Chapter 19: A Parisian American in Paris
[featuring "Old Resentments Die Hard"]
Erik was seasick on the ocean liner to France, and his illness was only exacerbated by his anxieties about what he was about to do. He'd been determined to forget Christine if it was the last thing he did. What if he'd actually been successful? What if seeing her again didn't awaken the same passionate longing he'd had for her in the past? He had to end the misery he'd inflicted on her, but what he only brought her from one loveless marriage to another? He'd never forgive himself.
Erik breathed a sigh of relief when he set foot on dry land. Even if all his worries hadn't been quelled, at least he no longer had to suffer from seasickness; but the seasickness was replaced by a new worry. As he rode a train into Paris, Erik hoped that more than a decade was long enough for the city to have forgotten about the infamous affair of the Phantom of the Opera. He'd sworn he'd never set foot on French soil again, but it was good to be home.
Finding Christine, however, would prove to be tricky. Erik didn't have her new address; and although he'd been careful to memorize every word of the one letter he had received, he hadn't taken the same precaution with retaining her address lest he rush off to in his sleep to find Christine and wake up on an ocean liner bound for Paris.
Erik stared at the letter trying to make out the address of the de Changy townhouse, but since this letter had taken a dip in the water instead of the fire, the writing was practically illegible. It was a start, however.
Erik took a deep breath and knocked on the front door of the Parisian townhouse.
"Is this the de Chagny residence?" he asked the parlour maid who'd answered.
After the maid recovered the shock from the masked visitor, she replied, "No, I'm afraid not, Monsieur." Erik's heart sank. "Le Vicomte de Chagny is two doors down that way, I believe."
"Thank you, Mademoiselle," Erik replied, his spirits rejuvenated. The house number had been the most blurry, but at least he'd found the right street.
Erik knocked on the door of the correct house and handed his calling card to the valet.
"Please wait here, Monsieur," said the valet as he led the odd guest into the foyer. "I'll tell Monsieur le Vicomte you are here."
Erik looked around at the modest decor of the foyer until he heard his rival's familiar voice from the parlour.
"Well, look who it is," said Raoul sneered as he tore Erik's calling card in half. "What do you want, Erik?"
"I'm looking for Christine."
"She doesn't live here anymore," Raoul answered shortly.
"Yes, I'm aware of that fact, Vicomte, but I'm afraid I do not have her new address." Erik did feel mildly bad for intruding on Raoul with his request.
"Why? Was she too dumb to send you her new address?"
Erik no longer felt mildly bad for intruding on Raoul with his request. "No. She did send me her address," Erik snapped. "But her letters never reached me because...because it doesn't matter! Now will you give me her address or not?" he roared.
Raoul took a step back when he realized he was treading on the fickle temper of the Phantom of the Opera. He'd best play the man's game.
"Yes. I'll give you her address," Raoul muttered as he led Erik to his study. "I send her money every month, but she sends it right back, so I guess that's good for me."
Raoul sent the money out of the goodness of his heart. He wasn't legally required to provide for Christine because the marriage had ended due to her misconduct, but Christine begged to differ in that regard, so at present, she wasn't accepting her ex-husband's charity.
"Here you go," said Raoul as he begrudgingly handed Erik a slip of paper with Christine's address. "I guess you want to marry her now?"
"Yes, I do," Erik said proudly.
"Hmph. I expected this trickery from you, but not from her," Raoul grumbled. "She used to be my best friend and now I hate her with my whole heart. That's what marriage does to you, I guess." Raoul sighed. "Are you sure you want to marry that viper?"
"Yes, I love her," said Erik adamantly. "The few months I spent in her company were the greatest time of my life and I would be honoured to spend every day with her for the rest of my life."
Raoul sighed again, but he had the slightest smile on his face. "Well, best of luck to you on the proposal, and on the marriage. You're going to need it."
"Thank you."
"Oh and Erik," said Raoul as the masked man turned away. "Congratulations."
"For what? Do you see me as the victor?"
"No, congratulations on the wedding. You actually think she'll turn you down?" Raoul smiled. Erik furrowed his brow, but he smiled back and accepted the vicomte's handshake.
Erik exited the de Chagny townhouse and ran to his waiting brougham to escape the pouring rain. He gave the driver Christine's address and instructed the man to make haste. When the carriage stopped in front of a building of comfortable middle class flats, Erik lept from the vehicle and dashed inside and up the stairs. He arrived at Christine's flat breathless and panting. He raised his fist to furiously bang on her door, but he stopped himself and politely knocked instead. The door was answered by an elderly maid who was shocked to see a masked man, just like the maid of the first house and the valet at the de Chagny residence.
"My name is Mr. Y. I'd like to speak with Christine," Erik said firmly as he held out his calling card. The maid furrowed her brow as she looked at the name and New York address on Erik's card, but she nodded and invited him to wait in the cramped entryway.
"Please wait here," she said before walking into the parlour to alert Christine of the mysterious guest. She found her mistress slumped on the sofa, glaring at her lap.
After receiving Erik's heartbreaking letter, Christine quit her habit of staring out the window to watch the street below. Why she started the habit in the first place was beyond her understanding; it wasn't like Erik was going to show up on her doorstep unannounced, begging for her hand in marriage.
"Madame?" said the maid with a timid knock on the parlour door frame. She wasn't a docile woman, but her mistress' temper was unpredictable at best these days.
"What is it?" Christine said shortly without looking up from the embroidery in her hands. She'd been working on the project for a week, but there was not a single stitch in the fabric.
"Madame, there is someone here to see you. A Monsieur...Y, he said his name was."
Christine froze. Was someone trying to trick her? Was it Raoul? It was probably Raoul. The maid handed her the calling card, and Christine ran her fingertips over the gold embossed letters.
Mr. Erik Y
It had to be a trick.
"Hmph. Send him in," Christine commanded. She tore Erik's calling card and threw the pieces to the ground so she could grind them into the carpet with the toe of her boot.
"As you wish, Madame," the maid replied, pitying this Mr. Y fellow who was about to have an audience in the lion's den. The maid left the room, but she was shortly replaced by the mysterious visitor.