Meg arrived at the de Chagny's hotel at nine in the morning exactly. Standing outside, out of the way of the carriages that passed by, Meg stared up at the grand building, with its marble face and shiny windows and fabric canopy that shaded the chauffeurs and bellboys who lingered by its front door. For a moment, Meg feared that no one would appear, but then, as she squinted in the sunlight, a young couple emerged from the front doors of the hotel, chatting cheerfully. Raoul and Christine did not see Meg right away, and Meg had a moment to watch them - the easy way in which they walked, arm in arm; the simple beauty of Christine's burgundy dress and the tilt of Raoul's hat; the way how, even though years had passed and how things were irrevocably different, Christine and Raoul seemed to be the same. Having been faced with seemingly endless changes over the past years, Meg felt the comfort of something so familiar.
Christine spotted her. "Meg!" she called, running over and breaking Meg out of her trance by practically tackling her with a hug. Both of them laughed, and Meg held her friend tightly. "You look so beautiful!" Christine exclaimed, pulling back to look at Meg. "Look at you! You look like an American!"
"I'm deeply insulted," said Meg genially, turning to Raoul, who grinned, reaching out to hug Meg far more gently.
"It's good to see you again, Miss Giry," he said. "Christine is right, you look great."
"Thank you!" said Meg. "So do you two! Marriage is suiting you well."
Christine and Raoul smiled at each other. Christine said, "I can't believe it's you, Meg! Imagine what kind of divine providence brought us back together!"
"It is truly astounding," Meg agreed.
"You have to tell us all about your career," said Christine, taking Meg's arm. "Which way are we headed? I'm excited to see the diner you wrote me about."
Mr. and Mrs. Klitzing ran a small establishment in Manhattan. Mr. Klitzing had been cooking from a very young age, and he ran a well-oiled machine of a kitchen. They made scrambled eggs with chopped peppers and green onion, tiny pastries with sweet grape jelly inside soft, flaky bread, hot roast beef sandwiches with horseradish and swiss cheese, baked halibut and salmon with a creamy basil sauce, and, a popular favorite, roast chicken with perfectly cooked zucchini and yellow squash. Mrs. Klitzing cared little for cooking, but she enjoyed socializing with customers and keeping the black and white tiled floor perfectly spotless no matter how busy the diner was. And it was always busy; the diner's booths and tables and barstools were always full. It was Meg's favorite place in the city.
Mrs. Klitzing seated them in a booth by the window. Raoul sat next to Meg, with Christine across from them, and the Vicomtesse stared out the window, smiling brightly. Raoul took off his hat and set it next to Christine.
"What's good to eat here?" Raoul asked, picking up the menu and opening it eagerly.
"I always get the tomato basil soup," said Meg. "Every time."
"Hmm," said Raoul, reading the menu. "Christine, darling, they have hot cakes."
Her attention immediately caught, Christine opened the menu. "All the food we've had so far has been wonderful," she said distantly, scanning the menu.
"You're so positive, darling," said Raoul. "The food has been all right. Your standards must have been influenced by what they fed us on the ship."
"None of those posh restaurants you two can afford will have the really good American food," said Meg jokingly. "What you're hoping for, you'll find here."
"What's your favorite?" Christine asked.
"Tomato bisque." Meg did not open her menu; she sat back in her seat and looked out the window. "I'm not ashamed to say that I order it practically every time."
"But it's breakfast, Meg," said Christine, laughing.
"I stand by my statement," said Meg, smiling proudly.
Mrs. Klitzing returned to the booth with glasses of water. "You two must be from out of the country," she said in English with her warm German accent. "Are you friends of Miss Giry from France?"
Raoul and Christine looked at each other, wide-eyed.
"Yes," Meg began, "they-"
"No, no, I want to try," Raoul interrupted. He cleared his throat and smiled at the hostess (who patiently returned it). In English he said, "We are of France. Meg is our friend."
"And bienvenue," said Mrs. Klitzing cheerfully, nodding with approval. "What shall I get for you today? And Meg, don't bother, bitte, I already know what you want."
Christine and Raoul looked towards Meg, confused, and when she translated, they both burst out laughing. "I am learning English," Christine said, excited at the opportunity to use it. "I may try to order in English?"
Smiling at the innocent excitement of this French noblewoman, Mrs. Klitzing said, "By all means," gesturing to accentuate her meaning.
Slowly and carefully, Christine politely asked for her order of toast and fruit in practically faultless English.
"It's because you are a musician," Meg said, applauding.
