Summary: Madame Giry and Tallis, Monique and Christine all enjoy a bright June day without the men in their lives to mess it up. And a telegram is sent.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Christine was seated in an elegant wing chair, hands folded peacefully in her lap, expressive eyes fixed on the man seated across the desk from her. Christine thought he had to be nearing sixty. He was of a medium build with a round face full of smile lines and topped by thick salt and pepper hair. He had made the time to see her, dismissing her apologies at the intrusion with a wave of his hand. He had been pleasant, patient, gentle and understanding with her. He had listened to her symptoms and tried to ease the fears she described. In the end, he had only told her what she already knew and confirmed the rumours she had heard.
Time, Christine thought, I just need more time.
"You will not say anything," she said out loud, "to anyone?"
Juan Antonio Gallardo shook his head and smiled at the young woman across the desk. He had known the Vicomte since Raoul had been a young child with skinned knees and bruised elbows. Now he found himself enchanted by the Vicomtess; she was very pretty and very young - much too pretty and much too young to be ruled by her fears. The physician thought it very sad.
"I will say nothing," Juan Antonio tried assuring Christine. "What is said between a physician and his patient is to remain between them." He passed a piece of paper to Christine. "But I would recommend that you tell your family. You need not be afraid; I know them and they will understand."
Christine took the paper, read it and slipped it into her reticule. "I shall think about it," Christine replied, knowing she would not say a word until more time had passed.
"And you will take that to the local chemist and have him fill it for you?" The look on Juan Antonio's face was determined. "I am afraid I am going to have to insist."
"I shall," Christine told him with a smile. "I promise."
Juan Antonio returned the smile. "You may trust Monsieur Fontelaire to be discreet. He is a very good chemist."
"Thank you," Christine replied softly as she stood.
The doctor stood, as well. He crossed from behind his desk to Christine's side, walking her to the door. Juan Antonio placed his hand on the knob, pausing for a moment to look at Christine. "Tell them," he urged softly.
Christine did not trust her voice and merely nodded.
"I am always here, should you need me," Juan Antonio told her before returning his attention to the knob he held. He twisted it and opened the door, looking out into the small parlor that served as his waiting room. He smiled as he saw Monique rising to her feet.
"My dear?" Monique wondered aloud.
"I am well," Christine told her, turning her head to smile at the doctor. "I will need to fill an order for an elixir to help settle my nerves."
Jean Antonio knew at that moment that the young woman by his side would not do as he asked and tell her family - she would keep her secret for a few more weeks. He put his disappointment aside, fixing his "physician's" expression firmly on his face. "She is well and will stay such as long as she follows my directions," he told Monique.
Monique crossed the small area from her seat to the office door. She and Juan Antonio exchanged kisses. "Thank you," she told him.
Juan Antonio patted her hand. "For you, my dear, always," he told her. "Give my regards to your husband." He turned to Christine. "And give my regards to your husband and his brother." He smiled. "Now, I believe I must not keep you from your pleasant outing any longer." He gave them one last smile and turned to disappear back into his office.
"I am very tempted to ask if everything is well with you," Monique began, "but I shan't." She linked her arm through Christine's. "Today is meant for pleasure. It is to be a day when we leave our cares behind us."
"I look forward to it." Christine was silent for a moment. "There is one last favor I would like to ask."
They had walked out of the office and into the sunny street.
"What would that be?"
"Is there a telegraph office here?" Christine wondered. "I would like to send a telegram to my friend, Meg, in Paris."
Monique laughed. "We are not living in the Dark Ages - even this far from Paris! Yes, there is a telegraph office and we shall make that our last stop before returning home." She looked at Christine. "You are full of requests this day."
Christine sighed. "I have been making a list of things I wished to do when I finally got out of the house." She grinned at the woman next to her. "It is a very long list."
"Then let us delay no longer," Monique said. "I believe the first thing to do is to visit the chemist and then it is time to shop!"
"Show me the way!" Christine told her.
They continued down the lane where the physician had his office, stopping at the end.
"I shall always find this very beautiful," Monique said as she took in the sight before her.
