A/N - OK, well, um, this is a chapter in which things get stirred up (thank you, Nadir :P) and plots are formed (courtesy of Cosette) - it's really just a build-up to the next chapter, which I already have written - so that should be up in a day or two! :) (So please forgive me the shortness and lack of Erik!!)
Maya: *laughs* I swear, sweetie, you have some sort of second sight!! Yup - you guessed right, of course it's Nadir :) Who else could interfere so much and still be so adorable?!
Christine Persephone: *beams* I know, isn't it scary? I decided that Christine deserved a heroine with a little character - and I love the idea of her as Carmen - it's just so not her!! :D
Christine caught her breath and looked up to see the face of Erik's friend, the Persian.
"Monsieur!" She caught herself, realising how flustered she sounded. "What a pleasant surprise."
He smiled. "Might I invite you for a drink while we talk?"
Christine nodded, suddenly nervous. Nadir gestured towards a small cafe, secluded under a voluminous overhang which shaded the diners from the sun, just across the street, and Christine took his arm in consent.
They sat in silence while the waiter brought their drinks, Nadir briefly nodding his thanks.
Christine picked up her glass and took a sip, suddenly feeling awkward.
"Well ..." she began nervously, trying to smile.
Her companion smiled and set down his own glass, his expression turning serious.
"Mademoiselle ... I daresay you think me dreadfully presumptuous, please forgive me. But I think that you and I have something rather important in common, and ... well, as the two people who know him best, I'd rather like to think we both have his best interests at heart."
Christine took another sip of her water, her mouth suddenly very dry.
He continued, "I apologise for interrupting you earlier - I wasn't aware that you had resumed your lessons. I have to confess, I'm a little surprised ... after what occurred ..."
He broke off, closing his fingers lightly around his glass.
"I'm rather surprised that Monsieur le Vicomte is allowing it."
He paused, studying her face. Christine felt her face growing hot, and she dropped her eyes helplessly away from his.
"Unless of course ... he doesn't know."
Christine bit her lip.
"I ... don't want him to know. Erik is ... far and away the best teacher I've ever had - I don't see why I should need to end all that just because I'm getting married. But ... Raoul wouldn't like it."
"Do you think you can keep them apart?"
Christine sighed. "I can try. I don't want to have to choose between them - I love Raoul, and I care about Erik ... it's in a different way, and now how he would have me care for him - but I do. Whatever he might believe. And I don't want to lose either of them - they're both so integral to my life now, I can't imagine being without either one of them."
Nadir took a deep breath. He seemed to be attempting to gather courage to say something he feared might offend her.
"Monsieur, please, may we be honest with each other? Say what you mean - it will save us both a lot of trouble in the long run."
He glanced at her and nodded.
"Very well. I ... want you to consider the possibility that your being there is going to do him more harm than good. He's ... so much happier when you're there ... you give him a purpose, a reason to stay alive. But ..."
He paused, and she heard him sigh.
"I'm worried how he's going to cope with your getting married. I'm ... not sure he's strong enough."
"He will get over me, in time," Christine whispered, knowing even as she said it that she was wrong.
Nadir shook his head immediately, rejecting the suggestion.
"No," he said with certainty. "He may learn to live at peace with his love for you ... in time, he may even learn to be your friend and nothing more. But he won't stop loving you. And ... that's what I'm afraid of."
He took a sip of wine, and Christine could feel him wondering just how far he dared infringe the laws of etiquette.
"Mademoiselle ... you must know how much your last ... encounter hurt him. I don't know how he seems to you now ...?"
Christine studied her drink. "He seems ... quiet," she said softly, tipping her glass lightly from one side to the other, watching the water sparkle as it caught the light. "Withdrawn. And he won't look at me." She sighed. "I don't know why he agreed to teach me again, if it's only going to hurt him more."
"Because he loves you." He sighed and passed a hand through his hair. "And he thinks that having you near him - in any capacity - is going to hurt him less than never seeing you at all. Short term, I suppose he's probably right. But long-term ..." He shook his head.
"Long-term, I think he's just being foolish. He thinks himself to be stronger than he really is - whether he likes to admit it or not, I don't think he's capable of surrendering you to another man without doing some serious damage to himself."
"You don't think I should marry Raoul, then?"
"I don't think you can ... not if you want to retain any semblance of a relationship with Erik. You must know how withdrawn he gets when he feels himself to be vulnerable - I should imagine you're feeling it rather acutely at the moment - and if nothing else, I think that alone will make your relationship impossible."
He took another sip of his wine and smiled sadly. "You know, he once said to me that you were the only thing that made his life worth living."
Christine frowned. "That doesn't sound like him."
He smiled. "No ... it doesn't, does it?" The smile faded. "He was ... very drunk ..." He sighed. "Very drunk, and very maudlin. He's ... always been terrified of losing you, and that night ..." He shook his head.
"Well, it doesn't matter now. But, Mademoiselle, please - take time to consider your next move." He smiled and rose. "I don't ask that you take my advice - I may be proven to be entirely wrong. But somehow ... somehow I don't think I am."
He dropped several banknotes on the table, bowed to Christine, and disappeared into the teeming crowds.
Christine sat back in her chair, smiling her thanks automatically as the waiter came to clear away the drinks.
"What am I going to do?" she said aloud to a small thrush which was hovering nearby, hoping for some scraps from a table. "What am I going to do?"
* * *
Christine was wandering more or less aimlessly through the Opera. She didn't want to go home - she couldn't face Raoul - and she didn't want to go to her dressing room, just in case Erik was there ... this was a decision she had to make without their influence.
