The rain beat heavily on the roof of the carriage as it floundered in the flooded street. The well-heeled pedestrians had escaped the storm, and were hovering in nearby shops. Their trapped silhouettes crowded the shop windows. It had been an unusually wet season, and Paris was taking on the appearance of a half drowned rat.
Erik was on his way to a meeting with Jules over business matters, and was traveling by carriage through the storm. The water covered the horse's fetlocks as it dragged its load through the torrent. At one point the horse stumbled and lurched forward causing the carriage to roughly whip sideways and toss Erik from his seat.
He regained his seat and settled back into a comfortable position with his long legs bent and his dark suit elegantly draped across them. His sudden tumble reminded him of what he had seen a couple of hours before: the efforts of the wounded stallion as it struggled to stand.
Once the stallion had gotten to his feet, Rascon insisted that Jade go back into the opera house where it was warmer. Erik had watched her as she packed up her things, including the colorful throw, and left the stable.
It had impressed him how diligently and carefully she had nursed the stallion. Her devotion had been absolute. How fortunate he is to have such a friend, he mused.
During her stay in the stable, Erk had stayed close and kept an eye on her. He was pleased to see that she had distanced herself from the others, and had not revealed their secret. She appeared to be trustworthy.
Their next encounter would be soon. He had been thinking of it these last few days and considering the best way to approach her. What new surprise might she have in store for him? Her unpredictability was fascinating.
As the carriage continued onwards, he gazed at the building facades that were clouded by the torrent, and thought of his time with Christine. Lately, he had been allowing memories of her to resurface. Somehow, in the last month, the pain he felt when thinking of her had become bearable.
It was pointless to compare any woman to her. No one could approach her beauty or grace.
And yet, on one point there was a noteworthy difference between Christine and the other woman. Christine wasn't full of surprises.
He turned from the window and rested his head against the seat. There was another matter that required his attention.
Yesterday, he had secretly attended the meeting between DuChant and the Deschamps concerning the hiring of a new music director.
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DuChant stared at Mme. Deschamps and tried to hide his astonishment. She wants to take over the directorship in the middle of the production! He masked his doubts as he looked down at the wine glass in his hand.
Mme. Descamps looked at DuChant coolly and with an aristocratic air. Her beautifully coiffed hair piled upon her head added to her unusually tall stature, and increased the impact of her presence. She held her head at the precise angle that drew the greatest looks of appreciation from her many admirers. Her confidence was that of a performing artist that commands the vast attention of a grand opera house.
As her rich voice resonated in the room, her eyes fixed upon DuChant with a steely firmness.
"M. DuChant, you may continue to search for a new director, but keep in mind that M. Meley is our first choice. It is our hope that he will soon be returning to the Opera Populaire. In the meantime, I will temporarily fill his position. I would like you to gather the cast here tomorrow where I will meet with them."
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An amateur intends to direct the Parisian premiere of Aida, thought Erik as the carriage stopped. If she was willing to accept his guidance, he might allow it. If not, there were various tricks that he could perform that would make her regret her decision.
He covered his face with the hood of his cloak, and ducked under the carriage frame as he stepped into the diminishing rain. He would probably be at the office for at least several hours with Jules. Besides the business at hand, there were two tasks that he needed Jules to do, one of which needed immediate attention.
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The next day, Erik sat in box five and watched the activity below. Mme. Deschamps was on stage directing two of the performers. He had noticed earlier that the proximity of the principals to each other in that scene had lacked a certain visual tension, and Mme. Deschamps had apparently felt the same. She was instructing them where to stand as they prepared to rehearse the scene.
Last night, after returning from his meeting with Jules, he had written a letter to Mme. Deschamps and placed it in her office. In the letter, he had pointed out various weaknesses in the production. Today she was following many of his suggestions and had corrected a number of the problems. In addition, she was dealing with other annoying points that he had yet to mention to her. It was evident that as a new music director, she was a budding young talent. Perhaps, with additional guidance, the first opera of the season would be a success.
Jules had left him a note this morning reporting that Meley was not doing as well as his employers hoped. His memory was poor, and he had debilitating headaches. The doctor could not say when he would be ready to return to work.
He left box five and traveled to the back passages in the staff quarters. It was time to see how the young woman was faring. He hadn't seen her since the stable and he wanted to evaluate her state of mind. Was there a chance that she would be talking with her suitor about their secret? Observing her might give him a clue.
Knowing that she often returned to her room before going to supper, he waited by the mirror.
The door opened and she entered. She lit the gaslight, and hung her cloak in the wardrobe. Then she approached the mirror, and lit several candles near it. When she looked up, he saw her face clearly for the first time. It had a drawn appearance and the dark circles under her eyes had become nearly black.
As she sat at the table, she began to cough until she was bent over from the effort. When she had finished, she wearily sat back in the chair and gazed emptily into the mirror. Periodically she frowned from the pain of taking a breath.
Accustomed to her normally robust health, Erik found her recent decline alarming. She looked very weak, and he didn't like the sound of the cough. It indicated a potentially severe ailment.
He turned away, and quickly went to his home.
It wasn't until hours later that he had finished his preparations and could return.
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Erik stood outside her room in the hidden passageway and listened. Through the mirror, he faintly heard her rough and labored breathing. She had been tossing and turning since he had arrived. He waited a little longer to determine if she was conscious of her surroundings or lost in a feverish state.
