A/N - Desolator, you are incorrigible!! You sound like the narrator of a
soap opera! Grins
Thanks everyone for the reviews!
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Chapter 13: Belle Isabelle
It wasn't even before the end of rehearsal the following day that Erik was called into the managers office. That was odd, for they hadn't spoken to him since his audition. Yet he certainly wasn't worried or nervous about being called to them. He was the Opera Ghost, and would never fear the idiots.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?" He asked Andre and Richard during the rehearsal break when he was supposed to be eating his lunch. "I am afraid I'm quite busy today. . ."
"Monsieur Génie, it has come to our attention that the wife of one of our biggest patrons contacted you last night." Richard stood behind his partner, as Andre sat behind the desk. Both were watching him carefully. Erik immediately had to suppress a groan. "Monsieur Develõngê has in recent months been an even greater patron of the Opera House than the Vicomte de Chagney."
"Has he?" Erik replied, not liking where this conversation was already going. "And you're right, messieurs. Madame did send me a letter after the performance last night."
"A letter?" Richard asked, sounding shocked. "But the woman is utterly blind. A horse threw her when she was a child and she hasn't been able to see ever since."
"Then perhaps the letter was dictated." Andre said quickly, putting sense into his partner. "That doesn't matter. What matters, Monsieur Génie, is that Monsieur Reyer has explained to us that she intended to make some request to you involving her daughter and voice lessons."
"Messieurs, I plan to have my lunch before the hour is over." Erik finally said coolly. "Would you please tell me what this is all about so that I might get out of here?"
They both bristled, and Erik found an inner part of himself laughing silently. Even without being the Opera Ghost he had the ability to muffle their hairs!
"We *suggest* you accept the offer, Monsieur." Andre finally admitted. "It would not go well for us if she were displeased by your refusal in her request, and took out her funding for our productions. You do realize that we *need* patrons to help us afford to keep this place open, don't you?"
"Monsieur Andre, I am not a fool." He replied coldly, clenching his hands into tight fists. "I will make my own decisions. Whether or not your patroness likes it will be of no fault of mine."
Turning, he stalked out of the room, slamming the office door behind him. As usual, Christine was out in the hall . . . waiting for him. Other than Madeline and her children, Christine was the only real friend he had around anymore. It was nice when she was willing to spend all of her lunches with him, unless she had another pressing engagement. She even turned down a lot of Raoul's invitations to lunch, knowing she would always go see him for supper.
"What was that about?" She asked, taking his arm as they began to walk swiftly down the hallway. "It didn't sound pretty. I haven't heard you raise your voice like that in ages. . ."
"They want me to accept a very *generously* paid position by a patroness as the vocal coach of her adolescent daughter." He muttered. "On the side of everything else I do here, of course! Something that takes away from the only free time I have!"
"Erik . . . would it hurt to give it a try?" She asked gently, attempting to sound helpful instead of nagging. "If you think the girl is hopeless, then give it up . . . although I highly doubt even the deafest of people could be considered hopeless when they have a teacher like you. You got me to sing, after all."
"Christine!" He scolded, utterly startled. "You might sing a great deal better than you did when I first discovered you . . . but you certainly had a lovely voice to begin with! Don't you ever talk about yourself like that again!"
"Erik . . . I was only teasing." She insisted, drawing away from him momentarily. "You are in a huff today. Is something wrong?"
"No." He replied honestly, taking a few long breaths to calm down. "But I do *not* like being told what to do. You know that."
"Yes, I can see that." Christine laughed softly, and took his hand affectionately as they climbed into a carriage that would take them to a nearby café. "Is it really a generous offer that they are giving you?"
"A handsome 800 francs per lesson." He replied quietly. "Yet it does not speak of how long each lesson will be. If this girl has had no tutoring at all in the past, then I am afraid I shall rarely ever make it home to Marguerite and Fleur. They'll be furious with me if that should happen."
"Well then you shall have to work out a schedule." Christine suggested. "Surely even the most untrained of voices need only be taught a couple of hours a week, don't you think? Did the offer say what the reason for this tutelage is?"
"To enhance a natural talent." He replied, shaking his head. "I don't understand why it has to be me. So what if I have a pleasant voice? Any number of vocal instructors could satisfactorily pull that little trick!"
"I think you should give it at least a try." She finally decided, leaning back into her seat. "At least to say you tried."
Erik laughed, shaking his head once again. Now he knew he would have to teach the patroness' daughter. He only hoped it would not drive him mad.
