Didn't he realise that her feelings were screaming, bleeding, dissolving into nothing with the pass of time?
She was lowering herself again, for she was condemned to fall into the fatality of rejection, the certainty of knowing that her feelings were not reciprocated. It was like that time but now he would not listen to her. He did exactly the opposite.
How many conversations had they had since she had broken into their lives? None. He had closed in himself, treating her like he did back in the beginning of their relationship. Nevertheless, it seemed as if, every now and then, he tried to placate her mood mith a gentle gesture.
Was it pity? No. She did not want it if that was the case.
She shook her head sideways. The two only times they had had the chance of speaking to each other, it had been him the one who had searched for her. But, today, the day when she most needed a friendly hand, no one offered it. She kept going through the motions, discarding the possibility of talking to anyone that day.
A comforting hand was rested on her shoulder. Angie turned around, startled.
'Steady on, dear. It's been quite a long time since I last saw you and when I noticed you crossing the street I thought it would be a great idea to return to the little chat we left hanging...', he smiled kindly. 'What do you think?'.
She sighed. He had arrived at the right time. 'Yes, of course...', her lips showed a bitter smile. 'Thanks for being around, Édmond'.
The nearest bench was empty, so they took advantage of the situation and they both had a seat.
'So...tell me, what's got you so lost these past weeks?'.
For a moment she just stared at some point across the busy street. 'Nothing really. It's only that I've got so many things to do lately… though I'm grateful for that, mind you. I guess being occupied has done me good'.
He locked eyes with her. Her eyes had been clouded and misty for days now, in cruel contrast with the wonderful sunny morning everyone around them seemed to be enjoying.
Then, Édmond looked at her hands and took one of them in his. 'They look much better now. However, by the sound of it, I fear that the inner wounds are the ones that remain the same. Am I wrong?'.
No, on the contrary. The inner cuts were bleeding more profusely than ever.
She shook her head again, lowering her gaze but letting him see with painful clarity the depth of her suffering she was living.
'Come now, haven't things improved?', he placed an arm around her shoulders in a sympathetic way. 'Listen to me carefully. I might have a solution to your conflict'.
Hope flooded her eyes instantly. 'What…what do you mean? A solution? It was you who told me that…'.
He interrupted her babbling. 'I know but it doesn't mean that you must give it all up. When you spoke to me about that Christine, there was something that clicked in my mind'.
Angie watched him in confusion. 'I don't know what you are talking about, Édmond'.
He laughed. The girl was so mature for some things and yet she conserved that charming halo of innocence around her.
'Let me explain myself. I understand that someone who traipses round the city as much as you do must hear lots of juicy news. Like, for example, that your Christine might be one of the most wanted people in France at the moment'.
She lifted an eyebrow. 'Well, I never wanted to give much credit to the general gossiping. You must know people are too curious and love to invent stories and see ghosts where there are none only to keep their neighbours entertained...', she fell silent, deep in thought. 'Though I saw something that's enough to make me think that this time it might not be only a rumour'.
He eyed her with sincere curiousity. Perhaps that conversation would lead him directly to the only piece he lacked in the whole puzzle...her whereabouts.
He came closer to her, as if he was about to whisper a secret in her ear. 'And what is it? You are keeping me on tenterhooks, Angeline'.
She smiled half-heartedly. 'It's nothing really important… I just found her engagement ring, the one that was given to her by the Viscount, by chance. That helped me put two and two together and confirmed me that there's some truth to those rumours'.
All that seemed to amuse him greatly. She seemed to be as clever as he was.
'You are right. They are not rumours. And now I'll tell you about my little idea...', he came even closer. 'Don't you think that dead the dog, perhaps there'll be no rabies?', he lowered the tone of his voice. 'Though I can offer you another possibility... What if I tell you that I know the people who are after her?'.
For the first time, a gleam of pure evil flashed in his eyes as she stared thoughtfully to the front. Could she do that? Kill her or deliver her to those people in exchange for her own happiness?
One side of her screamed that she couldn't do such a thing to Erik. In spite of everything, she still loved him and respect him too much to commit that final betrayal. On the other side...
Édmond watched the weight of decision darken her face, so he traed to ease her worry. 'You don't have to give an answer right now, you know. Take your time, think about it through and through and...we'll meet again very soon'.
Angie smiled, nodded, and stood up.
'All right, then...See you soon', she started walking but then remembered something. 'Oh', her eyes turned to his coat, which lied neatly folded on his lap, 'how long have you owned it?'
