Author's Note: I can't believe it's been more than three years since I updated this fic, and I'm so sorry. I've been busy with other writing projects, but now hopefully I'll have a little more time to devote to fanfic.

There will be an epilogue after this chapter, which I aim to post quite soon.

To those of you who have read this far, and those still reading after all these years, I'd like to say a huge thank you. It's really appreciated.

The Toy Theatre

Chapter 25 – Anywhere You Go

1.

Erik wished he didn't have to involve Monsieur Lefevre in the matter of Don Juan. The business manager was naturally delighted by the extra publicity generated by Erik's impromptu appearance in the title role, and nearly fainted when Erik informed him that he had no intention of repeating his performance.

Christine and Antoinette had followed them into the office, each carrying a bouquet of flowers from the stage door. Erik wanted to be alone, to give himself time to think, but Lefevre had insisted that an emergency meeting should be held straight away.

Lefevre stared at Erik across the desk. "Are you sure you won't reconsider?"

Erik met his gaze. "No."

"But the money…"

"I said no! For God's sake, Lefevre, what about Piangi? Are you seriously suggesting I sack him and blithely take over his role?"

Lefevre sighed. "Of course not."

Erik ran a hand through his wig. "Really? You could've fooled me."

"Erik. I don't think you understand the seriousness of this situation. People will be disappointed. They may ask for refunds." Lefevre spoke the last word in a distinctly dark tone.

"On what grounds? I'm not billed on the posters as principal tenor. And besides, I promised the Minister of Fine Arts that last night's debacle would not be repeated."

"Last night's debacle, as you call it, was an absolute triumph," said Lefevre.

"Yes, until my mask came off during the curtain call."

The two men had reached an impasse. They glared at each other across the desk.

"May I make a suggestion?" said Christine.

"Of course," said Erik.

"I think it would be a shame to disappoint the audience." She smiled. "Perhaps Monsieur Carriere could sing after the curtain call, as an encore?"

"Isn't that a trifle indulgent? The audience will already have sat through three whole hours of Don Juan…" Lefevre tailed off, noticing Erik's glare.

"It doesn't have to be Don Juan," said Christine. "He could sing something from another opera."

There was a pause.

"I suppose it could work," mused Lefevre.

"I think it's a marvellous idea," said Antoinette.

"That's settled, then," said Christine, grinning.

All three of them turned towards the door.

Erik was on his feet. "Wait a minute. I haven't agreed to anything yet."

"It would only be one song, Erik," said Antoinette. "Surely the Minister couldn't object to that?"

"It's not just the Minister I'm worried about."

"Then what's the matter?" asked Lefevre.

"In case it escaped your notice, my…debut last night wasn't entirely a success. I'm not sure it's an experience I wish to repeat."

"May I speak frankly?" said Antoinette.

Erik sighed. "You usually do."

"This is what I think. I think if you don't go back on that stage tonight, then you never will. You'll convince yourself that it's no place for you, that you don't belong there. Is that really what you want?"

Erik stared at the ballet mistress. "I don't know what I want. That's part of the problem."

"Then perhaps singing again will help you decide."

Erik considered this. At last he straightened his shoulders and addressed Lefevre.

"Very well. I will sing after the curtain call, on condition that Miss Daae sings with me. A duet." He looked at Christine. "Would you do me that honour?"

Christine smiled. "Of course, Er- Monsieur Carriere. The honour would be all mine."

He exhaled. "Thank you."

"Well, that's excellent," said Lefevre. "I'll look forward to the performance."

"One moment, please," said Erik. "I have some other conditions."

The business manager hesitated. "Oh?"

"I will stand at the side of the stage, away from the full glare of the lights."

"But then the audience won't be able to see you properly," said Lefevre.

"It's my understanding that they wish to hear me, not gawp at me," said Erik. "And I won't wear a ridiculous costume. I'll sing in my evening wear. And I will choose the song, with Miss Daae's assistance."

Lefevre frowned. "You're becoming quite the primo uomo, aren't you?"

"My ego remains unchanged, I can assure you."

"Clearly." The business manager turned towards the door. "I'll leave you to it."

The door closed behind him. Erik stared at the place where Monsieur Lefevre had been. Then he felt himself seized by panic.

"Oh God," he said, bringing both hands up to cover his eyes. "Oh God. What have I done?"

"Nothing," said Christine. "You were marvellous."

"I'm a fool. A complete fool."

"You stood up for Piangi and you've agreed to sing," said Antoinette. "It's the ideal solution."

"I hope so." Erik glanced at the clock. His eyes widened. "But what shall we sing? We won't have much time to prepare."

"Something from Faust, perhaps?" suggested Madame Giry. "Or Mozart? The Magic Flute?"

