II. Trust me

"This is certainly most irregular," Firmin stated, stroking his bushy moustache.

Madame Giry cast him a sideways glance. The man was an idiot, and he knew nothing of opera. All he knew was business; he was fit to sell seats, but that was all as far as his abilities were concerned. Madame Giry did not like him at all, but neither did she like André, for that matter.

"But he has a point, you have to admit that." André was pacing their study nervously, while being careful not to come too close to the Phantom. Had the situation not been serious, Madame Giry might have laughed. "Of course we can take up productions again, even when there's only half the stage, if we just find something suitable to play, something where we have to bring in odd pieces of scenery, for example."

Firmin frowned. "Odd pieces of scenery? André, this weak attempt at humour is doing nothing for my nerves."

But his partner did not heed him at all; it seemed that he had been gripped by enthusiasm suddenly. "Like… ships. Ships is a good idea. Large ships, yes. We could stage something with spectacular ships in it. How about Wagner's Flying Dutchman, for example?"

"My goodness, no!" Firmin protested. "Is that not that crazy German's opera, with the huge orchestra? We don't have enough musicians, for goodness's sake! I doubt we have a large enough orchestra pit, for that matter!"

"It has been done before," André insisted. "In this very house. The ships are still there, too; we'd only have to put them back together, that's all. And don't you my goodness me all the time, my dear Firmin! I know what I'm speaking about."

Yes, Madame Giry actually tended to believe that. Monsieur André might be a silly peacock, but opera had been his one great hobby before he had come here. At least he knew something about it, though his knowledge might be somewhat limited; she was not quite sure about it. And as for this particular opera… Yes, it had indeed been done before. She remembered it only too well, because she had still been part of the ballet, then. And she remembered the monumental music, which had quite captivated her, and completely captivated her young Ghost friend.

When she looked at the Phantom, standing with one shoulder against the wall in a corner, she saw that he was smiling.

"Oh, really?" Firmin drew himself up importantly. "Then you must recall the scandal the very same composer caused in 1860, right here in this city, over at the Grand Opera. The Lohengrin scandal, I believe it was. My dear André, do you want that repeated? Do you want uproar and chaos in the auditorium?"

"You are referring to the Tannhäuser scandal, probably," the Phantom said quietly. "And the year you're looking for is 1861."

Firmin froze, and both managers' heads swivelled around, meeting the Phantom's sharp gaze, then hastily turned away again. André hesitated for a moment, then resumed his pacing, while Firmin muttered something incomprehensible. The only words Madame Giry caught were "huge scandal" and "repeated".

"There is no danger of that," the Phantom said calmly, throwing his cloak over the back of André's chair carelessly as he spoke. André's eyes bulged, but he did not object in any way. Seemingly completely at his ease, the Phantom loosened his cravat slightly before he continued, "The reason for the audience's behaviour was simply that they objected to there being no ballet scene in Tannhäuser. And as you hopefully know, The Flying Dutchman contains several of those."

"Oh yes," André said hastily, almost falling over himself to get out his knowledge as quickly as possible. "The third act, it has a major one, with two, no, three separate choirs on stage, too, and I think the second, yes, and has one, too."

"Well done, Monsieur André," the Phantom commented sarcastically. In his perfectly fitting evening dress and with his favourite bronze-coloured waistcoat, masked in white, and wearing his usual air of disdain, he was every bit like Madame Giry had come to know him during the last few years. He had grown more and more arrogant, and she knew for certain that he employed one of the Opera Populaire's seamstresses now for private purposes, though she did not quite know which one. A girl with few friends, probably, and, more importantly, one who was easily intimidated.

"Do you want us to perform it, then?" Firmin inquired carefully. However often they had ignored the Phantom's commands before, they did not dare to when confronting him in person.

The Phantom nodded curtly, and Madame Giry almost smiled. For old times' sake, Erik?

Drawing a deep breath, Firmin continued, "But Carlotta is not going to be singing! She was gravely insulted by this Créon person the evening before yesterday and now expects us to make him apologize!"

In the Phantom's face, no muscle moved. "He insulted my taste as well by that, and he is going to apologize to me, of that much I am certain. I am going to deal with him today. As for Carlotta – we don't need her."

André swallowed. "However you say, but there is still the question of Piangi. We don't have a lead tenor anymore!" He even dared to throw the Phantom an accusing look, but when the Phantom raised his eyebrows at him, he hurriedly stared at his own perfectly polished shoes instead.

"Except," Firmin spoke up again, and would not be silenced by André's sudden frantic gestures, which made the little man look like some overexcited kind of bird, in Madame Giry's opinion, "if you take the main tenor part."

There was a moment of silence, as everybody tried to get over his initial surprise. Were they really doing this? After all that had occurred, was Firmin really offering the Phantom a job? Had she heard correctly, Madame Giry wondered, or was this maybe a stupid joke of the man's, and one he would soon regret?

"You want me to be Erik?" the Phantom asked quietly, and Madame Giry had to smile at the hidden meaning in this, a meaning only she saw. Yes, he would have to be well-behaved, tame Erik if he wanted to come into the open ever again.

But actually, it occurred to her, had her Erik ever been tame and well-behaved? Maybe tame, compared to the Phantom's recent actions, but never well-behaved.

Firmin tried a jovial smile. "Yes, we do."

