Chapter 14

And I loved you, but what, then,

what response did I find

in your heart? Only severity!

Dear God, my blood runs cold

Whenever I recall that icy look…

-Eugene Onegin, Act II

It was the first time Christine had been properly kissed. All this time, she had expected it would be something thrilling. But all she was aware of was a vague sense of disappointment. Was this all? It wasn't that Raoul did anything wrong. He clearly knew what he was doing - it seemed he had had more practice in the intervening years than she had. His lips were gentle, careful, on hers. She felt safe in his arms. But where was the fire everyone spoke of?

Most of all, suddenly she somehow felt terribly lonely - more lonely even than if she had been walking back to her appartement by herself in the cold. She had never felt farther from him that she did at this moment. Never had it been so apparent to her that he hadn't the slightest idea what went on in her heart.

For all the while, she was thinking of Erik.

Eventually, the carriage turned up a steep hill. The sudden motion jilted her away from Raoul.

He smiled blissfully at her, holding her hand between his. She had hoped he would be as disappointed by the kiss as she had been, but clearly that was not the case - evidently he had enjoyed it far more than she had.

"Christine, may one dare ask - does this mean you've made up your mind?" he asked in a soft voice, looking eagerly into her face.

What? Christine stared at him in panic. She hadn't imagined for a moment - if she had thought at all - that he would attach so much significance to a kiss.

Surely a man like him - wealthy, powerful, handsome - would have had a long line of beautiful, glamorous, sophisticated mistresses. The sort of women who collected wealthy lovers like trophies, whose kisses meant nothing.

She had a few split seconds to decide what to say.

The sensible thing to do - indeed, the only rational thing - was to say yes.

But she could not.

Made up my mind? She wanted to cry. How can I love you? I love Erik! How can you not see it written all over me? I am in love with the masked lunatic who has been terrorizing the Opéra, and he will never, never love me back... She had never felt so lost in all her life.

"No," she managed at last. "I... I have not."

"Why... But... I didn't think..." Raoul raked a hand through his handsome head of blond hair, looking shaken. "Christine, I know the way of the world, but... I did not imagine you would do something like this unless... unless you'd quite made up your mind you were going to marry me! Unless we were practically engaged!"

Christine stared at him in horror. What have I done? Oh, you poor, poor boy! You took me for a better woman than I am... "I… I'm so terribly sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have… Oh, forgive me. I am fond of you-"

"Fond of me?"

"...But... I did not mean for… this to happen. It was simply an... an accident."

"Oh," he said simply, his eyes wide with shock.

"I... I'm so dreadfully sorry!" she cried.

"No… forgive me," he said, though he looked devastated. He slumped back in his seat. "I can see I have been utterly presumptuous. I should not have taken advantage of you."

"Oh, Raoul… You did nothing of the sort."

"Please do not imagine that I invited you into the carriage for the purpose of seducing you," he said.

Christine almost laughed. "I know you did not."

Raoul suddenly reached up and rapped on the carriage roof. The horse clattered to a halt.

Raoul sprang out of the carriage before it had ceased moving. "Take Mademoiselle where she needs to go and then drive home," he called up to Martin.

Christine blinked. "What?"

"I shall find a cab." Raoul shut the door.

"No, Raoul, wait!"

"I... I wish you a pleasant evening," he said to her. She could just hear his voice through a crack in the window. It was shaking with emotion.

"Oh, Raoul, don't speak like that," she pleaded. "As though we were strangers. As though..."

But he was gone. He'd plunged away into the darkness.

They saw each other around the opera house from time to time over the next few days, but he did not say a word to her about the matter. Christine didn't have a chance to get him by himself.

She wasn't sure if she was glad about that or not.

When she did hear about it again, it was, to her surprise, from another source entirely.

When she came through the artists' entrance of the Opéra two days later - she knew great divas like La Carlotta could parade in through the grand salon if they wished, and it would have been easier, but she preferred not to test her status - she was immediately cornered by an angry-looking Firmin.

"Mademoiselle," he said, stepping in front of her, "I would speak with you." He spat out the words with contempt.