The village of Chagny was located in a peaceful valley south of Lyon. It was sheltered by mountains visible from the village, their snow-capped tips gazing down with cold clarity upon the picturesque village. The village itself was centered around a huge green, lanes weaving in and out, ancient buildings acting as guards, their windows the silent sentries. But no matter the street road or lane, no matter the direction, they all ended up at the green. It was large and lush, carefully tended flower beds placed at random intervals. A church and rectory kept vigil on the north side of the green, the remaining sides lined by the businesses that were the heartbeat of any town or village. People moved in and out of clothing shops and the chemist, the butcher and the greengrocer, the florist and the mercantile. There was even a small but elegant hotel for weary travelers.
"It reminds me of the towns my father and I would pass through when I was small." Christine sighed. "Those were such happy times."
"I remember hearing of your father," Monique told her. "I am sorry you lost him when you were so young."
"Thank you," Christine said, still looking around at the village, a puzzled look crossing her face.
"What is it?" Monique wondered.
"I was just wondering where the inn is that Henri frequents."
Monique pursed her lips. "It is to the west, on the outskirts of the village and it is certainly not the type of place in which you should wish to be seen." She glanced at the wondering look from Christine. "The inn caters to a rather rough trade; I have known Xavier and Philippe to be summoned to drag either Henri or Didier or both from that place."
"I did not realize," Christine replied softly.
"I love my cousin," Monique began and grinned slyly, "and I can be fond of Henri at certain moments," she watched as Christine bit back a laugh, "but I am perfectly aware of their shortcomings. One can only hope that someday they will grow out of their arrested adolescence and become the men they should be - such as the man your husband has become."
Christine blushed and lowered her eyes for a moment. She raised her eyes again and smiled at Monique "I am hoping you will tell me the truth about Raoul and his childhood for I have a feeling that he and Philippe are embellishing the truth."
Monique laughed. "Oh, my dear; I have more stories than I can relate within our time together!" She winked at Christine. "But I shall do my best."
They linked arms and crossed the street, making their way across the green, heads close together, laughing quietly.
Quiet laughter also echoed from Madame Giry's lips as she watched a young boy playing by the side of the pond, his clothes wet and muddy from urging his small boat along on great adventures. "I shall never tire of watching small children at play," she told her companion and then sighed. "One day I hope the small child shall be my own grandchild."
Tallis had her shawl drawn about her, her head raised to the sun and she was smiling. She lowered her head to look at the older woman seated next to her. "I think you will be a wonderful grandmother."
Madame Giry reached over and patted Tallis' arm. "Thank you, my dear." She continued to watch the small boy who was now showing his boat to his nanny. "I know that my students would find the fact that I look forward to the company of small children a wonderment and they would laugh at me, taking great pleasure in the knowledge." She grew silent for a moment. "But I am still a woman beneath the exterior I present to the world and I am a mother who loves my child. I am soft - with a heart - even if the rest of the world does not see that."
The little boy was now holding to his nanny's hand, his dripping boat in the other and they were walking across the park.
"Is that why you befriended Monsieur Herrin?" Tallis wanted to know.
Madame Giry stood, waiting for Tallis to stand before linking her arm with the younger woman, guiding her in the opposite direction from the little boy and his nanny. "It was my heart that compelled me at first," Madame Giry acknowledged. "Yet it was not friendship or affection that urged me to pull him from that place; it was pity." She shrugged slightly. "I felt sorry for him for no person should ever be treated like an animal."
"It was horrid for him, was it not?"
"It was," Madame Giry replied. "He has scars on his body that the world will never see and scars on his soul that will take a lifetime to heal. I must take some responsibility for his soul ..."
"But you were only a child!" Tallis interrupted, knowing the story.
"I was." Madame Giry stopped walking, placed both her arms on Tallis and turned her so that they were looking at each other. "And Erik is still a child in so many ways," she warned gently.
Tallis lowered her eyes. "I am not much better," she said softly before raising her eyes. "I know that my actions are, at times, those of a girl much younger than I. I know that I still have much to learn and I am grateful for your patience and your wisdom."
