Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. As always, I really appreciate any feedback, so please leave a review. I hope you enjoy!

4: Curtain up on Hannibal

It was opening night, and the curtain was about to rise on Hannibal for the very first time.

Erik sat as far back in Box Five as he could while still being able to see the stage. He was trying his hardest to remain hidden from the patrons who were taking their seats in the auditorium. It was tempting to draw the curtains across the front of the box, but Erik liked to keep an eye on the stage and the orchestra pit, just in case there were any problems. Despite his determination not to be seen, he still liked to take pride in his appearance when attending performances, especially on a first night, and he was dressed in his finest evening suit.

He consulted his pocket watch for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. It was five minutes to seven. Five minutes until curtain up, practically an eternity.

Erik looked at the red stage curtain wistfully. It was a ridiculous notion, but he wished he was backstage, waiting to make his entrance. Or, failing that, he wished he could at least help the stagehands change the scenery. He wished he was anywhere in the Opera House other than Box Five.

This was one of the things he disliked about being the creative director: as soon as a production opened, he felt useless. He still had duties, of course. He had to speak to the patrons after the opera, for example, and thank them for their support. But the artistic side of things was no longer within his control. For once, he had to let the opera happen without his interference.

The lack of power made him nervous. He wished it was all over.

There was a knock on the door of the box. Erik turned to see Madame Giry standing in the doorway.

"Good evening, Erik," she said.

Erik didn't think it was a good evening at all. He wanted to be alone.

"What is it?" he asked sharply.

Madame Giry didn't even blink. She was used to hearing Erik talk like this on first nights. She knew he suffered from nerves, and she understood why. Erik liked to be in control. It was hard for him to let a production go. She knew he would be fine once the opera was over, but before a performance he was best avoided. She had been reluctant to seek him out, but she had had no choice: the Count had been most insistent.

"The Chagnys are here," she said.

"Oh, no," Erik groaned. "All of them?"

"No, just the Count and the Viscount. But they haven't taken their seats yet. They're still in the foyer."

Erik rolled his eyes irritably. The Chagnys usually entered their box shortly after the overture. Despite the Count's musical ambitions, his family were the sort of people who came to the opera to see and be seen, and to meet with friends, not to listen to music.

"Philippe de Chagny asked me to give you this."

The ballet mistress handed him an envelope with the Chagny seal on it. He slit it open with the letter knife which she had thoughtfully provided.

Dear Erik,

I would like to request the pleasure of your company at a little get-together after the performance. We're having dinner at the Café de l'Opera. I have a few things I would like to discuss with you regarding the next opera season, and it's been so long since we had a proper chat.

May I congratulate you in advance for what I'm sure will be yet another successful premiere here at the Paris Opera.

I look forward to seeing you.

Kind regards,

Philippe

Erik looked at the note thoughtfully. Then he sighed. "I suppose it would be rude to refuse."

Madame Giry stared at him. "Surely you're not going?"

Erik shrugged. "I'm sure I'll survive."

Madame Giry gave him a sympathetic look, and left the box.

Erik disliked parties, especially when they were hosted by Philippe de Chagny. But one of the drawbacks of Erik's job was that he occasionally had to socialise with people he found unpleasant, and Philippe de Chagny was the Opera's wealthiest patron. Hannibal would not have been possible without him.

However, Erik was soon distracted from thinking about the Chagnys, because Monsieur Gabriel, the conductor, had taken his place on the podium and the orchestra played the first note of the overture. The opera had begun.

It took Erik only ten minutes to realise that he was pleased with the production. The score was a strong one, and the sets and costumes were as spectacular as everyone had come to expect from the Paris Opera.

Carlotta was in fine voice. Erik was relieved, because her behaviour in rehearsals had been causing him some concern. Over the last week she had seemed more irritable, but also more distracted than usual. But tonight she was on top form.

However, everything changed after the interval, when Carlotta had her first scene with Piangi. Elissa was bidding Hannibal farewell as he prepared to leave for battle. It was supposed to be a serious moment in the drama, but Erik was certain he saw Carlotta smiling at Piangi. And at one point, he thought he saw Piangi wink at her.

