Author's Note: Thank you again for the lovely reviews! I'm so pleased that readers are still following and enjoying this story. I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Chapter 20: Let My Opera Begin

1.

Erik stared at the score of Don Juan, which now sat closed upon the piano. It was tempting to stay here and work all night, making tiny improvements to the music. Reyer would have a fit, of course, but Erik suspected that the répétiteur secretly relished the challenge which Don Juan posed. Yes, there was surely more work to be done.

Opening the score again, he turned to the last page and read through the music. He brought a pen towards the paper, intending to add some embellishment.

His pen hovered over the page for a moment, but in his heart he already knew the truth: his opera was complete. And for the first time in many days, Erik felt empty.

And bereft.

Over the past few weeks, Erik had thrown himself into his opera, composing late into the night, working furiously to finish the last act. But now the music, which he had allowed to dominate his mind, was all gone, all neatly imprisoned on stave paper. His composer's instinct told him that any other additions or adjustments would be unnecessary.

Don Juan Triumphant was finished; now all the fears which he had endeavoured to ignore since the picnic with Christine began to flow back into his mind. And he found himself thinking about the kiss.

Ah, yes. The kiss. Erik ran one finger hesitantly over his distorted lips and scowled. He did not know how Christine could bring herself to kiss them, or why she should want to, but she had. And Erik had the feeling that she would do so again, given the opportunity.

Don Juan had been the perfect excuse to avoid such an opportunity. He had still needed to see Christine and talk with her, of course – the thought of being away from her for any length of time was becoming increasingly unbearable. But he had decided to postpone thoughts of the future until Don Juan was complete.

Erik sighed. Tempting as it was to stay in the Opera House all night and brood, he knew that such behaviour would prove futile. Perhaps Christine was right and he simply needed rest; a good night's sleep might help clarify matters. Retrieving his cloak and hat from a row of pegs by the door, Erik left the rehearsal room and made his way outside.

The Place de l'Opera was relatively quiet; it was late afternoon; too early for the nearby bistros to be filled with diners, and too late for most people to be out shopping. A few members of the opera company hurried past Erik without a glance.

He walked slowly past a row of shops. Something made him pause outside the little jeweller's shop and stare into the window. The jeweller's had been a fixture since he had begun his career at the Opera; he had passed it everyday with barely a glance.

But now he found his eyes drawn towards a display of rings resting on velvet cushions. Erik had to fight the urge to press both hands against the glass. He found himself wondering if Christine would like such a ring, or whether she would prefer a plain gold band, or whether even having such a thought meant he was going mad…

He knew he was getting to the point where he wanted - needed - to act upon his feelings for Christine. She had been sensitive to his reticence, apparently happy for him to take his time. She had suggested they go back to the Tuileries, or go out to dinner, but as soon as Erik started considering those options, a whole barrage of worries would assail his mind: What if she grows bored with me? What if she realises that I'm very ugly, after all?

He shook his head. It was no good. No matter how many 'what ifs' occurred to him, the simple fact was clear: he loved Christine. He loved her, and the rings taunted and tempted him from their velvet settings. But no, no…it was ridiculous to be thinking of such things so soon…

"Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

The voice, such a startling echo of his own thoughts, came from his left, making him jump. A shadow fell across the shop window, dulling the flecks of light on the jewellery.

Philippe de Chagny grinned and raised his hat.

"I would suggest that your interest in engagement rings is slightly premature," he said smoothly. "But I'm not one to interfere."

Erik glanced briefly away. "I was looking at the necklaces. We need one for Don Juan."

Philippe raised an eyebrow. "But of course."

"What do you want?"

"Me? Simply to admire the rings. Just like you." Erik glared at him; the Count ignored his expression and turned back towards the glass. Then, continuing in a voice edged with regret: "Of course, I'll never have reason to buy one. I'll never marry; there are too many things standing in my way." He sighed theatrically. "I know just how you feel, Erik."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You might think I'm a cold man, you might think I have no heart. But I do. I love Sorelli. But I can never marry her. My position in society will not allow it. It's exactly the same with you and Miss Daae."