For some time – Madame Giry could not have said for how long – the Phantom just looked at him, and Firmin's smile practically faded away, or melted away; Madame Giry somehow found that this expression described it quite perfectly, although it sounded a bit odd to her. Funny, she thought as she watched the two men, how such silly little realizations sometimes came totally unasked for, destined to be considered for a moment and then to be forgotten just as quickly as it had come. But maybe this one she would remember.

At last Firmin took a step backwards. It was not a very large step – nor was it a particularly small step, for that matter – but it was obvious that he was very uncomfortable under the Phantom's sharp, scrutinizing gaze. "Well…" he murmured.

"Are you yet going to change your mind?" the Phantom asked, watching him. Like so often, his face was a façade, but this time, Madame Giry knew exactly what was going on in his mind. He had dreamed of this moment for years and years, ever since he had first come here. But if he showed enthusiasm now, he would not be believable anymore, he probably feared. He had to be careful, and neither could he accept immediately nor decline. And he had to find out what those two were playing at first.

Firmin visibly swallowed. "No. No, the offer stands." André's frown deepened, but Firmin did not look at his partner, who by now seemed to have given up on him.

Once again the Phantom eyed Firmin up and down, and Madame Giry found herself holding her breath. "Well, Monsieur Firmin," he said at last, "you're the business man. I assume you know what you are doing. How about the question of the public?"

The public, yes. Madame Giry's own point, precisely. Would they not be afraid to set foot in the Opera Populaire if O.G. appeared on the evening's cast list? Would they ever dare?

It seemed that Firmin had thought about this problem before, for he understood straight away what the Phantom meant, and he answered straight away. "At first there won't be as much as there could be, but after the first two evenings, I bet the house will be packed to the ceiling," he replied boldly.

"If you think so." The Phantom shrugged. "I only hope for your own sake that you are correct with your assumption, because I might well accept."

Madame Giry exhaled at last, and it seemed to her that Firmin was doing just the same. Had she been holding her breath all that time? No, probably not. Silly thing to do, anyway.

To draw the others' attention back to him, André cleared his throat, though he certainly did not appreciate the Phantom's attention very much. "I will inform Monsieur Reyer and all the others who need to know immediately," he announced. In his colourfully embroidered waistcoat, he looked like an odd species of peacock, Madame Giry thought once again. "And I will have a word personally with those who work on rebuilding the stage and auditorium."

The Phantom nodded curtly, his face not displaying one single emotion. "Thank you, Monsieur André. You are dismissed."

For a moment André stood gaping, and Madame Giry would have laughed if she had not bitten down on her tongue rather fiercely to prevent herself from doing so. Then he drew himself up like a cockerel and marched out, in a hurry but at the same time trying to demonstrate he was not, which resulted in a rather erratic-seeming kind of walk. Madame Giry tried not to watch him as he left the office.

"Very well," the Phantom said. He had a way of saying that very slowly and deliberately, Madame Giry noticed, in the way a fine villain would say it. And he was good at playing the villain, he really was. So good that it already got on her nerves quite horribly sometimes. "I expect you two to do your best, Monsieur Firmin. And I would be much obliged if the role of Senta went to Mademoiselle Daaé." Right on cue, a tone of mockery entered his voice for a moment, only to vanish again completely when he continued, "I assure you, she can sing the part. And as for you two – You will have to trust me, I think." Turning, he nodded to Madame Giry as he picked his cloak back up and threw it around his shoulders once more, letting it billow quite expertly. "This is all. You come with me." Then he gave Firmin one of his mock bows, complete with a swirl of his cloak, and strode out.

Madame Giry followed, though with gritted teeth. The nerve of him! Ordering her around, was he? Oh no, she did not think so!

Once they were on the corridor, and once she saw there was no one else around, she took him by the arm firmly. "Now listen here," she told him sternly as he stopped sharp and gave her a somewhat puzzled look, "I don't hold with you commanding me to come and go at just a word from you, is that understood?" One of these days, the man really needed to have his ears boxed for his own good!

"No, you listen," he abruptly growled, shaking her off rather roughly. "It's for your own best. If I fail, if this all goes wrong, do you want them to know that this is a personal thing between us, not just business? I was saving you a mighty bit of trouble by treating you just like another servant, damn you, and this is how you repay me?"

There was only one way to react to his behaviour, whatever else he might say afterwards. Glancing up and down the corridor briefly to see if they were still alone, she swiftly applied a sharp box to his left ear, though not a particular forceful one. "This is for saying damn you," she explained. "Thank you for the rest." Then she steeled herself for his reaction.

She would have expected anything, but not what he did: He laughed. He simply stood there and laughed, and it was not the maniacal laughter she had heard from him occasionally and shuddered. It was just a normal, amused kind of laughter. "Oh, Claire," he said at last, "you are the most pragmatic person I ever met. I think you should run this country."

She shot him a frown. Was he making fun of her? What was she to make of that remark?

Then, very suddenly, his expression was serious again. "But the same I just told that fool behind that door goes for you: You will have to learn to trust me."

She sighed softly, though that was probably a stupid reaction. "I do, Erik. I do." Yes, she knew she had to look past the façade he usually showed, past that façade of coldness and arrogance and biting mockery he used to build up around himself to hide his own vulnerability. Why did he still think that showing attachment or even affection was weakness? But she was not going to change him, not so soon. And until then, she really had to bear in mind that he might act differently from the way he thought. Still, it was hard sometimes, especially if he was behaving like that.

The look he gave her was doubtful, but she did not want to discuss the matter any further. So she went with him without protest as he nodded at her to do so. Yet this time, he briefly caressed her shoulder as they went.