Christine looked at him in surprise. He was always irritable but this was the first occasion in a long time when his ire had been directed specifically at her. She judged it best to appear meek and subordinate. "What would you like to say, Monsieur?"

"I don't have time to mince words," he said, seizing her by the arm and pulling her into a corner. Lowering his voice, he spat at her, "I have been informed that the Vicomte de Chagny may be leaving."

Christine could not have been more astonished. "What? Leaving the Opéra?"

"Leaving France." His moustache bristled, and he spat out the words. "For quite some time, if I am correctly informed."

"Oh, I am... sure it is not true," she said, though her voice betrayed to both of them that she was not sure at all. "The last I heard, he certainly planned to remain in the city for the foreseeable future."

"Well, his plans, it appears, have changed. And a rumor has reached my ears that it is because of you."

Christine tried not to squirm. "I do not see how that could be. What rumor have you heard?"

"What have you done to upset him?" Firmin demanded.

What did he know? She decided the best approach was to seemed shocked and outraged. "I beg your pardon! I... nothing. Isn't a young man free to come and go as he pleases? Why must this have anything to do with me?" She almost winced - she didn't even sound convincing to herself. Where was Christine Daae, the noted actress? She couldn't have fooled a child right now.

Firmin narrowed his eyes. "Mademoiselle, you are in a precarious position."

"I, er, I am afraid don't understand," Christine stammered awkwardly.

"Oh, don't be demure," he scoffed. "Everyone knows you are the reason he patronizes the Opéra."

"With respect, Monsieur, that cannot be true. He and his parents decided to become the patrons before he ever saw me."

"Perhaps that was true before," Firmin said. "But he gives us a great deal more money now because of you; everyone knows that - it's no secret."

"Well, the Comte and Comtesse de Chagny are where the real money is, and Raoul's leaving the country might make them more likely to favor us," she said. "They can't be happy with the idea of their son's courting a Swedish singer. Perhaps they are the ones who are sending him away, if indeed he is going - which I am not convinced, based on what you have told me, that he is."

"Do not interrupt me," Firmin snapped. "You're not supposed to be clever, Daae. You're supposed to look ornamental and make us money. And right now, the main reason you are doing both of those things is because of the Vicomte." He leaned toward her and lowered his voice still further. "I warn you now. We need his patronage far more than we need you, or any of your ridiculous little friends, for that matter. Whatever you may choose to deny... don't do anything to upset him. Do you understand me?"

And he walked away, leaving Christine with a distinct chill.

She was in an agony of anxiety until she next saw Raoul - which, as it happened, was later that afternoon, in the auditorium.

"Christine!" he cried, running up to the stage. He'd dispensed for once with the usual greetings.

"Am I Christine again?" she said in a low voice, surprised but pleased. "Not 'Mademoiselle'?"

"If you want to be," he said, adopting her quiet tone.

"I do," she said. "I don't want us to talk as if we were merely acquaintances."

She wanted to ask about what Firmin had said, but before she could, he spoke.

"Well," he said, "I have a piece of news."

"News?" She braced herself.

"I am going on a naval voyage to the Arctic," he announced. "To the North Pole, as a matter of fact."

"The North Pole?" Christine cried. She had known he was probably going away, admittedly - but she had imagined it would be to Austria or Italy or somewhere of the kind. This was unbelievable. This was absurd.

"Yes." Raoul squared his shoulders.

"But you hate the cold!"

"It is a great honor to have been selected." Raoul looked as though he were trying to convince himself. "It is a tremendous undertaking."

"But-"

"-This could be the making of my career, you know. A chance to prove myself - to not always have people saying I've only done well because of who my father is."

"I can understand that," Christine said quietly.

"Thank you."

"Er- How long would you be gone?"

"Several months at least." His voice changed, adopting a note of urgency. "And Christine, I-"

Oh, dear. Christine wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he was going to say. "-When does the ship depart?" she asked quickly.

"This week."

"This week?" Christine's mind whirled. This was all happening so quickly.

"Yes," Raoul said, "But I wanted to-"

Oh, no. "-Is there... Is there, er, any chance you would... see Sweden on your journey?" she asked, fumbling for things to say.

