Chapter Summary: Two dinner parties loom on the horizon causing Tallis and Christine to fret over what to wear. Madame Giry and Meg share a quiet conversation and in a garden in the south of France, so do Raoul and Christine..

CHAPTER SIX

"But you must wear it!" Meg was insisting. She sat in the sunny parlor of her mother's home, a light spring shawl resting over her knees, a saucy little hat perched atop her carefully coiffed blonde hair. She was smiling at Tallis, an insistent look on her young face.

Tallis looked at the green dress held in her hands and raised her eyes to Meg. "The dress is very lovely but it is too gracious of a gift." Tallis shook her head. "I could not possibly accept it."

"Oh, I wish you would," Meg sighed. "It is a very lovely dress but the color is not very becoming on me." She turned to smile at her mother who was sitting next to her. "That is what I get for allowing Valery to order my dress."

Madame Giry smiled at her daughter. "It was a well chosen dress, none-the-less." She turned her attention to Tallis. "My daughter is correct when she states that the dress is not well-suited for her and she is also correct when she states the dress is well-suited to you."

Tallis closed her eyes and felt the cool watery satin move in her hands. The dress was more magnificent than anything she had ever owned or would ever hope to own. She opened her eyes once again, looking at the bright green material. She raised worried eyes to Madame. "But I do not know where I would wear such a lovely garment!"

"Oh, pooh," Meg said. "You know that Valery and I will be here for dinner tonight and you can wear it then." Meg twinkled. "And after dinner you can practice your dance steps with my husband. It will give you a chance to wear the dress and to show off what Maman has been teaching you."

Tallis so longed to say yes to the offer that the young Baroness had placed before her. She had seen the pictures of the fairytale princesses in books and had spied from behind trees when the Baron would have guests at his magnificent estate. She had loved the bright colors of the pretty dresses that such women would wear but always knew that such things were not meant for her. It was an idea that took firmer root in Tallis' mind as she grew from a child to a young woman and her figure developed curves that were considerably unfashionable. So Tallis had settled for loosely tied corsets and equally loose fitting dresses that masked a figure any Renaissance painter would have been proud to place upon canvas.

"But who shall play for us?" Tallis wondered as she looked at Madame. "I cannot possibly dance in something like this to the beat of a metronome!"

"Be glad it is not the beat of a walking stick," Meg told her and blushed under her mother's gaze. "Not that such a thing was at all disagreeable."

Madame Giry sighed. "Ah, the things I discover about my ballet rats." She reached out and lightly touched her daughter's hand. "Even my own daughter." She turned her attention back to Tallis. "Monsieur Herrin has agreed to join us for dinner this evening and he shall be playing."

"Oh," Tallis replied softly. She thought quietly for a moment and turned to again look at Meg. "I shall accept the dress and I thank you."

Meg clapped her hands together. "Oh, well done! I am sure that it shall look positively splendid upon you!"

Tallis lowered her head, a soft smile on her face. "If you will excuse me, I shall go and put this in my room before anything happens to it."

She left the room, quietly closing the door behind herself, leaving Meg and her mother to converse in peace.

"That was very sweet of you, my dear," Madame told her daughter.

"Well," Meg replied, "I am rather fond of Tallis and the dress really was unbecoming on me." She sighed happily. "Valery does mean well but he is completely inept when it comes to dressing his wife and I see no sense in letting a perfectly lovely dress go to waste." She smiled at her mother. "You taught me well."

"I am surprised that you ever listened to anything I had to say to you." Madame Giry shook her head. "You were ever a headstrong lass."

"I wonder where I could possibly have learned such a thing," Meg replied in an innocent tone.

"Marguerite," her mother playfully warned.

Mother and daughter shared a laugh And then Madame grew serious.

"Your husband does understand about tonight," she wondered.

"Maman," Meg sighed in a tone familiar to all daughters, "how many times have Valery and I been here for dinner when he has been here? Valery has sworn not to say anything and to give what protection he can to Erik. My husband is not a man who gives his word lightly."

Madame Giry shook her head and rose, going to stand next to the window. Her hand reached out and pulled back a drape so that she could look toward the woods at the back of her property. Toward the village where Erik lived. "It is different now."

