A/N - T'eyla Minh! Nice to see you back, I wondered if you were still reading :) Speaking of reading ... how's part four coming along? *hint hint* I know, subtle as a sledgehammer :P But I hold tight to the hope that one day you will write it!
And Kristi ... I know it was a long time. I'm sorry :( So this short upload time is for you!!
Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed; I appreciate it so so much :) Much love and hugs to everyone!!
Oh, and quick plot hole - since the last chapter, Raoul and Christine have spoken, and agreed (very amicably) to call off the engagement. Usual stuff - they're both too young, just friends, mistook their feelings for love ... if anyone's interested in reading it, then email me and I'll send it to you, but I didn't want to add it into this chapter because that would just make it toooo long. And I don't write good R/C :P Now, this is the last-but-one chapter (unless I decide to do something really weird!) so it's largely just setting the scene for the final showdown. Dun dun dun ...!! Really hope you all enjoy! Hugs and kisses :)
Erik and Nadir made their way through the back passages to Christine's dressing room, Erik keeping his face averted from the crowds of operagoers.
Nadir realised Erik was trembling.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly.
"You astonish me, daroga," Erik replied icily, his eyes fixedly ahead. "You ask as though you care."
Nadir sighed and gave up trying to make conversation. Erik was always quite impossible when he was nervous, covering his anxiety with icy sarcasm.
Outside the door to Christine's dressing room, he hesitated. Nadir laid a hand lightly on his arm, and was surprised at the violence with which he started.
He covered his face with his hands for a moment and took a deep breath. "This is a bad idea, you know," he murmured.
"No, it isn't," said Nadir quietly. "Go on."
Erik, seeming to be steeling himself for the inevitable pain Christine would bring, knocked sharply on the door and pushed it open.
He had a brief glimpse of Christine sitting in a small chair, her hair loose around her shoulders, watching the mirror, before she rose hastily, obviously startled, passing a hand nervously through her hair in an effort to regain her composure. She gestured towards the mirror and tried to laugh. "The one time I think I'm prepared for you through the mirror ..." There was an awkward silence.
Am impartial observer would have said that Erik was quite at ease, but Nadir could see the tenseness in his shoulders and it had not escaped his attention that his friend's fist had clenched very tightly around the back of a chair.
There was a long silence, Christine tugging her hand nervously through her hair, clearly embarrassed and characteristically at a loss for what to say.
Finally Nadir moved forward and motioned to Christine to take a seat. "Why don't you sit down."
"Umm ..." She looked around, then shook her head. "Actually, I'd rather not ... this probably isn't the best place to do this. Anyone could walk in ..."
As if to prove her point, a knock came at the door. Christine looked around wildly, her hand automatically rising to her mouth.
"One moment, please!" she called, gesturing frantically for Nadir to sit down as if they were in the middle of a conversation. Nadir glanced around, but Erik had disappeared.
Christine sat down opposite Nadir and ran a hand through her hair. "Come in," she called.
The door opened, and Meg appeared in the doorway, all fluffy blonde hair and pink ballet skirt.
"Christine, where on earth have you ..." She stopped abruptly as she caught sight of Nadir, colour rising in her cheeks. "Oh, I'm sorry!" One hand rose to her face. "I didn't know you had company ..." A few moments of fluttering awkwardness, then she pressed Christine's hand quickly. "I'll ... I'll see you later ..." She scurried out of the room, accidentally banging the door behind her.
Christine laughed softly despite her nerves. "I think we'd better go." She looked around. "Where's Erik?"
There was a brief pause before Erik's voice drifted out of the shadows.
"Is she still leading the corps de ballet?"
Christine looked confused. "I ... yes. Why ...?"
"I like to ensure that things still run along smoothly in my absence."
Christine frowned, looking even more confused. "All right ..."
Erik's voice played along the walls of the room. "Very well, Christine. You called me here to talk ... presumably you have something you wish to say to me."
Christine rose nervously, apparently lost for words again. She laughed tensely. "I don't really know what to say."
Erik sighed, his voice echoing around the small dressing room. "A great philosopher once said that when there is nothing to say, it is best to be silent. And I think that perhaps ... leaving this unsaid would be best - for both of us."
While Nadir rose to his feet in alarm and Christine whirled around, her eyes searching the shadows frantically for him, his voice drifted towards her. "Adieu, Christine - I dare say we will not meet again."
* * *
Erik leant his aching head back on the coldness of the wall and closed his eyes. It was dark in the passage, and he felt an overwhelming urge to sink down and drown in the shadows - just to close his eyes and let the darkness claim him ...