"In what way?"

"Do you honestly think Christine is really interested in you? A man who has to wear a mask in public, lest people flee from the sight of his face…"

Erik winced. "You said you weren't a cold man, Monsieur le Comte."

Philippe spread his hands. "I'm a realist. That is all. At the moment, you're a man with power. You have music on your side, and unlimited access to the resources of one of the world's greatest Opera Houses. You can snap your fingers and make a star. No wonder Christine Daae chooses to spend so much time with you."

"You are wrong. She…" Erik paused, unwilling to share any details of his relationship with Christine. "She likes me for myself."

"I don't doubt it," said Philippe. "But at the moment you're the Director of the Opera. Do you think she would still admire you if you were nothing of the kind?"

"What are you saying?"

"I was just on my way to warn you. This morning I had an appointment with the Minister of Fine Arts…we're old friends, you know, and we've remained on good terms despite my lack of involvement with the Opera of late. Anyway, in the course of our conversation, the Minister happened to mention certain…misgivings he had concerning the premiere of Don Juan."

Erik laughed, although secretly Philippe's words were filling him with dread. "Oh, really? Interesting that the Minister has not seen fit to address his concerns to me directly. What are these misgivings?"

"He's nervous that you're taking too much of a risk. He secretly wanted you to cast Carlotta in the lead. But instead you've cast Christine, and he's worried that Miss Daae will be neither a sufficient draw for the audiences or up to the task of performing such a complex role." Philippe leaned forward, his voice becoming low and conspiratorial. "You know what I would do? I would cancel Don Juan and reinstate Il Muto into the programme. Then everything would be so much easier for everyone. I would hate to see you fired over this, Carriere."

"I will do nothing of the sort!" snarled Erik. "You have no power over me, and no influence over the Opera. And even if you managed to get me fired, Christine would not care. She's my friend."

"Ah. Your friend. Of course." Philippe smiled unpleasantly. "I suppose you're aware of the friendship between Christine and my brother. It's nothing serious…just a youthful infatuation on Raoul's part. And quite impossible, of course, given Christine's position. But still, it does sound rather more plausible, don't you think? Opera singer and handsome aristocrat fall in love? Certainly more convincing than a lovely young woman falling for someone like you…" Philippe smiled. "Or perhaps she hasn't even seen your face."

Erik stepped forward and seized Philippe by the lapels of his frock coat. "Enough! How dare you threaten me in such a manner? You not only insult me, but you also insult Miss Daae and your own brother with your slanderous words! How could you?"

"I'm not a liar." Philippe wrenched his coat from Erik's grip. "You'll find that out soon enough."

"Erik!" Christine's voice cut across the quiet square. Erik whirled about to see her hurrying towards them, with Raoul de Chagny close behind.

Philippe gave a polite bow. "Mademoiselle Daae. Forgive this crass scene. Monsieur Carriere was merely demonstrating the gentlemanly behaviour which is so typical of his sophisticated character…"

"Monsieur Carriere," said Raoul. "I should be grateful if you treated my brother with a little more respect."

"I have been treating your brother with all the respect he deserves, Monsieur le Vicomte," said Erik, in the calmest tone he could manage. "I think it would be best if you both left us alone."

Christine stood her ground and placed her hands on her hips. Her look of disapproval was quite intimidating. Erik added it to his mental list of things about her which made him unexpectedly nervous.

"If you think for one moment that I'm going to walk away while you fight, then you're mistaken," she said.

"Yes," Raoul said, with slightly less conviction, glancing at Christine uncertainly. "That's right. You are."

Philippe clapped his hands together. "Well, this is excellent! After all, we have much to discuss. Miss Daae, as Erik's closest friend, perhaps you can talk some sense into him. You see, I've tried to tell him on more than one occasion that Don Juan is going to be a disaster, but he won't listen to me. He seems to think I'm trying to sabotage him…"

Christine narrowed her eyes. "You are! I know you've been to see the Minister of Fine Arts this morning. Raoul told me."

