Thanks for all the reviews; we hit 150 with the last chapter. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. We are officially halfway through this tale with this chapter,whichcontains some important plot developments and of course, some Phantom angst.
Of Trysts and Telegrams
By the time they reached the first level of the basements, the Phantom was feeling the effects of ascending and descending the heights of the opera house. His injury throbbed, and he had a stitch in his good side. Breathing was an effort. He found himself gripping Christine's arm for support.
"Angel?" she asked as he stumbled.
He looked down at Christine, her face wavering in his vision in the gaslight. "I am not as well as I would like to think I am," he admitted.
Christine put his arm over her shoulders and he gratefully rested some of his weight on her. She led him a little ways down the corridor and into the deserted chapel. Only a few candles were lit, making the shadows deep along the walls of the room. Following Christine to the niche with the stained-glass angel window, he sat down awkwardly on the window seat, hoping he would be able to get up again.
Taking a seat on his right, Christine touched his left cheek briefly. "No fever," she announced.
He smiled at her, turning his head to kiss her fingertips. "I'm just tired."
"Too much excitement for one day," she replied, lacing her fingers with his and scooting over so that she was pressed against his side.
He slid his arm around her, pulling her even closer, planting a kiss on her curls. She turned toward him slightly. Her hand came to rest on the back of his neck, her fingertips kneading the tight muscles there as she touched her lips to his. This time he was the one to push the boundaries, biting her lower lip gently then tracing the outline of her mouth with his tongue. She shuddered against him, sighing quietly before clamping her fingers on the back of his head, holding him still while she explored the uncovered side of his face with her lips.
She was nipping at his earlobe when the sound of footsteps and whispers from the hallway froze them in fear. The only other exit from the room was through the brass gate in the opposite wall. They were trapped. Her gaze met his for a split-second as she hissed, "Trust me." Then the hand on the back of his head was pressing his face against her chest.
"Oh…yesssss…" she moaned dramatically. If his mouth hadn't been smashed against the soft skin of her left breast, the Phantom would have laughed out loud.
A startled squeak came from the direction of the doorway. "Oh! Sorry! Didn't know anyone was down here–we'll just find another place to–sorry!" There was the scuffle of feet moving away from the chapel, then all was silent again, save for the soft rasp of Christine's breathing.
The Phantom kissed the skin beneath his lips gently. Christine let out a small whimper, her fingers pressing into his scalp even through his wig. "Please, oh please…." He lifted his head slightly, trailing his lips along her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder, the white flesh of her throat. He nuzzled her cheek, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla and roses that clung to her hair.
He raised up enough to look into her eyes. They were bottomless pools of glistening night in the faint candlelight. "Oh, Christine," he whispered, dropping one last kiss on her lips before sitting up. It took all the self-control he had to let go of her.
She moved away from him to the opposite end of the window seat, seemingly as shaken as he was. "That was…that was…."
"Too close?" he offered.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and he swallowed hard at the sight. "In more ways than one," she finally answered, her gaze going to the door. "I had forgotten this is a frequently used trysting place."
"I hadn't." The words just slipped out.
Christine looked back at him, her eyes widening. He cringed internally, awaiting a tongue-lashing like the ones he had used to receive regularly from Cecilié regarding his voyeuristic tendencies. Instead, she gave a very unladylike snort of laughter. "Oh! Oh, that is very amusing! I thought Meg and I were the only ones who went around spying on people." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Come to think of it, you've been spying on me for years, haven't you?"
The Phantom felt his face burning. "Yes," he finally replied, "but I never–not when you were—" His throat seemed to close up on him and the words came out as a scratchy whisper, "You were my friend–I couldn't do that to you–even though sometimes…sometimes I wanted to." He turned his face away from her, wanting the ground to open up and swallow him, to make this awful, awful feeling, this damn ache of shame and guilt, go away.
