A/N - New chapter! Hehe - nice short upload time here :) This chapter kind of sets the scene for the rest of the fic ... everything shall now be explained :P
Hope you enjoy! :)
"Richard, I really don't think this is a good idea."
Firmin looked up from his desk. His partner had been growing more and more agitated all morning, pacing with frenetic restlessness up and down the office, unable to settle to anything for more than a minute or two.
"My dear Gilles," he sighed, removing his spectacles and folding them neatly on the desk, "it doesn't appear we have a great deal of choice. If we don't strike now, we lose our best chance of catching him with his guard down."
Replacing his spectacles on his nose, he began to study his paperwork again, frowning at a miscellaneous column of figures which he had yet to identify. Really, Gilles was hopeless with paperwork ...
He glanced up to remark dryly, "And I hardly need remind you that twenty thousand francs a month is a sum we simply cannot afford."
"But Mademoiselle Cosette ..."
"Is a highly competent young lady with an extremely shrewd mind. And, I might add, utterly without the naive fantasies of Mademoiselle Daaé." Sighing, he rose to face his partner. "Gilles ... if we can stop him now, we'll be free of him forever! And if Mlle. Cosette is the means to that end, then I consider her use not only practical but essential."
Andre threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Richard, these are people, not pawns on a chessboard! What about Christine? Don't you think she deserves to know what we're thinking?"
"No!" Firmin's fist crashed down onto the table, shaking a framed photograph of his wife onto the floor with a resounding shatter of glass. Calming slightly, he retrieved the picture and kicked the shards of broken glass carelessly under the table.
"No, Gilles. I remain unconvinced as to her loyalties as yet ..." he shook his head. "And putting the wife of the Vicomte de Chagny in further danger is simply more than our jobs are worth!"
"They're not married," muttered Andre sullenly. Resuming his nervous pacing, he turned back to face his partner. "What if Cosette only reminds the ghost of what he's lost? If she reminds him back into the belief that he and Christine are still the most eligible couple since Romeo and Juliet? How you can knowingly conceal this from her I'll never know. And as for Cosette! If you trust her even one inch, you're a braver man than I ... women that shrewd are dangerous, Richard, they sell their souls to the highest bidder!"
"And you think our so-called ghost is in any fit state of mind to put in a rational bid for her? A beautiful woman with no small talent making herself available so soon after another has rejected him ... come, Gilles, you know how easy it is to fall in love on the rebound!"
A brief moment of silence.
"That is not the point," Andre said quietly. I don't trust her, and I don't want Christine exposed to any further danger."
Firmin snorted impatiently. "That woman's danger was entirely of her own making! Angel of music ... adolescent nonsense!" He gave another derisive snort. "And if she'd followed our orders on that last night, none of this fiasco would ever have happened!" He sighed and lowered his voice. "I know you're fond of her, Gilles, but the woman's a liability, she really is."
Andre turned back to him. "Yes, I am fond of her," he said with quiet, restrained anger. "I wouldn't claim to have the same sort of feelings for her that the Vicomte does, or even the ghost! But she's a nice, well-meaning child who deserves better than she's been experiencing here for the past year!" He sighed, sitting down and resting his head on his hand. "She means no harm, Richard, and this situation is not her fault. Set your trap for the ghost will Mademoiselle Cosette as your bait if you must. But I warn you, Richard, if anyone else is injured by this lunatic scheme, it won't be just the ghost who leaves the Opera."
He stood up slowly and left the room, closing the door very quietly behind him.
Firmin sighed with mild irritation. Gilles Andre was a good man, and certainly useful to have on board with regards to casting and the artistic side of the business, but his damned emotional concern for people, and his utter lack of ruthlessness made him a very difficult man indeed to put business propositions to. And his attachment to Christine Daaé bordered on the ridiculous! Firmin believed his partner when he said he was not in love with her, and that his intentions were purely platonic, but any sort of emotional attachment to one's business acquaintances was dangerous and highly unnecessary. After all, did it really matter if Christine Daaé disappeared for a few days and then returned unwilling to elaborate on her absence, just as long as she didn't start missing performances and her voice remained as strong as ever? Her life was her own concern - let Gilles focus on the business, and leave her to manage her various admirers as best she could.
He set down his pen at a knock on the door.
"Yes?"
The door opened, and Cosette Graham entered. He was amused to see that she was carrying an attaché case of the sort used by businessmen and lawyers the world over - a most competent and unusual woman, this one.
