A/N - Thank you to all my reviewers! I love you all - you really brighten my day :) (Christine Persephone - I hope you did OK on your Physics quiz! Your teacher sounds nicer than mine was!! :) )
Anyway - I hope you might all have a little more sympathy with Cosette after this chapter! (and no, in response to a few people who've asked me this - this is not going to be an OW story. Definitely not.)
Disclaimer: The quote from Robert Leicester to Elizabeth is taken from Legacy by Susan Kay (not quite as good as Phantom, but a very good book all the same :) )
"Cosette!"
Cosette turned around and smiled with genuine pleasure when she saw Raoul approaching. They had been talking a lot over the last few days, and she was discovering, with mild surprise, that the more she learned of him, the more she liked him. He was just such a truly nice young man - hopelessly honest and genuine, and utterly incapable of saying a bad word about anyone - the perfect little gentleman. The only trouble was, the more she grew to like him, the more she grew to dislike Christine - she was so innocent, and good, and friendly ... so utterly damned inoffensive! The girl really did seem to be lacking in shrewdness, cunning, or any of the other qualities Cosette admired in others of her sex - she was just so nice ... and so utterly boring!
"Raoul," she greeted him with a smile. "What a pleasant surprise."
He laughed. "The pleasure is all mine, my dear. Now ..." his voice turned mock serious, with just a hint of amusement, "there was a very confused and worried little messenger boy waiting out in the foyer, trying locate a 'Mademoiselle Cosette Graham', and most distressed that said mademoiselle seemed to be absent."
Cosette frowned. "A messenger? For me?" She couldn't think of anyone who might know where she was. Or anyone who would care enough to attempt to find out where she was ...
"I suppose I should go and relieve his distress, then," she said with a slightly confused smile.
"Unnecessary," Raoul said cheerfully, producing a bouquet of roses from behind his back. "I took the liberty of assuring him they would reach their destination."
"Oh, Raoul, how sweet of you!" Cosette said, once again marvelling at a man who would think to do something so utterly selfless. She took the bouquet, searching for a card. She found it, tucked away in the roses, and slipped her finger under the flap of the envelope to withdraw the letter within.
Raoul stared at Cosette. She had gone very white, staring at the letter as though it contained her death warrant, and for a moment he was sure she was going to faint. He reached out to steady her, and she shied away from his touch with a sudden feral terror.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, raising one hand to her trembling lips. She passed a hand over her hair, her whole body shaking, and managed to whisper, "Thank you for delivering this," before she turned and fled.
Cosette rushed down the corridor in a panic, her fingers fumbling at the knob of her dressing room to allow her entry into its cool darkness. She locked the door with fingers that wouldn't stop shaking and sank to the floor, her head spinning and her limbs suddenly weak.
Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God ...
The letter had fallen to the floor, and the words stood out boldly against the white paper, mocking her facade of strength.
"Cosette, darling, I'm in Paris this week, and - with your permission, of course - I would love to come and see you. My love, this has gone on for far too long - the Bible teaches forgiveness above all else, doesn't it?
All my love,
Tom."
She buried her head in her knees, shaking all over, fighting a desire to scream or cry or break something expensive.
Tom Chandler!
Tom Chandler had been her first love - back in the days when she had been an innocent little church girl with blithe expectations of life and love as they were in the asinine storybooks she had read, back in the days when every day was sunny and everyone she knew a friend. They had met in their village church, where she was a member of the choir. He came every week, and sat in the front pew, smiling at her until she thought her heart would burst with joy.
Everyone had said it would never last - when he went away to university, she felt as though she were dying - but he came back, every holiday, and as many weekends as he could - he would come back, and everything would be as it had always been for a day or two, before he had to go away again. People who had sneered at the idea of such adolescent puppy love lasting now began to smile at them in the street and say what a wonderful thing young love was ...
The church choir were drawing lots for who should sing the solo at their wedding.
Until that day. That terrible, awful, summer's day, such a beautiful day she just had to share it with him - she had arrived at the university, and found out his room number - and there they had been. On the bed ...