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The Develõngê's home was not as large and pretentious as Erik thought it would be. Although handsome, it was perhaps only a few rooms larger than the very one he lived in. Even the inside of the house had very much the same furnishings, with only expensive knick-knacks and paintings to show the wealth of the family. The clothing that even the servants wore, however, was quite another matter. They wore the richest silks and velvets, the most fashionable powdered wigs. Although such wigs had really gone almost entirely out of fashion, this did seem to be a house with slightly old-fashioned tastes.
"Monsieur Génie, is that you?" He was lead into a study where a woman that was perhaps in her fifties stood behind a cherry-stained desk of massive size. Behind her, sunlight flooded into the room, making her slight figure almost indistinguishable as anything more than a blurry silhouette. Yet when Erik moved further into the room, he made certain to move to the side to look at her.
Madame Develõngê was amazingly pretty for a woman of her age. With long chestnut colored hair that - were it not pulled up into an elegant bun - would have surely reached down beyond her waist. With hazel eyes that seemed like the sea after a storm, she looked about the room quietly, trying to follow his motions by the sound of his footsteps on the sparsely carpeted wood floor. She wore a dress that seemed to be made of fabric pearl, with teal, sea-green, and soft cotton-candy pink. She wore jewels adorned with the mentioned stones, and he found her appealing enough to look at.
"Yes, Madame." He finally said quietly, not surprised when her head turned sharply in his direction from shock. At least he hadn't lost the ability to move like a shadow. "I am Erik. I understand you wish me to be your daughters' vocal instructor."
"That is correct, Monsieur." She replied. Her voice was thick, but flattering. It did not offend those who heard it, as some speaking voices did. It did not clash with her physical appearance either. It made him think that if sandalwood had a sound and not just a scent, then perhaps it would belong to her. "Isabelle is my daughter. She was supposed to be here to meet you; but I am afraid she is very shy. Too shy, really. Even if it were possible with her talent, she'd never make a diva on stage. She's like a wallflower."
She tilted her head, stopping in her monologue as though to listen to something. Then, her head turned towards the doorway to the room. Erik followed her actions, and turned to see one of the most beautiful young women he'd ever set eyes on. Of course beauty meant little to his mind. Yet it certainly quickened the pace of his heart. She had long hair, lighter than her mothers, and with a hint of redness to it. Perhaps she took after her father, or had dyed her hair. Her eyes, though, rimmed with thick black lashes, were entirely her own. A pale, unearthly color that reminded Erik of the amethyst gemstone. She wore a simple yet elegant looking dress with conservative blouse, and long flowing skirt of crimson silk. The ties that adorned her bodice were of gold thread that caught the light of the sun and glittered.
When she saw Erik, she seemed to inspect him a moment just as he was inspecting her, and then her powdered, pale cheeks turned a very flattering shade of pink.
"Mademoiselle. . ." Erik said, sweeping a polite bow when he realized he'd been staring. This certainly was not what he had been expecting. Then again. . . he didn't know *what* he'd been expecting. "I am Erik Génie. Are you Mademoiselle Isabelle?"
"Oui, Monsieur." She replied in a quiet voice that made Erik think of a harp. . . but only because of its' sweetness. That astonished him as well. She didn't sound -- or look -- like the pampered brat he'd been expecting. "You are here to evaluate my voice?"
"That I am." He said gently, moving halfway across the room. He turned, seeing how Madame had begun to smile brilliantly hearing them speak together. It almost seemed like a knowing smile, which he chose to ignore. He might be in shock over her overall countenance, but that did not change a thing for the moment. "Madame, would you like to come with us?"
"Non, Monsieur. Thank you." She lowered herself slowly into the chair behind the desk. "Come down when you've completed."
"This way, Monsieur." Isabelle motioned towards a large staircase just outside the door of the study, and he followed her up the plush carpeting into a small room on the immediate right of the second hallway. There was a grand piano waiting for them, completely open. Isabelle moved to the piano, and lightly touched one of the keys, a C reverberating through the room. Apparently it had been built -- or renovated - with acoustics in mind. "It's just recently been tuned."
"Very good." He replied, and moved to sit at the piano. He quickly tested out the sound of the instrument by placing a few bars from 'Carmen', and then nodded in satisfaction. "All right, Mademoiselle. Let us warm up your voice. Begin on C. . ."
His evaluation lasted two and a half hours. He was entirely satisfied with the sound of Isabelle's voice. It was very pleasant to the ear, and most certainly had potential. Yet it would never attain the heights that her mother had expected. That wasn't necessarily a disappointment to Erik. He liked a good challenge.
"Are you pleased?"
