Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I hope you enjoy this new chapter.

Chapter Eighteen: The Orange Tree

Raoul rose from his place at the head of the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen, would you care to retire to the parlour? The music will start shortly."

Christine looked at Erik. He was the next to stand, as if he couldn't wait to escape from the dinner table. Or perhaps he needed time to prepare for his act.

"Would you care to accompany me, Christine?" said Raoul.

"Thank you, but I must speak to Erik. We may need to go over a few things before we perform."

"Oh." Raoul's smile faltered. "Of course."

Christine hurried after Erik.

She found him by the parlour's drinks table, helping himself to another glass of the champagne that he professed to dislike.

She touched his arm lightly. "Are you all right?"

He jumped, turning to her. "Oh. Yes. I'm just so relieved that meal is over."

Christine smiled. "Well, I noticed you ate all of your soup, and the beef, and the cheesecake, and the petit fours, so you can't have found it entirely unpleasant."

"I never said the food was bad. It's the company I object to." Erik grimaced, and tugged at his waistcoat. "How am I supposed to sing after all that?"

"We're not performing straightaway. I think Raoul's going to play the piano first."

"I fear that's even more likely to give me indigestion."

"Shush!" Christine glanced over her shoulder. Fortunately, although the other guests had started to filter in, Raoul had not yet appeared. "Erik, you must promise not to comment on Raoul's playing. No harrumphing. No sneering. No…theatrical mimes."

"Why? Is he very bad?"

"Erik!"

Erik smiled. Christine thought she saw an evil glint in his eye. "I will do my utmost to ensure I'm on my best behaviour."

Christine was not at all convinced, but she decided to let it go. For now. "Are your illusions ready?"

Erik nodded towards his leather bag, which had been given its very own side table. "Everything I need is in there. I'm sure the Viscount will enjoy it."

"I see. And Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Just…remember that you're a guest. You're welcome here. You do know that, don't you?"

His eyes softened. "Yes, Christine."

"Good. Come and sit down."

Two dozen plush velvet chairs had been set out in rows in the parlour, leaving a performance area at the front, complete with a grand piano. Erik chose a seat at the end of the back row, where he could partly conceal himself behind a large potted aspidistra. Christine sat beside him.

Soon, all the guests were seated comfortably with fresh glasses of champagne.

Raoul was last to arrive. He reached the stage area, flicked back his coat tails, and took his place at the piano. Then he began to play.

The guests went instantly silent, as if the music had chased away all other sounds. Christine felt the back of her neck prickle.

Raoul – gentle, shy, pale, charming Raoul – was playing as if there was a storm inside him.

He had always been talented. Too talented, really. His was the sort of musical talent which both delighted and terrified his family. Count Philippe had no idea what to do with him, other than force him down the traditional Chagny path into the navy. He had rarely played in public until Christine had coaxed him to do so in the days of their courtship.

She had almost forgotten how his music made her feel.

Christine glanced at Erik. He was staring at the Viscount as if mesmerised, lips slightly parted and eyes wide.

The music thundered and roared, and then suddenly calmed, as if the storm was clearing. Raoul, so focused on the instrument until this point, turned and locked eyes with her.

He smiled as the music became triumphant, warm, romantic. The sun rising over a now calm sea.

Then silence.

Then applause.

Erik's quiet voice broke into her thoughts. "My God. You didn't tell me he could play like that."

Christine shook her head, trying to clear it of music. "Yes. He's…very good."

Raoul rose from the piano stool and bowed to his small audience.

"Thank you so much. That piece was a premiere, the overture to my new opera." He smiled at Christine. "Miss Daae? Erik? Would you care to join me? I'd be delighted to accompany you."

Christine hesitated. She looked at Erik, and saw that he had grown tense, his hands curling in his lap. This had not been part of the plan. It had been her intention to accompany their duet at the piano, as they had done during Erik's lessons.

"I know the music well, Raoul."

"But I'd love to accompany you. Please will you indulge me?"

Christine sighed. She did not wish to be impolite. But before she could think of a plausible excuse, Erik was on his feet.

"We would be delighted," he said, bowing slightly as he reached the piano.

A look of surprise crossed Raoul's face. "Er…wonderful, Erik. Christine?"