Cosette closed her eyes as the sledgehammer of pain hit her, undiminished by the passing of five years, as all the anguished disbelief of that one disastrous day in the middle of July when her world had been shattered forever came flooding back to her. She could remember the way her voice had sounded, no more than an anguished whisper; "Tom?" the way he had leapt up, covering his modesty with the sheet, leaving the girl lying naked on the bed ... her scream ...
No!
Cosette forced herself to sit up, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. No ... she would not allow Tom Chandler to come back into her life and sap away the walls of strength and resolve she had so carefully constructed around her broken heart throughout the last five years - she didn't need him! She didn't need any of them.
Cosette set her jaw and slowly, methodically, began to tear the paper to shreds, dropping the pieces into the flickering fire. Tom had done her a favour, really, sending the flowers - he had reminded her that men could not be trusted. Raoul was just the same as any of them - the only way to deal with them was to use them as best you could and hurt them before they could hurt you.
Cosette threw the roses into the fire and watched them burn.
Raoul hesitated outside the door. It was the first time Cosette had ever let down her glamorous, icily beautiful facade to reveal anything even resembling true emotion underneath, and he wasn't quite sure how to deal with the revelation that she was a real person after all under all the glossy hair and brilliant smiles. Of course, he had known that she couldn't be quite as self-possessed and perfectly contained as she always appeared to be - but it still came as a shock that she should lose her control so badly.
He tapped lightly on the door.
"Cosette?" he called softly. "Are you all right?"
The door opened, and Cosette emerged, flashing him a familiarly brilliant smile. She was perhaps a little pale, but her smile was as wide as ever as she beamed at him.
"Why, Raoul! What a pleasant surprise!"
He was slightly taken aback - from his experiences of Christine, women refused to come out of their dressing rooms when they were upset, or at least looked a little unhappy when you finally dragged them out. And yet Cosette looked as bright as ever ... she really was a most extraordinary woman.
"Are you all right?" he said gently. "The roses ..."
For a moment, Cosette's face remained rigid, before her expression melted into one of her truly beautiful smiles.
"Why, of course ... just a little news that took me unawares. But Raoul," she took his arm and began to steer him down the corridor, "where on earth has Christine vanished off to? She's disappeared off the face of the planet, and I simply can't imagine where she might have gone!"
* * *
Christine closed her eyes and clenched her fist in a fold of her dress, cursing the feeling of coming home that accompanied her whenever she re-entered the lair.
She felt Erik's arms loosen suddenly around her, felt him withdraw into himself as his habitual reserve rose as a wall between them. He stood up and retreated over to the organ, his fingers briefly caressing the keys as he glanced tentatively over at her and then hastily looked away, closing his fingers around one of the upright carved supports. She stood up slowly, brushing off her skirt, noticing with faint surprise the dust on the hem ... evidently Erik hadn't kept to his usual standards of cleanliness since she had left.
"Are you ... all right?" she ventured, taking a tentative step towards him.
"Of course." His voice sounded strangely distant and remote, and she hesitated.
"Why ..." she paused and then continued quickly, "why were you crying?"
He turned to look at her for a moment, then turned away again. "It's not important," he said quietly, resting one hand on the top of the organ. He sighed and turned to look at her.
"Christine ... why are you here?"
Because I love you. The answer was on the tip of her tongue - it was such a natural response.
"Because ..." she shook her head, momentarily lost for words. "Because I never thanked you for what you did this afternoon. If you hadn't come when you did ..."
"Don't." His voice came out harsh, tense, almost afraid. He couldn't think of it and stay sane - his flower, his angel, taken against her will - he shuddered inwardly, his fingers clenching around one of the organ uprights for support. He glanced at her and his love for her threatened to overwhelm him - she was such a child, such a complete innocent ... so utterly pure. His love would ruin her, steal her simplicity from her, take away the purity in her which he loved so deeply ... a tear escaped from behind the mask and he turned hastily away from her to wipe it away.
"Nothing did happen," he said quietly, "and if I hadn't come, somebody else would have done." He looked back at her, engraving every line of her profile on his memory. He turned away, his resolve crumbling - God, would he ever be able to stop loving her ...
"Erik ..." her voice confused, concerned, a little hurt. "Are you sure you're all right?"
He laughed softly, the sound utterly devoid of humour. "Yes, my dear, I'm fine ... a little tired, I suppose."