He'd been about to walk out of the small music room without another word when Isabelle spoke bluntly for the first time. He turned to look at her in curiosity, and then smiled to ease the nervous look on her face. She was wringing her hands together in front of her, twisting a diamond on her left fourth-finger which he assumed was probably an engagement ring.
"I will accept your mothers' offer to tutor you, if that is what you mean." He said gently, trying not to insult her. "It would be an immense pleasure, even."
Isabelle smiled, sighing in relief.
"This means so much to us, Monsieur." She said, her voice again quiet. She lowered her eyes with another flattering blush. She still took Erik's breath away, like Christine was capable of doing. Yet there was no question of love here. That was quite impossible, really. Under the circumstances. "Thank you."
"I assure you, Mademoiselle. You are more than welcome."
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"So I am going to teach this young lady for three hours a day, three days out of the week. The other four days will be entirely for you - when I come home from rehearsal of course."
He was sitting down to supper with Marguerite and the others that evening, smiling across the table at Madeline. They'd been very eager to know what had kept him from coming home earlier, and as he told the story, only Marguerite seemed unhappy with his newfound accomplishment. In fact, she seemed downright angry that he would dare let anything take him away from her for so long.
"You'll take me with you, won't you?" She asked eagerly, hopefully. Yet Erik shook his head sadly.
"If I could bring you with me, Marguerite, you know I would." He apologized. "But this time that I spend with Mademoiselle Isabelle is for her and me alone. All right? If anyone else shares this time with us, then I will be unable to teach her as well as I could otherwise."
"Is she pretty?" Marguerite demanded, squaring her shoulders and looking him right in the eyes. Erik nearly flinched. Yet he gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Not half so beautiful as you, ma petite." He replied, satisfied with the smile she finally gave him. She seemed to be all right with the new situation after that. Obviously, she still had a crush on him, along with the feeling that he was like a father to her. Erik wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he'd told her the utter truth. She was one of the most beautiful young ladies in the world, and he had the chance to look upon her face.
"Well it sounds like a lovely arrangement." Madeline said after a few seconds, passing another slice of buttered bread across the table to Erik.
"Thank you." He murmured through a mouthful of almost slightly overdone chicken. The children started giggling helplessly at his momentary lapse of table manners, and he joined them once he'd finally swallowed his food.
Thanks everyone for the reviews!
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Chapter 13: Belle Isabelle
It wasn't even before the end of rehearsal the following day that Erik was called into the managers office. That was odd, for they hadn't spoken to him since his audition. Yet he certainly wasn't worried or nervous about being called to them. He was the Opera Ghost, and would never fear the idiots.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?" He asked Andre and Richard during the rehearsal break when he was supposed to be eating his lunch. "I am afraid I'm quite busy today. . ."
"Monsieur Génie, it has come to our attention that the wife of one of our biggest patrons contacted you last night." Richard stood behind his partner, as Andre sat behind the desk. Both were watching him carefully. Erik immediately had to suppress a groan. "Monsieur Develõngê has in recent months been an even greater patron of the Opera House than the Vicomte de Chagney."
"Has he?" Erik replied, not liking where this conversation was already going. "And you're right, messieurs. Madame did send me a letter after the performance last night."
"A letter?" Richard asked, sounding shocked. "But the woman is utterly blind. A horse threw her when she was a child and she hasn't been able to see ever since."
"Then perhaps the letter was dictated." Andre said quickly, putting sense into his partner. "That doesn't matter. What matters, Monsieur Génie, is that Monsieur Reyer has explained to us that she intended to make some request to you involving her daughter and voice lessons."
"Messieurs, I plan to have my lunch before the hour is over." Erik finally said coolly. "Would you please tell me what this is all about so that I might get out of here?"
They both bristled, and Erik found an inner part of himself laughing silently. Even without being the Opera Ghost he had the ability to muffle their hairs!
"We *suggest* you accept the offer, Monsieur." Andre finally admitted. "It would not go well for us if she were displeased by your refusal in her request, and took out her funding for our productions. You do realize that we *need* patrons to help us afford to keep this place open, don't you?"
"Monsieur Andre, I am not a fool." He replied coldly, clenching his hands into tight fists. "I will make my own decisions. Whether or not your patroness likes it will be of no fault of mine."
Turning, he stalked out of the room, slamming the office door behind him. As usual, Christine was out in the hall . . . waiting for him. Other than Madeline and her children, Christine was the only real friend he had around anymore. It was nice when she was willing to spend all of her lunches with him, unless she had another pressing engagement. She even turned down a lot of Raoul's invitations to lunch, knowing she would always go see him for supper.
