Chapter Six: The Power Of Your Intense Fragility
They rode back to the house on the outskirts or Rouen in silence, neither having the courage to go over the events that had taken place in Gerard's study. Christine, for her part, was almost afraid to ask how it went as she could sense Erik's pensive mood. She was no longer the child she had been when they first met, no longer a cringing violet who feared that his awesome temper would lash out at her at a moment's notice, but she didn't want to begin an argument either.
They entered the house in that same silence, at which point after removing their coats, Erik stalked to the sitting room and stood stiffly before the fire which the housekeeper had been kind enough to leave for them.
Christine stood in the doorway of the sitting room for several minutes, watching the unbending form before her, wishing she only dared to cross the room and touch him.
Finally, Erik removed the mask and set it upon the mantle. He turned slowly, and looked across the room where his wife stood.
"If you had been either of my parents, would you not have run at first sight of me?"
Christine's fingers kneaded in the skirt of her dress as her tongue stammered for an answer, "Erik, I . . . I . . . I'm not them, so how can I say?"
"You wanted to run," Erik whispered softly, "at first."
Christine looked down to the floor, "Yes," she replied honestly, "at first. I was little more than a scared child then. I . . . it took me time to get used to you, but once I was, it didn't matter, Erik. You know that. I need time to get used to massive changes and before that moment, I had believed you an angel, that surely your face would be . . ." she choked on the words. "I imagined things like I had seen in ever picture of heaven ever drawn. I was . . . it was . . . Erik; I thought we'd covered that before. It was shallow of me, I know that now, but I love you, and that's all that matters. I not only love you, I am in love with you."
"I know you are," Erik sighed as he turned his back once more and stared into the fire. "And you still fear my ire. We've been married for four months now and you still fear me."
"Erik, I do not fear you. We're dancing around the same issue now that we did right after you proposed. I don't fear you. But I'm not about to go and say something that I know will make you angry at me, because I prefer to have you happy. Is there something wrong in that?"
He sighed, "No, not put that way. I'm just . . . in a mood I suppose."
Christine crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. "I know, mon ange. It's perfectly natural you know, to wonder about your father even now, wanting to know what he's like. How did your talk with Gerard go?"
Erik turned, took her in his arms, and led her to the divan, where they sat side by side wrapped up in each other for several quiet minutes before he began. "It went rather well I suppose on the whole, but he did not really answer my question. I don't know why it's bothering me so Christine. Why the thoughts of a man who has been dead for more than fifty years, who I never met, who should mean nothing by that right, means so much to me."
"Because he's your father. You are flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood, and you wish to please him. He didn't just up and leave you, he died. He didn't have a choice in the matter. He didn't abuse you, curse you, and demean you. And you want to know if he would have, or if he would have been a loving father, how different your life could have been if he had been there, instead of dying before ever alighting eyes upon your face."
"When did you get to be so smart, Christine Laramie?"
"The day I decided to marry you."
Erik laughed softly, and lowered his head to capture Christine's lips with his own.
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The next day, Erik once more accompanied Gerard to the office.
"I've been having difficulty with this one client, his wishes you see, are rather exact. I'm good at what I do, Erik, but I don't quite measure up to a man of your talent, and I thought perhaps you might have some fresh ideas as to how to satisfy this client's rather singular wishes. Of course, you will be paid for your time, as this is work."
Erik smiled behind the half mask, "No payment necessary, Gerard, I am merely doing you a favor. Consider it a labor of love if you will."
"If that's the way you run your business you must be going broke," Gerard laughed.
"Hardly."
"Well then," Gerard spread the plans across the drafting table so that his nephew could get a good sight of what he had so far.
Erik picked up a lead without so much as a word to Gerard, and began making marks over parts of the plans already drawn, and on the blank surfaces as well. Before lunchtime, Gerard dared to look over his shoulder, and gasped at what he saw.
"Mon dieu!"
"You don't think he'll like it?"
"Well, he's due to come and look at the plans at two
o'clock,
we'll see then, but I think this is more to his liking than anything I could
have done."
"You're being too modest Gerard. The last time I was here, I perused through some of your plans, and they are nothing short of brilliant."
"And you are heaping the compliments on too high, my nephew. Never mind, it's getting late in the afternoon, and I daresay we could both do with some lunch."
Erik shook his head with mirth, but followed his uncle nevertheless. They walked down the street and stopped at a small sidewalk café.
"Erik, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Erik's eyebrow quirked unseen behind the mask, "More questions?"
"Not an inquisition I assure you. Just something rather curious."