"Christine!"
Christine turned to see Cosette Graham bearing down on her. She took her arm and began to lead her down the corridor, somewhat to Christine's bemusement.
"Hello, Cosette," she said with an uncertain smile.
"Now, Christine," Cosette's voice changed tone and became serious. "My dear, I simply have to talk to you. I have to beg your forgiveness for the way I behaved at rehearsal the other day. It was completely uncalled for and I've been feeling simply dreadful ever since." She stopped and turned Christine to face her, looking as contrite and unhappy as she could. "Please say you forgive me, I just can't imagine what inspired me to behave like that."
Christine blinked, more than just a little surprised by this sudden change of heart. "Well ... I mean, that's fine." She smiled cautiously. "No harm was done."
Cosette sighed in relief, silently thanking the gods for Christine's trusting nature.
"Would you like to go and sit down and have a chat before rehearsal starts?" she suggested, pretending to check her watch.
"Well ... yes, if you like," agreed Christine cautiously.
Cosette breathed an inward sigh of relief.
This was going to be easier than she had thought.
* * *
An hour later, Cosette was sitting alone in her dressing room, fuming. If she had been in a cartoon, doubtless there would have been smoke pouring from her ears - as it was, she wasn't far away from that.
Christine had come, albeit a little reluctantly, and made polite small talk for about twenty minutes. But when Cosette had tried to slip in something about the Opera Ghost, Christine had dropped her drink - which Cosette would now have to mop up - and after a few awkward evasions, excused herself with the pretence of a headache.
Cosette glowered. This was going to be next to impossible - none of her attempts to attract the ghost had been successful (how effective could calling to a spectre in an empty auditorium be, anyway?) and the only person who knew anything about him seemed determined not to tell.
Scowling, she stood up and kicked the table. It didn't help. She made her way out into the corridor where, as luck would have it, she saw Raoul leading Christine, looking a little pale, away down the corridor, his voice raised in animated narration.
She waited a moment to ensure that they weren't coming back, then ran to Christine's dressing room, carefully locking the door behind her. If Christine wouldn't tell her about the Phantom, perhaps her room would.
Cosette turned her attention to the dresser and a small sheaf of papers scattered over it. She scanned them all quickly - all asinine, juvenile little love notes from Raoul, so far as she could tell - then caught her breath. Lying a little way away from the rest of the papers was a letter in an envelope, addressed in red ink and graceful handwriting - the same handwriting on the notes Monsieur Firmin had shown her at the very beginning - with a single red rose laid beside it, and a sheet of music folded underneath.
She picked it up, her heart beating faster with anticipation. This might just be the break she had been waiting for ... She momentarily checked herself when she realised the letter was still sealed, then laughed inwardly at her own folly and ripped it open regardless.
Dear Christine,
Try these scales on your own and let me know how you get on with them. I won't be around this afternoon - so if you need me, leave a note in Box Five and I'll come directly I return.
Good luck at rehearsal and don't forget to watch your entrance to Havanaise.
~ Erik
Cosette stared at the letter for a moment, thanking the gods for this inexplicable good fortune. This indeed was the break she had been waiting for - a name and a way to contact him!
A slow smile spread over her face as she realised an even better way to play it. A way which wouldn't really involve her at all ...
She riffled through the papers once more before finding what she was looking for - a half-finished letter from Christine to one of her countless admirers, a polite, kindly refusal. She slipped it and the letter from her own personal ghost into her pocket, pausing on second thought to add the rose and the music.
All she needed now was the consent of her manager ...
* * *
"No. Absolutely not."
Cosette bit back a scream of fury as Firmin laid down his spectacles on the desk to look up at her.
"Monsieur, believe me, this will work. It will work - and what is more, it is the only thing which will."
"I hired you as bait. This insane scheme of yours seems to involve nobody other than Christine Daaé as the prize to lure him out - a trick we've tried before, without, I might remind you, overly successful results."
"Perhaps so. But Monsieur, rest assured, so far as my capacities as bait go, I am sadly lacking. The only bait he will come for is her, of that I am quite sure." Sensing a weakening of her opponent, she drove her advantage home, reiterating her points with a tap on the desk with her pen.
"A note from Christine appears for him. I have her handwriting, I can work from that. He's not expecting one unless it's an emergency - so he hurries to her directly. He's distracted, concerned for her, he's off his guard - and that's when we strike." She slammed the pen down onto the table. "Armed gendarmes surrounding the room - but Christine must be in there alone, or he won't come in. They hear his voice when he comes to her, burst in, shoot - and your problem is solved once and for all."
Firmin sighed. She made an attractive offer ... but Gilles' reaction if they were to place Christine Daaé in any further danger ... or Raoul's, come to that ... There were too many risks, too many things which could go wrong.
"And if it fails?"
She shrugged, tossing back her hair in a disarming display of arrogance. "How can it fail? It's so simple - there is nowhere it can go wrong. Christine is in no danger - the only danger is to him, and so far as I understood you, you had little cause for complaint should that turn out to be the case."
Firmin fell silent. Cosette waited, holding her breath - she was quite convinced that if this scheme failed, the ghost of the Opera Populaire would continue to haunt the theatre as long as he pleased. Couldn't he see it was the only way ...?
"Right," said Firmin suddenly, standing up and knocking the photograph of his long-suffering wife off the desk, where it lay on the thick carpet without being retrieved. "Write the note, and I'll have the Surete ready for him."
Cosette screamed inwardly with triumph.