"What was that about?" She asked, taking his arm as they began to walk swiftly down the hallway. "It didn't sound pretty. I haven't heard you raise your voice like that in ages. . ."
"They want me to accept a very *generously* paid position by a patroness as the vocal coach of her adolescent daughter." He muttered. "On the side of everything else I do here, of course! Something that takes away from the only free time I have!"
"Erik . . . would it hurt to give it a try?" She asked gently, attempting to sound helpful instead of nagging. "If you think the girl is hopeless, then give it up . . . although I highly doubt even the deafest of people could be considered hopeless when they have a teacher like you. You got me to sing, after all."
"Christine!" He scolded, utterly startled. "You might sing a great deal better than you did when I first discovered you . . . but you certainly had a lovely voice to begin with! Don't you ever talk about yourself like that again!"
"Erik . . . I was only teasing." She insisted, drawing away from him momentarily. "You are in a huff today. Is something wrong?"
"No." He replied honestly, taking a few long breaths to calm down. "But I do *not* like being told what to do. You know that."
"Yes, I can see that." Christine laughed softly, and took his hand affectionately as they climbed into a carriage that would take them to a nearby café. "Is it really a generous offer that they are giving you?"
"A handsome 800 francs per lesson." He replied quietly. "Yet it does not speak of how long each lesson will be. If this girl has had no tutoring at all in the past, then I am afraid I shall rarely ever make it home to Marguerite and Fleur. They'll be furious with me if that should happen."
"Well then you shall have to work out a schedule." Christine suggested. "Surely even the most untrained of voices need only be taught a couple of hours a week, don't you think? Did the offer say what the reason for this tutelage is?"
"To enhance a natural talent." He replied, shaking his head. "I don't understand why it has to be me. So what if I have a pleasant voice? Any number of vocal instructors could satisfactorily pull that little trick!"
"I think you should give it at least a try." She finally decided, leaning back into her seat. "At least to say you tried."
Erik laughed, shaking his head once again. Now he knew he would have to teach the patroness' daughter. He only hoped it would not drive him mad.
////////////////////------------------------- ////////////////////////////////////
The Develõngê's home was not as large and pretentious as Erik thought it would be. Although handsome, it was perhaps only a few rooms larger than the very one he lived in. Even the inside of the house had very much the same furnishings, with only expensive knick-knacks and paintings to show the wealth of the family. The clothing that even the servants wore, however, was quite another matter. They wore the richest silks and velvets, the most fashionable powdered wigs. Although such wigs had really gone almost entirely out of fashion, this did seem to be a house with slightly old-fashioned tastes.
"Monsieur Génie, is that you?" He was lead into a study where a woman that was perhaps in her fifties stood behind a cherry-stained desk of massive size. Behind her, sunlight flooded into the room, making her slight figure almost indistinguishable as anything more than a blurry silhouette. Yet when Erik moved further into the room, he made certain to move to the side to look at her.
Madame Develõngê was amazingly pretty for a woman of her age. With long chestnut colored hair that - were it not pulled up into an elegant bun - would have surely reached down beyond her waist. With hazel eyes that seemed like the sea after a storm, she looked about the room quietly, trying to follow his motions by the sound of his footsteps on the sparsely carpeted wood floor. She wore a dress that seemed to be made of fabric pearl, with teal, sea-green, and soft cotton-candy pink. She wore jewels adorned with the mentioned stones, and he found her appealing enough to look at.
"Yes, Madame." He finally said quietly, not surprised when her head turned sharply in his direction from shock. At least he hadn't lost the ability to move like a shadow. "I am Erik. I understand you wish me to be your daughters' vocal instructor."
"That is correct, Monsieur." She replied. Her voice was thick, but flattering. It did not offend those who heard it, as some speaking voices did. It did not clash with her physical appearance either. It made him think that if sandalwood had a sound and not just a scent, then perhaps it would belong to her. "Isabelle is my daughter. She was supposed to be here to meet you; but I am afraid she is very shy. Too shy, really. Even if it were possible with her talent, she'd never make a diva on stage. She's like a wallflower."
She tilted her head, stopping in her monologue as though to listen to something. Then, her head turned towards the doorway to the room. Erik followed her actions, and turned to see one of the most beautiful young women he'd ever set eyes on. Of course beauty meant little to his mind. Yet it certainly quickened the pace of his heart. She had long hair, lighter than her mothers, and with a hint of redness to it. Perhaps she took after her father, or had dyed her hair. Her eyes, though, rimmed with thick black lashes, were entirely her own. A pale, unearthly color that reminded Erik of the amethyst gemstone. She wore a simple yet elegant looking dress with conservative blouse, and long flowing skirt of crimson silk. The ties that adorned her bodice were of gold thread that caught the light of the sun and glittered.