"Oh, yes?" Philippe glared at Raoul. "And I suppose you're still determined to support this folly? Really, Raoul. I thought you had more taste than to support such a cacophonous, amateurish mess of a score."

"How dare you!" Erik roared again, lunging towards the Count. He never found out whether he was truly capable of starting a fight with the man, because suddenly Christine's hand caught his arm, and her voice spoke by his ear.

"Leave him be, Erik," she said gently, but loud enough for all three of them to hear. "He is only jealous of you."

Philippe blinked. "I beg your pardon, Miss Daae?"

Christine took a step towards him. "You're jealous of Erik. That's what this is about, isn't it? You're jealous of his talent and the fact he's able to put it to good use."

Philippe laughed, and Erik shuddered; the sound was full of contempt, but there was also something else…an odd note of desperation.

"Jealous?" He chuckled. "My dear Miss Daae…you truly think I'm jealous of him?"

Christine looked at him calmly. Erik thought he saw pity flicker in her eyes. "Yes. I do."

Philippe wiped his eyes. "You're all as foolish as each other." He shook his head in apparent wonder. "Jealous!"

"You're the fool, Philippe, if you think your actions are going to ruin me." Christine's touch had calmed him slightly, although Erik's voice was still hoarse with nerves. "Don Juan will go ahead without your approval."

"Oh, really?" Philippe narrowed his eyes. "Then I would expect a visit from the Minister of Fine Arts on opening night. Or perhaps even during the dress rehearsal…"

"I have nothing more to say to you," said Erik. "As far as I'm concerned, our association is at an end."

Christine looked pointedly at Raoul, who nodded.

"Come along, Philippe," said the Viscount, placing a hand on his brother's arm. "This isn't helping anyone…"

Philippe tore his arm away. "What do you care?" He pointed to Erik. "You're on his side."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're my brother."

Philippe strode away, glaring at Erik as he went. With an apologetic glance at Erik and Christine, Raoul hurried to keep up with him.

Erik stared after them. His hands were curled into fists by his sides, and he was shaking.

"Bravo, Monsieur…" he murmured.

"Are you all right?" Christine squeezed his arm.

Erik turned to face her. She was looking at him with such concern, and suddenly he wanted to tell her that no, he was emphatically not all right, that Philippe's mocking words had exacerbated his own insecurities.

You're the Director of the Opera. Do you honestly think she'd still admire you if you were nothing of the kind?

"Erik?"

Shuddering, he tried to force the doubts away.

"Yes, Christine," he said. "I'm fine."

2.

Up until the night itself, the first performance of Don Juan Triumphant had seemed an almost abstract concept, or at least an event which was far off in the future.

But now Christine was in her dressing room, adding the final touches to her costume for the opening night.

She was relieved when the dress rehearsal passed without incident; Philippe de Chagny had not been present and neither had the Minister of Fine Arts. The company seemed happy with the results - with the notable exception of Carlotta, who was still complaining about the size of her part - and the orchestra had finally gotten to grips with the music. Piangi had mastered his more difficult phrases and seemed to be rather enjoying himself.

Christine had expected the success of the rehearsal to relax Erik, but he seemed more on edge than ever in anticipation of the first performance.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Madame Giry stepped into the room, and Christine was surprised to see that although she was wearing her customary black, her shoulders were adorned with a sequined cape. A smart black hat with an ostrich feather sat upon her head. She was not carrying her rehearsal cane, and it was slightly disconcerting to see her without it.

"Madame," said Christine, resisting a rather absurd urge to curtsey before this grander version of the ballet mistress. "Is everything all right?"

"I'm sitting in Monsieur Carriere's box," said Madame Giry, with a hint of a smile. "He insists he does not want company, and normally I would believe him. But tonight I think he may well be lying. He's done nothing but pace around his office all afternoon, so I intend to sit next to him while he watches the performance and make sure he doesn't make a run for it."

"That's kind of you," said Christine. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the company."