Erik sighed softly before saying, "Well then? Out with it."
"I was in Paris in February."
There was no change in Erik's face to show the tremendous case of nerves he was now feeling, "I hope you found time while you were there to enjoy your private box at the Opera?"
Gerard smiled ruefully, "Yes, and Christine was excellent that night. I tried to make my way backstage to give my regards, but I fear I got a bit lost and by the time I found directions to her dressing room, she had already left."
"I'm sorry, if we had known, we'd have taken you out to dinner."
"Well, I was only there for the two days, and only had the one evening to spare really. Perhaps next time I should send you a note before arriving?"
Erik nodded, "Yes, of course."
Gerard's mouth opened as if he wanted to say more, but he bit his tongue as the waiter arrived with their food and refilled their drinks.
They ate in an uncomfortable silence, and it was not until they had both finished that Gerard opened his mouth to speak again.
"I had intended to surprise you."
An eyebrow quirked unseen behind the mask, "Pardon?"
"In February. I had intended to surprise you when I stopped by to visit."
Erik's fist clenched and unclenched beneath the table, the only visible sign of his current distress, and one which went unseen by Gerard. "You came to visit."
"Yes. The address you gave for correspondence."
A low growl escaped Erik's throat, low enough the other patrons of the café did not hear, and it was cut off quickly.
"I must have missed you there as well," Erik finally responded to the question that remained unspoken in the air.
"Yes. Funny thing though Erik, Nadir was there."
Erik closed his eyes, trying to shut out the nightmare which was now before him. "Go on, Gerard. Out with it."
"Where do you really live, Erik? I know that you're not homeless by any means, or you would have jumped on the house a lot quicker, would already be there."
Erik laughed wryly, "I assure you, I am far from homeless."
"You're being cryptic Erik."
Erik sighed softly, his mouth creasing into a tight frown, "Because I'm not sure you're ready to hear the answer, Gerard. And not sure I'm ready to part with it."
"Then tell me what you meant when you told Christine you had been driven below the opera?"
Eyes widened behind the mask as Erik was unable to stifle his reaction to that question, "Have you been eavesdropping on us then? How impolite of you Gerard."
"Not intentionally, no. The night before your wedding, Marie had sent me upstairs to check on the two of you, find out why you had not come down yet for the party, and I happened to be outside your door when you told Christine that, had just been about to knock in fact, but . . ."
"You stayed and listened instead."
Gerard's mouth hardened into a thin line before answering, "Yes, until I was sure that you were coming down. Answer the question, Erik."
"This is not the time nor the place-"
"As if there would be a better time, Erik. I've been nothing but honest in every question you've asked me in the past months. Part of being family means being honest with one another."
Erik groaned softly, "I do not live in the Rue de Rivoli, no. We live . . ." he trailed off and his head dropped to stare at the table, unable to meet his uncle's eyes, "near the opera. When I was building the opera house, I was also working on a place where I could, if necessary, escape humanity almost entirely."
"Under the opera," Gerard whispered as his face took on a look of horror. "You live under the opera . . . in a dressing room? Or in one of the basements?"
"Not exactly," Erik replied. "In a house, just . . . under the opera."
Gerard shook his head, trying to internalize the news his nephew was imparting. "Wouldn't that seem rather too much like a tomb?"
Erik coughed, the irony of Gerard's statement catching him off guard. "Perhaps to some," he replied as the spasm passed, and pulled his watch from his inner coat pocket, "now then, if we don't get back, you're going to be horribly late for your meeting."
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Christine glanced into the music room later that night. For the past several nights, Erik had been restless, and unable to sleep, much as he had been when she had first met him. She'd been woken tonight by the haunting melody that floated up the stairs to their bedroom, a melody she inherently knew had been coming from his hand.
There he was, staring out the window, violin in one hand and bow in the other, so statuesque in his magnificence. He was completely absorbed, she knew, and had not heard her soft footed approach, for he had not moved his stance an inch since she appeared at the doorway.
His own composition, she knew, for he'd played a variation of this one for her once before. Over the months, he'd written several compositions for her, and this was one of their mutual favorites. In her mind, she began to hear the lyrics he had written for it, and before long, she was vocalizing with the playing of the violin.
"Chaque fois que j'entends des notes rencontrer l'air, ou le début d'une chanson éloignée. Je sais que vous serez là, Je n'attendrai pas longtemps!"
As he heard her begin to sing with the melody, Erik turned to face his wife, and by the time she had finished the recitative, he had dropped the violin from his chin and began to harmonize with her.