In act three, Carlotta seemed to remember that she had an audience. She threw herself into her part, and sang her love aria as if she really was in love. Erik was surprised: he had never seen Carlotta perform with such sincerity before. Despite his delight at the diva's performance, there was also a slight feeling of unease at the back of his mind, a feeling which he could not explain. He could sense that there was something strange going on here, something which he, Erik, the director of the Opera House, knew nothing about.

The opera came to an end. There was a standing ovation. Erik slumped back into his armchair with relief. Apparently Hannibal was a success.

Erik hesitated at the entrance to the Café de l'Opera, wondering if he should leave and write to Philippe de Chagny later to apologise for his absence. The café was brightly lit, and Erik could hear music, or something resembling music: a violin and an accordion. The place looked crowded. Erik did not like crowds. He always had the feeling that everyone was looking at him and speculating on the reason he wore a mask.

Suddenly the door was thrown open and Philippe de Chagny stepped out onto the street. Erik cursed under his breath: the man must have spotted him through the window.

"Erik!" exclaimed the Count. He was a handsome, fair-haired man, with a certain hardness around his bright blue eyes which was evident even when he smiled. He grinned at Erik and gave him a hearty slap on the back. "Welcome! I'm so pleased you could come."

"Thank you for your invitation," Erik said helplessly. Philippe practically pushed him across the threshold of the café.

"Make way for the director of the Opera!" Philippe bellowed. His voice was so loud that everyone turned to look at them. Erik felt his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Make way for the genius who brought Hannibal to the stage!"

This earned a cheer. Erik looked in the direction the sound had come from, and saw most of the cast gathered around three circular tables. He gritted his teeth. So much for being inconspicuous.

"You must sit at our table," Philippe said, ushering him towards the rear of the restaurant "Waiter! Bring some champagne for Erik Carriere. Do you like lobster?"

Erik's feelings towards lobster were rather ambivalent, but he suspected that it would make no difference whether or not he replied in the affirmative. If the Count wanted to give him lobster, then lobster was what he would have.

"Very much," he said uncertainly.

"Do sit down," said the Count, gesturing towards an empty chair at the nearest table. The other seats were occupied by a pale young man Erik vaguely recognised as the younger Chagny brother, and Hector Chalumeau. Apparently Philippe had also managed to capture the opera's composer in residence in addition to Erik himself. He looked around for Carlotta and Piangi, but evidently they had escaped the Count's hospitable clutches.

Erik sat down next to Hector. He turned to the composer and smiled. "Congratulations, Monsieur Chalumeau. Hannibal is a fine opera."

Hector smiled. "Thank you, Erik. And I wish you would call me Hector, given everything we've just been through together. I was convinced that the damned elephant was going to break down again."

Erik laughed.

"I'll have you know I paid for that elephant," said Philippe, looking at Erik meaningfully.

"I'm very grateful for everything you've done for the Opera," Erik said, taking his cue. "And I hope you'll continue to support us in the future."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that," said the Count. "Oh, excellent, here's the starter."

A bowl of steaming beef soup was placed on the table in front of Erik. He tasted the soup: it was delicious. Erik hadn't realised until then how hungry he was.

"Did you have time to read the score of Il Muto?" asked the Count. "I'm desperate to hear what you think."

Erik stared into his soup. In truth he had thought long and hard about Il Muto. Philippe's music was as banal as ever, but Monsieur Leferve had managed to persuade him that the operetta had the potential to be a great commercial success. They had already discussed the casting.

"I thought it was very interesting," said Erik.

The Count beamed at him. "Really? And they say you're a hard man to please."

"I am," said Erik, through gritted teeth.

The Count sighed happily. "When will you start the rehearsals?"

"Next week."

"And I suppose Sorelli will play Serafimo? I know she'll be perfect for the role."

"Of course."

They finished the soup. Erik ate in silence while Philippe talked to Hector. The young Viscount was silent too, and he didn't seem to have much of an appetite. Erik felt rather sorry for him. Perhaps he didn't feel comfortable at parties either.

