Turning to head back down below, Gerard was struck by an ironic thought: if he was Philippe's surrogate father-figure and Erik's father, that would put the two men into a brotherly position with each other. He grinned, picturing Erik's reaction to that idea: two brothers, vying for the affections of the same woman. This was the stuff that great operas were made from, and the idea of writing one like that made him chuckle to himself as he trotted down the grand stairs to the rotunda. Making sure Jean-Claude was facing the other way, he pressed the button in the base of the statue and sneaked through the wall.
As he descended, he heard Christine's exquisite voice raised in song, and then a moment later, he heard Erik's rich, golden tenor joining in. He stopped dead, listening, mouth gaping open.
He had known Erik could sing, and had sometimes heard him humming a few bars of this opera or that, but this was the first time he had ever heard Erik singing at a performance level. He was miles better than Alphonse, the leading tenor, Gerard marvelled. He had never heard anything like the soaring, full-voiced resonance of his son's singing voice.
The two voices rose in harmony together, climbing to a powerful crescendo and holding the final high note so long that Gerard was getting breathless just listening. They both cut off at the same time, leaving the cellars echoing with the sound.
Gerard took in a deep breath, shaken by the beauty of those magnificent voices. He waited till the echoes had died down before he cleared his throat loudly. "Erik?" he called.
"Come down!" Erik called. He led Christine from the music room into his sitting room, and nodded a greeting to Gerard when he came in. "So what brings you back to my domain?" asked Erik. Unspoken was the rest of the sentence, …so soon?
Gerard heard the unspoken words, and smiled. "I've found out who hired those two men, but if you'd rather I come back later—"
"Gerard." Erik's voice cracked like a whip. He closed his eyes and inhaled, and then breathed out through his nose. "Who?"
"Someone too naïve to realize that if you want to talk to a girl, you arrange a meeting. You don't hire some random strangers off the street to kidnap her so you can talk to her."
"It was Chagny, wasn't it?" Erik growled.
Half-afraid of Erik's reaction, Gerard hesitated an instant and then nodded. Christine gasped.
"I'll kill him."
"It turns out it was a mistake," Gerard said. "The young man only wanted them to bring Christine to his house so he could talk with her. The two ruffians he hired took his money and had no intention of doing what they'd been paid to do." He reached into his waistcoat pocket and turned to Christine. "I saw him upstairs just now; he gave me this for you, mademoiselle."
Christine took the note with an apologetic little glance at Erik, opened it, and read it. She frowned and read it again.
Dear Christine,
For the sake of the lonely little boy you used to play with, I beg you to forgive me of my recent transgression toward you. My friend Gerard told me how badly it could have ended for you. I swear, I did not mean for that to happen. I only wanted to talk to you, to find out why you've been avoiding me ever since your unlucky debut.
If you would do me the honour of having dinner with me at my chateau two nights hence, I would be grateful for your company and for the chance to make it up to you. Please, Christine, for the sake of the lonely man who is in love with you, please come. I will pick you up in my carriage after the performance.
Your humble and obedient servant,
Philippe
Christine looked up and saw both men watching her warily. She shook her head. "It's nothing bad. I don't think. What do you think?" She handed the note to Erik.
He scanned it quickly, scoffed,and gave it back. "Humble servant? Lonely? Ha! That man's never been lonely a single night since he started coming to the opera, my dear. He just wants to add you to his harem."
"May I?" Gerard asked, and read the letter when she handed it to him. He frowned. "Shall you go, then, mademoiselle?"
Christine's eyes widened. "I—I don't know," she admitted.
"I wouldn't advise it," Erik said. "He cannot be trusted, Christine."
Confused, she looked from one man to the other. "But—but he was my friend, Erik. I've known him for most of my life. I know now that I don't return his feelings for me, but he is still a friend to me."
"He's the one who hired the men who nearly killed you," Erik pointed out, clenching his fists, evidently at the memory of having used them on her attackers.
"Yes, but it was a mistake," she replied. "Listen, maybe if I go to dinner with him this once, I can explain things to him, and he'll leave me alone."
"Oh, tell me another fairy tale!" Erik groaned. "Christine, if you've been avoiding him as he says, then he will see this as a capitulation on your part. He'll feel that much closer to victory, to getting what he wants."
"Oh, no, Erik, I don't think that! If he's my friend, he'll listen to me and respect my decision."
"We can hope so, but he may not," Gerard said. "Philippe is my friend too, and although you may have known the boy, I know the man. He is young and spoiled, and definitely unused to being turned down by women. I advise caution."
"But he'll listen to me," Christine insisted. "I know he will." She moved closer to Erik and took his hand, looking up at him. "I won't have to avoid him anymore, and he won't feel he has to wait outside my dressing room—really, this will be better for everyone."
"Unless he decides to take advantage of you, with your being so conveniently unchaperoned in his house and all," Erik said tightly. "Christine, this is madness. You must not go."
"No, Erik, I will go," she said stubbornly. "He wouldn't hurt me, and this way I shall be able to… set him free, in a way. It will give me a chance to say goodbye."
Erik clenched and unclenched his fists, wishing Chagny were there before him right at that moment. He had seen the boy's love letters before; the words to Christine were not the first time he'd written something like that. He knew that all Philippe had to do was play the guilt card, and Christine would melt. He knew this about her, and accepted it as part of who she was—but the fact remained that Christine could be easily swayed if one appealed to her sense of guilt. She mustn't go. She would not return to him if she did… at least not with her virtue intact, or possibly even her heart.
Suddenly remembering the way she had manipulated him into doing what she'd wanted the day of their picnic, he got an idea. He gave a fatalistic shrug—he'd already spent the most blissful day of his entire life with Christine—if what he was about to say ended it, there was nothing he could do.
He took her other hand in his, so they were facing each other, and his voice became darker and more velvety as he spoke. "Christine, I ask you to trust me in this. Don't go to Chagny's house with him. Please."
He took a deep breath and risked everything he had ever hoped for, everything he had ever held dear. He had to know.
"If you love me, Christine, you won't go."
A/N: Ha! Ha! Ha! I've been dying for someone to use that line on her ever since I first saw the film in 1990! Serves her right, the manipulative little vixen.
