Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely reviews! I'm sorry for the very long delay in posting. I hope you're all still reading, and you enjoy this next chapter.
Chapter Sixteen: A Prima Donna's Tantrum
1.
Christine jumped as the first chords of Erik's Don Juan crashed through the Grand Foyer. She knew that the opening was cacophonous, but it was the first time she had heard the music on anything other than Erik's piano. It seemed to her that the two violins, cello and double bass of the string quartet were engaged in some deadly battle for musical supremacy, and she heard several of the patrons groan.
Even Erik appeared shaken. He had closed his eyes, and he was gripping the edges of the podium with such force that his knuckles had turned white. He shuddered as the wild music somehow formed itself into one great mournful chord.
Some of the patrons were shouting in protest. Two of them leapt to their feet and headed for the doors. Another man made a great show of taking a small rectangle of card - presumably his season ticket - from his coat pocket and tearing it neatly into two pieces.
She looked again at Erik, but his eyes were still closed. Then his hands lifted from the podium into the air, and he began to move them in graceful, delicate arcs, conducting along with Reyer.
It was as if he was controlling a great storm, complete with thunder and a roaring sea. The music reached a crescendo. Christine saw the patrons cringe, as if expecting another great senseless cacophony. Meg discreetly lifted her hands towards her ears.
And then, quite suddenly, the dissonance resolved itself into melody. The music was indeed triumphant, as if an oppressive darkness had lifted and musical sunlight was spilling into the foyer. Erik opened his eyes, turned his head, and smiled at Christine in such a tender way that she very nearly blushed. She closed her eyes and tried to lose herself in the music, endeavouring to hide the sudden wave of feeling that engulfed her.
When the piece ended, she opened her eyes to find that the remaining patrons were staring at Erik in awe. No one applauded.
Erik's expression was remarkably tranquil.
"Thank you for listening," he said. The calm tenor of his voice – so strangely at odds with his music - seemed to startle the audience out of their collective trance, and a smattering of confused applause spread itself around the Foyer.
The Undersecretary of Fine Arts rose to his feet and wiped his pale forehead with a handkerchief. Christine noticed that his hand was shaking.
"Thank you, Monsieur Carriere," he said, in a voice that trembled despite its authoritative tone. "That was most…illuminating."
"Do you consider it suitable?" Christine was not certain whether Erik's question was directed at the Undersecretary, or the audience in general.
The minister looked rather startled. "Worthy, perhaps. Challenging, undoubtedly. Suitable? I hope so. But that is not for me to decide." And for the first time, he smiled. "I propose we allow the Parisian audiences to decide."
Erik stared at the man for a moment, his expression confused. "So…you'll support us?"
The Undersecretary mounted the platform and addressed the audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen. I believe we have heard something quite extraordinary here today. I venture to add that Monsieur Carriere has perhaps afforded us a glimpse into the future of opera. Possibly, this music has been written twenty years too soon. But I should be most interested to find out. Therefore, I would like to permit the Opera Garnier to stage Don Juan Triumphant for one week, with the possibility of an extension if notices and reactions prove positive." He extended a hand towards Erik. "Congratulations, Monsieur Carriere."
Erik looked at the hand as if he had forgotten what to do with it. But then he seemed to gather himself, and enclosed the Undersecretary's hand within his own.
"Thank you, Monsieur," he said softly.
This time the applause was more enthusiastic, as if the official's endorsement had somehow given the audience permission to show their approval. Erik caught Christine's eye and smiled briefly, inviting a few glances in her direction from other members of the company. Feeling herself blush, she looked down at the floor.
"And who, may I ask, will play the leading role in this Don Juan?"
Christine's head shot up. The voice, chillingly familiar, had come from the far end of the Grand Foyer. A figure, resplendent in red velvet brocade and foxtails, had emerged from the small circular anteroom known as the Salon of the Sun. Christine wondered if she had been hiding in the little room throughout the presentation.