Trying to ignore her feeling of trepidation, Christine joined them both.

"What would you like to sing?" asked Raoul.

"We've chosen a love duet," said Erik. "From Verdi's Aida. Do you know the opera?"

"Yes, I do. A…good choice." Raoul's cheeks coloured slightly. He glanced at Christine, who had just placed the music on the piano.

Erik nodded. "Whenever you're ready, Raaa-ooul."

Christine fought down an urge to scream. This had been a bad idea. She should have followed her instinct from the start. But now it was too late, because Raoul had begun to play.

Erik sang beautifully, and Raoul's accompaniment was perfect. But there was a strange charge in the atmosphere, a sense that both men were on the verge of overdoing it, of attempting to upstage each other. Erik made a point of staring into Christine's eyes, something which he rarely did when they were performing alone.

The duet concluded to rapturous applause, so if the whole thing had been a bit overdramatic, the audience had apparently not noticed.

Raoul rose from the piano stool, and he and Erik bowed to each other.

"You've very good, Monsieur Erik."

"You play charmingly, Viscount."

Christine suppressed an eye roll.

Raoul turned his back on Erik, took Christine's hand, and kissed it. "You're just as wonderful as I remember."

Erik stomped back to his seat, arms folded and mouth set in a thin line. Was it possible he was still jealous? Christine couldn't help being a little disappointed in Raoul, who she felt was deliberately goading him. But to what end? If they hoped to engage in some kind of strange, musical battle for her affections, then she would hail a cab and travel home alone.

Fortunately, they were saved from any further drama by the arrival of Sorelli, who had somehow managed to transform into Giselle, from the ballet of the same name. Her costume – the white, floating, ghostly dress of a Wilis – drew exclamations of delight from Aunt Genevieve, who hurried over to greet her.

Raoul accompanied Sorelli on the piano as she danced, and for a while, a calm enchantment descended over the parlour.

When the ballet was over, Aunt Genevieve once again swooped forward to claim Sorelli and offer her champagne.

"We're going to conclude this evening's entertainment with a special display of illusion from Erik, the Grand Music Hall's resident magician," said Raoul. He vacated the piano stool and joined the audience.

Erik slipped out of his seat and took his place onstage, next to the side table. The bag was still resting on it.

He spread his hands wide. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce my new illusion: The Little Bag of Life."

Christine glanced around at the audience, who looked distinctly underwhelmed.

Erik undid the clasps of the bag. Then he held his hand above it, palm down, and began to draw it upwards, as if coaxing something from the bag.

"I couldn't help but notice the distinct lack of greenery in the Viscount's parlour," said Erik. "I thought I could perhaps rectify that."

Christine watched as the green leaves of a small tree began to emerge from the bag. It grew and grew, drawn towards Erik's hand.

The bag collapsed around it.

The audience gasped. The tree was now half as tall as the piano. It looked quite real.

"I also thought another dessert may please you," said Erik. He stood behind the tree and waved his hands around it without touching the leaves.

At first nothing happened. Christine thought the illusion must have gone wrong. But then the leaves began to move. Small dots of orange began to peep from behind the foliage. The dots grew, and a moment later, the audience was looking at ripe oranges.

"Oh!" gasped Aunt Genevieve.

"That…can't be real," said Raoul, who had risen from his chair on the front row.

"I assure you, they're quite real." Erik plucked an orange from the tree and tossed it to Raoul. "Bon appétit, Viscount."

The other guests leaned towards Raoul, who was examining the orange. He sniffed it, then began to peel it.

"It's…really real," he said, in a tone somewhere between awe and disappointment.

The guests gasped in wonder. Half a dozen of them surged forward, towards the orange tree.

"Let me see!"

"I want to try an orange!"

Hands reached out towards the tree. They had only to grasp the oranges…

Erik flicked his wrist, and the entire tree exploded into a cloud of butterflies.

The guests shrieked. The butterflies were pink and blue and yellow and gold and they were everywhere. They landed on the carefully styled hair of the guests, on the rims of champagne glasses, on the backs of the chairs and the arms of the chandelier.

There was more shrieking.

"What the devil?" exclaimed Raoul, trying to shake a blue butterfly from his arm.

"Get them off me!" screamed Sorelli, dashing around the room with half a dozen butterflies on her tutu.

