Reluctantly, Helene pushed back the plum and blue coverlet and found her nightgown and robe on the floor where Erik had let them fall.
Shrugging into the robe, she nudge open the door to her dressing room.
Maria-Catena had almost finished unpacking Helene's trunks and most of her clothes had already been restored to the olive armoires.
"I'm almost done with your things, Signora. However, I was not certain what to do with his things. Do you want me to put them in the late master's dressing room?"
As she spoke, she gestured at Erik's shabby valise. It had been left unceremoniously in a corner while the housekeeper and one of the maid's saw to Helen's belongings.
"Don't worry about those, Maria. I will see to them."
"Is that all he brought with him, this Signor…"
The servant hesitated, not knowing how to refer to the Comtessa new husband.
"Erik," Helene said simply, choosing an amber silk dress from her wardrobe.
The other woman hesitated with one brow arched, waiting for the new master's surname.
"Simply Erik. Now, have Lucia draw my bath."
When she had dressed, Helene took Erik's valise back into the bedroom. She set it down and smiled, pausing for a moment to watch him sleep.
Quietly, she set to unpacking for him. He had indeed taken very little with him when he left the Opera cellars to follow her to Sicily.
Two rumpled changes of clothing, a small leather pouch filled with money, a white mask…so very little.
And, of course, the violin and portfolios…and her jewelry.
She sat down on the edge of the bed. She almost hated to disturb him, but the enameled clock on the little writing desk was softly chiming half-past two.
She leaned down and let herself rest against his back, felt the scars on his back on her cheek. Then, straightened up, she gently shook his shoulder.
He turned, catching her hand and blinking against the unfamiliar light.
"Hurry and get dressed, Erik. I will be waiting for you in the foyer. There's something I want to show you."
She left the bedroom before he had a chance to protest or pull her back down beside him. On the way, she paused to pick up the letters that still lay on the tea tray.
In the foyer, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and settled into the window seat to read her mail. Most were notes from friend in Sicily, idle chatter and invitations to dine with friends.
One note was postmarked Paris…she recognized her mother's graceful handwriting. She slid the creamy paper from the envelope with little curiosity.
It contained the expected…news of Philippe's "long overdue" engagement to a suitable lady, her father's plans for a visit to the family's country estate before Easter, the happy announcement that Raoul and Christine were going to have their first child.
--------------------------------
She carefully folded her mother's letter and tucked it back into the envelope. That note only confirmed what she had suspected when she left Paris.
She turned the envelope over in her hands. She would tell Erik sometime. But not now. There were other things that mattered now, other things to be said.
As she set the letter aside, she looked up to see Erik standing over her.
She took his outstretched hands as she rose.
"You don't need to wear the mask with me. You know that."
"I didn't want to…disturb your servants."
"Erik, take off that mask!"
He did as she asked, letting the mask and wig fall on the window seat beside the letter.
She kissed his cheek lightly as she gathered her shawl around her shoulders.
"Helene, how can you stand to…"
"Don't ever hide from me, Erik."
She opened the door that led out on the piazza and the terraced gardens below.
"Come, there is something I want to show you."
She paused and picked up his violin case from the chair where he had left it the previous night.
"I've missed this," she said, handing it to him.
It was a clear, cool afternoon. As always, the breeze was ever so slightly tinged with a hint of sulfur from Etna, the sharp scent mingling with the softer perfumes of the almond and lemon trees.
Taking his hand again, she led him through the garden and down the black stone steps that led through the orchards. She paid no attention to the startled look from the gardener.
They shall simply have to get used to him.
The path was dark in contrast to the bright winter wildflowers that edged the crushed lava stone and it led up into the old olive grove.
The palest hint of the moon was visible in the deep blue of the sky. The summit of the volcano was lost in a gray haze through which a slow vein of lava could be seen curling along the upper slopes. The cool, dry wind had cleared away ever trace of the night's storm.
"This place is beautiful, Helene," Erik said as she led him through the shadows of the grove, her hand secure in his.
"No one else seemed to care for this spot, but it has always been my favorite place."
She laid one hand on the violin case.
"Will you play for me now. I want to hear your music again."
"You know too well, Helene, I can deny you nothing," he said, taking the instrument from its case.
As he played for her, she sat down on the grass and closed her eyes to listen.