"My apologies for my lateness," she said crisply. "Rehearsal overran." She glanced around the office. "I fear I may have come at an inopportune time - perhaps you would prefer me to return at a time when Monsieur Andre is also available to discuss our little business?"
Firmin shook his head, shuffling through a sheaf of papers.
"No, my dear ... I fear my friend does not approve of this little enterprise - he is something of a romantic at heart, you know. The exact details are to be discussed between only ourselves." He glanced at her briefly over the tops of his spectacles. "I am assuming that this will remain between ourselves, of course - secret enterprises such as this rarely remain secret for long if revealed to an entire corps de ballet, in my experience."
Cosette shook back her hair, her expression cold.
"If I may say so without giving offence, Monsieur, this enterprise is doomed to failure before it has even begun if neither you nor your partner find yourselves able to have faith in my judgement and my discretion. You may rest assured that whatever should transpire in this office will not leave these four walls."
Firmin nodded, wondering briefly how a woman could be so shrewdly businesslike and breathtakingly efficient and yet retain such a feminine exterior; she was one of those rare woman, he thought, who would have made a highly successful man.
"Very well," she said coldly. "My terms are as follows. I am willing to consider small concessions to them to increase your convenience, but you will find me for the most part, implacable as to the details." She paused briefly, then rose and began to pace the room, ticking off points on her fingers.
"I will not be spied upon; you must respect my ability to complete this task, and any attempt to have me followed will be detected - have no doubt of that - and will result in my entire and immediate withdrawal from the programme with no opportunity for explanations or excuses on your part. I am prepared to put in as much time as seems necessary, seven days a week, although I shall expect time and a half should my services be required on a Sunday - but if this work should result in an adverse effect on my position in the corps de ballet, I expect you or Monsieur Andre to make my excuses for me - I am being employed by the Opera House, and will answer only to you. I require no protection, and will accept none - my gender is nothing more than an accident of birth, and holds no bearing whatsoever on my ability to perform this task." She paused and looked at him to check he was taking it all in. "While I am perfectly happy to be privately involved in this little charade, I do not wish my involvement made public, and I do not intend to be present at the kill. I am prepared for the fact that this may turn out to be a long-term commitment, and I have here a contract signed by myself which binds me to the Opera House until the work is completed, or until you see fit to remove my from my position." She drew the document from her case and dropped it on the table, continuing as Firmin picked it up to glance over it. "As regards payment, it is my understanding that my fee is to be a daily sum plus a substantial bonus should this endeavour end successfully." She paused. "You are of course free to terminate my contract if and when you see fit. We will meet once a week to discuss any progress made, and more regularly should either of us deem it necessary."
She stopped in front of his desk. "Any questions?"
"Nobody would imagine that I was your employer," Firmin commented dryly. "No, my dear, that all seems quite comprehensive." He tapped the contract with his spectacles. "I will look over this tonight and return it to you in the morning."
Cosette nodded curtly, closing her case and tossing her hair back over her shoulder.
"Very well," she said. "In that case, we meet again tomorrow. If there's nothing else ..." Firmin shook his head, resuming his seat at the desk.
"Oh, and just as a point for future reference," she said, opening the door. "I'm not your dear." The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Firmin staring at it in disbelief.
She really would have made an excellent man ...
* * *
Christine stood in front of the sink, scrubbing frantically at her skin in an attempt to remove the taint Christophe Randell's touch had left on her. She looked at herself in the mirror - her face was white and her eyes were circled with dark shadows. She looked quite insane, really, she noticed detachedly, scrubbing at her skin almost hard enough to make it bleed ...
A soft knock on the door made her jump, her heartbeat doubling as she flattened herself against the wall.
Meg Giry's small blonde head poked round the door, the fear in her face rapidly dissolving into concern as she caught sight of her friend.
"Christine!"
She took a hesitant step into the room, halting in her tracks as she noticed Christine's torn dress and the finely-woven gentleman's dress jacket crumpled on the floor.
"Christine ..." she murmured in confusion.
Christine rushed forwards and collapsed into her friend's arms with a sob. The girls sank to the floor, Meg wrapping her arms around Christine in an attempt to calm her down, flinching as she noticed the painful bruising raw on her friend's shoulder.
"Christine, what happened?"
Christine began to sob her way through her explanation, Meg's face creasing in disbelief and horror. Christine suddenly clutched hold of her arm.
"Don't tell Raoul," she begged. "Please, Meg, he mustn't know!"
Meg shook her head, holding her closer and stroking her hair back.
"Not if you don't want me to," she promised.
"Christine ..." she began hesitantly. "How did ..." she cleared her throat. "How did the ghost know?"
