As the overture ended and the cast began to spill onto the stage, Joseph slipped off his jacket and draped it carefully over the empty seat to his left. Clarisse seemed oblivious to the warmth, her hands curled delicately in her lap, unconsciously caressing the smooth fabric of her jacket. He smiled, forcing his eyes back onto the stage, his mind back into the performance. Leaning forward a little, he placed his elbows gingerly on the velvet trimmed edge of the box, and brought his head to rest on his hands. As much as he enjoyed the theatre and the opera he wasn't sure that three and a half hours of sitting here would be particularly conducive to relaxation.

He need not have worried, though, and as the first act unfolded he began to lose himself in the thread of the plot. The story itself was a simple one, Rigoletto, the comic hunchback had a beautiful daughter, Gilda. Not wanting to lose her to anyone, he kept her hidden, most especially from the licentious Duke, his patron. The arias between the father and daughter were stunning, painfully honest and musically very intricate. The auditorium was stunned into hushed silence as the soprano's voice wafted up to the rafters, and Joseph felt tears begin to prick his eyes.

Clarisse was simply spellbound, forgetting for a moment who she was and all that that entailed. This was why she loved the theatre so much, it was the illusion. The fantasy that everything might fall into place and be impossibly perfect.

The scene over, the set began to move. Joseph shifted a little beside her, coming to sit back again in his seat, and she tilted her head to quietly whisper,

"Happy?"

He seemed to wait a moment before replying, perhaps a little confused by her sudden question, but then smiled warmly.

"It's wonderful – I…"

The music began to swell as the Duke entered from the right, his identity clear to all except the young girl, Gilda. As their romantic exchange began, its folly apparent to all but the innocent girl, Clarisse felt herself drifting once again. She found it hard to believe that love could be so immediate, so intensely present from a single encounter. Leaning forward to stretch her back a little, she joined Joseph in resting her elbows on the edge of the box. As the notes floated high above them, he wondered if she realised what her proximity did to him. Again he stole a glance and was pleased to see her attention thoroughly occupied by the drama.

The gradual brightening of the house lights signalled the start of the first interval. Pleased to remember that she had pre-ordered some champagne to be brought to her box, Clarisse turned her attention to Joseph. Now free to chatter, he smiled as she babbled away, talking about the costumes, raving about the presence of Rigoletto on stage, of the soprano's amazing tone. Trying not to look smug, he basked in her obvious and unashamed enthusiasm.

"And the orchestra, Joseph, the orchestra… simply stunning…."

"Indeed"

She paused as the waiter poured first her glass and then, without even a moment's hesitation Joseph's. He nodded politely, but as soon as the waiter had left, he set the glass back down carefully on the tray. For a moment Clarisse said nothing, understanding immediately his restraint. An awkward pause followed, as she sipped her own glass,

"Not whilst on duty?"

He smiled discreetly, raising his eyebrows as he did so,

"Exactly…and anyway, I've a couple of bottles on ice for when I get home…much better than the fare served up here…"

She sniggered, nearly spilling champagne over him, and set the glass down carefully.

"So what do you think of the performance so far?"

As he paused to consider his response, Clarisse couldn't help but notice how his eyes narrowed a little when he thought about something,

"I think it's very well done – and the acting is superb"

She nodded her approval, and twisted a little on her seat to face him better.

"I agree, though I have to admit I think they have a hard task…I mean, the plot, especially in that last scene, really is rather far-fetched, don't you think?"

Again, his eyes narrowed, and she felt compelled to look away, out over the auditorium. His rich voice, however, soon brought her back,

"Not at all…I think it's entirely plausible."

She was surprised, she couldn't deny it…Joseph had hardly seemed the type for flights of fantasy. Yes, she was happy to enjoy them, but only for what they were.

"Really? But don't you think that it is ridiculous that someone could fall in love like that, almost immediately, and so intensely?"

The lights began to dim again, and he took the champagne flute from her hand and set it carefully on the table behind him, ready for the waiter to collect. Turning back, he found her still looking at him, waiting for his answer. For a moment he looked out over the stage, down at the orchestra, his mind telling him to stop being so sentimental. The curtain was slowly beginning to rise, and the opening of the second act was drifting up to their ears. He twisted to look at her, his eyes finding hers with surprising ease considering the imposed darkness. When he spoke, his voice was hardly more than a whisper, so faint that had she not been waiting to hear him, his words would have floated away,

"It is not ridiculous, Clarisse. Far from it. Even after a single glance."