He could still hear Christine sobbing and Nadir's awkward attempts to comfort her; for a moment, he was tempted to let his voice drift through the walls and dry her tears. He knew he still could ... but no. He turned away, his head aching and his throat sore beyond belief.
It is better this way, he told himself firmly. Better for all of us ...
The sound of Christine's sobs haunted him as he made his way slowly out of the theatre and into the street.
* * *
"Christine, please, shh, calm down, child ..." Nadir slipped an arm around Christine's shoulder and silently cursed Erik. She turned her face into his shoulder, her fingers curling in her lap.
"What did I do wrong?" she wept. "Why couldn't he have waited to hear me out?"
"I don't know," murmured Nadir. "Please, try to calm down. This can't be good for you."
With a mighty effort, she stood up and made her way over to her dressing table, where she found a handkerchief and blotted her face with it. When she turned back to him a few minutes later, her face was still tear-streaked but calmer.
"I don't understand," she said softly, her voice threatening to break. "Why is he being like this?" She bit back a sob and turned quickly away from Nadir, making herself very busy with rummaging through her dressing table. "Does he not love me anymore?"
She felt Nadir's hands on her arms, turning her to face him. "You mustn't think that!" He released her, but his voice was sufficiently urgent to ensure she did not turn away from him. "Truly, mademoiselle ... when the rocks of this earth crumble to dust and pigs fly over the frozen surface of hell, he will still love you."
Christine looked at him for a moment, before turning away to sit down on a small hard-backed chair. "I'm so confused," she whispered, more to herself than to Nadir.
Nadir took a deep breath. "Mademoiselle ... forgive me the impertinence of what I am about to say. I ... heard about the breaking of the engagement between you and Monsieur le Vicomte. Do ... do you mind if I ask you why?"
Christine laughed softly and pulled her hair back out of her face. "No, I don't mind you asking," she said sadly. "I'm not sure I can give you a real reason, though. I think ..." she sighed and pulled a hand back through her hair again. "I think perhaps he's falling in love with somebody else."
Whatever Nadir had expected, it wasn't this. "Oh, mademoiselle ... I'm so sorry ..."
She laughed shortly. "Don't be," she said with a forced smile. "Frankly, I'm not quite sure I'm not doing exactly the same thing." Her hands flew up to cover her mouth in horror. "I shouldn't have said that!"
His hands were on her arms again, urgent, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "Mademoiselle, what do you mean?"
She turned from him, rubbing her hand over her face, shaking her head. "No, no, nothing, I didn't mean to say it!"
"That doesn't mean you didn't mean it. Please, mademoiselle ... trust me just a little."
There was a long moment of silence, before she turned back to him, her face tear-streaked. "I don't know," she whispered. "I'm just so confused ..."
"Erik?" he said, very softly. She looked him in the eyes, looking very much like a frightened little girl, and nodded slowly.
"I don't understand," she murmured, turning away from Nadir and sitting down again, hiding her face in her hands. Her voice came again, muffled. "And now he won't even talk to me ..." She burst into tears again, and Nadir gently took her into his arms, rocking her like a child.
"Shh, it's all right," he murmured, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Don't upset yourself." He held her until her tears ceased, then gently helped her into a chair. "I'm going to go and see him."
"You won't tell him?" She caught hold of his sleeve, suddenly anxious. "You mustn't tell him!" She stared at him, her blue eyes beseeching. "Please!"
He shook his head. "Don't worry," he said softly. "All will be well."
* * *
Erik poured himself a generous measure of brandy and stared into the glass for a few moments before sinking into a chair and closing his eyes. His mind felt utterly blank. For the first time in months, he could not summon the energy to think of Christine; he could not summon the energy to think of anything. He vaguely registered Ayesha leaping up to perch on the arm of the chair beside him, rubbing her head against his arm, and he reached up absently to stroke her.
Suddenly there came a loud banging on the door. Usually, such aggression would have sent him straight into the shadows, but today he knew ... knew it would be Nadir, furious at his loss of nerve. Why couldn't he understand that it was just too hard to be so close to her ...?
The banging on the door redoubled in volume. He sighed, downed the brandy in one, and rose apathetically to open the door.
* * *
Cosette heard a knock on the door, and heard the rustle of Maya Firmin's skirts as she rose to answer it. She lay back on the couch, feeling drained of all energy. Part of her mind rebelled against the thought of the display she had made; horror at the memory of her dreadful loss of composure ...
She sighed. What must Raoul have thought ...
She heard a muted buzz of conversation, then the words filtered into her consciousness, "May I see her?"
There was a brief pause before Maya made a sound of assent and she heard the footsteps of someone crossing the room. She closed her eyes, immeasurably weary as they knelt beside her; probably one of the managers, come to castigate her for her stunning lack of deportment ...