"Oh my dear," Madame Giry sighed as she drew Tallis into a quick hug. "You are fond of him, are you not?" She watched as Tallis nodded her head. "I have seen the warmth in your eyes when you look upon him and I am so thankful that you see him as simply another man, another human being placed here by God for a purpose." She gently shook the arms she held. "And that, I believe, shall be his saving grace."
The two women continued to walk through the park, circling the pond, smiling at the children dashing in and out of the bushes. They walked through the large, ornate gate that guarded the park at night and into the main street of the bustling town. Expensive carriages, drawn by elegant horses moved past them. Men stepped aside for them, tipping their hats at the two women, their greetings acknowledged by the nod of a head. Madame Giry and Tallis crossed over a stone bridge and into the main part of the town before either spoke again.
"But I wonder what he thinks of me," Tallis finally said.
"I know him well," Madame Giry replied. "I believe I can safely say that he is fond of you."
"Fond," Tallis replied in a rather strange tone of voice. Her gaze drifted off to a place Madame Giry could not go. "I may be lacking in the social graces that are expected of a woman of my age but that does not mean I am a child. I, too, am a woman and I feel things a woman should feel."
"Why do you not tell him how you feel?" Madame Giry asked.
"Why? Why?" Tallis wondered, turning to look briefly at the woman walking next to her. "Because I know he still loves someone else."
"She is gone from his life," Madame Giry said and in a firmer tone, "forever."
Tallis placed a hand over her heart. "But she is still here and I cannot compete with that memory." She sighed. "Perhaps if I was more like Christine ..."
Madame Giry squeezed the arm she held. "No. That is not what Erik needs. He needs someone who will willingly stand up to him and not cower in fear. He needs a woman who will appreciate what he can do but will not share his passion for those things. He needs a woman who will have passions of her own, a woman who can hold her own against him. He needs a woman who will match him strength for strength and weakness for weakness. He needs a woman who will see the little boy inside the man, the little boy who only wishes to be loved."
"I wish I could be that for him," Tallis admitted.
"Ah, the hotel," Madame Giry as they stopped in front of the Hotel Germain.
The hotel was a large, ornate building, white in color, with fluted columns holding up a second story balcony. A liveried bellman waited at the front door, opening and closing it for the well-dressed guests who came and went. Even now, as the sun overhead drew to midday, men and women were entering the hotel, heading for the restaurant where savory dishes were served by men in formal black attire. A table was waiting for Madame and her guest, a table was always kept waiting, courtesy of the Baron, Meg's husband, Madame's son-in-law. But the table would have to wait for a few more minutes.
"May I give you a word of advice?" Madame Giry asked Tallis.
Tallis could not find her voice and only nodded.
"Erik still harbors an affection for Christine. I believe he thinks she will come back to him." Madame Giry shook her head. "I know she will not for she is happy in her marriage." Madame Giry smiled. "My dear, continue to be his friend. Do not let him have his own way. Do not show weakness before him. The best thing you can do is to continue to be yourself. He will come round to realize what is waiting before his eyes. It may just take some time."
Tallis smiled. "I have all the time in the world."
"It is well," Madame whispered. "But I believe that the time for luncheon is slipping away and I am hungry." She guided Tallis up the stairs and into the hotel.
And two hours later and several hundred miles to the south, Monique guided Christine down the stairs of the hotel in Chagny. She guided Christine along the lane that ran on the west side of the hotel and led to the path beside the river that moved silently and swiftly through the village. They walked in silence for a few moments.
"I have never eaten so much in my life!" Christine exclaimed, raising a hand to her lips, her skin going pale.
Monique took note. "Do you wish to sit for a moment?"
"No!" Christine was emphatic. "I fear if I sit again, I shall not be able to rise. No, it is better to walk." Christine smiled. "But luncheon was so wonderful! And two pieces of apple tart - please, do not tell Raoul for I shall never hear the end of it!"
Monique laughed. "He shall not hear it from my lips."
A loud explosion cut through the warm June afternoon causing Christine to jump.
"Oh my ..." she exclaimed, a hand going to her throat, the other gripping tightly to Monique's arm.