"-No, alas-"

"-Yes, I suppose it would be out of your way-"

"-But we will make port in Norway-"

"-Oh, how delightful!" she exclaimed, a little too brightly. "My father's family hailed from there originally, you know."

"Yes, I remember," he said gently, "But that isn't-"

"-You will probably stop in Alesund, of course. I am glad; the scenery is supposed to be spectacular," she prattled anxiously. "I suppose Oslo is too far out of your way, but that's of no importance; after all, what is there to see in Oslo, really?" She laughed awkwardly.

"-You aren't giving me a chance to say what I am trying to tell you," Raoul said gently.

Christine stopped, defeated. "Oh?"

"It will be a perilous voyage," he said solemnly.

"Oh, Raoul-"

"-Christine, I know you do did not want to speak of my feelings any longer, but I may perish-"

"-Oh, Raoul!" she cried, distraught. "That isn't fair! You can't use that against me!"

"I don't mean to. All I mean to say is this: Don't make me go without hope," he said simply. "That is all. If you are going to reject me altogether, at least please wait until I am safely returned. And if I do not, then well, I will have died a happy man."

"I-"

"-Please, don't say yes or no. Just don't say anything on the matter," he pleaded. "You know my feelings. Take some time to… think it over. Perhaps you may come to a different view."

Christine's mind whirled. She ought to reject him outright. It was only fair. But what was the point? It wasn't as though she was engaged to anyone else. Erik was certainly never going to marry her. He would never even look at her. And the thought of breaking Raoul's heart was unbearable. She swallowed. "Very well. I... was merely going to wish you a safe journey," she said, trying to smile.

Raoul's face took on a look of understanding and infinite gratitude. "Thank you. Thank you." He kissed her hand and started to turn away.

"Raoul…" He stopped and half turned round.

"Yes?"

"Monsieur Firmin said you might not patronize the Opéra anymore," she said anxiously.

He stared at her. "Whatever made him think that?"

"I am sure I don't know."

"Can't you guess? Use your imagination. I know you have heard the rumors." This was uncharacteristically harsh of him, but she could hardly blame him under the circumstances.

"Yes," she said sheepishly.

"And you believed it?" he said, looking annoyed. "You believed I would take revenge on you for some perceived slight, and in so petty a way as that?"

"No… but I'm not sure what to believe anymore," she said quietly. "Nothing is as I think it is. I feel as though the whole world is coming apart at the seams."

"How very enigmatic of you," he said irritably. "Well, you can believe this: Of course I shall continue supporting the Opéra. You cannot imagine me so petty as to withdraw my patronage simply because of a … personal matter."

"Thank you," she said, truly moved.

"Don't thank me. It was not because of you," he said, cutting to the chase. "You are not the whole opera company, you know. There are other lives here which matter besides your own."

"Don't be disingenuous," she said angrily. "As you said yourself, rumors are everywhere - everyone knows you have been more generous to this company since you found out I was employed here."

"Ah, so you have been aware of it all this time? Well, you certainly played it masterfully, didn't you?"

"Oh, that is unfair!-"

"-You would make a keen businessman!" he snapped.

"You are beginning to sound like La Carlotta. I am not what you take me for," she said miserably. "Please believe me. I am not some diamond-scrunching little…" She stopped. "Listen to me. I don't want you to pay for my lessons anymore. I am sorry I ever accepted - it was unfair of me, and I shall pay you back just as soon as I-"

"-What?" he said irritably. "You can't afford Pauline Viardot-García."

"I know." Christine's heart sank as she thought of this yet again. How in Heaven's name was she ever to find an instructor now?

"But you have only just begun with her!" he cried.

"I know." This was still more depressing. She so much wanted Pauline to respect her. "I cannot continue studying with her."

"And how do you suppose this makes me look?"

"I am sorry," she said.

"I shall keep paying her," he said stubbornly.

"You may if you wish - but I shall not go. I am sorry."

"How could you continue at the Opéra without training?" he said. "Do you mean to give up singing?"

"Not as long as I can help it."

"You shall go back to the great Monsieur Masson, I suppose!" he said irritably.

"No, I certainly will not be doing that," she almost laughed. If only he knew!

"You said you couldn't find anyone affordable. How do you suppose your career would progress?"