"How about Romeo and Juliet?" said Christine.

Erik rolled his eyes. "Do be serious."

"I'm being quite serious."

"I hardly think Romeo is an appropriate part for me."

"Well, with respect, Erik, I don't think there are many parts specifically written for –" Christine stopped. Erik quirked an eyebrow.

"For whom, Christine? Ugly men?"

"I was going to say grumpy, insecure opera directors."

He tried very hard to look hurt, but instead he found himself laughing.

"I suppose not."

Antoinette looked thoughtful. "What about that lovely piece Christine sang at her audition? You wrote that, didn't you?"

"That old thing? I don't think so."

"It would fit well into the evening's programme," said Antoinette.

Christine nodded. "And the audience won't have heard it before, so it will be another premiere. Please, Erik. I would love to sing it again."

"It's not even a duet," said Erik. "I would need to transpose it. It'll take hours."

Antoinette smiled. "Come now, Erik. It'll take you half an hour at the most. I can run this afternoon's rehearsal."

Erik glared at her. "I'm basically just a music machine in your eyes, aren't I?"

"The piano's over there," said Christine. She grinned. "I'll be back later, to rehearse."

Alone in the office, Erik seated himself at the piano. He knew he needed to concentrate on the duet, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't stop thinking about the previous night. The unmasking had been humiliating, and now he was putting himself in a position in which he could be so easily humiliated again. And then there was Christine...

His hand strayed to his pocket, where he had once again put the gold ring.

She had told him that she wouldn't have said no. Perhaps, tonight, he would have a second chance to ask her.

There was a knock on the door. Huffing in irritation, Erik went to answer it.

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur Carriere," said Remy. "There's a gentleman here to see you."

"Who?"

"I haven't seen him before. He says his name's Guizot."

"What?" Erik was taken aback. "Professor Guizot?"

Remy looked confused. "He didn't say."

"That's all right. You'd better send him in."

Remy nodded and closed the door.

Erik went to his desk and began to straighten the mess of paperwork and musical scores. Professor Guizot. What on Earth was he doing back in Paris?

After his rescue from the travelling fair, Erik had returned to his mother's old lodgings near the Rue le Peletier. The landlady answered the door. She had looked at him with an expression of distaste, before informing him that 'the nice young professor' had called on his mother nearly every day since Erik 'had seen fit to disappear'. This had continued until his mother had moved into a sanatorium three months before Erik's return.

Trying very hard to keep his composure, Erik had asked for Professor Guizot's address. The landlady did not know it, but said he now worked as a repetiteur at the Opera Comique.

Erik called on Guizot at the theatre, and they had resumed their acquaintanceship. Guizot had since moved to London, where he now worked at Covent Garden. Erik had not seen him for more than ten years, but the two men kept up an occasional correspondence.

The door opened again to reveal a slender, middle-aged man with greying hair. When he saw Erik, his face broke into a wide smile.

"Erik Carriere!"

"Professor Guizot." Erik found himself giving his old tutor a slight bow.

Guizot laughed and offered Erik his hand to shake.

"What are you doing in Paris?" asked Erik.

"I've been meaning to come over for some time, but it was always so hard to get away from Covent Garden. But then I heard about your Don Juan, and I just had to pay you a visit."

"You saw Don Juan last night?"

"Yes."

"What did you think?"

"Very daring. Perhaps a little too daring for your current audiences. But musically it's astounding, and your voice was magnificent." He grinned. "Your acting could use some work, though."

"Thank you, Professor. Miss Daae was most helpful. She made sure I was standing in the right place at the right time." He smiled. "How are things at Covent Garden?"

The Professor shrugged. "Well, they were fine when I left. About a month ago now."

"I had no idea. Why did you leave?"

"I was offered a position at La Fenice. I assist the artistic director, as well as somehow finding time to coach the singers." He paused. "Actually, I didn't just come here to offer my congratulations. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

"Certainly. Please take a seat."

The Professor laced his fingers together on the desk. "I'm well aware that this is very sudden, and I will understand completely if you say no, but I would like to offer you a job."

Erik blinked. "A job? At La Fenice?"

"Yes."

"What sort of job?"

"Well, we're currently planning for the new opera season, and we need another principal tenor. I thought you might be interested."

"You want to hire me as a singer?"

"Well…yes."

Erik stared at the professor, wondering if he was joking. But Guizot had never struck him as unkind.

"What do you think?" asked Guizot.

Erik shook his head. "I'm not sure what to think."

"We'd pay you well. You'd receive additional training, should you need it. And there are some marvellous roles coming up."

"Roles? For me?"

"Who better? We may even be able to stage your Don Juan. I think the Venetians would love it."