Touching the side of the mirror, he quietly slid it open.
Silently, he entered the dark room. She was lying on her back with her eyes closed, unaware of his presence. After a moment, he lit a candle.
He stood above her and assessed her condition. She had kicked off her covers and was lying in her thin chemise oblivious to the chill of the room. She had lost weight since Sunday, and her face was flushed. Touching her forehead, he noted its heat and dryness.
Lying there, she looked fragile and helpless. Gone was the high carriage of her head, her aloofness, and the barriers that she placed between herself and others.
He walked back to the mirror, carried in the supplies, and shut the mirror behind him.
Returning to her bed, he bent down and rolled the chemise up and over her head.
She lay naked before him.
He had come to help her, but for a few moments, all he could do was stare at her. His eyes eagerly raked her body. Her breasts were lovely and delicate. Her slender waist accentuated the curve of her hips and gave her a secret sensuality that she had hidden with her concealing and careless manner of dress. Her skin was smooth and flushed from the fever.
This was the closest he had gotten to her, to any woman who was naked. The intimacy of seeing her utterly exposed, aroused him.
He swallowed hard, and focused on his task. Draping a blanket across her, he left the part exposed that would be bathed. Then for the next couple of hours, he sponged her with water.
Occasionally she would partially awaken, and look at him with unseeing eyes. He would then coax medicine into her. At such times, he sat on her bed and held her blanket wrapped body in his arms as he tipped the flask to her lips. Once, she clung to him and pressed her face into his chest. He automatically pressed her to himself, and held her tighter. When her grip weakened, he held her closely a few moments longer before releasing her, and laying her back in her bed.
At times she spoke a name: Jean-Luc. She said no other. It piqued his curiosity. A brother? A lover?
In a couple of hours her fever broke, and she began to sweat. Carefully, he dressed her with the chemise that he had found her in and gave her a dose of medicine. Then he gathered up his things, and placed them in the passageway. Closing the mirror, he pulled up the chair next to her bed, and waited for her to awake.
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Jade's eyes opened to a blur. After some effort she managed to focus enough to see a black trouser leg a foot from her face.
Blinking several times, she looked again. It was still there. Where am I? she thought.
Her head and neck felt heavy. It took considerable effort to look upward to see the face that belonged to the leg.
He was silently staring at her. His eyes looked soft, softer than she had remembered them. His mouth was soft too. She stared back at him with half closed eyes that were weighed down from weakness. Then she closed them tightly and reopened them. He was still there.
Looking about, she realized that she was in her room.
He's in my room!
She looked back in his direction but he was gone. Then a moment later, he was back with something in his hand. He lifted up her upper body, and she felt something pressed to her lips. She tried to turn away from it but he held her firmly, and growled at her, "Stop struggling and take your medicine." She closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Then he poured a strong tasting liquid into her. A moment later her head was being lowered back onto the bed.
This has to be a dream, she thought as she weakly tried to turn onto her side.
Strong hands were on her and gently turned her. Again, she looked up and he was there. His eyes had lost the gentleness and had a cool, distant quality.
"Mademoiselle, you are recovering from a bout of pneumonia, and you will need to rest and take medicine for the next week. I will leave a flask of it on your table with instructions. You have a grave condition and if you value your life, you will follow my instructions, and avoid working for the next week or possibly more."
He sounded like a stern parent who was lecturing a wayward child that needed punishment. There was no doubting his seriousness. She briefly wondered what he would do to her if she disobeyed him.
Bending over her, he turned her onto her back. As he drew back, she weakly laid her hand on his arm. He immediately looked down at her hand with an inscrutable look on his face.
"Thank you," Jade said in a weak voice. She was too tired to have a conversation with him, so her question was short and to the point. "What is your name?"
He was looking down at her with the stern look of someone who refuses to be bothered with tiresome details. But his eyes changed a little. Something unknown flickered in them.
"My name is Erik."
He continued to stare down at her as if waiting for a response.
"Erik, you may call me Jade," she answered. And then, exhausted by the effort of speaking, she shut her eyes.
When she opened them a minute later, he was gone.
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Before going back to his home, Erik visited the ballet classrooms where Manette was teaching. There he dropped a note from the rafters that landed near her personal effects. He knew that once the woman read it, she would immediately go to her friend. He had watched her bring meals to Jade in the stable and noticed her strong interest in the woman's well being.
Later in his home, he moved about restlessly as he took stock of his surroundings. He had very comfortable rooms with tasteful furnishings. The only problem at the moment was the placement of the organ. It was against a wall, and he wouldn't be able to see her dance when he played for her. Something needed to be done, because he needed to be able to see her.
Perhaps the installation of mirrors will suffice, he reflected.
Having resolved the problem, he sat at his worktable and began to sketch her. She would have blushed if she had seen herself naked in his drawing, but he couldn't help himself. He had to have physical evidence of that moment. His charcoal outlined her curves and he used a rosy pigment to highlight her flushed skin. The final drawing was a subtle mix of innocence and sensuality.
He stared at it for a few minutes and began to feel aroused again. Then he covered it with paper to protect it, and locked it in a drawer.
He prepared a bath, which he lingered in to soak away the cold. The warmth seeped into his muscles, and he sighed with pleasure. As he lounged, Jade's image rose up before him, and he remembered the look in her eyes when she had asked his name. As weak as she had been, her eyes had still pierced him.
At that moment, he had felt caught and incapable of saying no.