Et Velle Et Perficere
Disclaimer: Don't own POTO… but I do own Croft Manor and Jeremy Harper-Matthews. Hmm, Edward Scissorhands… hadn't thought of that – how very shrewd of you, my dear.
Chapter 3: The Angel Returneth…
Almost two weeks had passed and Erik rejoiced – not once in that time had he been struck or punished, and goodness knows, in the past, transgressions less serious than stealing Christine's photo had gotten him whipped. He could not believe that, for once, he was in the presence of genuine, kind people and he rejoiced again that he was being allowed to stay with them in their haven of music and privacy. Not once did Michael or Sarah force there presence upon him or invade his privacy in any way – they were what his parents should have been.
Michael had explained to him that, while he would not be expected to finish the last few days of term, he would be going to school after the summer holidays. Michael had even given him a choice of where he could go – the local school or the one Christine went to – not surprisingly, Erik had chosen the latter. Partly because he wanted to be near the most beautiful creature he had ever seen and partly due to the place she actually went to school – Erik was not thick, he knew an opportunity such as this would never present itself to him again. What was the probability that he'd ever get the chance to go to a private, fee-paying school in a nineteenth century castle, again?
Over the past two weeks, Erik had come to quite like it at Croft Manor – it was the nearest to happiness he had ever felt and he had only been there a fortnight. While he was still reserved when it came to company, he had developed a great respect for his new foster parents, though, never in a thousand years would he admit it to anyone. And they, in turn, had gotten used to and perhaps, he hoped, liked having him around. He tried not to make things difficult for them like he had the less savoury members of society he'd come across but he was still uncomfortable in participating in all aspects of 'family life' and mostly kept to himself – a subject neither Sarah nor Michael forced.
It was Friday morning and Erik had been told by Sarah that Christine would be coming home that evening. At turns, he was both anxious and excited – he wanted, very much, to see, in person, the girl he had grown so fond of, even in her absence. After the day Erik had taken and hidden her photo, Michael had not mentioned it again nor had he told Sarah – he had, however, had it replaced and had told Erik as much about Christine as he thought was appropriate. While Erik found himself thinking about her more often because of it, Michael was slightly worried about the extent that this boy had become fixated on his daughter in such a short time though he had never met her. He waited, impatiently, for her to return in the hope that an actual meeting might stop Erik's infatuation progressing – after all, people never lived up to one's expectations of them – but he was also nervous that it might just make it worse.
Not that Erik showed any dangerous traits as far as Michael could tell, and he believed categorically that Erik would never harm Christine, but he could not help feeling protective towards his child. Granted, Erik's mask had been somewhat of a mystery to Michael; he had no idea why a seventeen-year-old would want to go around wearing it all day and all night but he feared Erik would retreat further into his shell if he were to ask about it.
It wasn't the mask that truly bothered Michael anyway – he'd seen enough strange behaviour by foster-children that it did not faze him – it was just small things that Erik would do – like when he stole her picture – no heinous crime in itself but if you added it to the times he had asked about her or drawn her from one of the portraits in the hall or the song Michael had found in the music room that was named after her. All of them, little, insignificant things on their own but a touch more worrying when added together.
There was little he could do about it now, anyway – he would watch them closely when they were together and, if things got out of hand in whatever way, he could always send Erik back to the home. It was something he had never had to do before but he would do it for the sake of his daughter.
"Michael," a melodic voice said, behind him, snapping him out of his thoughts, "what will change when Christine comes home?"
"Hmm?" Michael asked, confused. He shifted slightly in the deckchair as Erik approached his side and sat to his left primarily under the shade of the parasol.
Apart from wishing to see the angel in real life, Erik had been apprehensive that, with her return, Michael and Sarah would no longer want him – why would they want a demon when they could have an angel of the highest order, like her.
"Well, if you don't want her to know of my presence, I'm used to remaining unseen…"
With a sudden and abject clarity, Michael realised that he had been worrying for no reason, at all. "Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, "there's absolutely no way we'd let you do that. Sarah and I are fostering you now and neither of us is ashamed of that fact. Christine will not want you to hide either… she is the most caring and compassionate person you'll ever meet… it would hurt her to know that someone wanted to spare her the imposition of having to see them."
"I've never known anyone to be like that…"
Elsewhere, up the side of a mountain by the coast, seven teenagers and three of their teachers stood in the car park of the school, deciding how everyone was going to get home as the bus which was supposed to collect them had broken down miles away – the teachers, of course, still had their cars.