"Christine looked blankly at her.
"He came to find me," Meg explained. She laughed a little. "He scared the fear of God out of me!"
Christine giggled through her tears. "Yes, he does that," she whispered.
"He told me to come and find you and keep you here for a while ... but Christine, how did he know what was going on?"
Christine took a deep, shuddering breath.
"There are trick acoustics down there," she began slowly. "In some parts of his house you can hear what's happening upstairs.
Meg jumped, looking terrified. "You mean he could be listening to us now?!"
Christine laughed in spite of herself. "No, Meg, I don't think so. He probably heard me scream ..." She shuddered involuntarily. "God alone knows what would have happened if he hadn't!"
"Don't think about it," ordered Meg, pulling her close again. There was silence for a while, before Meg drew away from Christine and looked her in the eyes.
"Christine ... Monsieur Randell can't possibly stay now ... someone's going to have to tell Monsieur Andre what's happened."
"No!" Christine cried. "Meg, they'll tell Raoul, I can't!"
Before Meg had a chance to reply, there came a sharp rap on the door, causing both girls to cower back in sudden terror, clinging onto each other for support.
The door opened, and a shaft of light fell over them, silhouetting a tall figure in the doorway.
"Stand up, girls."
Both Christine and Meg went limp with relief, rising slowly to their feet, Christine suddenly very conscious or her mussed hair and torn dress.
"Meg, go and wash your face."
Meg made as if to protest, but a sharp glance from her mother effectively silenced her; squeezing Christine's hand, she disappeared down the corridor, the sounds of her shoes echoing off the walls.
Madame Giry moved a little further into the room, eyeing Christine carefully.
"Are you all right?" she asked gently.
Christine nodded. "Have you ..."
"Spoken to ... him? Yes, I have." She paused. "I've also been to see Monsieur Andre - Monsieur Randell will not be returning."
Christine's eyes went wide with panic. "I don't want Raoul to know!"
"He won't," Madame Giry said coolly. "Your name wasn't mentioned - I merely said that there had been an incident and that if Monsieur Randell was not replaced, there was a very good chance that the Opera Ghost would be returning to his old habits."
Christine sank into a chair. "He wouldn't ..." she said weakly.
"What? Kill to protect you?" Madame Giry sighed. "Christine, he loves you. More than I think you know."
"I'm getting married," whispered Christine faintly.
"He knows that," Madame Giry said quietly. "It doesn't stop him loving you."
Christine looked up and met the older woman's eyes, deep with inexpressible sadness.
"What can I do?" she whispered. "What can I do that won't destroy one of them?"
Madame Giry shook her head. "It's a matter for your own conscience, my dear," she said softly. "Just remember that there are people who love you. Don't let them down."
Her air changed, becoming businesslike. "I've contacted Raoul," she said matter-of-factly. "He thinks you've had a fainting fit, and he's coming to take you home as soon as he can. She paused, glancing at Christine. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine," murmured Christine.
Madame Giry subjected her to a further moment's scrutiny which told Christine she didn't believe her in the slightest, then handed her a dress.
"Here," she said. "It's Meg's ... it ought to fit you well enough."
Christine took the dress gratefully, her fingers automatically seeking out the bruise on her shoulder.
"Get dressed," Madame Giry said gently. "I'll let you know when he gets here."
"Thank you ..." murmured Christine, staring down at the dress. "On second thoughts ..." she said suddenly, glancing up. "Will you tell him I'm making my own way home? There's something I have to do."
Her eyes met the ballet mistress', and for a moment, she was convinced that Madame Giry knew exactly what she was thinking - but then the older woman turned away and the moment was lost.
"Of course," said Madame Giry with a brief smile. "Of course ..."
She left the room, closing the door silently behind her.
* * *
Erik bent slowly and picked up the wedding veil. A sudden wave of dizziness swept over him, and he sat down rapidly, the strange tightness back in his chest.
Yes, he thought with insanely desperate longing. Another attack, now ... end it once and for all ...
He lifted the veil to his face, breathing in the faint perfume it still held. He bit his lip until the blood flowed, the crushing silence bearing down on him, the unbearable sensation of heartbroken loneliness becoming almost overwhelming ...
He sank to the floor, his face in his hands.
Being without her was like being without oxygen ...
Far in the distance, he could hear a bell ringing ... he drew his legs up close to his body, and closed his eyes. He could still see her face, smell her perfume ... hear her voice ... He closed his eyes over tears and tried to recall her smile.
"Erik?"
He froze, his entire body going rigid. His lips formed her name, but no sound came out.
"Christine?"