A/N: A rather short, but necessary chapter – sorry, no Erik. However, one of my favourite Erik scenes is coming up next chapter, so stay tuned.
Please review, I'm always grateful for your opinions. :)
3. The Collector's Prize
Monsieur Baccour was glad to be home. His plump, blonde wife met him at the door, her pretty face pink and overjoyed.
"Henri! We did not expect you for a week or two, at least," she cooed, kissing him.
He smiled. "Well my love, things wrapped up sooner than I thought. I simply told them: 'Excuse me, Monsieurs, but my Vivienne will not be at all pleased if I am not home in time for her big dinner party, so can we hurry it along?' And voila! It was done."
Vivienne giggled as he passed his arm around her corseted waist. She called a maid to take her husband's things upstairs, then they walked to the parlour with their arms around each other.
"So … I hope your trip was not too tiring," she said by way of routine, as they sat on the couch.
"Well actually, I enjoyed it more than I expected to. I made the acquaintance of a Baroness on my way from Lyon … Baroness Duvall. Most stimulating conversation." A sly grin spread over his face, his short moustache twitching.
"Baroness, you say?" Vivienne's eyes narrowed. "And what of her husband?"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "No husband. From what I could gather, she was quite alone, except for her maid."
"I see." Visions of a beautiful widow crowded her mind. She pouted, ever so slightly, her little pink lips puckering forth. Henri hid a smile. He loved conjuring up that adorable expression on her face. "So, a great conversationalist, this Baroness Duvall? And I suppose she was young too?"
"Oh, quite!"
"Hmph," was her icy reply. She turned a little, in her seat.
"Though you must remember, sweet one, that at my age I do not consider anything under eighty old …"
Vivienne turned back and laughed suddenly, giving him a playful shove. "Indeed! When I married you, you were already a doddering forty-year-old. But at fifty, dearest .. why, you are at death's door!" She rubbed his bald head, making him chuckle, then kissed him on the cheek. "Now tell me honestly, Henri."
"Honestly, my dear?" He tantalised her by holding his breath just a little too long before continuing. "She was seventy if she was a day … and she looked like … a turkey." He smirked as Vivienne made a face of mock outrage and tweaked his ear for his audacity. "Oh, but a very elegant turkey, I assure you."
She was still giggling. "I don't doubt it."
"But really, the old girl was good company. The stories she had to tell! I was quite absorbed."
"Well in that case I hope you found out where she was staying, so we can invite her to the dinner next Friday. We haven't got a Baroness yet, and it would be quite a boon – especially one from out of town. Though it would take some rearranging, we already have two extra …"
Baccour laughed heartily. "Dearest! You sound like you're collecting rare insects, not throwing a dinner party!"
"Well, you never think of these things, so I must," she said irritably.
The Baccours were undoubtedly rich, and for that reason moved in the upper circles of Nice's society. Due to the city's relatively small size, there were hardly enough nobles to go around and populate all the balls and functions, so "society" could not afford to be choosy with its members . Nevertheless, the fact that their money was so new annoyed Vivienne, who – even back when she was only a grocer's daughter – had always wanted a title. It was a sore point between her and her husband. Henri had inherited his wealth and business from his father, so while not strictly 'a self-made man', he was barely a generation away. But the fact had never bothered him – as long as everyone was civil and fair in their dealings with him, he was content. Purchasing a title struck the astute businessman as an almost sinful waste of money.
He sighed. "Alright, Viv. I'll find her address. But before I forget, I must tell you that I invited another person to call on us … I met him on the way from Paris to Lyon. I'm not sure when – or if – he will come, because his plans are not set, but we must be prepared." A wrinkle appeared on Baccour's forehead as he thought of the strange man on the train.
"Indeed? Who?" Her eyes lit up with interest, perhaps thinking that her husband had picked up yet another stray noble.
"A Monsieur Angebeau. Very distinguished sort of gentleman, I thought. Though I feel quite sorry for the poor fellow… he was recently in military service and received a most horrible injury. He has to go around with half his face covered in bandages while it heals." Henri was surprised that even now he could not suppress a shiver at the memory of Erik's eyes.
"Oh, that does sound dreadful!" Vivienne murmured, not seeing her husband's face as she went to the desk to retrieve a notepad and pencil. She began to scribble, rearranging the seating plan. "Very well, we shall have to keep an eye out for this unfortunate Monsieur Angebeau. Though I hope he does not turn up on the night of the dinner – we are stretched as it is, what with the Vicomte and his wife, and now this Baroness …"
Henri had been staring distractedly at the pattern on the sofa, when his wife's voice recalled him to attention with a sigh. "What was that, my love? We are to have a Vicomte too, are we? Even better. What an embarrassment of riches!"
"Oh yes, I thought I told you?" A triumphant smile spread across her face, oblivious to his sarcasm. "Marie called on me yesterday and asked if she could bring her friend's son and his wife. Apparently they are spending the winter here, and know very few people in town. They arrive the day before the dinner and we thought that a nice, low-key evening with all our friends would be a perfect introduction to society for them. Just think … a Vicomte …" Vivienne was in raptures.
"Yes, my dear," said Henri, patiently. "But who are they?"
"Well, I don't really know much about them, but they must be somebody, because they are always in the society pages."
There was a certain Parisian newspaper she had begun to have delivered, and she hurried to the desk to retrieve the latest edition.
"Look," she pointed to the page. "There. Just a couple of days ago they were mentioned … the name is De Chagny."
Baccour read the notice:
"The Vicomte and Vicomtess De Chagny will also be leaving Paris for the winter, in search of warmer climes. The couple travel to Nice next week, in the hope that the warmth and sea air will improve the Vicomtess' delicate health. We wish them well."
A/N: So…yes, Christine is going to be in this, eventually. But don't automatically assume E/C … though don't rule it out, either. They've both changed over the past four years, andit's all a bit complicated ...just saying, there's a long way to go yet.
Oh, and apologies for giving Henri and Viv a whole chapter to themselves – won't happen again – it's just that in my mind, they're so … cute. Couldn't help fleshing them out a bit. ;)