Monique frowned in the direction of the mountains. "Oh that horrible mine," she said before turning back to Christine. "Are you all right?"
"Startled," Christine said as she swallowed and struggled to get her breathing under control. "What was that?"
"There is a mining operation in the mountains and once or twice a month they use explosives to move parts of the mountain out of the way." She shook her head. "I know this sounds strange but you will get used to it should you and Raoul spend more time here. And please accept my apologies for the start you received."
Christine was puzzled. "Why should you apologize for the explosion?"
"Because Xavier is one of the backers. Why he gave them the money, I will never know but he has a soft place in his heart for anyone who is trying to make their way in the world." Monique thought in silence for a moment. "Perhaps he is hoping that someday one of these adventures that he backs will actually have a pay off and he will share in their glory." She looked at Christine. "Do not be so shocked! I have been married for twenty years and I know my husband's faults - even the tender ones."
"And I know more of my husband's faults," Christine grinned at her, "thanks to you." She looked toward the mountains. "But I do not believe I could ever become accustomed to such a disturbance."
They continued to walk alongside the river, slowing making their way down a path that meandered back toward the village green. Monique and Christine took turns pointing out the sights that made them smile. A little rabbit scampered across their path, looked up at them, its nose twitching in indignance at their intrusion into his world. A mother duck swam by in the river, five little yellow ducklings swimming in her gentle wake. The last echoes of the explosion drifted upwards past snow-capped mountain peaks, dissipating into the softness of white clouds. The comforting sounds of village life drifted along on the wind, replacing the stark harshness of the now silent explosive echoes, bringing the world back to its normal self.
"I wonder what Philippe will say when he discovers just how much money you spent?" Monique wondered.
"He told me to spend it," Christine insisted.
Monique nodded. "Good girl. Xavier told me to spend money, as well, and I think we honored their requests well, do you not?"
"Yes, I do." Christine thought of all the packages that would be delivered to Chagny over the next few days and grinned. "I think we did quite well. I think Henri will be surprised that I remembered to include him in my shopping."
"And Raoul?" Monique asked softly.
"Especially Raoul," Christine whispered, a warm expression crossing her face for a moment.
They had walked up the small rise from the river, emerging back into the center of town. They stood silently for a moment, Christine lost in thought. Monique watched her, suspecting but not willing to intrude into a secret obviously held close for reasons the young woman thought valid.
"The telegraph office is next to the hotel," Monique finally said, discreetly pointing out the direction. "Go send your letter to your friend in Paris while I go to the stable and collect the horse and carriage. I shall meet you in front of the office in ten minutes time."
"Thank you," Christine said. "I shall be waiting."
"I have no doubt." Monique gave her a quick hug and walked off in the opposite direction from the telegraph office, toward the stable.
Christine watched her for a moment before walking to the telegraph office. She passed the hotel where she and Monique had shared luncheon, walking through the door of the small building next to it, the bell jingling as she entered.
A man in a white shirt and small black tie looked up at the sound of the bell and smiled. "May I help you?"
"Yes, please," Christine said as she walked across the simple wood floor, stopping in front of the counter that separated the telegraph office into two parts - one for the customers and one for the proprietor. "I wish to send a telegram to Paris. I was told you could do that."
The man smiled at her. "I can," he said, drawing a piece of paper from beneath the counter and handing it to Christine. He moved the inkwell next to her. "If you would be so kind as to write your message on this?" He asked.
Christine heaved a deep sigh. "Thank you," she said, reaching for the pen that rested in the inkwell, her elegant script flowing across the paper. She finished writing, replacing the pen and turning the paper so that the man could read it.
"This is the correct address in Paris?" the man wanted to know.
"Yes," Christine nodded.
A small frown crossed his face. "And this is all you wish to say?"
"It is everything," Christine told him. "How much will that be?"
The man quoted her a sum and Christine reached into her reticule, giving the man the amount he told her. She gave him one last smile before turning and leaving the building to wait for Monique, the deception she had just wrought weighing heavily upon her heart. The telegram she had sent was not addressed to Meg; it was addressed to a man and it consisted of three little words:
"I am certain."