Author's Note: Thank you very much to all those who read and reviewed the first chapter. I really appreciate the support and feedback. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

The Toy Theatre

Chapter 2: A Difficult Decision

Erik removed his mask and pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket.

He was shocked to find himself crying. Erik never cried, at least not officially. He had seen actors, musicians, and other impresarios cry in public, usually on first nights when emotions were running high, but not him. He usually took great pains to hide his feelings.

Erik wiped his eyes with the handkerchief. He was just a little shaken, that was all. Anyone would be, in his position, after hearing that song for the first time in so many years. A few tears were perfectly natural, and nothing at all to worry about.

"Oh, pull yourself together," he said aloud. "You're Erik Carriere!"

There was a knock on the door. Erik stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket, replaced his mask, smoothed down the wayward hairs of his wig, sat up straight, and pretended to study the notes he had made during the auditions.

"Come in," he said. Fortunately, his voice didn't tremble.

The door opened. Erik looked up from his notes and into the furious face of Monsieur Lefèvre.

"What do you think you're doing?" growled Lefèvre.

Erik suppressed a groan. Lefèvre was the Opera House's business manager. Although technically Erik was his superior, Lefèvre always made it quite clear that he viewed Erik as a rather troublesome lodger, the sort who played the piano loudly and at all hours (which he did) and who was incurably untidy (which he was).

Fortunately, Erik knew the importance of good manners.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur Lefèvre. I hope you're well."

Lefèvre ignored the pleasantry and sank into an armchair. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"And naturally the last place you decide to look is my office," said Erik.

"You're hardly ever in your office, except when you're supposed to be somewhere else. This morning, for instance, you were supposed to be watching the auditions."

Erik felt a pang of shame. His behaviour had been unprofessional, and he knew it.

"I left because I felt that my time could be better spent elsewhere."

"They said you left suddenly, while a girl was singing. Madame Giry said that you looked upset."

Erik sighed. "Did she?"

Lefèvre grinned. "Surely the girl wasn't as dreadful as all that?"

Erik shook his head. "No, her voice was…" he paused, searching for an appropriate adjective "…good."

"Then what was the problem?"

Erik looked down at his notes, so as to avoid meeting Lefèvre's eyes. He knew he couldn't admit that he had been moved by Christine Daae's voice. He would never live it down.

"There was no problem, Lefèvre. I just felt unwell. I'm better now."

Lefèvre eyed him suspiciously for a moment. Then, to Erik's vast relief, he let the subject drop.

"I'm glad to hear it. I've instructed Remy to invite the two singers you didn't manage to hear to sing for you tomorrow at 3.00pm. I hope that's convenient for you."

Erik nodded. "Yes, that's fine."

Lefèvre rose from the armchair and began to pace around the office. His pacing made Erik uneasy. He disliked Lefèvre coming into his office at the best of times, but today he had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from directly asking the manager to go away. Instead he remained silent, drumming his fingers against the polished surface of the desk.

Lefèvre paused in front of Erik's upright piano. He reached forward and pressed a key absently, then another. Erik cringed. He hoped Lefèvre was not going to try to play anything. Erik disliked amateur musicians on principle, and in his view Lefèvre was about as amateur as they came.

Fortunately, Lefèvre seemed to lose interest in the piano. He turned to look at Erik. His face was grave.

"What is it?" Erik asked, worried by the man's expression.

Lefèvre sighed. "I met the Comte de Chagny in the Foyer de la Danse last night. He's becoming impatient."

Erik snorted. "Is the man ever anything else? What's the matter with him now?"

"He wants us to premiere a new opera."

"What sort of opera?"

"He said he was recently in attendance at the Savoy Theatre in London, and he's very impressed with the works of Gilbert and Sullivan. He tells me that he's sick and tired of operas which end miserably. He would like us to premiere a comic opera."

Erik frowned.

"His words, not mine," Lefèvre added.

"And where do you think we'll find this hypothetical opera? Does the Count have any ideas?"

Lefèvre suddenly looked very uncomfortable. He stared down at the floor.

"He says he's written something which might be suitable," he murmured.

Erik stared at Lefèvre, his mouth wide open. "What?"

"The Count has written an opera. And he says he would love the great Erik Carriere to stage it."

"And what is this opera about, dare I ask?"

Monsieur Lefèvre pointed to a large leather portfolio on Erik's desk. In his distracted frame of mind, Erik had failed to notice the de Chagny coat of arms stamped into the leather.

"I had Remy bring it in this morning," said Lefèvre. "I hope you don't mind."

With a sigh, Erik opened the portfolio and took out a rather thin manuscript.

"Not very long, is it?"

"It's just the first act, Erik. There will be five acts in total."

"Heaven help us."

Erik looked down at the first page of the manuscript. "Il Muto. By Philippe, Comte de Chagny. An Opera-Mime in five acts. An Opera-Mime? What's an Opera-Mime?"

Lefèvre grinned. "You'll see."

Erik began to read the synopsis. "The opera is set in the grand house of the Countess de - (Soprano). She has fallen in love with her pageboy, Serafimo (A female role). However, Serafimo has been mute since birth and can only communicate in mime, making this the perfect role for a ballerina..." Erik stopped reading. "Oh dear."

