of resignation.
"You're a fool, Erik."
No reply. Nadir came out of the room slowly, pulling on a pair of thick gloves. I flattened myself against the wall, backing into the shadows even further, praying that he wouldn't see me. Just what had they been arguing about?
Hesitantly, I made my way to Erik's room and tentatively pushed the door open with no little nervousness.
Erik was standing with his back to me, his hands clenched on the edge of the mantelpiece. As I watched without comprehension, he drew a long, shuddering breath and passed a hand across the mask with a kind of tightly-restrained sorrow I had never seen in him before.
He stood very still, his hands spread over the mantelpiece, for a long time, barely seeming to breathe. Suddenly, with a lightning-fast flare of anger which gave me a shock, he hurled a small cut-glass vase into the cold dark fireplace where it shattered into a thousand crystalline shards reflecting the darkness.
This futile display of frustration seemed to drain him; with a stiffness quite alien to his normal catlike grace, he sat down heavily in one of the black armchairs, his back ramrod stiff as he stared bleakly into the empty fireplace.
Unable to watch more, I turned and stumbled back to my room, my heart pounding and my head whirling.
What was wrong with Erik? And why hadn't he told me about it?