"I don't know! And is that really of any concern to you?" she said temperamentally. "You wanted to take me off the stage."

"Yes, perhaps - but respectably, not…"

"…You make it sound as though I would end up on the streets. It is not so desperate as that. I shall find a place in a shop or something." She tried not to be overwhelmed by despair at the thought of living an ordinary life.

"Well, at least that is more respectable than going about onstage in trousers, I suppose," he said glumly, presumably referring to her turn as Siebel in Faust.

No, I can never be his, Christine thought. He will never understand.

He swallowed.

There was an awkward, painful silence.

"Let us not part on bad terms," he said abruptly.

"Yes," she said, coming round. "Thank you."

He nodded stiffly. "Very well, then. I suppose I must say goodbye."

"I wish you the very best and safest of journeys," she said. "And all the happiness in the world. Truly."

"Thank you," Raoul said sadly. "And you."

Unable to manage any more, he simply kissed her hand and turned to go.

Christine watched him walk away, her mind brimming with things she was sure she should have said, but could not put into words.

Erik's heartbroken rage at the thought of the Vicomte carrying off Christine overcame his fear of speaking to her again. He could not bear to face her alone, however, so he decided to enlist Meg's help. He'd made a promise to Madame Giry that he would not drag her daughter into their associations. But he was too afraid, too ashamed, to tell Madame Giry what he'd done. He could not bear for her to learn what a mess he'd made of things. How he'd hurt Christine after she'd done him the immeasurable honor of saying he deserved a chance with her.

It took some time. Wherever Meg went, Christine was there too.

At last, however, one day the dancer broke a pointe-shoe ribbon and went back to the rehearsal-rooms by herself to get a fresh one. When she emerged into one of the deserted back corridors of the opera house, he stole in front of her, blocking her path.

She let out a little yelp of surprise and her hand went to the dagger concealed in the sash of her tutu. Then - "Oh. It is you."

"Forgive me; I do not wish to frighten you," he said.

She squared her shoulders, looking embarrassed by her outburst. "I'm not frightened of you, Erik or whatever your name really is," she said under her breath, although she had taken a step back. "As a matter of fact, I am glad you are here - I shall finally tell you what I think of you."

"Erik?" he said, backing away slightly in turn. "I don't know who you mean."

"Don't try that nonsense with me," Meg said, and Erik saw a hint of Madame Giry in the steely look she gave him. "Christine has told me who you are. And she has told me what you said to her the other night, you-"

"-But you haven't told the police about me?" he said in surprise.

"I don't have any evidence to give them," she pointed out logically. "But yes, even if I did, I wouldn't tell them."

He could see by her expression that she meant it. "Thank you," he said in surprise.

"Do not thank me," she said sharply. "It isn't for your sake."

"Then whose? No one else would care."

"Christine's, of course, you miserable imbecile!" she cried. "If you were sent to prison she would be distraught."

"Why?" he asked, utterly bewildered.

Meg stared at him. "Because she was - in love with you!" she cried. "I was certainly under the impression that she made that perfectly clear to you - although it seems she is not worthy of you, oh exalted one!"

He looked at her in surprise. "What? No. She never loved me. She was merely..."

"Do you suppose she was lying, then?" Meg cried. "You do not know her at all! Christine Daae would never lie about such a thing!"

Erik stared at her, realizing with astonishment that it was true.

If Christine would lie to a man about her affections, then she was not the generous, principled woman he thought. There was no choice but to believe she had been telling the truth - that some incomprehensible miracle had taken place and Christine truly did love him somehow.

The only other alternative was to give up his exalted view of her. And that was impossible. If Christine Daae was not good and kind and principled, then the whole world would be senseless, pointless - he might as well not even be alive.

She'd loved him. Christine. Regret fell upon him like a vicious animal, ripping him to shreds, drinking his blood, swallowing him whole. He'd had love in his hands - the love of the one creature on earth he worshipped - and he'd thrown it away. This was more cruel than never having had it at all. And yet, in the midst of all that regret, there was something else. A glimmer of hope. By far the most dangerous, the most treacherous thing in Pandora's box.