"Chaque bruit, chaque mélodie faible m'apporte plus près d'où vous serez, et je ne devrai pas me rechercher sais vous sera exact là! Vous êtes, à l'intérieur de la musique, n'importe ce que nous sommes forcés de faire ou dire! Toujours à l'intérieur de la musique . . ."
Christine's voice faded away as Erik's picked up the coming line, "pas plus que juste une chanson . . ."
And then Christine sang the answering line alone, "Juste une chanson . . ."
Silence filled the room for a moment as they stared at each other, both merely concentrating on stilling their hearts, when they both nodded, and sang the last line of the song in perfect harmony, their voices lingering together over the final notes, "Juste une chanson partie."
Erik closed the space between them as the final note died away, taking Christine into his arms and holding to her tightly for several quiet moments.
They stood there in the moonlight, before Christine finally broke the silence, "You were very quiet tonight."
Erik led them to the divan, meant for entertaining, and sat down, pulling Christine onto his lap, "I'm sorry mon petite." He kissed her forehead softly. "Gerard and I had a rather interesting conversation today, and I fear I've been re-hashing it all evening, therefore neglecting my beautiful wife, haven't I?"
Christine laughed softly and teased him, "Yes, you have been neglecting me of late."
Erik smiled playfully, "Then perhaps I should begin to rectify that situation."
"Oh you will Monsieur Laramie. But first, you will tell me about this conversation that has you so disturbed that even I could not distract you earlier this evening."
Erik ducked his head for a moment, breaking eye contact with Christine, until he felt her soft fingers under his chin, gently pressing to direct his head back up. He met her eyes again, and saw the concern and love written therein, and his heart skipped a beat.
"He overheard us speaking at Christmas time about the Opera . . . specifically, below the Opera."
"You told him about the house?"
Erik sighed softly, "Well, he knew we didn't live at Nadir's apartment."
A quiet laugh escaped Christine, "For as fond as we both are of Nadir, I fear it would be a horrible drain on even his hospitality to even think of such an arrangement!"
Erik shook his head in mirth, his wife's sense of humor allowing a smile to brighten his face for the first time all day.
"How did he react, Erik?"
"Well, he told me he had attempted to visit us in February, that he went to Nadir's apartment, and he was at the Opera, and what he had overheard at Christmas. So I told him that we live in a house below the Opera. I wasn't going to get more specific than that. He had an appointment with a client, and I cut the subject short by reminding him of such, and we left, simple as that."
"And how did you react?"
Erik laughed softly, "No violence, if that's what's worrying you, you've moved me past that, remember?"
Christine chuckled lightly, "That wasn't what I was getting at and you know it, Erik."
"I'm fine. He's likely going to try to bring the subject up again, and I suppose when the time is right, we might have to invite him to tea if he's going to be in Paris again. What more can we do? We owe him that hospitality, I know you're going to tell me that."
"He's family. Does Marie know?"
"I don't think so, no, not unless he's told her tonight. She's never made mention of it to you, has she?"
"No, she hasn't, not in all the time we've been spending together the past week."
"Then I wouldn't worry about it until she brings it up my love. Likely, Gerard being the protectorate he is with her, he hasn't told her. Time will tell my love," he whispered as he placed another kiss on her forehead, "time will tell."
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Author's note 1: Sorry for the long period between updates, I had ideas which wound up being delayed due to an injury at work . . . I'm fine, but for a week, was unable to type thanks to my right wrist . . . I fear I have no patience with myself trying to type one handed. Then I had to work past a small mental block which made me stumble in one of the scenes, but finally, here it is, and with not one, but TWO E/C scenes! YAY!
Author's note 2: The song I used isn't really written in French, and I can't be sure I got the translation from the original English correct, but it's from a song called "Inside the Music", taken from my second favorite musical "The Rhythm Club" If you want the full English lyrics, or would like to hear the song, e-mail me at insidethemusictm@yahoo.com and I'd be happy to send it to you, it really is a pretty song, and so Phantomish!
Ash: Men as a general rule seem to be . . . blind when it comes to noticing a woman likes them. Wonder how long Raoul will go on being so blind? We shall see.
Awoman: Don't worry, I'm back, and hopefully with a vengeance! I'm pleased though that you've been re-reading the story! Tells me it must be good. Hopefully I'll have another update in a few days . . . if things stay steady at work instead of skyrocketing the way they did the past two weeks!
Everyone else, hope you enjoy. Liked it? Hated it? Let me know, I love getting reviews!
@}-----,----- Stemwinder -----'-----{@