Erik stood nonchalantly by the piano. A big red butterfly was perched on his lapel like a great carnation.

Christine felt something land on her shoulder. She turned, and gently put out her hand.

Something blue drifted to the ground. She bent to pick it up.

Then she began to laugh. "They're just paper! Paper butterflies."

"So they are," said Gerard, examining one of the tiny creations. "How on earth…"

Relieved laughter rippled through the room. The guests applauded and collected the paper butterflies as souvenirs.

Erik bowed low. He caught Christine's eye and smiled.

2.

The evening was over and the guests were departing. Each of them thanked Raoul profusely at the door. Every one of them mentioned Erik's orange tree.

Christine noticed Raoul's smile grow more strained with each exchange.

When the final guests had departed, and Aunt Genevieve had retired upstairs, Raoul turned to the remaining Grand Music Hall representatives. Sorelli had already left, apparently eager to get back to her artist.

"Well," said Raoul. "I think we can all agree that was an unmitigated success. Everyone loved your orange tree, Erik."

Erik shrugged. "It was just a bit of drawing room whimsy. My regular illusions are much more impressive."

"That one certainly pleased my guests," said Raoul. He smiled at Christine. "You were wonderful."

"Thank you, Raoul."

"So, Viscount," said Gerard. "Do you think your friends will support our endeavours at the music hall?"

Raoul nodded. "Yes. I do. They were most impressed. And there's actually a proposal I would like to put to you."

"What sort of proposal?" asked Gerard.

"Would you all care to take a seat? I'll ring for some coffee."

Ten minutes later, the four of them were sitting in Raoul's parlour. A maid had brought coffee. Erik was tapping his foot in apparent boredom, clearly eager to get back to the Music Hall. Raoul ignored him.

"So," said Raoul. "My proposal."

"We're very eager to hear it," said Gerard.

"Very eager," said Erik. Christine shot him a glare.

Raoul sipped his coffee. Christine noticed his hands were shaking slightly.

"I was delighted to play the overture to my opera tonight," Raoul began. "And I was most impressed by your duet, and, of course, Erik's illusions. I thought, in return for my patronage of the Music Hall, we could perhaps work together?"

"What do you mean?" asked Gerard.

"I was thinking of adapting my opera so Christine and Erik could take the leading roles. It could feature magic and dance and other forms of variety, so it would appeal to your existing audiences as well as those in my own circle."

"That sounds fascinating," said Gerard.

"What do you think, Miss Daae?" asked Raoul.

Christine stared at Raoul. She felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her lungs, and with it her ability to speak. Beside her, Erik straightened in his seat, his shoulders growing tense.

"Miss Daae?" Raoul leaned forward, his forehead creased with concern.

"I…thought you were going back to Paris," she said at last.

Hurt flickered in Raoul's eyes. "That's what I had planned to do, but honestly I don't have very much to go back to. Do you think the Paris Opera would stage my work after…everything that happened?"

Christine dropped her gaze to her lap. "I suppose not."

There was a moment of silence.

"Well, I think it sounds wonderful!" exclaimed Gerard, with rather too much enthusiasm. "What's the plot?"

"The plot?" said Raoul.

"The story. Of your opera."

"Oh." Raoul looked away. "It's just a fairy tale. Loosely inspired by Mozart's Magic Flute. Love triumphing over evil, that sort of thing."

"It sounds most excellent," said Gerard. "I'm sure Erik and Christine will be delighted to participate."

Christine tried to crush the emotions which were warring inside her. This was Raoul. Her dear friend. He wanted her help. It would help the Music Hall. It could also help Erik, if he could be persuaded to perform. This would be a chance to launch his operatic career.

And yet so much had happened between Raoul and herself. She had hoped they could both move on with their lives. Could they really do that while she was singing his music?

"I do not wish to participate," said a dark voice beside her.

Startled, she looked at Erik, who had fixed Raoul with his fiercest stare.

"Oh," said Raoul. "That is…disappointing. Any particular reason?"

Erik was silent. He looked away. "I'm an illusionist, not an opera singer."

"You're also under contract to the Music Hall," said Gerard. "You have a duty…"

Erik's gaze snapped back to Gerard. He leapt to his feet, fists clenched.