Yes, she had questions to ask too.
Confusion reflected on his eyes when the question sank in. Then, he lowered her gaze, following her line of sight. 'Excuse me? Oh! Well, truth is I can't give you a sure answer. My…parents...', he made a pause when he pronounced the word, for he knew they were not really his parents. 'They told me I appeared on their doorstep wrapped in it', he shrugged. 'So I must have grown very fond of it since I was a little boy or something like it...'.
She tried to hide her surprise as much as she could. That could imply that…
What if she had been talking to a half-brother through all that time?
She did not insist or add anything else, just walked away, still in shock.
The heat kept dropping as noon passed by. Still a warm breeze came into Christine's room through the open window, where she was leaning. Her legs were folded and the intense glow of the sun made her dark eyes turn lighter and her spring dress more colourful.
She would have never thought that she would get to savour life again. She had gone to the Opéra Populaire with the determined idea of not coming back never again, but she had survived...thanks to him.
Yes, he had managed to save her, make her breathe again. But, at what price? At the price of being forced to watch him avoid and treat her with arrogance and ice-cold indifference?
And, to top it all, she was voiceless and she had no clue as to know if that would be a temporal situation or if she would remain mute forever...
A lifetime without voice, without being able to…
Sing. Or speak.
She had learnt something in all the time she had spent next to him, and that had been enhancing her passion for music. Now she would probably spend the rest of her days without songs and without his lessons. The mere thought of it made her shiver.
She hid her head between her knees. Frustration was reaching a limit in which she could not stand it anymore. She thought of Angie and… realizad that she could not blame the girl for anything. It had been ten months, too long for him. It was only normal that she would see through Erik and be charmed by the same things she had fallen in love with, even though she had never wanted to admit it. Perhaps Angie had been clever enough to not let him go, unlike her.
But that would mean she had finally lost him.
The beautiful sound of a piano took her gently out of her reverie and inner conflicts, making her tilt her head towards the sweet notes and smile. Very slowly, her feet came to stand on the floor…
She came into her apartment, trembling still. She lied on the bed. A bit of rest, she only asked for that.
Was it really so difficult having more than two days of peace, happiness and quietness? What had she done to deserve such punishment?
She covered her face with both hands in defeat and just let time slip.
How hadn't she noticed those little details from the first moment they met? His features had always looked quite familiar to her. They resembled her mother's lover but she had not really considered it a possibility until…until she saw the coat.
Because that man, that day, had worn that very same coat.
It was a big surprise and it was not, at the same time, for she knew it was very possible that they had consummated their relationship with the birth of a new child... Édmond?
He did not know why he had felt the pressing need of playing the piano that afternoon. Perhaps it was the fact that she was back in his life which had pushed him towards his music again. It had been long since he had played that slow, nostalgic, anguished melody on his violin...
But this tune was so very different from that one. His fingers danced gracefully over the keys, creating the pleasant sound of a harmony composed long ago.
In times when Christine had become his inspiration, the muse and central icon of his life and music...
Those were the times before she lied and rejected him so despicably.
He repressed the wave of rage which was beginning to irradiate from inside his body and kept playing, humming with his baritone voice as if he were writing the lyrics to the soft and relaxing rythm of the music.
A soft hand was rested suddently on his shoulder. He was going to stop playing as soon as she felt the gentle touch but found himself turning his head and looking at Christine's sweet smiling face.
Would he deny music to the person who was watching him with such adoring eyes?
The slight smile that came out of his lips was the confirmation she needed to know that her visit did not annoy him. For once, he was not being hard on her. For once…they were like they used to be.
Gradually, she came to sit down next to him on the small bench and watched him with the same admiration he always inspired in her. The same fascination she had known as a little girl when she had been introduced to the new world of music.
Then she started listening to his voice again, as she closed her eyes shut. Even though it was barely a low murmur, she had missed immensly the power his voice had over her, enchanting her with its sublime spell. Her hands encircled his arm with all her might and she rested her head on his shoulder.
She did not want that moment to end. Never.
'Have you missed music, Christine?'.
He looked at her for a brief moment. There were occassions like that one in which he thought of really leaving all resentment behind. Or at least he was beginning to think about it. He could not keep pretending, treating her like she was a stranger... It was impossible.
She smiled, sighed and gave a slight nod with her head, which was still leaning on his shoulder. This time his voice had not sounded cold...
Suddenly, the hard slam of the door broke that spell.