The idea of leaving France soon managed to take over nearly every single one of Erik's thoughts.
It had not been idle chit-chat to talk of leaving and moving to Trieste. He had meant it when he told Arabella he felt he could live a new life outside of the house beyond the lake. He wanted away from the place of his self-imposed exile. He wanted away from any and all temptations of Christine. He knew himself to be weak when it came to the soprano, after all, and he deeply loved his wife; so why stay where temptation taunted him on a daily basis?
Arabella also had not been making idle decisions. She was adamant that while they slowly prepared for the move, they attend opera's when Christine performed. Erik was almost certain this would prove disastrous in so many ways – even if he did manage to avoid making any direct contact with her again.
How was he supposed to be his own personal Angel of Music behind him when she was there – night after night – on the stage he had helped to build? He didn't know … but hearing her sing certainly brought him a joy that Arabella had been absolutely right about. It was enough to overshadow … everything else he wanted to deny existed. It didn't wipe away what other emotions he still suffered… but those began to not matter anymore.
He sent away for information about Trieste. He wanted to know what enterprises existed there; what competition would exist for him if he went to start a new architectural business of any kind. Perhaps there would simply be too much competition… and he would need to select a different area of expertise. There was always stone masonry … technical drafting… Being a lead architect – although preferable – was not absolutely necessary. It would mean a poorer income than he would like … but they could exist like that for a time.
While they waited for the information, Erik began to very slowly and inexorably shut up the house beyond the lake. He went passage by passage and trap by trap. In the Opera House itself, he blocked off Christine's mirror first… making it so that there truly was nothing but a wall behind it on a day the Opera was closed for a thorough monthly cleaning. Certain paths would remain open until the days before they left – so they could come and go more easily. But all of the traps were dismantled – all but those closest to the actual catacombs. After all; people were always living in or getting lost in the labyrinthine crypt beneath the city. He could not risk someone accidentally coming upon his home while he still resided there with his wife.
He surprised Arabella on the day he decided to gather all of Christine's items – including anything left lying about that might remind him of her by accident – and wall it away with the rest of his shrine. Even that must be sealed – yes. It was something he'd spoken of, but had yet to actually attempt doing. He was terrified of the emotion that might overwhelm him … But Arabella helped him. She stayed by his side the entire time, handing him items as he requested them with the utmost reverence. She respected what feelings he had left of the soprano… and when it was over he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
"Bella…" he murmured against her mouth; although it was a simple and halfway chaste kiss. His forehead pressed lightly into hers just so he could enjoy the physical contact. "…We should have a holiday I the country before leaving France…"
"What?" she laughed, surprised by this suggestion. "What do you mean, a holiday? We have nothing to do but spend time with each other every single day."
"Yes… but not out of doors and in the sunlight." He explained. "And, once we are in Trieste I suspect a great deal of my time will be taken up by whatever employment I might find or make for myself - for a long while at least. We will not be able to take holiday for some time… and I am getting no younger. And you, my gypsy princess … You need the fresh air and the sunlight. With the weather being so cold all of the time, I haven't brought you above for anything other than errands since that night in the Bois de Vincennes. You deserve a holiday… We could go to the Carmague… The marshlands are wonderful – if you can withstand the mosquitoes. And even they are only a true harassment at dawn and dusk!"
Arabella watched him with such bemusement that he began to shift a little nervously.
"You would like to see the horses, and the flamingos, wouldn't you? I don't know if you've ever seen a flamingo, before … have you?"
She continued to stare up at him without responding – clearly enjoying his boyish discomfort and doing absolutely nothing to alleviate it.
"What do you think?" he finally demanded, feeling childishly sullen at her silence. "Stop staring at me like an amusing juggler, and tell me!"
Giggling, Arabella tightened her arms around him.
"The Carmuge is along a shoreline, is it not?" she asked.
"Yes…" He tilted his head, eyeing her a little mistrustfully – like a bird would. "… Why?"
"I have not ridden a horse since I was a girl." She explained. "Yet I have seen many people ride their horses on a beach and even through the water… I have seen fires burning strange colors and seen sand flying as people danced along them..."
"But … never for yourself?" he asked curiously.
"No… not for myself. We usually passed through such areas too quickly. Some people cannot handle the strength of the wind that can come off of the sea… I was not one of them; but several people in my tribe were. We only went to the beach in Spain for the horse racing… otherwise we tended to stay away. There was always a good trade there during the races."
"Well I cannot promise you a horse all your own to ride on the beach." Erik found himself chuckling, sagging in relief. "But all other things I can offer you! So … does the idea please you?"
"Did you really doubt that it would?" she challenged, brushing her cheek against his.
Erik smiled, kissing her briefly once more before clearing his throat and detaching himself.
"I almost forgot … I wanted to run some errands before the shops closed. Why don't you take the opportunity to have a long, quiet bath? I can meet you in Box Five during the Opera…"
"Running errands?" Arabella blinds in surprise. "Erik … it's almost suppertime. I am making a stuffed cabbage."
