Author's Note: Someone asked how Charlotte was able to get into Christine's room if it was locked. The individual rooms aren't locked (they rarely, if ever, are in English boarding schools). There are key-pad locks on the main doors to the buildings though. Sorry if I didn't explain this more clearly.

Enjoy this new chapter! Thanks for all your reviews so far... I love them. Don't stop!

Chapter 7

The issue of my missing notes was never fully resolved. I pulled an all-nighter and managed to turn in my work on time and was none the worse for it, apart from being a little grouchy the day after. I didn't confront Charlotte partly because I didn't have any proof against her and also because I felt it would infuriate her more to act as if nothing serious had happened.

No one else knew about that little episode except Erik.

Over the next few weeks I busied myself with my studies and there were no major dramas, only steady developments. My relationship with Richard, well... in a boarding school environment it's hard to really develop a proper relationship. At least it was for me. I didn't quite like the fact that we were constantly the subject of gossip and I was hounded by the other girls wanted to know "how far we'd got". So I was reluctant to let it go beyond kisses... although admittedly those kisses could become quite heated. I was quite aware of our physical attraction to one another, I would have had to be blind and insane not to realise it... but I was not about to let things progress physically if nothing was happening emotionally. From the beginning I was resolved to see what the future held.

And strangely enough it wasn't this particular relationship that seemed to fill that future with its unusual mix of comfort and eccentricity.

I received phone calls nearly everyday from Erik, who became, much to my astonishment, almost like a mentor to me. At first I was still wary of him, even after our initial conversation where I poured my soul out to him. My mind would not quite let go of the memory of his threats and the things he had done. But little by little I would open myself up to him... tell him my worries... even ask for his advice. And he never held back on these matters. He always listened with such calm sympathy, and gave me the best kind of help I could have asked for. He proved to be very knowledgeable about almost everything... often nudging me in the right direction with essays I had to write and such. He surprised me over and over again with his insightful suggestions until I could hardly believe this was the same man I had encountered in that cold, dark basement beneath my home.

But his particular passion was music. I should have guessed it, since judging from his voice he was more than adept when it came to singing. I might have asked him to sing for me if I weren't too embarrassed to do so, and besides his voice would never sound as beautiful down the phone. He seemed to take great delight in asking me questions about my repertoire, my style, my particular attachment to certain pieces. I realised very early on that he had examined my CD collection in great detail and in spite of being a little angry and disturbed by this, I was so overwhelmed by his similar taste and his overall love of music that I quickly overlooked this detail.

I remember making a big mistake and laughing at how much he knew seemed to know about music and just about everything else. When he asked me what was so funny I said, without thinking:

"You know a lot for someone who lives underground."

Two seconds later the line went dead.

I had felt guilty about it for days, hating myself for taking a joke one step too far. For a while I thought that that would be the end of it and I'd never be hearing from Erik again, but within a week he had called me as though nothing had ever happened. I wanted to apologise for what I had said, but he gave me no opportunity, and eventually I was forced to let the whole matter go, learning only the valuable lesson not to mention it again.

That incident was perhaps the most extreme reminder to me of exactly what kind of man he was. He never truly lost his temper with me, although on many occasions a badly worded comment or sarcastic observation would make his otherwise lyrical voice turn icy and bitter. But I was careful to never make the same mistake twice, if I could help it. I never asked him questions or made any comment about his lifestyle, and tried to keep my sarcasm in check as much as possible. Erik, on the other hand, asked me endless questions about myself and my life until he knew me almost as well as I knew myself. He was very intuitive... and always seemed to know when I was upset by something, and then he would easily convince me to tell him what was wrong.

Which was why he was the only one who knew the full extent of my frustration when I received an appalling piece of news.

"So you will not be performing?" he asked, and even I could tell he was making a considerable effort to maintain the calm tone of his voice.

"No... I'm performing. Just with a group of other people."

We were silent for a moment. I had just finished explaining to him how my music teacher had given me the news of the concert. Apparently so many people had signed up to sing that they had decided (in order to not disappoint anyone) to put everyone in a group together to sing a few songs. There would only be one or two solo singers out of the girls... and no prizes for guessing who was and wasn't going to be performing solo.

"Do you think there's more to her being chosen than a simple coincidence?" he asked.

"Well, Richard told me Charlotte's dad's one of the school governors," I told him, although whether this had been a deciding factor I wasn't sure.

"And she decided to use that to her advantage, you think?"

"I don't know… maybe. She might not have done anything at all. It's probably just me being bitter." I kicked the side of my bed in frustration. "I just... I really wanted to do this."

"Yes, I know how much it meant to you," he said. I gave a slightly amused laugh at this. Erik would know. I had, after all, been going on about this concert for the past few weeks. It wasn't just me that I wanted to perform for however. My father always delighted in hearing about the concerts I sang in... and I always liked to think that, wherever she was now, my mother was looking down proudly at me. Her death had severely shaken my faith in... well anything. But my father had always remained strong in this regard, unshakable in his belief that my mother's soul resided in heaven and would watch over me wherever I went, especially when I sang.