The waiter cleared their bowls away. The Viscount's was still half full.

Philippe patted his lips with his napkin. "There was one other thing I wanted to ask you. It concerns a member of your company. A young lady in the chorus."

Erik groaned inwardly. He hoped this "young lady" was not the new object of Philippe's affections.

The Vicomte de Chagny, who had so far given an appearance of silent boredom, suddenly gave a nervous bark of laughter. "Please, Philippe, not now!"

"Her name is Christine Daae," said Philippe, ignoring his brother.

Erik stared at the Count, not even trying to hide his surprise. Christine's name was the last he had expected Philippe to utter. "What do you want with Christine?"

Philippe looked vaguely offended. "I want nothing with her. My brother knew her when he was a child, didn't you, Raoul?"

Philippe nudged Raoul, who nodded glumly.

"Christine's father was very kind to Raoul. He gave him violin lessons…not that it made any difference to Raoul's playing, of course!" The Count laughed. "Daae really was a wonderful violinist. Therefore we would like to offer our support to his daughter, wouldn't we, Raoul?"

"Yes," said Raoul, very quietly. Philippe gave him a strange look, almost a glare.

"In what way?" asked Erik.

"Well, we would like you to give her a role in Il Muto," said Philippe. "I'm sure she would make a charming Countess. It's not the lead role, of course – we both know that Sorelli will be the star – but it is significant."

"I'm afraid I've already promised the role of the Countess to Carlotta."

"That's a pity," said Philippe. "Because if you cast Miss Daae, I'm prepared to cover the entire cost of the production."

Erik stared at Philippe. "The entire cost? Why?"

Philippe shrugged. "She won a prize at the Conservatoire. The lady clearly has talent. And I would like some of the credit for nurturing that talent."

Erik raised an eyebrow. In truth, he did not think Christine had distinguished herself during Hannibal. It was therefore quite ridiculous that the merest glance from her was enough to make him start to tremble. He had not forgotten the first time he had heard her sing.

He quickly looked over his shoulder at the table nearest the door. Although most members of the chorus were present, Christine was absent from the party. A part of him wondered why, but he also felt rather relieved. If Christine had been present, he would have spent the evening trying to avoid her, as had been his habit over the last three weeks. He could not understand why, but something about her unnerved him.

For dignity's sake, Erik decided not to say this to the Count. Instead, in the most nonchalant tone he could muster, he asked: "Do you really think she's talented?"

"Oh, yes," said Philippe. "Very much so. Don't you?"

"Her voice is good, but I don't think she's ready to sing a major role just yet," Erik replied. "She's very inexperienced."

"I'm sure she would be fine," said Philippe. "All these sopranos sound the same, don't they?"

Hector laughed, but Erik clenched his teeth. He glanced at the Viscount, and saw that the young man was staring at his brother with obvious embarrassment.

"I suppose so," said Erik. Then, unable to resist, he added: "To the untrained ear."

Philippe chuckled, but his eyes were cold.

"Tell me, Erik," he said, refilling his champagne glass. "Where did you study? Where did you develop these extraordinary musical gifts which we all envy so much? The name of the conservatoire escapes me."

Erik sat very still. They had been conversing like equals, but now the Count was making Erik's position quite clear. He was a man of lower status than the Comte de Chagny. Philippe would not stand by and allow a man like Erik to insult him. Erik realised he had been very foolish.

"Where did you train, Erik?" said Hector curiously. "I don't think you've ever told me."

Erik prayed silently that the Count would not tell Hector what he knew. He was relieved when Philippe shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

"Of course I will bow to your superior knowledge," said Philippe. "If you truly don't consider Daae to be ready, then you must be correct. But perhaps we could come to some other arrangement."

"What sort of arrangement?"

"Well, as you are such a knowledgeable musician, perhaps you would consider training Christine."

Erik stared at him in disbelief. "Why me?"

"Who better? You know everything about music. You say Christine's voice needs improvement. Perhaps you could coach her until she's ready to play a major role."

"Why, Erik, that's a marvellous idea!" said Hector.