"Then I will try to hurry." He promised; again kissing her forehead. He found he could never kiss her enough. "Besides, you have not actually started cooking yet. You have been far too busy helping me out here. But I do need to get this done. I need to place orders … make certain I receive the products I want before we leave. I will meet you here if you want just as soon as I can. We can even miss the beginning of the Opera. It is only Consi Fan Tutte. Even Christine cannot make me like something so frivolous and cruel… I do not find humor in a plot tricking loyal women into affairs."
"We agreed you would go to all of her operas until we leave." Arabella reminded him.
"Then be ready when I … You know, I think I will buy some flowers to sneak into her room. I am certain I can find a way, even with the mirror passage no longer being an option. One bouquet to applaud all her performances for the rest of her life … that doesn't sound ridiculous, does it?"
"Not if you can find a way to give it to her without being discovered." Arabella sighed. "You just cannot help yourself – can you?"
"I suppose not. But have no fear… your bouquet will be five times as beautiful. Now … you'll still have plenty of time for a bath. I know how much you like your baths… Should I bring you some rose petals to scent it?"
"You know how I feel about the scent of roses." Arabella smiled at him indulgently; shoving lightly at his chest. "Go on … Do not be late to eat. Unlike you, I like to be in my seat when the curtain goes up."
Erik laughed as he made his way to the boat.
His arrangements did not take overly long. He made one stop at the seamstress' shop where Arabella had gotten all of her clothing thus far, then at a jewelry and watch shop. There was little time to browse – given the time of day – but all he needed was to hand the design in his pocket over to the shop keep and explain what materials he wished used. Finally he could make his way to the florist shop.
For Christine he purchased a bouquet of thirteen white roses. Flowers had a language. Eve if she never guessed who the bouquet was from, he was certain she would understand the message. He wanted each white rose to be beyond perfect – and selecting each blossom by hand was the most time consuming errand of the evening. Only once it was put together did he find a bouquet for Arabella – something that was done more hastily but with no less thought behind it.
First he selected the roses … Yellow, pink, and of course dark red. Then he selected Yarrow and Amaryllis … knowing that the message might be lost on Arabella and that it was most likely far too much of the same message… but he did not care. The white roses for Christine meant nothing but an acknowledgement of how he thought of her as pure and perfect … and to exemplify his desire to apologize for all he'd made her endure because of him. Arabella though deserved to know the love, desire, and devotion he felt for her. Each flower, each color, had its' own special meaning. Most of them spoke of some form of love … but his devotion and desire were far too obvious for him to neglect acknowledging those aspects of his love.
When he returned home with the flowers, he was delighted by Arabella's reaction. She was enthralled by the amaryllis and yarrow, and seemed to take particular enjoyment in the yellow roses. She wasted no time in ruining the careful arrangement by plucking out one of the yellow blossoms and trimming off the thorns so that she could weave it into her hair.
"Do you think I should wear my yellow dress, or is that too much yellow?" she asked him curiously. "There is that pretty cornflower blue…"
"Ma belle, no one is going to see you to show approval or disdain but me." He grinned. "Wear what pleases you best… I will think you beautiful regardless. You know that!"
After their supper, Erik walked Arabella silently up through the passages that still exsted. It was never comfortable – taking ladders in some areas just to make the journey. Arabella's clothes would likely be a little dusty; as would his own. But, since no one would see them and it would be dark, he was not worried about that. He was more concerned with the bouquet of white roses.… He still had not decided how he was supposed to get them to Christine. He certainly couldn't leave them in Box Five without giving away his presence … in spite of having purchased the box 'legitimately' for several weeks on end.
The performance was perfectly adequate; but even Arabella found herself bored. Usually he could find ways to keep her interested in the score or the libretto… but Erik was simply too displeased with the story. A story about two engaged men who take a bet from a third party saying their women will be unfaithful … and then pretend to leave only to return disguised as foreigners to seduce their fiancés. They even marry the women in disguise. Erik thought it intensely unfair to paint women as so fickle when it was the fault of the men that their fiancés had married them in a false wedding… especially when all was forgiven and the whole plot was pointless.
"I will take the roses." Arabella offered when the performance was over. "Christine has never seen me. I will tell her the flowers are from my family as a whole…"
She hesitated at the door to box five as he opened the hollow column that would allow him to hide from view.
"Unless… you want me to tell her they are from you."
"No, Bella." Erik sighed in frustration. "Please … stop testing me."
"I'm not trying to-"
"-Yes – you are." Erik lifted a hand to stop her protest. "Bella, I love you. Christine believes me dead, and I wish it to stay that way. Tell her you were paid to bring the roses by a stranger – nothing more. Surely plenty of men who are afraid of crossing the Vicomte will be sending her flowers anonymously."
Arabella watched him a long moment, and when she nodded he finally closed the column.
"I will wait for you here."
He was waiting nearly a half hour; and it proved entirely claustrophobic and worrying while he waited in the secret passage beside a ladder. Most of the noise from a leaving audience had faded before he heard the door open. Yet Arabella made no attempt to call to him at first. He found himself shifting anxiously; wondering if it was Arabella in Box Five. He was almost prepared to flee just to be safe when he finally heard a gentle knock on the false marble between them.