Meg looked puzzled. "Different how?"

"He heard us speaking the last time you were here and wondered if the couple you spoke of was Raoul and Christine."

"Oh, Maman," Meg said as she leaned backwards on the divan. She turned worried eyes to her mother as Madame returned her gaze to the room. "You did not tell him it was, did you?"

"Use your inquisitive brain, Marguerite," Madame said. "Do you really think I would wish to see him anywhere near Christine again? I love them both but together they are like a fire that will consume itself." She thought for a moment. "No, it is much better and safer for Christine to be with Raoul."

"Safer?" Meg exclaimed. "Do you think she went with Raoul because it was safer?"

Madame returned to sit next to her daughter. "I know Christine loves her husband but I also know she went with him because he made her feel safe.' She took Meg's hand to pat it. "There is much to be said for feeling safe with the one you marry."

"Did you feel safe with Father?"

Madame Giry's expression grew soft. "Yes. Your father was a kind and gentle man who made me feel safe and loved. He had a special way of wrapping me in a warmth that was ... that was incredible."

"That is how I feel with Valery," Meg agreed and she frowned. "I thought that was how Christine felt about Raoul."

"Have you heard from them?" Madame wondered.

"No," Meg told her. "I saw Christine the day before they left for Chagny and she was still being secretive. I am worried about her. I am worried about both of them."

"Perhaps Raoul's brother will be able to help them work out their problems."

"Perhaps." Meg bit her bottom lip. "You do not think that Christine is thinking of ..."

"No," Madame was emphatic. "I do not believe that Christine would ever do that to either Raoul or to herself; that is part of her past. As much as I love Christine and look upon her as a daughter, I also know her faults and she would never have been able to love Erik in the way in which he needs to be loved. I also know Erik's faults and he needs a strong woman who will love him for the man he is while not tolerating any of his nonsense."

Meg sat silently, her lips pursed tightly, before giving her mother a little grin. "I hope that one day I shall be as wise as you."

"It is to be hoped," Madame replied, standing as her daughter stood.

They linked arms and walked out of the sunny parlor. Mother and daughter stopped by the front door, Meg giving her mother a quick embrace.

"Seven tonight," Madame reminded her. "I know how you have developed a liking for being fashionably late but this is not a Paris salon and I expect you to be on time."

"Yes, Maman," Meg replied with a smile on her face. She kissed her mother's cheek. "Valery and I shall be here at seven."

Madame Giry opened the door and watched as her daughter was handed into the waiting carriage by a liveried footman. She waved and stood watching as the carriage moved down the small drive before turning onto the broad thoroughfare, merging into the traffic of early afternoon. She turned back to the house, closing the door behind her. She looked quizzically at Tallis who was standing in the middle of the staircase.

"Are you sure the dress is appropriate for this evening?" she wondered.

And hundreds of miles away, in the southwest of France, another young woman was asking the same question.

"Are you sure casual dress is appropriate for the evening?" Christine asked as she stared at the gaily colored clothes in her wardrobe.

"Monsieur le Comte insists," the young maid replied.

Christine reached in and pulled out a dark violet dress covered over with lilac embroidered lace that she had worn to an afternoon tea. She handed the dress to the maid. "Please see that this is pressed," she told the girl.

"Oui, Madame," the girl replied. "And I shall see that the lace is carefully dealt with." She smiled and dropped a small curtsey before leaving the room.

Christine stood alone for a moment, suddenly feeling rather ill at the prospect of the evening's upcoming activities. She was not looking forward to spending time with Henri and her feelings of apprehension were only heightened by the knowledge that his friend would also be supping with them. She longed to turn to her husband with her fears but Christine had seen the way Raoul had greeted his cousin and knew that that door was closed to her. She sighed heavily and prayed for the strength to smile warmly through the evening's festivities. Christine just prayed for an evening wherein she could feel like her old self again. But suddenly all she could feel was her head spinning and the nausea threatening to overwhelm her again. Christine closed her eyes, reaching out a hand to rest against the wardrobe in an effort to steady herself. She took several deep breaths to steady her nervous stomach and Christine could sense the nausea take its sickening waves from her body. She braved opening one eye and whenshe noticed that the room had stopped spinning, she opened her other eye and carefully removed her hand from the wardrobe.