She felt gentle fingers brush a lock of hair away from her face, heard the figure rising.
"I think she's asleep."
Cosette sat up, awake and suddenly desperate for his comfort.
"Raoul?"
He turned back to her and smiled, kneeling again by her side. She suddenly felt shy, and fought the urge to blush ... what must he think of her ...
He took her hand, very gently, his eyes searching hers.
"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, stroking the back of her hand.
She felt the colour rise in her cheeks. "I'm fine, I ..." She sounded so asinine, so weakly feminine, so much like a ballet rat ...! She hated herself in that moment. She gathered all her strength and forced out one of her winning smiles, pushing herself up on the pillows and wishing she could brush her hair. "Raoul, I'm so sorry, I can't imagine what inspired me to behave like that ..."
"Oh no." He was shaking his head now, a finger up against her lips. "No, you don't. You're not brushing this off so lightly. Something was seriously wrong; and you're going to tell me what it was."
Something inside Cosette realised the irony that, for the first time in her life, a man was dominating her; and it worried her that she could find so little energy to resist.
"Honestly, it was nothing ..."
"Nonsense," he said firmly. His eyes softened, and he took her hand again. "Cosette, don't push me away. I thought we were friends."
Cosette fought the urge to cry. "Why, Raoul, what a thing to say!" she managed lightly, but it sounded weak even to her ears. "Of course we're friends."
"So why won't you tell me what was wrong?" His voice was gentle, his hand on hers soft. Cosette didn't reply.
He sighed and laid his hat on the table. "The flowers," he said quietly. "They were from him, weren't they? I always thought that strange ... that you should react so badly to a gift ... who is he, Cosette?"
Cosette closed her eyes on tears and forced herself to take a deep breath. And suddenly she knew it was no good; she couldn't fight Raoul's concern any longer.
"His name is Tom Chandler," she began, her voice wavering. "I come from a little village called St Martin-de-Boscherville ..."
* * *
Nadir was pacing up and down the floor, furious. "What are you playing at, Erik? How hard would it have been simply to stay and listen to her? She had nothing to do with that pitiful trap, you know!"
Erik did not turn. "I know."
"So why such discourtesy?" Erik made no comment, and Nadir lost his temper for the first time in almost twenty years. "I thought you loved her!"
Erik whirled around, his eyes glittering dangerously. "For the love of God, daroga, I do love her!"
There was a sudden silence as his words hung in the air. Nadir found himself suddenly speechless; it was so unlike Erik to express emotion to anyone else.
Erik turned away, his voice suddenly weary.
"Of course I love her. More than anything else in the world; but it has to stop. I can't ... I can't trust myself around her anymore." He poured himself a glass of brandy and swallowed it, continuing to stare into the empty glass. "It would have been better if she had never known me."
He swallowed another measure of brandy, his fingers tightening around the empty glass until his knuckles showed white.
"And now, she will marry him, and she will forget me ..." He dropped the glass abruptly on the table and crossed his arms across his chest. "And she will be happy." He crossed the room to stand by the fireplace. "And that is all that matters."
Nadir finally found his voice. "And what about you?"
Erik shrugged with indifference. "What about me."
"What will you do without her?"
"Presumably the same as I have done the other fifty or so years of my life without her." Erik sounded merely bored now.
"And Christine?"
"What of her."
"What do you think she'll do without you?"
Erik's voice was now icy. "Don't mock me, daroga."
"Believe me, I don't. But don't you think she might perhaps have something to say about this?"
" 'Thank God'?" Erik suggested with a cold sarcasm which warned Nadir he was not willing to be pushed much further.
"Don't be flippant, Erik. She doesn't want to lose you ..."
"For God's sake, daroga!" Erik turned away, pouring himself another measure of brandy. "She isn't just going on holiday, you know! She's getting married. Forgive me if I don't want to be around to see that!"
"No, she isn't."
There was a long silence, before Erik turned back to him.
"I beg your pardon?"
"She isn't getting married."
Erik's voice came, guarded, cautious. "Care to elaborate?"
Nadir sighed and sat down. "She wanted to tell you this herself ... she and Monsieur le Vicomte had a ... discussion, of sorts, and the decision was reached that the engagement was something of a mistake." He hesitated. "I believe she received the impression that another young lady might be involved ..."
The expression in Erik's eyes changed. "I'll kill him."
"No. It was a mutual agreement ... I believe Christine herself had begun to fear that it had been a mistake."
There was a very long silence. Erik moved over to the piano, spreading his fingers restlessly over the polished wood. After a long moment of silence, Nadir rose quietly, collected his cloak, and left his friend alone to make what he could of his news.
The next step had to be taken by him.