Disclaimer: The wonderful characters of The Phantom of the Opera are the creations of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. The plot belongs to me; I doubt anyone else would claim it.

A/N: At the end of Chapter Nine, Erik had gone to meet with the solicitor who had investigated his parents, and arranged a meeting with his long-lost cousin. Please read and review; many thanks to those who already have.

NO ONE BUT HER

Chapter Ten—Stranger Than You Dreamt It

As they got to their feet, a passably attractive young blonde woman flounced into the room, clearly pouting as being made to wait in the hallway, even for a few seconds.

Erik took one look at the predatory gleam in her eyes and groaned silently. He knew this type of creature—one that will drain a person of everything possible before moving on to the next victim.

When she noticed him looking at her, her expression changed instantly from calculating to what he supposed she thought was one of innocence and charm. Thank God for my Angel! "Please, mademoiselle, sit down." Gallantly he offered her his chair. The smile that she gave him in return was shark-like, to say the very least, and he shuddered inwardly.

Henri Broussard offered his hand to Erik. "I would say welcome to the family, but it's not much of a family, to tell the truth."

"Papa!" protested Collette, her voice high-pitched and grating. "How can you say that about your own relatives?"

"Quite easily, when it's the God's honest truth," he retorted. "One thing you should know about me, cousin, is that I am a blunt, plain-spoken man who tolerates no pretense from anyone."

"Good!" replied Erik heartily. "Then we should have no trouble dealing with each other, since I am the same kind of man."

Gaspard brought in another chair and the three men gathered at one end of his desk, leaving Collette pouting at the other.

"I presume M. Gaspard has explained the decision that I made years ago when he first contacted me about the estate?" At Erik's nod, Broussard continued, "I hereby relinquish all control back to you, cousin."

Collette smothered a gasp of dismay. Papa, no! You can't give it all away to this . . . beast!

Stunned by his cousin's pronouncement, Erik sat back in his chair. After a moment he said, "M. Gaspard, if it is agreeable to my cousin, I would like for that one percent of the profits of these holdings to continue to go to him, as payment for years of faithful service."

Dumbfounded, Broussard's mouth fell open and he blinked rapidly several times. "No," he said quietly, "I have no objection whatsoever."

Across the room, Collette sat fuming and scheming. Why is Papa meekly accepting such a pittance from this . . . scarred shell of a man? If I make enough of an effort, I can make him fall in love with me and marry me. Yes, that will be my plan. Don't worry, Papa—I'll get our fair share of that money, one way or another.

The men concluded their business with a handshake and Gaspard promised to have a document prepared for their signatures within a week.

Broussard went to the door and opened it. Without a word Collette gathered her skirts and rose, casting a smile of false innocence in Erik's direction.

Once father and daughter had departed, Erik and Gaspard looked at each other and shook their heads at the same time. "Beware of that one, monsieur," muttered the solicitor.

"Believe me, I fully intend to watch my step very carefully around her," Erik said fervently. "I wish you would call me Erik, monsieur. I think we've done enough business to warrant it."

"Thank you. And my given name is Jean-Marc." They shook hands and Erik took his leave.

On his way home his thoughts kept going back to Collette, no matter how he tried to distract himself. She is really nothing more than a snake in a woman's body, he thought disgustedly, and Jean-Marc and I will have to be certain to remember that at all times. He stopped at the de Chagny estate, unaware that Collette had managed to separate herself from her father and had followed him.

Christine came out to meet him, a little uncertain how to act around him, since they had not seen each other since the day when they had kissed and she had made such a fool of herself. "Erik," she said, her tone a little too bright, "what brings you to the city?"

He took her arm and led her around the back of the house to the garden with its miniature waterfall and pool, and they sat on one of the small benches. "Actually, I've just come from a solicitor's office," he told her, and saw her eyes widen. "I'll tell you about it, soon, I promise. But I need a little time to get used to the idea . . ." He let the sentence trail away, and gave her a half-smile. "How are the children?"

"Stephen cannot stop talking about Rascal and the horses," she smiled. "One moment he's begging me for a puppy, and the next to ride one of our horses. I've asked Jacques, the stable master, to pick out the gentlest and smallest one for him to start with. Annaliese is growing like a weed, and she's trying to turn over by herself."

An awkward silence fell between them, and Christine swallowed. "Erik," she began timidly, "I feel as though I need to apologize to you for my behavior last week."