Erik stood up and walked towards the window. He opened it a crack. The room had taken on an unreal quality. Him, an opera singer! It was a ridiculous suggestion. Completely insane and impractical. But another internal voice – the voice of his sixteen-year-old self - was screaming at him that this was all he had ever wanted to do, that he was a singer and a musician and why on Earth was he hesitating?

There was the Opera House which had practically become his home, for one thing. But more importantly, there was Christine.

He turned to the Professor and forced a smile.

"Thank you for the kind offer, Professor. I'm really very flattered. It's just that…" He hesitated for a moment. "I've met someone. She's…very important to me. I can't just leave."

"Ah!" Professor Guizot smiled. "That would be Miss Daae, would it not?"

Erik nodded.

"I thought so when I was watching the opera last night."

"Was it really so obvious?"

"It was rather, yes."

"Oh." Erik felt himself blush. God, this conversation was excruciating! He cleared his throat. "Well, then. In that case, you'll understand why I can't go to Venice."

The Professor smiled kindly. "I was actually going to extend my offer to Miss Daae, too. It would be wonderful if you could come to Venice and perform together."

"Really? You'd do that?"

"It would be ideal. I was most impressed by you both last night. What do you say?"

"I'll need to discuss it with Miss Daae. May we have some time to think it over?"

"Of course. You would only need to commit to one season. Think of it as a sabbatical." Guizot reached into his pocket. "Here's my card. Please don't hesitate to call on me when you've made up your mind. I would need your answer by the end of the week. As I say, we need to start planning."

"I understand." Erik shook the Professor's hand. "Thank you so much, Guizot."

"Please, call me Claude. We've known each other long enough."

"Thank you. I'll give you an answer as soon as I can."

When Guizot had gone, Erik sat down at his desk and stared at the calling card.

He had the chance to sing in Venice. It was like something from a dream. And like all dreams, it was insubstantial and most likely unrealistic. And yet…

He tucked the card into his pocket and resumed his seat at the piano. He would talk to Christine later. Right now, he had a duet to arrange.

2.

Erik had partially drawn the curtains across the front of Box Five, in the hope that no one in the audience would spot him. He didn't want his presence to detract from the performance.

Professor Guizot's words were still whirling around in his mind. He had come to one decision, at least: he would ask Christine out to dinner after the opera. And maybe…

His hand strayed to the ring in his pocket.

Madame Giry entered without waiting to be invited.

"Come in, Madame. My box is your box, as always."

The ballet mistress looked grave. "Sorry, Erik. I came to warn you."

"What about?"

"I have reason to believe there's a claque in the audience. Hired by Philippe de Chagny."

"Oh, God," Erik rubbed his eyes. Why was nothing ever simple? "Who told you this?"

"Raoul de Chagny. He left a note at the stage door. He's worried his brother's going to make a fool of himself."

"Yes, well. It's a little late for that."

"What should we do?"

"I don't think we can do anything. Not yet. If they make too much of a fuss, we'll have to escort them out at the first interval."

Antoinette looked uneasy, but said nothing more. She nodded, and left the box.

The booing started when Piangi made his entrance. It was obviously a small claque, but they were seated right in the centre of the stalls, and close enough to the stage to be seen by the performers. Piangi's voice wavered, but his professionalism carried him through. The claque seemed to lose interest, and Erik started to relax. Perhaps everything would be all right after all.

Then Christine entered.

There was a swell of noise from the claque. Christine and Piangi began their duet, but were drowned out by a chorus of booing. The orchestra screeched to a halt.

White hot rage surged through Erik. Before he could stop himself, he was on his feet, pulling the curtains of the box wide.

Erik fixed his glare on the centre of the auditorium, where a group of young men appeared to be the likeliest culprits.

"Ignorant fools! Show some respect!"

His tenor boomed around the auditorium like a crack of thunder.

The theatre went silent for a moment.

Then the shouting started.

"Erik Carriere! It's Erik Carriere!"

People were on their feet, looking up at his box. Applause rippled across the stalls.

"Sing for us, Carriere! Sing for us!"

Erik gulped. This was not what he had intended.

He pulled the curtains closed and rushed out of the box.

3.

Erik found Christine backstage, where she was trying to comfort PIangi. The tenor mopped at his cheeks with a velvet cuff, and Erik saw that his eyes were red-rimmed.

"Monsieur Carriere, this is a disaster! They want you."

"No, they don't. They're in the pay of the Comte de Chagny…"

"They know you're here. They were shouting for you."

"I heard them too, Erik," said Christine.

Erik looked at her and sighed. "I'm so sorry, Christine, Ubaldo. This is all my fault…I should have known something like this would happen. I've asked the concierge to show the claque out if there's any more trouble…"

"I can't go back on," sniffed Piangi.