When she saw Erik, she seemed to inspect him a moment just as he was inspecting her, and then her powdered, pale cheeks turned a very flattering shade of pink.
"Mademoiselle. . ." Erik said, sweeping a polite bow when he realized he'd been staring. This certainly was not what he had been expecting. Then again. . . he didn't know *what* he'd been expecting. "I am Erik Génie. Are you Mademoiselle Isabelle?"
"Oui, Monsieur." She replied in a quiet voice that made Erik think of a harp. . . but only because of its' sweetness. That astonished him as well. She didn't sound -- or look -- like the pampered brat he'd been expecting. "You are here to evaluate my voice?"
"That I am." He said gently, moving halfway across the room. He turned, seeing how Madame had begun to smile brilliantly hearing them speak together. It almost seemed like a knowing smile, which he chose to ignore. He might be in shock over her overall countenance, but that did not change a thing for the moment. "Madame, would you like to come with us?"
"Non, Monsieur. Thank you." She lowered herself slowly into the chair behind the desk. "Come down when you've completed."
"This way, Monsieur." Isabelle motioned towards a large staircase just outside the door of the study, and he followed her up the plush carpeting into a small room on the immediate right of the second hallway. There was a grand piano waiting for them, completely open. Isabelle moved to the piano, and lightly touched one of the keys, a C reverberating through the room. Apparently it had been built -- or renovated - with acoustics in mind. "It's just recently been tuned."
"Very good." He replied, and moved to sit at the piano. He quickly tested out the sound of the instrument by placing a few bars from 'Carmen', and then nodded in satisfaction. "All right, Mademoiselle. Let us warm up your voice. Begin on C. . ."
His evaluation lasted two and a half hours. He was entirely satisfied with the sound of Isabelle's voice. It was very pleasant to the ear, and most certainly had potential. Yet it would never attain the heights that her mother had expected. That wasn't necessarily a disappointment to Erik. He liked a good challenge.
"Are you pleased?"
He'd been about to walk out of the small music room without another word when Isabelle spoke bluntly for the first time. He turned to look at her in curiosity, and then smiled to ease the nervous look on her face. She was wringing her hands together in front of her, twisting a diamond on her left fourth-finger which he assumed was probably an engagement ring.
"I will accept your mothers' offer to tutor you, if that is what you mean." He said gently, trying not to insult her. "It would be an immense pleasure, even."
Isabelle smiled, sighing in relief.
"This means so much to us, Monsieur." She said, her voice again quiet. She lowered her eyes with another flattering blush. She still took Erik's breath away, like Christine was capable of doing. Yet there was no question of love here. That was quite impossible, really. Under the circumstances. "Thank you."
"I assure you, Mademoiselle. You are more than welcome."
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"So I am going to teach this young lady for three hours a day, three days out of the week. The other four days will be entirely for you - when I come home from rehearsal of course."
He was sitting down to supper with Marguerite and the others that evening, smiling across the table at Madeline. They'd been very eager to know what had kept him from coming home earlier, and as he told the story, only Marguerite seemed unhappy with his newfound accomplishment. In fact, she seemed downright angry that he would dare let anything take him away from her for so long.
"You'll take me with you, won't you?" She asked eagerly, hopefully. Yet Erik shook his head sadly.
"If I could bring you with me, Marguerite, you know I would." He apologized. "But this time that I spend with Mademoiselle Isabelle is for her and me alone. All right? If anyone else shares this time with us, then I will be unable to teach her as well as I could otherwise."
"Is she pretty?" Marguerite demanded, squaring her shoulders and looking him right in the eyes. Erik nearly flinched. Yet he gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Not half so beautiful as you, ma petite." He replied, satisfied with the smile she finally gave him. She seemed to be all right with the new situation after that. Obviously, she still had a crush on him, along with the feeling that he was like a father to her. Erik wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he'd told her the utter truth. She was one of the most beautiful young ladies in the world, and he had the chance to look upon her face.
"Well it sounds like a lovely arrangement." Madeline said after a few seconds, passing another slice of buttered bread across the table to Erik.
"Thank you." He murmured through a mouthful of almost slightly overdone chicken. The children started giggling helplessly at his momentary lapse of table manners, and he joined them once he'd finally swallowed his food.