"Erik…"
"Bella…" He sighed in relief, triggering the door so that he could step out and take her shoulders. He instantly disliked the solemnity in her eyes. "What's the matter? What took you so long?"
"I…" Arabella winced, hesitating. "I overheard something … Christine … she will not be performing again for a time."
"What?" Erik was astonished. "Why? She has been doing so well! Everyone adores her!"
"After curtain call…" Arabella explained slowly. "Christine went to her room… Someone had left her a note. The Comte had left her a notice."
"Philippe? What would he have to say to her?"
"Raoul's ship has gone missing…"
Erik felt as though he had been punched by a man twice his size and strength. Bile rose in his throat as he thought of the consequences of this. Raoul's ship was missing? The Vicomte was likely dead – the ship lost in a storm. So … Christine was no doubt worried or grieving. Yes … this would explain why she would stop performing for a time. She would need personal time to deal with her grief…
"She … she did not guess who the roses were from – did she?" he demanded anxiously. "If she has even a hint of the fact that I sent them on the same night she has received this news-"
His voice was rising with his anxiety, and Arabella winced as his hands clamped hard onto her shoulders. Hissing at his clumsiness, he let go of her as though he'd been burned by her skin.
"I … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –"
"I'll be all read." Arabella shook her head dismissively. "She has no idea who sent the roses. She barely even noticed when I brought them in. She was being comforted by Meg Giry… a few of the other chorus girls. I suppose she must have cried out when she read the notice?"
"And the Comte cared so little of her reaction, that he didn't even come to tell her in person?" Erik demanded incredulously.
"He was never happy with Christine becoming involved with Raoul to begin with, Erik." Arabella attempted to reason.
"But … but she is a Prima donna now!" he exclaimed. "That is a far cry from being interested in marrying some glorified chorus girl! There is virtually no shame in it whatsoever!"
"He's an aristocrat, Erik. Perhaps he is just too proud to want someone of such …" Sighing, Arabella took his hands. "Listen … there is nothing we can do. I just … I thought you would want to know why tonight may have been the last performance you see her in."
Erik nodded slowly, although his stomach churned at that thought.
"Thank you…" He murmured, turning away to begin climbing the ladder inside the column passageway. He couldn't help the bitterness in his voice; but he did not blame Arabella. He could not blame the bearer of bad news. He just did not know how to react to the disgusting soup of emotions swirling through his heart.
Knowing Raoul was possibly no longer part of Christine's life … it made him feel as though she were free. It was a very dangerous thought … but he could not control the fact that he had it. He was concerned for Christine's welfare – if she would survive such grief after losing her father and barely surviving that. He felt terrible that he may never hear another performance; and was slightly disgusted that his last possible performance was such a disappointment. Christine had not been disappointing, of course; but the production and story certainly had been.
"Erik…" Arabella's voice made him hesitate on the first rung of the ladder, and he turned with one hand on a higher rung to look at her. "I am sure you must want to go and try to comfort her-"
"-What?" he stared at her with wide eyes. "No! No! I have no interest in that! Do not even put the thought in my head!"
"Erik – I would understand!" she attempted again. But her persistence – her understanding – only made him angry.
"No, Arabella! I am sure you would understand if I felt the need to comfort a friend. But the desire does not exist. Let her find comfort with her friends … in her art… Let time heal her. I would only make it worse."
Frustrated, he turned and nearly stomped up into the hallway overhead. A moment later, Arabella made her own much quiet way up behind him. It was dark in the passageway; but Erik still managed to take her had in a hard grasp so that he could lead her home.
"No more nonsense about visiting Christine or showing her any further hints that I am alive." He told her angrily. "Do you promise me, Bella? I made my choice. I have my wife, and my life, and I am tired of doing harm. Can you just imagine how traumatic it would be for Christine to lose her lover and be re-introduced to the man who had terrorized her in the same night? Anywhere even close to the same time frame?"
"Perhaps she would be grateful."
Stopping, Erik took in a deep, steadying breath.
"I do not feel enough empathy for her plight." He admitted. "If I did not terrify her instantly, my dispassion would make her feel no better whatsoever. What am I to tell her? If the boy is still alive, he will return – but there simply is no way to know for sure that will happen and it likely will not. I cannot comfort her with such honesty. I could tell her that at least she still has her wonderful career. Would that help? No!"
"All right…" Arabella said; her voice very soft in the darkness.
Erik nodded – knowing she could not see. Then, after all but dragging her several more yards, he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it without softening his grip around her fingers.
"I appreciate your willingness to let me so much as think about comforting her.…" he acknowledged. "But this is our time now. I promised to put her behind me. I feel terrible for her sorrow … but I cannot interfere. I … am leaving Paris with you very soon. There is no point in reintroducing myself to her only to abandon her in a few short weeks. Thank you, ma belle. But my choice is made."