Raoul beamed. "That's what I told her!"
Once they had ordered, Raoul and Christine continued to entertain Meg with displays of their English knowledge. Meg was impressed - both had made a considerable effort to be polite and interested visitors, a gesture rarely reciprocated by Americans in Europe. They went on to badger Meg with dozens of questions about her career, the theatre, her friends, her singing. The night before, Meg had lain awake for many hours, dreading the difficulty with which she might have to avoid mention of Erik. Surprisingly, however, she managed to circumvent the topic quite easily; they asked questions about Lily and Peter and seemed unaware of the admission.
Meg changed the subject when their food arrived, and Christine told Meg about the next few years she had spent singing at l'Opera Garnier, where she had been paid quite a great deal of money to return after the incident. Despite her modesty, Christine seemed proud to have obtained a reasonable sum of money in her own right, one that Raoul, by his own principles, did not lay claim to. He seemed equally proud, grinning throughout Christine's story and interjecting only the details that Christine missed. Meg insisted that they both try her soup, and both were very impressed. By the end of the meal, Meg could easily imagine that no time had passed at all, and they were all the innocent young adults they had been before Erik had decided to Monte Cristo his way into Christine's life. Raoul and Christine were responsible yet light-hearted; they invited Meg to go sight-seeing with them but Meg reminded them of her meeting following breakfast. After a several minute long debate between Raoul and Meg, during most of which Christine happily admonished them for bickering, Raoul picked up the tab, and soon Monsieur and Madame de Chagny stood up to say goodbye.
"I was so sorry to hear that we won't be able to see you perform," said Christine, hugging her friend. "Please let me know if you hear of any vacancies - any tickets that go on sale…"
"You'll be the first to know," said Meg, feeling a hint of guilt for lying to her friend. It was in Christine's best interest, she reminded herself.
"I'll write to you the second we arrive in the country," said Christine. "I'm sure it won't be terribly exciting for you, since you live here, but I'm sure it will be lovely!"
"Thank you for meeting us, Meg," said Raoul, shaking her hand. "I'm so glad that we found out you were here."
"So am I," said Meg.
"I suppose we ought to walk," said Raoul to Christine, running a hand through his hair. "It's such a lovely day, taking a carriage would be stuffy."
"I agree," said Christine. "Meg, aren't you headed out too?"
Meg had remained seated in the booth. "No, I've just got to take some notes before my meeting. But you two go! Enjoy yourselves," she said cheerfully, waving as they both said goodbye one more time and left the cafe, laughing as they reached the street and disappeared.
Letting out a sigh, Meg set her forehead on the table. Underneath, she checked her watch. It was five minutes to ten. Stupid, she was stupid, she should have given herself more time. There would be plenty of time before Erik would arrive, but Mr. Edwards was due shortly, and the last thing she needed was for Edwards to recognize the famous French diva at breakfast with Meg.
Mrs. Klitzing came by to pick up the dishes. "Still here, Marguerite?"
"I've got a meeting, and it will take place here," said Meg. "We will order food, Madame, and I'm sure Monsieur Barreau will tip generously."
"Ah, Mr. Barreau will be here? I'd better check that we have ginger tea," said Mrs. Klitzing genially. She smiled at Meg. "It must be nice for you to see those old friends of yours."
"It was wonderful," said Meg, and she looked up at the hostess. "Madame, if you do not mind, could you not mention that visit to the gentlemen who are on their way?"
Mrs. Klitzing raised her eyes, but she said, "Of course, Meg."
The bell rang as the door to the diner opened, and Meg turned to see Edwards, hat in hand, smiling at Mrs. Klitzing as she waved to him. Edwards shook Meg's hand and sat down across from her. "I love this place," he said, looking around.
"Me, too. How have you been, Monsieur?"
"Quite well," he said, opening his menu without looking at it. "It's been a calm weekend. My wife is expecting our first child, and I enjoyed spending time with her."
"That's wonderful," said Meg, smiling. "Congratulations."
"Thank you! I'm terrified," said Edwards, pulling a face. "Don't get me wrong, I'm excited as all hell - pardon my French - but I sure won't know what I'm doing."
"I have no children, so unfortunately I cannot offer you any advice," said Meg. "But I suppose hundreds of thousands of people have had children and most of them have turned out all right."
"The parents, or the children?"
Meg shrugged.
"Monsieur Barreau was very generous to give us tickets for this weekend," said Edwards, glancing out the window as if Erik might appear at any second. "I am not sure how to thank him. It was rather unexpected."