"Signora Guidicelli," said Erik, his fingers curling around the edge of the podium, where he had resumed his place. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Carlotta swept gracefully down the centre aisle, smiling pleasantly at the patrons and journalists as she passed. She halted at the foot of Erik's platform and tilted her head up at him, peacock feathers quivering on her fashionable hat.
"I have come to offer my services, Monsieur Carriere," she said. "I would consider it an honour to sing in this Don Juan."
There were whisperings among the patrons, and the sounds of scratching pencils from the journalists. Carlotta merely stood smiling, while Erik regarded her with a furrowed brow.
"This is most irregular, Mademoiselle," said the Undersecretary of Fine Arts, before Erik could speak. "If you would like to be a part of the company, I am sure you will have the opportunity to audition."
Carlotta glared at the minister. "Do you know who I am?" she asked, in a voice which indicated that she considered him beneath contempt.
The Undersecretary did not even blink. "Yes. You are Carlotta Guidicelli."
"The great Carlotta Guidicelli. That is correct." Then, turning to the audience, she threw her arms wide, as if preparing to deliver a dramatic aria. "This Don Juan is a sham. It is nothing but a showcase for that little baggage's talents."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Signora," said Erik, with a controlled calmness that only served to suggest how angry he really was.
"I'm talking about Miss Daae!" Carlotta whirled around and pointed a finger directly at Christine. "You have cast Miss Daae in the lead of this Don Juan! I would bet my life on it."
"You are mistaken," said Erik, glancing at Christine with an apologetic look on his face. "I have yet to hold auditions."
"Ah, but you mean to cast her," said Carlotta. "And I know why. The two of you are as thick as thieves. He has been teaching her. Secretly coaching her, in his office." She grinned at Erik. "And I'm willing to bet more besides…"
"How dare you!" Christine rose from her chair, cheeks blazing. "You evil woman! How dare you!"
Erik held up a hand. "Please, Miss Daae. Sit down. I'll deal with this…"
"Do you think I'm going to just stand by and allow her to insult both of us? I'm not a child, Erik."
Carlotta's mouth twisted in a smirk. "You see how she uses his first name? How adorable! I have heard rumours, Miss Daae, rumours that you turned down the attentions of a certain vicomte in favour of Monsieur Carriere. Why would you do such a thing, if not for fame and wealth?"
Whisper, went the patrons. Scribble, went the journalists.
"I think you should leave," said Erik, stepping down from the platform and towering over Carlotta with impressive dignity. But the diva would not be silenced.
"And as for you," she said, pointing a finger at Erik's chest. "I can't believe such an intelligent man would be fooled by one such as her. I don't know which of you is worse, her for using you to further her career, or you for falling for it."
"Monsieur Carriere, is this true?" The question came from the Undersecretary of Fine Arts, who had gone very red in the face. Christine could not tell whether he was embarrassed or angry.
Erik blinked. "Of course it isn't true. I have been tutoring Miss Daae because I believe that she has talent. But I haven't cast Don Juan and there has certainly been no impropriety between Miss Daae and I."
"But you admit that you tutored her."
"Yes. What is wrong with that? The discovery of new talent is part of my role."
The Undersecretary eyed Erik thoughtfully. "Monsieur Carriere, if Don Juan is to go ahead, I must insist that you bring in another party to cast the opera. I appreciate that it must be very difficult to remain unbiased when casting your own work, so I believe a deputy should be appointed to assist you in this matter."
Erik stared at him. "But I'm more than capable…"
"I'm sure you are. But such accusations of favouritism could be extraordinarily damaging to the reputation of the Opera."
"That's what I've been trying to say," said Carlotta. "Don't you see that I have the best interests of the Opera at heart?"
The Undersecretary glared at her. "And as for you…I think you should apologise to Monsieur Carriere and Mademoiselle Daae for your deplorable rudeness."
"I am sorry, Monsieur Carriere," said Carlotta. She smiled. "I will look forward to auditioning for you. It will be just like old times, no?"
Erik took a step towards her, his face contorted in a sneer. "Things bad at the Café Jacquin, are they?"
"You would know all about music halls, wouldn't you?" said Carlotta in a low voice. "Singing Gargoyle."