Immediately he swung around to glare at her, and she felt her heart thump against her ribs. "You most certainly do not owe me an apology," he muttered. "I—I took as much advantage of the—situation as you did, and . . ." His expression softened a little and he added, "Let's not talk about it just yet."

"All right," she murmured, feeling her face heat with embarrassment all over again when she recalled how shamelessly she had acted; she, a widow of only a few months. "I—I want to talk to you again about setting a trap for Robert—the business manager," she went on, her resolve hardening when she heard him curse under his breath. "Erik, it's the only way."

"So you say," he retorted, and rose from the bench to pace a few steps away. Standing with his back to her, he sighed. "Tell me a little about this man."

Hiding a tiny smile of triumph, she stood and walked to his side. "I'm not sure how he came to work for the family, but I think he had managed other properties or business matters in other parts of the country. Perhaps it was Raoul's father who hired him in the beginning—all I know for certain is that he had been working for the de Chagnys for some time when we married."

"And evidently was a trusted employee. I wonder what it was that made Raoul suspicious of him?" Turning to her, he continued, "Have you had a chance to look in that locked drawer of Raoul's desk?" Seeing the light of excitement in her eyes, Erik cursed himself for agreeing to this, even tacitly.

"No, I haven't," she said, tugging on his arm. "Let's go do it right now."

Raoul's office was directly across the hall from the library, and the hinges of the door screeched slightly in protest when Erik pushed the door open. Christine made her way across to the windows and pulled the draperies open, and opened the windows to let in some fresh air. "I'm sorry. I just haven't been able to make myself come in here, since—"

"It's all right, Angel. You don't have to explain anything to me." He took off his coat and laid it across one of the chairs in front of the windows.

She went to the desk and fished the key out of one pocket of her dress. Inserting it, she tried several times to turn it, but to no avail. She squeaked in surprise when Erik's large hand closed over hers. Even with both of them trying, it took some effort to turn the key, but finally it moved.

Her tongue caught between her teeth, she grasped the drawer pull and tugged. Nothing. Erik touched her on the shoulder and she moved aside. His superior strength only moved the drawer halfway out before it stopped. "Wait—it's caught on something." Christine reached in and tried to touch what had jammed the drawer. "It's a letter—or at least a folded piece of paper." Closing her eyes in concentration, slowly she managed to ease the paper free and pulled it out, letting the drawer tumble to the floor.

Sitting down in Raoul's big leather desk chair, she turned the paper over and saw it was addressed to her. She broke the seal and began to read. "It's dated . . . the day before Raoul was killed," she told Erik. Skimming through the brief message, she bit her lip. "Oh, God!"

"What does it say, Christine? Or is it too . . . personal?" Erik knelt in front of her.

She swallowed hard. " 'If something should happen to me, do not trust Robert. For some time I have suspected that he is stealing from me, from us, and I am gathering evidence to present to the authorities. If something happens to me, make Marie Giry tell you where Erik Montenegro lives—he is the man we knew as the Phantom. He will be able to help you with the business.' "

Stunned, Erik gaped at her. "He knew?"

Impishly she grinned at him. "Obviously."

He grunted at her enjoyment of his discomfiture and nodded at the note. "Is there anything else?"

Quickly she read through the remaining few lines and her eyes filled with tears. "Just . . . a reminder to be very careful."

Sitting back on his heels, Erik asked, "Where would he have hidden the evidence he might have gathered? Would it be files, or simple notes? I suppose it would depend on just what the bastard has been doing exactly." He stood and walked to the window, stared out for a long moment then said, "Is there a list of what has been invested where, and the amount invested, the rate of interest, that sort of thing?"

Anticipating his questions, Christine unlocked and opened the deep drawer on the other side of the desk, which contained many paper files. "I think what you're looking for will be in here," she said. Seeing the expression that came to his face, she smiled to herself and added, "I need to go check on the children. I don't want Stephen wheedling an extra dessert from Meg."

Already deep in concentration, Erik replied absently, "Fine. I'll be here if you need me for anything." He undid his cravat and flung it on top of his coat, and his waistcoat soon followed.

An hour later he tensed. Glancing up from the papers he had spread out on the desk, he saw Collette leaning against the doorframe in what he guessed was meant to be a provocative pose. God help me! he thought with revulsion. Pushing back from the desk, he stood, propping his hands on his hips. "What the hell do you want, Collette?" he asked brusquely.