Her dress rustled as she shifted position and he felt her hand come to rest on his arm. "Angel," she said quietly, "Angel, look at me." He shook his head. She moved again, her arm going around his neck as she pressed her cheek against his mask. "I love you. Why would your desire for me change that?"
Letting out a shuddering breath, he said, "Because I had no right. It wasn't proper to—to want to see you undressed–to fantasize about what I would do if—" He stopped, realizing he was only getting himself in deeper.
Christine sat back a bit, her hand moving to the side of his neck, stroking the skin just underneath his ear. "I fantasized about you all the time. About what you looked like, how old you were, what color eyes you had, what kind of life we would have if you ever rescued me and took me away from here. A child's fantasies, Angel."
"But I am not a child. I should have—" He didn't know what he should have done. "I'm sorry."
She took hold of his hand, lifting it so that she could lean her head against it. "So what would you do?" she asked, laying his hand against the warm skin just below her throat. "Because I am not a child any longer, Angel. I would have you kiss me and touch me and lie with me as my husband."
He finally dared to look at her. Her gaze was fixed on his face, both of her hands holding his to her chest, her fingertips stroking over his knuckles. Swallowing, the Phantom wet his lips, then swept his fingers slowly, sinuously from the base of her throat to where the fabric of her dress started across her bosom. Christine exhaled softly, her eyelids half-closing.
He was leaning in to kiss her when the click of boot heels on stone reached both their ears. Getting to his feet, the Phantom helped Christine up. Without a word, they crossed the chapel as one, Christine going through the brass gate first with him right behind her. He started off toward the lair, but Christine stood just to the side of the entrance to the chapel, watching through the gate. He moved back in time to see the Vicomte de Chagny enter the chapel, glance once around the now empty room and leave.
Christine turned toward him, a questioning look in her eyes. He shrugged then nodded in the direction of the cellars. He had no idea why the Vicomte would have come to the chapel save to look for Christine, and why Raoul would want anything to do with her after her rooftop performance, the Phantom could not guess. Joining hands, they descended the rest of the way downstairs in silence.
When they reached the edge of the lake, Christine forestalled any protest from the Phantom regarding who was going to be poling the gondola back to the lair. She simply picked up the staff and told him, "Get in the boat." It was a testament to his exhaustion that he followed her command without question. She resolved to feed him and put him to bed as soon as they arrived home. Realizing she was beginning to think like a wife already, Christine giggled.
Her Angel leaned back to peer up at her. "You are in a very strange mood tonight, Christine."
"A very good mood." She laughed again, and if she had been on dry land, she would have done a little pirouette. "The past is finally in the past, and we have nothing to look forward to but better and brighter things."
"So the boy showing up in the chapel does not worry you?" he asked.
Christine planted the pole in the water and pushed, twisting slightly at her hips so the boat glided smoothly through a turn. Letting out a sigh, she frowned. "Worry me? No. Irritate me, yes. He is persistent to a fault. Though why he should be looking for me after I broke our engagement, I do not know. No one saw us, did they?"
Her Angel shook his head. "No, only the couple who walked into the chapel, and I doubt they could have seen our faces. Do you know who they were?"
She tried to remember the voices. "Francine from the ballet corps, and probably her new beau from the chorus—George. Neither of them would start up a conversation with Raoul, and he does not deign to speak with members of the company."
The Phantom was silent for several minutes after that. Finally, he said, "Perhaps Cecilié or Meg can find out why he was there. One can never be too cautious, and his presence was too much a coincidence for my liking."
A few minutes later, Christine was poling the boat into the lair. He got out first, tied the small craft up, then helped Christine off. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. "I love you," she whispered when she finally pulled away.
He was about to respond when the mirror leading to the secret passage sprang open, and Madame Giry appeared. Christine let go of him, but did not move from his side.
"Ah, you're here." She looked back and forth between the two of them before her gaze settled on Christine. "You spoke with the Vicomte?"