"I know he would appreciate questions that did not focus on matters of his personal history," said Meg lightly. "He is a rather private person."
"A respectable thing to be," said Edwards thoughtfully.
"He should be here very soon, Mr. Edwards," said Meg, sensing his anxiety.
"I am not worried," said Edwards, smiling. "And please call me Ernie."
"I will if you call me Meg."
"Ah, but one of us is a rising star and the other is not," he said.
"Then please remember me when you are famous."
They both laughed. "All right, then, Meg," he said. "You win."
A minute or two later - they debated their favorite dishes of Mr. Klitzing's - the bell on the door rung again, and Meg said, "That'll be Erik!"
However, when she turned, she instead saw Raoul de Chagny, hurrying to their booth. "I'm so sorry," he said, out of breath, nodding to Edwards. "I forgot my hat. It's on that seat, there, sir." He spoke in French, but Edwards looked down at the seat and understood, holding Raoul's hat up to him.
"Thank you," said Raoul in English. He grinned at Meg and returned to his native language. "It's a wonder I haven't ever gotten horribly lost somewhere!"
Meg gripped the edge of the table, forcing herself to smile and internally willing Raoul to leave quickly. "It truly is! Is Christine waiting for you?"
"Yes, but you know how she is," said Raoul. "There was a street vendor selling small pieces made of glass, and they turned out to be from Sweden, so naturally Christine struck up a conversation. I'm sure I'll have to wait for her by the time I return," he added.
"Nonetheless," said Meg, "Hurry! Better get on your way!"
Unaware of Meg's legitimate concern, Raoul laughed, putting on his hat and turning towards the exit. "Meg, in a city like this, on a day so beautiful, I intend to take all the time in the world!"
He took one step before stopping in his tracks. Meg twisted around to see Erik, standing a few feet away, the door only just swinging shut behind him. The two men stared at each other, completely silent. Erik's expression showed only surprise. Raoul's face was out of view, but Meg saw his hands begin to shake.
"What's happening?" whispered Edwards.
"Oh," said Raoul quietly. "Monsieur. I… it's… quite a lovely day, isn't it?"
Inscrutably, Erik eyed Raoul. "Very much so."
Raoul glanced back at Meg, fear and confusion in his eyes. "I'd best be going."
Erik nodded curtly, stepping aside to let the other man pass, freezing completely as he went by. As they watched, Raoul left the restaurant almost mechanically, his somber manner a dramatic change from earlier that morning.
Wide-eyed, Meg looked back towards Erik. "He… he wasn't supposed to be here," she said shakily. "They left, I thought…"
He looked back at her uneasily.
"Erik, whatever you're thinking, that this was a trap of some kind, it isn't true," she said.
"I don't think it was a trap," he said.
"Come sit down, please," Meg insisted, sliding over in the booth.
Glancing around the restaurant, Erik slowly made his way to the booth, sinking down into the seat. Regarding Edwards as if he couldn't remember why the journalist was present, he said to Meg, in French, "They know I'm alive. They'll tell the police. I'll be killed."
"I don't think they will," said Meg.
"You don't know that."
"Please stay calm," said Meg.
"This is calm. I'm calm," said Erik. "I'm leaving." He said to Edwards, "I apologize, Mr. Edwards, but I must take leave of you. I'll let Mrs. Klitzing know that I will pay for your lunch and she will sort it out."
"Erik, why are you leaving?" Meg protested.
"In case he comes back again," said Erik. "Or worse, she does. No, don't - I won't be comfortable here. I'm going home."
"Just be safe," said Meg, defeated.
Without answering, Erik hurried to the back of the restaurant, where Meg knew a back door would deposit him into the alleyway outside.
"Is it me?" said Edwards.
"Pardon?" Meg asked.
"Am I the problem?" said Edwards, staring in the direction Erik had gone. "Two times I've met the man, and two times he immediately fled."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Meg, feeling a wave of exhaustion. She looked out the window. "He can be moody. Unpredictable. If he bore a grudge against you, believe me, you would have no doubt about it."
"That isn't particularly comforting," said Edwards.
Meg sighed. "I suppose not."
As she stared into the bustling city outside, one face caught Meg's eye: Christine de Chagny, staring at the restaurant from across the street with an expression of concern and confusion. Meg watched detachedly as Christine's gaze stretched up towards the roof of the building, and then she turned, disappearing back into the crowd.
Thanks for your patience with the longer wait for this chapter! This chapter was sponsored by Meg's time management skills.