"You can. You underestimate yourself, Signor. You've put up with worse than this." Erik tried to smile. "Remember that production of La Traviata with Carlotta and the itching powder?"

The tenor's mouth twitched. "Si, si."

"Well, then. If you can cope with that, surely you can cope with anything? Please, Signor?"

Piangi finished mopping his eyes and stood up. He fixed Erik with a noble, long-suffering expression. "I will do my best. In the name of music. And because you have asked me."

And the tenor padded towards the wings, head held high.

Christine turned to Erik and quirked an eyebrow. "Itching powder?"

"A prank orchestrated by the ballet girls," said Erik. "You had to be there."

Silence stretched between them.

"Erik?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I heard them shouting for you." Christine had a piercing look in her eyes. "I also had an interesting discussion with a man calling himself Professor Guizot. He called into the rehearsal this afternoon."

Erik's mouth had gone dry. He cursed Guizot for being so devious.

"Oh?" he said, feigning innocence.

"I think we need to talk, don't you?"

Erik sighed. "Very well. Will you join me for dinner after the opera?"

Christine smiled. "I would be delighted."

By 'The Point of No Return' duet, Piangi and Christine had the audience in the palms of their hands. Even the claque had slipped into resentful silence.

Erik almost burst with pride as the audience demanded an encore. The applause lasted for almost ten minutes. He watched from the wings, trying not to collapse with relief, as Christine and Piangi took their bows.

He would have been content to stand in the wings and bask in their reflected glory, but unfortunately, the encore required his presence onstage.

Christine turned to smile at him. And he stepped, tentatively, into the light.

4.

They decided to dine at the Café de la Paix. Erik sent a message requesting a secluded booth at the back of the restaurant. Then he went to his office to don his finest opera cloak and the ridiculous fedora hat of which Christine seemed to be so inexplicably fond.

He met Christine at the foot of the Grand Staircase. She was wearing a gown of midnight blue satin, and stood with the confident poise of an opera star. He felt himself blush, and hid for a moment behind a marble column, straightening his waistcoat and jacket, slicking his hair with nervous fingers.

When he finally found the courage to walk up to her, she gave a warm smile which did nothing to quiet the butterflies. He had the sense that this night would decide a lot of things.

They walked arm in arm to the restaurant.

They had barely sat down when Christine asked the first question.

"What's this about a position in Venice?"

Erik cleared his throat. "What exactly did Guizot say to you?"

"Not much. Only that he'd like to invite me to join his opera company as a leading soprano. He said he'd offered you a job, too."

Erik couldn't help smiling. Guizot was kind, but he was also a sneak.

"Do you want to go?" he asked.

Christine was quiet for a moment. "A few months ago, I wouldn't have been so sure. I think I would have preferred to stay in Paris. I was so upset when you asked me to go to London…"

Erik hung his head in shame. "I know. I'm sorry."

Christine held up a hand. "Let me finish…I was upset because I'd made friends here, and you were here, and I knew I would be leaving for the wrong reasons." Her face broke into a broad smile. "But now…Venice, Erik! Just think of it! The chance to sing in such a wonderful place. And explore it together." She paused. "What about you? Do you want to go?"

"I'm not sure…He asked me if I wished to be a principal tenor."

Christine's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh! I'd assumed he wanted to hire you as a musician, or a manager."

"Yes, I did, too. At first."

"Erik, that's wonderful!"

"Do you really think so? I'm not so sure…"

"Why?"

Erik was silent. He stared at the starched white table cloth. "Do you think audiences are really ready for someone who…looks like me?"

"Oh, Erik."

"I mean it, Christine. What if they don't accept me?"

Christine reached across the table and took both his hands. She squeezed his fingers. "He wouldn't have asked you if he didn't think it was the right thing to do. And besides, audiences love you. Surely you saw that tonight?"

"It still doesn't seem quite real, but I suppose I shall have to get used to it."

"It's only for a short time. One season. And perhaps we can persuade Guizot to invite some other members of the company." Christine smiled. "I'm sure Meg would love to visit Venice."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yes, Erik. I'm sure." She met his eyes. "When I said I'd go anywhere with you, I really meant it."

Erik was shaking. He knew the moment had arrived, but a large part of him - the part that was still insecure, and couldn't quite believe that this new life of his was real – wanted to get up and run.

His hand strayed to his pocket.

"Christine. There's something I want to ask you. I mean, I would have asked you anyway. Venice or not…"

"Yes, Erik."

"Because I'll completely understand if you say no…"

She was still smiling. "Yes, Erik."

She was speaking in a strange tone which didn't sound much like a question. It must be the nerves; his mind was fuzzy.

"Christine…" He swallowed his nerves. Took her hand in his. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes, Erik!" She was laughing, and a tear slid down her cheek. "For the third time, yes!"