Christine nodded. "It's finished." She slid her arms around the Phantom's waist. "My Angel has asked me to marry him, and I have told him yes."
"Oh, Erik!" Madame Giry exclaimed giving the startled Phantom a kiss on the cheek. "And Christine, my dear, sweet, wonderful girl! I know you two will be so happy together." She hugged Christine and kissed her as well. "Oh! I almost forgot the reason I came down here!"
Reaching inside her shirtwaist, she pulled out two envelopes. "I have a note for you, Erik, from Tristan." The Phantom raised an eyebrow at her use of Dr. Jarred's first name, but took the envelope without comment. "And for you, Christine, a telegram."
Christine took the small envelope from her, turning it over in her hands. "Who would be sending me a telegram?"
"Open it, my dear, and find out," Madame Giry advised, a touch of exasperation in her voice.
With an anxious glance at her Angel, Christine tore open the envelope and removed the contents. Unfolding the yellow sheet of paper, she said, "It's from Italy! 'Received your letter of inquiry stop Will be in Paris on the 18th stop Will wire when I arrive regarding time and place for audition stop Am also interested in meeting M. Noir for position of artistic director stop'. It's signed 'Gregorio Donato, Teatro de Fenice'! Oh, Angel!" she cried excitedly.
He smiled at Christine, but when he spoke his tone was subdued. "You shall have to rehearse, Christine, and we shall have to decide what you will sing for your audition."
Confused by his lack of reaction to the news, Christine asked, "Angel?"
Before she got anything else out, Madame Giry interrupted them. "Erik, the note from Dr. Jarred."
Opening it, he said, "He will be here tomorrow morning to take my stitches out. Cecilié, can either you or Meg bring him down here?"
Madame Giry shook her head. "I am teaching the new choreography tomorrow. Both Meg and Christine have to be there as well." She gave Christine a stern look.
"Very well." Walking over to his worktable, the Phantom quickly jotted a note and gave it to her. "Send this to him. I'll meet him at the gate on the Rue Scribe."
"I'll have this sent to him tonight," she said. "Christine, I will see you for ballet class in the morning. Good night—and behave," she admonished with an uncharacteristic smirk.
Once the mirror closed behind her, the Phantom sat down on the steps. Taking off his mask, he rubbed his face. Christine took a seat beside him, the telegram still clutched in her hand. "Angel, are you all right?" she asked.
He nodded slowly. "I'm tired."
She slid her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Is that why you weren't very excited by the telegram?" She felt him tense. Letting go of the telegram, she brought her right hand up to stroke his shoulder. "Does it frighten you?" she asked quietly.
Exhaling slowly, he looked out across the lake. "It terrifies me," he finally whispered. "I'm sorry, Christine." He swallowed audibly, clenching and unclenching his fingers. "I love you so much, I want so much to be with you, and I know that we'll never be safe unless we leave here, but…I do not think the world has changed greatly from the last time I lived in it."
Christine put her arm around his neck, hugging him. "Perhaps the world is not so different, but you are. You are no longer that scared little boy anymore, just as I am not the lonely little girl you heard crying in the chapel so many years ago. We are both better, stronger because we have each other. And we are not alone. We have Madame Giry, and Meg and even Dr. Jarred on our side."
"Ah, yes, with that army supporting us, how can we fail?" he replied cynically.
She shook him gently. "Angel—"
"Yes, yes, I'm trying to remember to be good and kind to others, but frankly, the only person I want to be good and kind to right now is you." He squeezed her tightly, before whispering. "I will try, Christine. I promise I will try."
Christine stroked his face, kissing his cheek softly. "I know you will, Angel. And whatever happens, I will still love you." She hugged him once more, then got to her feet, holding her hand out to him. "Come to bed, my love. Tomorrow I will brave the lioness in her den, and ask La Carlotta about what kind of man is Signor Donato."
Taking Christine's hand, her Angel followed her up the stairs.