"Oh," she breathed in relief as the world around herreturned to normal. "I need some fresh air," she said as she raised a slightly trembling hand to her forehead and felt the clammy skin there. "Yes, air would be good." Christine slowly walked across the room and wandered down the main staircase and out onto the back portico.

Christine walked to the edge of the portico, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply a smile crossing her delicate features. Instead of the smokey, rather pungent odor of Paris, Christine smelled only warm earth and an elusive floral scent. She inhaled deeply again, reveling in the soothing effect that the rich, natural odors brought to her nervous stomach and slightly aching head. Christine opened her eyes and walked the two steps down the portico to stand in the warm spring sun. She lifted her head and felt warmth invade her body chasing away the last nauseous wave, the last hammer pounding at her skull. She lowered her head and saw a bird perched on a nearby branch looking at her, its head moving side-to-side as its bright black eyes studied her.

"Hello," Chrstine said.

The bird's head stopped moving and it whistled at her.

Christine smiled and repeated the bird's song almost as if she were singing an aria.

The bird hopped twice uponits branch, gave a last twitter and flew off into the afternoon sun.

Christine watched it fly away and turned her attention to the gardens about her. She began to walk through them, seeing the bright yellow daffodils waving in the gentle breeze, all the different tulips with their faces raised to the sky. Christine had not known that a tulip could come in so many colors and with so many different petals; it made her feel happy and carefree. She continued to wander about the flower beds, occasionally bending over to inhale a flower that caught her particular attention. Christine tried to remember the scents she experienced for when she returned to Paris and could visit her favorite perfumery for this was a moment in time that she wished to capture forever. It was a moment of peace wherein Christine felt full and content and more like herself than she had felt in several weeks. Even worrying thoughts of an evening spent with Henri and his friend could do nothing to chase away the contentment Christine was feeling.

Distant voices intruded upon Christine's peaceful revery and she raised her head in their direction. A strange combination of fear and desire spread throughout her body as she noticed Raoul and his brother walking in from the direction of the stables. The two men were deep in conversation and did not immediately see her standing in the gardens for which Christine was thankful for it gave her a chance to observe them.

Raoul and Philippe were walking close to each other, their gently spoken words carried along on the breeze that blew from behind them. Philippe was lightly tapping a riding crop against his thigh and Raoul was slipping off riding gloves, tucking them into his belt. Christine studied Philippe for a moment, once again taking note of the strong resemblance to his brother, knowing that Raoul would look like that in another twenty years. Christine sighed wistfully as she thought of her husband with greying temples and a smile that would crinkle the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. Philippe was dignified and elegant even in the simple riding outfit which he now wore and Christine knew that Philippe was just as dignified and elegant on the inside. He was intelligent and observant and patient. And he was leaning toward his brother, saying something that caused both of them to laugh.

Christine shook her head and bit back the tears she felt at the corners of her eyes. How long had it been since she had seen Raoul look that happy or laugh with such carefree abandon? Christine thought her husband suddenly look five years younger and it was a moment she committed to memory. Raoul was her fairytale prince, her knight in shining armor, her savior and yet Christine also knew the man behind the outward appearance. She knew the smart young man who carefully handled their money so that they would never want for anything. She knew the handsome, polite man on whose arm she had been introduced to and enjoyed Paris society; the gracious man who never had a mean word for or about anyone. It was the man who managed their staff with equal respect and had taught her how to do the same. And Christine knew the compassionate lover with the gentle hands who could bring the very stars down from the heavens for her. The man who held her through her nightmares, those same hands rubbing away the tension from her shoulders and drying her tears. Christine knew Raoul as the best friend who indulged her every whim without question and without thought for himself.

And she sighed, praying to God that she could find the strength to tell him what she knew. She fervently prayed that she would find the fortitude to bear the look in his eyes when she told him. Yet Christine knew it was all in vain for she could not bear to see the disappointment in her husband's eyes when she failed him. And she knew she would fail him. She had failed everyone in her life. She had not lived up to her father's expectations of her. She had betrayed her angel. Her actions had destroyed the opera house and ruined the lives of everyone who had worked and lived there. The last thing Christine needed was to fail the one person in the world who had never failed her. Christine briefly closed her eyes and knew she would keep her secret until she could no longer do so, knowing that with passing time she would gain strength that would allow her to bear the disappointment and sorrow in Raoul's eyes should she fail him.