He sighed briefly, glancing at her once more and feeling his self-control dissolve into a sea of helpless emotion. He took a trembling step towards her.
"Christine ..."
"Yes?" Her voice eager, hopeful, nervous.
"Oh, God ..." He took another step towards her, unable to restrain himself, and swept her into his arms. He buried his face in her hair, feeling her hands ball into fists on his back.
He closed his eyes, treasuring the warm scent of her hair a moment longer before he pulled away from her, his heart wrenching at the knowledge of what he was losing.
"You should go," he said over a sudden lump in his throat. "It's not right that you should be here."
Christine sighed, unreasonably disappointed. He must still be angry with her about their last night ...
"Erik, please ..." She took a step towards him, touching him lightly through his jacket. "Please don't be angry with me."
Erik turned to face her. "Angry with you?" he echoed. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this. "Why would I be angry with you?"
She shook her head, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. "I don't know," she murmured, turning away from him and running her fingers along a bookshelf. "You were ... that last night."
Erik closed his eyes, blocking the inevitable memories of that night.
"I wasn't angry," he said, very softly. "Not with you, at any rate."
"It wasn't Raoul's fault," she whispered. "None of it ..."
Erik shook his head. "I know."
There was a brief pause.
"Are you going to marry him?"
Christine looked up sharply, but Erik had turned away from her and was standing very still with his back to her by the bookshelves. She closed her eyes over tears and the achingly familiar pang of guilt.
"Yes," she whispered, feeling faint.
There was a very long silence before Erik finally turned and moved slowly over to the organ.
"I'm very happy for you, my dear," he said very quietly, his fingers passing soundlessly over the keys. "But it does make your presence here even more inappropriate. Do you need me to show you the way out or can you find your own way?"
Christine looked hopelessly at him, his fingers now still on the keys of the organ. He wasn't looking at her, his face carefully devoid of emotion. She couldn't do without him, she realised suddenly. The thought of her life without him was just too painful; he had rebuilt her life and her heart at a time when she had been sure she would never smile again, and now even a day without his presence, his strength, his love behind her was unimaginable. Teacher, angel, maestro, friend - Erik's unending support was something she just could not begin to contemplate losing.
"What are you saying?" she asked slowly. "That we should just ... never see each other again?"
Erik stood very still, touching his fingertips very lightly to the spine of a book.
"Can you see any other real alternative, my dear?"
"What ... what if we were to take up our lessons again?" Christine clapped her hand over her mouth in horror, unable to believe she had dared to say it. Much as she wanted their lessons to resume - if nothing else, for purely professional reasons, none of the other teachers she had met had seemed even half as passionate about their music as Erik had - she had never dreamed of making such a brazen suggestion when Erik had so clearly not recovered from their last encounter.
Erik had turned sharply back to her, his eyes wary.
"Are you serious?"
"I ... well ..." Christine floundered. "Yes," she said finally. "I ..."
She looked up at Erik, and his eyes watching her gave her the courage she needed. "I've missed you," she said sincerely.
She thought she saw him smile tentatively beneath the mask.
"Very well," he said softly, turning away from her. "In that case, I'll see you tomorrow ..." he turned back to her and hesitantly offered her his hand. "Come on ... I'll take you back."
Erik lingered on the far bank of the lake for a long time after she was gone, trying to hold every moment of her visit in his mind for as long as possible. After even the faintest traces of her perfume drifted away over the cold stillness of the lake, he finally returned to the house, feeling, for the first time in many months, almost at peace with himself.
She had forgiven him.
Erik looked around the empty house, suddenly somewhat at a loss. Twelve hours ... twelve hours until he would see her again.
He shook his head and sank into an armchair, suddenly trembling at the memory of how close he had been to her. He had touched her hand ...
Erik closed his eyes and tried to stop his hands from shaking. She was a virus in his blood; no matter how hard he tried, he would never free himself from her unconscious, utterly innocently woven spell.
He suddenly remembered something Robert Leicester had once said to Elizabeth the First. "If I could find a doctor to cure me of my love for you, believe me, madam, I would make him a wealthy man!"
A wise man, Robert Leicester ...