"No, no," said Erik. He realised his voice was trembling. "I can't…I mean, I couldn't possibly…"

The Count raised his eyebrows. "Why not?"

Erik stared down at his unfinished plate of lobster. Why not, indeed? he thought to himself. Because, Erik, you're frightened of her. Admit it. Every time she looks at you, she makes you feel like the ugliest man alive, which, of course, you are.

It was probably wise not to confess any of this to Count Philippe, so instead Erik settled upon a more logical excuse.

"Miss Daae already has a singing teacher."

Now it was Philippe's turn to stare uncomfortably at the tablecloth.

"Yes, Christine Daae does have a singing teacher of a sort, but he's not very good…"

"I'm well aware of that!" Erik exclaimed. "He hasn't even taught her how to project her voice properly."

"I have a small confession to make," said the Count. "A few months ago Miss Daae wrote to me. Well, actually she wrote to Raoul. She said she had graduated from the Conservatoire and she was having trouble securing a new singing teacher. Raoul asked me, as the musical member of our family, if I had any advice I could give her. Didn't you, Raoul?"

"Please, Philippe, there's no need to trouble Monsieur Carriere with all this," said Raoul, looking at Erik apologetically.

"Singing teachers are expensive, and Raoul assured me that his friend did not want our charity," Philippe continued, undeterred by his brother's weak protests. "Therefore the only solution was to teach her myself."

There was an awkward silence as Erik stared at Philippe incredulously.

"You're Miss Daae's singing teacher?" said Erik.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," said Philippe, with a guilty smile. "Don't worry, I only gave her two lessons, so the situation isn't irredeemable. Two lessons were quite enough to show me that I was completely out of my depth. I'm not a singer, Erik, so how can I possibly teach someone with her potential? You, on the other hand, are the greatest singer I have ever heard."

"Really?" said Hector, looking at Erik in surprise. "You sing?"

Erik was too busy trying to contain his anger to answer him. Really, the arrogance of this man was incredible. How could Philippe, an amateur musician, have even hoped to teach Christine Daae to sing?

Another thought occurred to Erik, and suddenly his feelings of anger and resentment became much more personal. He glared at the Count.

"You gave her my music! How dare you!"

For a moment Philippe looked puzzled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do!" said Erik, his voice rising. A few people on the nearby tables glanced over their shoulders at him. Hector Chalumeau and the Viscount were both staring at him as though he had suddenly gone mad.

"Do calm down, old fellow," said Hector, rather unhelpfully, for all of Erik's attention was focused on Philippe.

"You gave her a copy of my song," said Erik, struggling to keep his voice low. "You told her to sing it at the audition. Why?"

Philippe shrugged. "It..."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, I suppose," hissed Erik. "Just like everything else."

"It's only a song," said Philippe. "I thought she sang it well."

"Only a song?" Erik cried.

"A fine song," said Philippe desperately. "A fine song which suited her voice. You hired her, didn't you? Please, Erik, calm down. I meant no offence."

Philippe's face wore a genuine expression of repentance, and Erik could not help but feel satisfied at seeing the Count squirm.

"All right," he sighed. "I believe you."

The humble expression vanished from the Count's face, and he smiled hopefully. "So you'll teach her?"

"I…"

"Please, Erik. You would be doing me a great favour."

Erik hesitated, thinking of Christine Daae's nervous glances whenever he passed her on the stage, the way she wrinkled her nose in slight distaste whenever he looked at her. Then, of course, there was her voice. If only someone could unlock the potential in that voice…

Perhaps he was the man to do it. But what if she rejected him?

"Do you think Miss Daae would wish to have me as her singing teacher?" Erik asked.

"I'm sure she would," said Philippe. He smiled. "But why don't you ask her yourself?"

Erik suddenly became aware of the sound of excited voices near the café's door. He turned to see Meg Giry and Cecile Jammes, who always liked to make a dramatic entrance. And behind them, dressed in a cream coloured evening gown, was a more hesitant figure who smiled shyly at the assembled diners.

Erik felt the breath catch in his throat.

Christine had come to the party.