"And I'm sure he won't, but I think he needs it," Madame Giry looked sombre again. "He's asked if he could have a word with you in his office. I told him that you would be in costume by now…"

"No, that's all right," Christine quickly took a long cloak from the closet and draped it around her shoulders. "This will hide the dress."

The ballet mistress excused herself. Thanking her, Christine hurried to Erik's office. Music came from inside, thunderous piano music which was only too familiar; the opening chords of Don Juan Triumphant.

She knocked as loudly as she could. The music stopped, and the door was flung open.

Erik's rather wild expression softened as she stepped into the office. "Christine."

"You wanted to see me."

"Thank you for coming. I was just…" He gestured towards the piano, where the score of Don Juan stood open.

Christine raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you were making last minute adjustments. Reyer will never forgive you."

"No, no. It sounds absurd, but I wanted to hear the score again. Just to convince myself that it's not horrible."

"Erik, your music could never be horrible."

He turned away from her, ostensibly to retrieve his cloak from the back of an armchair, but she could not help noticing the slight blush which had crept onto his cheek. He wrapped the cloak around himself with an impressive flourish, turning back to face her. Then he seemed to hesitate for a moment, clasping his hands together in an awkward gesture.

"I'm not sure what's going to happen tonight, Christine. I hope it will be a success. But either way, I just wanted to say…thank you. For everything."

She waited, unsure where this strange conversation was leading. Erik walked to the window and looked out, as if he could not quite bring himself to meet her gaze and speak at the same time.

"I…I freely admit that I could not have done this without you. Before you came to the Opera, I had not composed for many years. I had neither the inspiration to write music, nor the courage to share it with others." He glanced towards her, managing a smile. "But you, Christine, you have given me both. Thank you."

Unable to form an appropriate reply, Christine found herself moving towards the window. Erik stepped to the side, allowing her to stand next to him, her hands on the windowsill. Together they looked down at the street below, which was filling up with grand carriages. Doors were opened, revealing smartly dressed gentlemen and ladies in fur stoles and diamonds. The last of the audience was arriving.

"You should go down and greet them."

Erik chuckled. "I don't think so. I've left that unenviable task to Monsieur Lefevre. As the composer I reserve my right to watch the performance and take notes." He glanced at her, a slight smirk upon his lips, and in an ominous tone he added: "Many notes."

"I shall look forward to hearing them." They stood in silence for a moment, watching the patrons as they headed towards the front steps of the Opera House. "Will you meet the audience afterwards?"

Erik sighed. "I suppose I must. Drinks will be served in the Grand Foyer. I hope you will join me."

"Of course." She paused. "Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Have you thought about what you're going to do after Don Juan?"

Erik adjusted his bowtie with nervous fingers, and then smoothed the front of his dress shirt, even though the garment was not remotely at fault. "In what way?"

"What will you stage next? I know it's very early to say, but I'm just curious…"

He stared out of the window again, and there was something guarded in his expression. "I think that rather depends on how this evening goes."

"Are you worried about Philippe?"

"No."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Erik turned to look at her, and for a moment she held her breath, convinced that he was going to say something more. But then there was a knock upon the door, and the voice of the stage manager said: "Twenty minutes to curtain up, Monsieur Carriere."

Erik sighed. "You had better go."

Feeling vaguely disappointed, but not quite knowing why, Christine forced a smile. "They'll love your music, Erik."

"I fear that might be a little too much to hope for, but I suppose one never knows." Erik reached forward and took her hand for one brief moment. "Good luck, Christine."

"Good luck, Erik."

3.

When Christine had gone and he was alone once more, Erik went to his desk and opened a particular drawer. At the very back of the drawer, concealed behind a pile of paperwork and a spare pair of opera glasses, a small, square, velvet covered box sat in shadow. He removed the box and, with shaking fingers, he lifted the lid and held the contents up to the light.

The plain gold ring shone against its bed of white silk.

Another knock at the door. "Ten minutes, Monsieur Carriere."

Closing the box and tucking it carefully into a pocket of his evening coat, Erik left the office and headed towards the auditorium, where his opera was about to begin.