Lefèvre looked at Erik quizzically. "What is it?"

"I'll say this about the Comte de Chagny," said Erik. "He's certainly persistent. He wants me to make Sorelli a star of the Opera, and he's managed to get around the small problem posed by her inability to sing in a most inventive fashion."

Lefèvre laughed, and Erik glared at him.

"I don't see why it's so amusing. It never ceases to amaze me what fools men become when they fall in love," Erik shook his head wonderingly. "I can't possibly stage this. I'd be a laughing stock. I suppose you told him I rarely stage work by unknown composers?"

Lefèvre looked at him incredulously. "But Erik, surely we should make an exception in this case? After all, he's the Comte de Chagny…"

Erik lost his temper, and slammed his fist down on the desk. "And I'm the director of the Paris Opera House!"

"He's our most powerful patron…"

"It doesn't matter. I won't allow myself to be bullied into staging his work."

"But the Count's hardly an unknown composer, Erik. He's written several popular love songs and a concerto."

"Ah, yes. The concerto. Don't remind me."

"Anyway, he wants you to look at his opera and give him your honest opinion. He says he trusts your judgement."

"I should hope he does." Erik rose from his chair. "Now will that be all?"

Lefèvre nodded and turned towards the door. Then he paused and turned back to look at Erik.

"Erik, you are aware of the importance of the de Chagny patronage, aren't you?"

Erik rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm all too well aware of it. Thank you."

"Then whatever you think of the Count's music, please be polite. I know you have a low opinion of him, but he's a good man really, and we want him on our side."

"You can rest assured that I'll behave in a civilised manner," said Erik. "Good day."

Lefèvre finally left the office. Erik breathed a sigh of relief, took out his handkerchief again, and buried his face in it. He was tired, incredibly tired, and he wasn't sure why. He wanted to find somewhere dark and cool, a place where he could hide, albeit briefly, from the demands of the day.

There was a knock on the door. Erik braced himself for another visit from the tiresome Lefèvre. Perhaps the manager had neglected to tell him some detail about the Count and his wretched ideas.

"Come in," he said.

Fortunately, this time it was a more welcome visitor: Monsieur Remy, Erik's acutely nervous secretary.

"Hello, Remy," Erik said. "How are you today?"

The young secretary gave Erik a look of undisguised fear. Whatever Erik said to Remy, the effect was always the same. Erik had found there were certain people who were naturally fearful of him, and nothing he said or did seemed to convert them. Erik feared that Remy would not stay long, which was a shame. He liked the young secretary: he was polite and efficient, and he never tried to play Erik's piano.

Erik smiled at him encouragingly, and this finally loosened Remy's tongue.

"I'm very well, thank you." The secretary placed a pile of envelopes on Erik's desk. "There's a lot of private mail for you today."

"Yes," said Erik. "So there is. Thank you Remy."

Remy couldn't leave the office quickly enough. Erik was left alone again. He looked down at the envelopes. There were three particularly large, thick ones. He knew what they were immediately.

As Erik's reputation as an impresario had grown, composers had started sending him examples of their work. Hardly a day went by when there wasn't a large envelope waiting for him on his desk. Most of the work was mundane and unimpressive, but Erik made an effort to look through every manuscript, because sometimes genuinely talented composers sent their music to him.

Today, however, Erik did not feel like looking through compositions. He feared they would remind him of his own aborted efforts. He had already had enough of that for one day, when Miss Daae had performed one of his own songs, a sentimental piece of youthful earnestness which he had hoped never to encounter again.

Erik looked at the notes he had managed to make before he had been obliged to run from the auditorium in tears. He noticed that his handwriting became increasingly untidy as the song had continued.

He had written: Began off-key: nervous? Good voice which could improve greatly with experience. Currently lacking in power and support. Lower notes too quiet. High notes fairly harsh.

And then, at the bottom of the page: More training required.

Erik reread the notes once again. They were hardly remarks which indicated that he had made a great discovery. But he had a feeling about Miss Daae. There was something about her which showed potential, although he could not pinpoint exactly what it was. And then there had been his extreme reaction to her voice.

It had been so long since a voice had moved him to tears.

Perhaps it was the sadness in her voice, and the honesty. Unlike the great Carlotta, Christine was not a natural exhibitionist, and probably not a natural actress. And yet Erik could tell that she was someone who felt music deeply, someone who believed in the power it possessed. She was the complete opposite of the Comte de Chagny, despite his apparent musical knowledge.

And yet she seemed so inexperienced, so lacking in confidence and self-belief. Why, she was almost like…

Stop right there, Erik.

He knew he was being unprofessional, allowing his emotions to cloud his judgement. Christine Daae's voice was good. It might turn out to be excellent. He could be doing her, and the Opera, a great disservice by not hiring her. After all, what had really happened? The girl's voice had touched him. Wasn't that what music was supposed to do?

Erik decided he would cast Christine in the chorus, and see how things progressed. He would ask Remy to write to her and offer her a job.

After all, it was one of his many duties, to identify new talent.