"Why are you talking to me?" Meg said impatiently, jolting him back to the present.

He shook himself out of his stupor. "I wondered if you might give her a message for me."

"You know where to find her. I'm not your errand boy."

"It is merely an apology. I merely wish to say that I am sorry I wounded her feelings... that I was wrong to speak to her the way I did."

"I don't disagree with any of that - but why not tell her yourself?"

He swallowed.

"Oh," Meg said, suddenly understanding. "You're too afraid!"

"I am nothing of the kind!" he said angrily.

"Why... you are still in love with her, aren't you?" she said, staring at him in astonishment.

"I have never harbored any improper feelings toward her. My sentiments with regard to her are purely those of-"

"-I didn't accuse you of anything improper," Meg said. "I just said you're in love with her. Don't try to deny it. It's obvious. You've been giving her lessons for free all this time... you..."

But it would be improper for me to love her... Erik shook his head. He was beginning to lose the thread of this conversation.

"And you didn't know she really loved you..." Meg said.

"I had not the faintest idea," he said weakly. "I certainly would never have spoken the way I did..."

"You really thought she was lying to you..."

"'Yes," he said miserably.

"Well, I am sorry for you, but as far as I am concerned, you have lost your chance," she said.

"I never had any intention of-"

"-If you cannot have faith in her, then how could you two ever have been happy together, anyway?" she said. "I say she is better off without you."

"I know she is better off without me! For God's sake, I have always known that! I tell you, I do not want anything from her!" Erik cried. "I do not want to see her again. Only tell her that I did not mean the things I said, and I did not intend to wound her. And I shall not trouble you - or her - again." As he said it, he felt his heart would rip open. To give up all hope of ever being with her... the thought was agony! But how could he ever ask for her love after the way he had treated her? Indeed, even were it not for that - how could he ever have been Christine's lover? The very idea was absurd. It was every way impossible. He had known that all along. She was far too good for him. He could not let her throw herself away on the likes of him. And yet, he could not stop hoping... Even now he could not stop hoping.

Meg pursed her lips. "Very well, then," she said at last.

"Thank you." Erik had a sudden inspiration. "Oh, and… there is one other thing. Which I will bring to you. Please."

Meg drew back. "Bring to me? Where? I can't be caught meeting with the Phantom. I'm sticking my neck out enough as it is, talking with you now."

"I shall find you; it is better that way."

"Oh, excellent," she said sarcastically. "A charming thought, knowing phantoms might jump out at me from behind every corner."

He grinned darkly. "I cannot have you telling the police a place where they can find me."

She looked at him in surprise. "I told you I wouldn't denounce you."

He shrugged. "I don't expect anything from you."

Meg suddenly looked sad. "You don't trust anyone, do you?" she said almost gently.

"No."

"Oh, very well," Meg sighed at last. "I will tell her. If only to make you stop staring at me with that stupid look on that masked face of yours. It's beginning to run on my beans." *

He was so happy he scarcely registered the insults. He wanted to dance about the room. "I am grateful," he said, the words strange in his mouth, not because he was ungrateful by nature, but because he was so unused to people doing favors for him.

"Never mind that," she said, and then, "Why do you wear a mask, anyway? Do you ever take it off?"

"Never mind that." He stood up straighter. "I shan't keep you here any longer."

Meg rolled her eyes. "You didn't 'keep' me here. I remained because I wanted to," she said stubbornly. "Like I said, I'm not afraid of you." And she turned and strode away.

Erik stood there for a long moment after she was gone. Too long. It was dangerous to remain so long in one place, especially out in the open where anyone could stumble across him. But his mind was far too preoccupied to think of such matters.

It was clear Meg had no high opinion of him. Even he could see that. But nonetheless he couldn't help feeling encouraged. He had some link to Christine again, however tenuous. For someone like him, who was accustomed to surviving on the few scant morsels of happiness that occasionally fell in his path, it was more than enough for now.

He went to one of the hidden doors in the opera house walls that opened onto the utility passages beyond, slipped through like a shadow, and again became invisible.

And yet, somehow he felt more a part of the world than he had in days.

End of Chapter 14

* French idiom for "get on my nerves". I love this language so, so much.