But a nagging thought at the back of my mind kept bringing forth the suggestion that these were not the only people for whom I wished to sing.

"Oh and you'll never guess what that… that cow is singing!"

I heard him laugh. My little irritated outbursts always amused him to some degree. "What?"

"The Jewel Song from Faust. She knows that's what I was going to sing... if I had been performing. Even if she didn't rig the whole thing I just know she's rubbing it in my face." I kicked the bed again and then had to sit down and nurse my throbbing foot.

"This concert is next week, isn't it?" Erik asked suddenly.

"Yeah, why?"

"No reason," he said dismissively. I knew better than to press him to answer... he would only get annoyed with me, and I didn't want or need that right now. Our conversation moved on to other things... my school work and how I was coping, which was pretty well considering. By the end of the conversation I had cooled off considerably about my situation with performing in the concert, but I still went to bed with a lingering feeling of anger and bitterness towards Charlotte that continued on into the week.

It didn't help at all that Charlotte turned out to be a Grade A bitch during rehearsals. She was a true and classic prima donna. The accompanist, a shy boy who was nevertheless very competent on the piano, was almost reduced to a cowering wreck by her tantrums that his playing was too loud.

"You're drowning me out!" she snarled angrily.

I snorted from my seat in middle of the hall, where all the others were waiting for their own practices to begin with varying degrees of patience. "Drowning would be a blessing for most of us right now," I muttered quietly.

Beside me, Richard contained a laugh. "Yeah. If I had a gun..." and he mimed cocking a sniper rifle at the stage and shooting a bullet. I grinned and then felt the blush creep into my cheeks as he took my hand in his warm, strong one. Even as I watched Charlotte belt out The Jewel Song at full volume I was aware of the stroking of his thumb across my knuckles and it sent a tingly feeling running through my body.

Finally we came to my own rehearsal and I, along with at least five other girls, made our way up to the stage. Charlotte, who was performing with the group as well, was now demanding where her water bottle was and briefly rushed off the stage to fetch it before taking her position in the group, which was unfortunately next to me. I ignored the smug smile on her face and concentrated on the warm up now taking place, clenching and unclenching my fists by my sides.

The rehearsal started off badly, with Charlotte deciding she could carry the song herself and attempting to drown out the rest of us. Fortunately and to my delight, she was reprimanded by the music teacher, who didn't think that maximum volume was appropriate for A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square. Everyone, teachers and students, were on edge, since this was the last rehearsals before the main performance tomorrow evening. Even I was a little nervous,despite the factI was only going to be performing in a group. The general atmosphere of the hall was getting to me to the point where I was worrying about everything!

When everything was finally over we had to tidy up the hall, picking up rubbish and tidying chairs away. I was given the keys to lock up by the teacher and told to hand them in at the Teacher's Office when everything was finished. One by one the students wandered away until only me and Richard were left behind in the huge hallway, each carrying a stack of chairs.

"There's only two stacks left, I can manage," I told him, remembering suddenly that he had a late night study session with one of his teachers.

"You sure," he said, looking a little guilty about leaving me. I smiled and nodded, deciding not to reveal my ulterior motive for staying behind on my own.

"Go on or you'll be late."

"What a tragedy that would be," he said sardonically, and leant over the stack of chairs and gave me a long, lingering kiss. Out of instinct I reached up and ran my fingers through his thick blonde locks, savouring the warmth of his scalp and the silkiness of his hair before he turned with a friendly smile and ran out of the hall. I stared after him until he had disappeared through the big double doors before, one by one, carrying the remaining piles of chairs to the side of the hall, leaving the massive space now completely free.

But it was to the stage that I now turned, with a sad smile and glazed eyes. I made my way over and went up the half-dozen steps to stand there... in the very place I had hoped to stand when I performed tomorrow. Of course... that wasn't going to happen now and, as I finally began to resign myself to this fact, a lump collected in my throat. The chance had passed me by... there was nothing I could do about it now.

As tears began to form in my eyes, I cleared my throat and listened for a moment as that one sound echoed a little across the empty hall. Then I took a deep breath and opened my mouth...

There's a place for us,

Somewhere a place for us.

Peace and quiet and open air,

Wait for us... somewhere.

I let my imagination do the work for me here. In my mind I heard soft piano music and, over that, the gloriously gentle tenor that I always imagined for the part of Tony in Westside Story. Soft and comforting... reassuring me that everything would be alright. I shut my eyes to block out everything else, allowing my voice to join in with that soothing tenor I heard in my mind and all around me. It seemed to take hold and send my whole being soaring upwards and outwards into the hall and far beyond that until I felt like I was flying.

The feeling lasted long after the final note died away, and then ended abruptly when an all too real voice spoke softly from behind me.

"Perfection."