Chapter 34- Emily.
Erik had walked slowly, with Emily's arm hooked delicately in his. He had not spoken much, he preferred his silence, but he had wanted to. He found himself concerned by this, he hadn't felt the urge to have conversations with a woman, or anyone for that matter, except for Antoinette who he had grown to trust over many, many years. This woman, this Emily, risked getting his guard down. She made him want to talk, what to listen, want to walk and think about things aside from music.
He glanced at her blonde hair, which she had tied back, it was almost a white colour and he noted that her skin tone was fair. Her cheeks were rose pink from the breeze.
'So, what do you do, Mr Erik?' she said. This was flirtatious, he thought, and shook the feeling from his mind.
'Do?' he asked, still looking at her. He knew exactly what she meant and he smiled. Was he flirting too?
'Yes,' she said, a grin covering her face. 'Don't play dumb, you don't sound dumb.'
He held back a smile.
'I make musical instruments,' he said, not a full lie. It was much easier to keep up the pretence with a little lie. She smiled wider and turned her head to him.
'Really?' she said.
'Yes,' he said, trying to make his voice cold. No use. What was the matter with him?
'Well,' she said. 'I think that we're here. Is there a white door on a house ahead?'
Erik glanced away from her and smiled as he looked at the small house, small white door, small white windows.
'Yes there is,' he said and took her hand gently from under his arm, placing it back on to the dogs rope. He had been walking slowly in front of them, leading them back, he thought that maybe Emily had counted her steps. Whatever, he thought, he was impressed.
'Then I'm home,' she said stepping away from him. Then she reached her hands up and out. 'Erik?'
'Yes,' he said, standing motionless in front of her.
'Come closer,'
He remained still, looking at her. Her smile was still there but not as wide, not quite as vibrant. His eyes drifted over her, she was dressed neatly, smart but not rich. He wondered if she had some help in the house but judging by her nature, he thought not. She seemed so independent. With one last thought that he shouldn't he stepped forward carefully.
Emily placed her hands on his shoulders, feeling the soft texture of his jacket, she ran her hands slowly up his neck, he felt the hairs on his body bristle. Her fingertips mover over his jaw and he swallowed hard. Don't flinch, Erik, she can't see. As her hand touched the mask on the right he closed his eyes as she frowned in confusion. Her hands glided over it, feeling its cold ceramic almost burning her fingers. They moved up to his hair and then finally back down to her own sides.
'Mask?' she said, questioningly. He stared at her, clenching his jaw. Calm.
'Yes,' he said. His voice finally finding a measure of its icy temperature. He watched her expecting her frown to deepen, it didn't.
'Why?' she said, quietly. He wasn't sure how to respond. He had never been in this situation before. She actually sounded concerned, interested, yet not frightened or ready to run for cover. Genuine curiosity.
'My face…' he said slowly, still looking at her. 'My face is disfigured… badly disfigured.'
'But you sound so beautiful,' she said softly, reaching her hand out to find and then touch his throat. 'What difference does your face make?'
'The world of difference in a society so concerned with appearances, Emily,' he said, his tone not at all menacing. 'How old are you?'
'Are you saying I'm too young to understand?' she asked but she wasn't angry.
'Perhaps,' he said.
'Then you're wrong,' she said. He watched her. 'You're wrong… but I'm twenty seven, monsieur.' She stroked his face. 'Perhaps you need to spend time with someone who cares not how you look nor how you stand, or what colour your eyes are… you need to be around someone who cares about what is real, what actually means something, what is inside.' He stared at her in astonishment. 'See me tomorrow and I shall show you friendship, Erik.'