Meghan and Mrs. Giry would be staying at Meg's uncle's house for the whole of the holidays and, fortunately, that was close enough for Mrs. Giry to drop off Jessica, Jules and Imogen to their respective homes. Likewise, Fr. Walters was able to take Raoul and James home. And Jeremy would take Christine home.
"Right everyone, you'd better all phone your parents and let them know about the change in plans. Once you've done that, collect your bags, lock up and we'll all meet back here in half an hour when everything's sorted. Alright? Go on then," said Jeremy as he began to walk towards the boarding houses to make sure everyone did as he asked.
"Christine, wait a second," Raoul called, hooking her arm through his.
Jeremy turned briefly to look at Christine as he called gently, "Come on, Blue Eyes, you're with me and I'm not a patient man…"
Waiting for him to turn away again, Raoul asked, "Have you decided then? You said you'd have an answer by now."
"I know, Raoul, and I'm sorry I left it this late but it's just that we won't see each other for the next month… and I know you want to keep in touch but you know how things come up… I'm sorry but I can't go out with you just now – if you still want anything to do with me in September, you can ask me again but I am not asking you to wait… you've done enough of that already."
Raoul sighed heavily and unhooked their arms, "Well, I suppose I'll see you next year then. Have a good holiday," he said coldly. And he walked away off ahead of her into the boys' halls.
"Oh, Raoul, I never meant to hurt you… I hate hurting people," she whispered.
Sitting in a car with Mr. Harper-Matthews for four hours had been better than Christine had expected it to be. She'd never spent such a long time with him in a confined space but it had led to her discovery that he was quite the enthusiast when it came to conversation. The man could talk for England! But it distracted her, at least, from what had happened with Raoul – she didn't want to think about how she'd upset him even though she knew it had been unavoidable.
She was drawn out of her daydreaming when she realised that her travel companion was waving at her with his left hand to get her attention. "Have you heard a word I've said?"
"Yes, I heard every single word you said. Did I take any of them in? – No. Can I repeat them back to you? – No. But my hearing is absolutely bloody exemplary, thank you."
"Are you upset about the foster-child?" Jeremy asked after a sufficient pause.
Christine looked up at him, confusedly, "Oh, that… no. I just… I'm sorry, sir, I've just had a lot on my mind, recently. I don't mean to take it out on you, though."
"That's quite alright, really. But, Christine, if something is bothering you, you know you can tell me, don't you?" At her nod, he continued rather more lightly, "And how many times do I have to tell you, out of term times I am just Jeremy?"
"At least once more, sir," she said, smiling.
He laughed, happily, "You always say that but I don't see why – all the boys call me 'Jeremy' during the holidays – why can't you? 'Mr. Harper-Matthews' sounds so stuffy…"
"For a start, the boys also call a toilet, 'a bog' – but I'm not about to start calling it that too. Secondly, they don't call you 'Jeremy' – they call you 'Jez' like they've known you forever and you aren't pushing fifty to their seventeen. And while you think your name is stuffy, I like it – at least people can pronounce it – look what I've got to contend with…"
"I'm hurt," he said, pretending to pout. "Pushing fifty! I'm only forty-two. You may not think that's much of a difference but wait till you're my age – all the years count."
"Oh, you poor dear, whatever can we do…"
"Hmph…"
Erik looked out of the sitting room when he heard a car drive through the gates to Croft Manor and park in the driveway. Out of the right-hand side door, stepped a tall, light-haired man wearing a suit. Normally, Erik would have had the presence of mind to wonder who, exactly, the man was, but all of his current thought processes were caught up with the girl who had gotten out of the left door. He watched, utterly transfixed, as the young brunette smiled up at her long-missed home while her companion collected her bags from the boot.
Downstairs, Michael Daaé threw open the front door, ran forward and embraced his daughter ecstatically, "Oh, Christine, I have missed you so…" He drew back slightly to look at her, "You look delightful, my dear." She had just spent the last four hours cramped up in a car and she was just in an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt – she certainly did not feel delightful – but it didn't matter to him, he was just pleased that he had her home, at last.
Noticing for the first time, the man standing off to one side awkwardly and clutching Christine's bags, Michael moved to him and offered his hand to shake as Christine and her mother hugged and went inside. "I'm Michael, Christine's father. It was so kind of you to bring her home."
"Oh, really, it was nothing. It was in my direction, anyway. I'm Jeremy Harper-Matthews – I teach Music and English at St. MacNissi's," he said as Michael took the bags from him.
"Ah, I see. How far are you from home?"
Jeremy thought for a moment, lifting his eyes to the sky, and sighed, "About another couple of hours or so."