"I have no duty! I'm not answerable to either of you, and neither is Miss Daae."

Christine reached for his sleeve. "Erik, please, it's all right…"

"It's not all right, Christine. Neither of us has a duty to perform the Viscount's work simply because he was snubbed by his stuck-up friends back in Paris."

Raoul had gone pale. "That's not what this is about at all…"

"I think it is," snarled Erik. "You dare to turn up here, uninvited, demanding that we perform your ridiculous vanity project? We were doing just fine before you showed up. The Music Hall doesn't need you, I don't need you, and Miss Daae certainly doesn't need you!"

"How…dare you?" stammered Raoul. "How dare you speak to me that way in my own house?"

"Erik," said Christine, appalled by his outburst. "I think you should apologise to Raoul."

Erik looked at her and blinked. "Why? Can't you see what's happening here?"

She glared at him. "I would thank you not to put words in my mouth, Erik. I can speak for myself."

"Then tell him! Tell him that you don't wish to perform."

Christine was silent.

"I'm so sorry, Viscount," said Gerard. He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. "I'm sure Erik means no offence. Artistic temperament, you know." He forced a laugh.

Erik turned his fiery gaze onto the impresario. "You don't get to apologise for me."

"Surely we can resolve this in a civilised manner?" said Raoul. "Sit down, Erik, have another glass of champagne."

"No, thank you," said Erik.

Christine took a breath. "Erik, Gerard, would you give the Viscount and I a few minutes alone?"

Erik's eyes widened. "But…"

"You're not my chaperone, Erik."

"Oh, very well!" Erik stalked out of the room. Gerard followed him, throwing an apologetic look at the Viscount, before closing the door softly behind him.

"Why are you here, Raoul?" asked Christine.

Raoul blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Why are you in London?"

Raoul looked uncomfortable. "I told you…I wished to visit my Aunt. And I was worried about you."

"You want a showcase for your music," said Christine. "You almost had that at the Opera House, and it was all taken away, wasn't it? It was taken away because of your association with me."

"Christine!" Raoul reached for her hand. She pulled it away. "I don't regret the time we spent together."

"It's all in the past, Raoul."

He took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. "It's true. I want to stage my work. I want you to sing it because there's no one better. I also wish to make things up to you. But if you don't want to perform my work, then please just be honest with me, and I'll leave."

Christine considered this. "You know there's no going back, don't you? We can never be what we were."

A tear glittered in Raoul's eye. But he nodded. "Of course."

"I can only sing your music if I know we both understand that. It would be too painful otherwise."

"Of course, of course."

"And you'll have to mend this rift with Erik."

"What? But he insulted me."

"He's very jealous of you."

"I beg your pardon? Why would he be jealous of me?" Raoul's eyes widened. "My God…does he…are you?"

"Would it matter to you if we were?" There was anger in her voice. "Is my association with Erik really so distasteful to you?"

Raoul did not reply.

"I need to know, Raoul. I need to know that you aren't going to constantly…grapple with each other. The way you speak to one another…it's exhausting. I'm tired, Raoul. I just want to sing. That's what I came to London to do. Do you understand?"

"But…"

She reached for his hand. "I know you think Erik is rough around the edges, and that he has, in Gerard's words, 'an artistic temperament'. But he's very dear to me. I hope you know me well enough, as a friend, to trust my ability to make my own decisions. If you still care about me at all, will you promise not to interfere?"

Raoul winced. "I'm sorry, Christine. I have no desire to… come between you. If Gerard stages my opera, my relationship with Erik will be purely professional. I give you my word."

Christine looked at Raoul for a long moment. Then she smiled and squeezed his hand.

"Thank you. But I must warn you that Erik may not feel the same way."

Raoul looked mildly insulted. "I'm quite sure I can handle your magician."

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading. Just a quick note about Erik's orange tree illusion. A fictionalised version of this can be seen in the film 'The Illusionist', but it was in fact a real trick, invented by 19th century French magician Robert-Houdin (who is actually referenced in Leroux's book: the Daroga compares Erik to Robert-Houdin at one point). I've portrayed a fantasy version here, because I like to think that Magician!Erik can do pretty much anything, but if you would like to see the real trick in action, it can be found on YouTube.