"Leave." Erik's word came out as a snarl. Carlotta looked momentarily intimidated, before straightening her shoulders and turning smartly on her heel. Before she left the Foyer, she lowered her mouth towards Christine's ear.
"I'm watching you," she whispered. "Little toad."
2.
Erik's dark figure dashed down the Grand Staircase, forcing Christine to run in order to keep up with him. Reaching the entrance foyer, he paused outside the Box Office, and fixed his gaze upon a stagehand who was innocently pasting a poster for Don Juan Triumphant onto a large billboard.
"You!" he said. "Stop that at once!"
The youth stared at him in bewilderment. "But Monsieur Carriere, you said that the posters should go up this afternoon, straight after the announcement…"
"I know what I said, boy! I've changed my mind." Erik stepped towards the stagehand and ripped the poster from the billboard.
Christine tried to catch his hand, but it was too late; the poster had been reduced to a tiny ball of paper in Erik's clenched fist.
"What are you doing?" she asked, staring at the startled stagehand and the empty billboard. "Have you lost your mind?"
Erik tossed the ball of paper over his shoulder. "I'm cancelling Don Juan. I am the composer, I should have the final say when it comes to the casting, and I will not let anyone ruin it, least of all that…that woman!"
"Don't be so ridiculous."
"Oh, so now I'm ridiculous? Well, yes, I feel ridiculous. I've been made to feel ridiculous. It's a long time since I've felt so humiliated, Christine. Oh, but of course, they must be right, because I'm just an amateur composer and an amateur manager and I can't be trusted to make the right decisions, oh, no…"
Without thinking, Christine grabbed hold of the lapels of his jacket and shook him. Erik was so startled by the gesture that he stopped talking and simply stared at her, his masked face cocked on one side.
"Erik. Calm. Down. Have you heard yourself?" She released his lapels and shook her head, looking up at him sadly. "Your work was praised. They didn't reject it. Most composers would consider today a triumph."
"But they don't even trust me to cast my own opera."
"I've never met a man who is so insistent upon dwelling on what he perceives as his own shortcomings. It's a good thing the opera isn't autobiographical. It would have to be called Don Juan Despondent." She hoped he would laugh, but he didn't. He merely looked down at the marble floor, an expression of shame crossing his face.
"What's the matter now?" she asked.
"I'm sorry, Christine. She insulted you. I'm sorry to place you in such a difficult position."
"It doesn't matter…"
Erik gave a bark of laughter.
"What's so funny?"
"You do realise what she was suggesting? She was suggesting that we were somehow involved with each other…romantically."
"And is that such a terrible thing?" She reached towards his face and cupped his unmasked cheek with her hand. He backed away, looking at the stagehand, who was still staring at them. "Please stop pushing me away, Erik. I know what she was implying, and I was insulted, but it's not so far from the truth, is it? Just a few months ago you told me that you loved me."
"Yes. And look where that led us."
"But things are better now. Perhaps…" she turned away, feeling herself flush slightly. "Perhaps we could go out and celebrate."
The stagehand coughed. Erik turned and glared at him. "You must have work to do. Please do it."
The stagehand scurried away.
Erik turned his attention back to her, looking at her curiously. "You want to go out…with me?"
She smiled. "Is that so surprising?"
"But where would we go?"
"We could go to the bistro."
He shook his head. "Too many people from the Opera."
"Or perhaps…perhaps we could go for a walk in the park. We could have a picnic."
He quirked an eyebrow, and she was pleased to see him smile. "A picnic?"
"Why not? We could take cheese and bread and wine."
"And croissants."
She giggled. "And croissants."
His expression suddenly darkened. "You wouldn't be embarrassed? Sometimes my mask attracts unwanted attention."
"I would be honoured to be seen with you, Erik, and if anyone says anything unpleasant, I shall set Meg on them. She can be quite fierce when she puts her mind to it."
He looked at her searchingly for a moment, as if questioning his judgement. Finally, his shoulders relaxed, and his face softened into a smile.
"Very well. Give me half an hour. I'll bring the croissants."