"You're joking," Michael said, surprised, "you've already been driving for hours. Why don't you come in for a while and have something to eat."
"Really, I don't wish to impose, I'll be fine."
"You aren't imposing, you're very welcome, now come in and we'll get you some tea." Leaving no room for argument, Michael turned back to the house and headed inside as Jeremy followed.
Erik sat at the bottom of the stairs listening intently as his foster-parents, their daughter and a man he realised must be Christine's teacher, sat in the downstairs living room talking. He hadn't yet managed to hear her as clearly as he could hear the men and so he waited impatiently for the voice that would either break or complete his dream. He had not taken dinner with them as he had been asked to do by Michael, who had had no intention of forcing him – instead, he had been allowed to eat it in his bedroom before deciding to eavesdrop on the others' conversation.
"She's quite the handful, Blue Eyes, but I wouldn't be without her in my class – she's so enthusiastic about her subjects – well, I can only speak for Music and English but I have not heard a word of complaint from any of her other teachers," Jeremy said to Michael as they sat on the sofa and drank their cups of tea. The two of them had seemed to have hit it off during dinner when Jeremy had been happy to hear from Christine that her father worked in the theatre. They had then gone on to discuss all the trappings of a theatrical life, complete with obscure terms and in-jokes that neither Sarah nor Christine tried to hear or understand. That was not to say that they did not love theatre themselves, but they had had more pressing matters to attend to…
Sarah and Christine were now off to one side discussing mainly what she had said to Raoul but also a few other things they had to catch up on. Sarah had had Christine when she was quite young and, perhaps because of it, the two of them were very close and talked about many things Christine would usually talk to Meg about. She was glad of the distraction Mr. Harper-Matthews posed to her father so that she had the freedom to speak unreservedly to her mother.
They had all been talking so absorbedly, in fact, that none of them had noticed just how late it had gotten – none, that is, except the masked man who had been sitting on the stairs long enough that he had begun to wonder if he could remember what it was like to be able to feel his legs.
The grandfather clock in the hallway struck nine and successfully drew everyone out of their respective conversations and reveries. "Oh, I am so sorry, I had no idea what time it was," Michael explained to Jeremy as he stood from the sofa.
"Neither did I, it's fine, really. I should be going, though, I have quite a bit of driving left to do. Thank you very much for the hospitality and the company. Goodbye, Blue Eyes, I'll see you in September."
"No, no, I won't hear of it; you can't possibly mean to go home now – you wouldn't get there until near midnight and it's already dark. You are welcome to stay here tonight; we have plenty of room," Michael said as he moved to stand before Jeremy.
"No, really, I would be intruding. Besides, I'm expected and I really wasn't fishing for an inv–"
"Oh, I know that," Michael cut him off.
"And he lives alone," Christine interjected.
"Why, thank you for that, Blue Eyes…"
"You're welcome, sir, now, come on, I'll show you to your room."
"Smashing," Michael said as he helped Sarah clear away the teacups.
Too late, Erik leapt to his feet as the living room door opened, not giving him enough time to get away – he was directly in the line of sight of whomever had opened the door. It was either the worst luck in the world or the only break fate had ever given him to be stood facing the angel in all her glory as she stopped and stared at him, surprised. He was in complete awe of her and felt his legs weakening not, he suspected, due to the pins and needles but perhaps more to do with her.
Unknown to Erik, Christine was just as much in awe of him – he was the most striking man she had ever seen, with his tall stature, the proud way he held himself and his brilliant-white mask. His hair was straight and dark brown, brushed, against fashion but much to her liking, straight back to where the ends curled up softly at the back of his collar. His cheekbones were high, his lips full and he was immaculately dressed – Christine could not seem to take her eyes off of him.
Meanwhile, during her appraisal of him, he was doing the very same to her. She was a creature of intense beauty – alabaster skin, contrasting dark curls falling to her waist, piercing blue eyes and light pink lips which reminded him amusingly of an archer's bow. She was dressed simply in faded jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt with the name of a West End show across the front, and her little delicate bare feet gave Erik the strangest urge to coddle her.
By now, Michael, Sarah and Jeremy had gathered at the living room door behind Christine as she stood there looking at Erik. All of the adults were rather confused at the utter silence between the two and decided to try to get them to talk.
"Christine, this is Erik," Sarah said, "he'll be going to school with you next year. You'll both be in the same year."
"Erik, this is Christine, she'll take you under her wing and show you around, I'm sure, when the time comes."
Her wing, indeed, Erik thought, how appropriate.
The angel returneth…
© Copyright of CrawfordsBiscuits, October 2005