"Christine?" a familiar voice asked.

Christine kept her eyes closed for a moment as she inhaled deeply through her nose, putting a warm smile on her face. "Raoul," she said as she opened her eyes. She turned her head to smile at Philippe. "Philippe."

Philippe gave her a small smile as he placed a gentle hand on her arm. "I am glad to see you out and about. And with a bit of color in those pale cheeks." He turned and winked at his brother. "It would seem you are not the only one who finds the gardens restorative." Philippe took his hand back. "I believe I shall go and check on the preparations for tonight's meal and give you two lovebirds some time alone."

Philippe walked off, whistling to himself and disappeared into the house, one last backwards glance at his brother and wife standing alone in the garden. Philippe raised his eyes to the sky. "Do not make me lock them in a room," he said to God.

Christine had been losing herself in her husband's eyes and had paid little attention to Philippe as he walked off. "Did you have a lovely ride?" she asked softly, trying to extract herself from the spell in which Raoul's blue eyes always wrapped her.

"Very nice," Raoul replied, pleasure rising in his chest as he noted his wife's pink cheeks and glowing eyes. She almost looked like her old self.

"Where did you ride?" Christine felt Raoul's hand reach for hers and did not pull away.

"There is a long abandoned trail some distance from the stables," Raoul replied as his fingers intertwined with his wife's and his heart filled and broke at the feeling. "It winds through some woods and fields and no one rides there anymore. It has long been a favorite of mine." He did not let go of Christine's hand and smiled at her in wonderment when she did not take her hand back. "And what have you done this day?"

Tell him, tell him, tell him, the logical voice in Christine's head was chanting. The voice was drowned out by her fears. "I have been worrying over what to wear this evening," Christine said truthfully and shook her head. "It is very strange to be dressing for dinner in a casual manner." She smiled up at her husband. "That is not what you taught me."

"Had my parents been alive," Raoul told her, "we would be dressing formally for dinner."

Christine raised an eyebrow at her husband. "Had your parents been alive, I doubt I would be your wife."

Raoul tilted his head to one side as a frown creased his refined features. "You would have been my wife had my parents been alive, if I would have had to go to the ends of the earth to find you, had Satan himself stood in my way." He gently squeezed the hand he held. "I was incomplete until that night I saw you singing. You made me realize what it was that I had been searching for, what it was that I needed." Raoul lifted his wife's hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "You make me complete."

Christine could feel her fears grip wrap tighter about her heart. "Oh Raoul," she sighed. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"I could ask the same question," Raoul told her, "and I doubt either of us will find the answer until we are in Heaven and can see God's plan for our lives clearly laid before us."

"Mmmm," Christine murmured, wondering if God would ever forgive her for what she was doing. "You will always see the good things in life and beyond."

Raoul chuckled. "It is failing."

"It is a wonderment," Christine corrected him and reached in for a kiss. She knew it was a risk to her resolve but could not resist the sparkle in her husband's eyes or the alluring temptation of his smiling lips.

Raoul could not resist either and Christine felt his arms go about her. His breath soft and warm against her ear. "I love you so much," he whispered.

Christine found she could not think. "I ... I ... I ..." she said as she struggled to find her way through the fears that gripped her so tightly. She felt Raoul draw back.

"It's all right," he said. "I understand."

Christine leaned her head into his chest. "I know you do," she whispered knowing he did not, "but there are times when I wish you would not." Christine felt Raoul's fingers under her chin, lifting up her head.

"I cannot be something I am not," Raoul told her sadly, shaking his head.

"I do not wish you to be," Christine assured him.

"Thank you," Raoul said as he placed a kiss on Christine's forehead. "I shall hold to that."

Christine took her husband's hand again. "And me. Please hold to me."

"Forever," Raoul breathed as he searched his wife's face.

And from the window of his study that looked out over the garden, Philippe watched the interaction between Raoul and Christine. He turned back to the room, a small smile on his face. "There is yet a hope that I may not need that locked room."