A/N: And so it begins- the start of the happy ending we have all been waiting for. Now, I'm a sucker for happy endings, so forgive me if I make the ending seem a little too happy to be realistic. I just like to see my characters happily settled at the end of the story!
marial0789: It's a secret (; hahaha all is revealed this chapter!
Nikki1991: I would never let Erik die hehehe.
Masked Man 2: The ending, indeed! I felt it was not handled as well as it could have been, but ah well! I really did like writing the beginning scene with Christine and Raoul though.
E-man-dy-S: You're welcome! Enjoy (:
shelbyb99: hahaha I take that as a positive signal that you like the story?
RoseWayne1: No worries! He is well and truly back now!
BroadwayHopeful23: I'm honoured, and I'm so glad you enjoyed the story! (: Thank you!
Thank you to all new favourites/followers! xx
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Chapter 55: Changes
Paris, 1899
"Thank you very much, messieurs," the man said, shaking first Firmin and then Andre's hand. "It was a very good deal; I can assure you I am well excited to be taking over this place!"
"Well, we are not sad to see it go," Firmin spat bitterly. "The place is more trouble than it is worth, indeed."
"In fact, I'm surprised we had any buyers at all, with what happened last month," Andre added, quietening down with a nasty look from Firmin.
"Oh?" The stranger looked intrigued. "I have just returned from my business travels overseas. I have not been back in France for quite a number of years. What happened last month?"
Andre chuckled. "Well now that the deed is signed, there can be no harm in me telling you this, monsieur. The place is haunted."
"Haunted?"
"Oh, what nonsense, Andre," Firmin scoffed. "Haunted by a man, indeed! No, monsieur, we lived under the rule of a madman who masqueraded himself to be a ghost for many, many years. Last month, under his coercion, we performed his opera on stage, only to have him attack our leading baritone, and kidnap the soprano, before fleeing into the night. We still have our suspicions that the two were in cahoots, for the girl swore that the monster was not harmful at all. What a foolish chit! We have no idea if he will be coming back, but if he ever does, good luck to you, monsieur."
"I'm not afraid of a ghost," the new owner of the Palais Garnier shrugged. "But thank you for letting me know, messieurs."
"And now we must be on our way," Firmin declared, placing his hat on his head. "We have new businesses to scope out. Good day, monsieur, and good luck with the place."
Andre tipped his hat to the new owner, and swept out behind Firmin. On their way out, they almost bumped into Madame Giry, who regarded them frostily with a greeting, before knocking on the manager's door.
"Do enter, madame," the new owner said warmly. "You must be the ballet mistress of this establishment. I am Alphonse Belcourt, the new owner of this opera house. How may I address you?"
Antoinette curtseyed. "Madame Giry, if you please, Monsieur Belcourt. Indeed, I am the ballet mistress of the Palais Garnier. This is Monsieur Reyer, the resident conductor." She gestured to the slim, small man beside her, who extended a hand.
"Welcome to the Palais Garnier, Monsieur Belcourt."
"The honour is all mine," Belcourt shook his hand vigorously. "I was just intending to look for you, there are matters to discuss. Sit, please do sit. You too, Madame Giry."
Reyer took a seat, slightly surprised. "Is there something wrong, monsieur?"
"Ah, I understand there were some… scandals in the past, regarding this opera house? What can you make of this situation?"
Reyer scoffed. "Mindless gossip that the previous managers indulged in, I'm sure."
"And the… so called ghost who haunts this place?"
"Well and truly gone, monsieur," Antoinette said quickly. "He will return here no more."
"Was it as bad as the previous managers made it sound? I would like to know how exactly to deal with the situation."
"The Opera Ghost was a musical genius," said Reyer quietly, startling Antoinette. "You have no need to worry, monsieur. As it is, if he were to return, I would not have any major objections. Unless, you are, like the other two managers, sadly deaf to music."
Alphonse Belcourt laughed heartily. "Deaf to music? I think not! I grew up under the tutelage of many musical instructors; my bourgeoisie parents thought to provide me with a lavish education in an attempt to match up to the nobility. In fact, I bought this place as a way for me to indulge in music a bit more. I am not married and have little to spend my money on."
Reyer shrugged. "Then we will get along fine, monsieur."
"Sadly, I cannot say that I know much about ballet, madame," Belcourt said apologetically to Antoinette. "But I do not intend to downplay its importance in the opera."
"Of course, monsieur, and for that I am glad, but may I inquire about your plans for the opera house? We have gone far too long without a production, and what with the bad reputation the previous scandal left for the Palais Garnier…"
"I intend to set into play preparations for a new production soon, indeed," Belcourt said, stroking his chin contemplatively. "The reason why I wanted to meet with you, Reyer, was to discuss hiring a new employee, perhaps someone who will assist me in making decisions for the opera house. As much as I know how to play the piano, I find that I may be lacking in the knowledge required for decisions regarding opera. I merely have a love for music, and that is all that is guiding me."
"Ah," Reyer said suddenly and quickly, his eyes lighting up. "I know just the person."
"You do?" Belcourt leaned forward in interest. "And would he be willing to come and work for me?
"I will have to ask you about that, monsieur, but I see no problems with his acceptance," Reyer replied solemnly. "Should I arrange for an interview?"
"Yes, indeed, my good man. I am eager to begin work on a new opera. Shall we say, Thursday next week? Yes?"
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After the two had stepped out of the manager's office and Reyer had closed the door, Antoinette turned toward him suspiciously.
"The Opera Ghost a musical genius, Reyer? I had no idea you were so well acquainted with his talents."
"Ah, you misunderstand me, Madame Giry. Don Juan Triumphant was well written, indeed."
Antoinette still stared at him suspiciously, and he chuckled.
"But have no fear, madame, for an old friend shall be revisiting you soon."
With that cryptic statement, he turned to leave.
"Wait, monsieur! Of whom do you speak of?" She called after him, but he ignored her and continued walking until he was out of sight.
Antoinette stared at the empty corridor in confusion. An old friend? Who?
And for the first time since the gendarmes had called off the search for the Opera Ghost, declaring the case closed, Antoinette felt a little spark of hope in her chest.
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Eustache Reyer unlocked the door to his house and entered the foyer, hearing the faint strains of music coming from the living room. He hung his coat on the coat rack, and went into the living room, where a man sat at the pianoforte, his nimble fingers dancing over the ivory keys, playing a jaunty piece that was whimsical and hauntingly beautiful at the same time. The man paused, replayed some notes, then took up a pencil and made some changes to the manuscript before him.
"Hello, Erik," said Reyer pleasantly.
The man turned, noticing him for the first time. "You are back, Eustache. And how did the sale of the opera house go today?"
Eustache motioned for him to join him before the roaring fire in the fireplace. The housekeeper brought in a pot of tea, and Eustache poured them both tea, sighing contentedly as he sipped the hot liquid
"It went well, I should think," he said quietly. "The new owner seems… better."
"I'm not sure anybody would have been worse than the old ones, but this is good news," Erik said, eliciting a laugh from the conductor. "Will I be able to return soon, do you think?"
"One would think I'd not shown you any hospitality, with the way you are always clamouring to return." Reyer remarked humorously, putting his cup of tea down. "But yes, I should think so. The new owner spoke of… a job. Someone to advise him on how to run the opera house. I thought of you, Erik."
Erik frowned. "Me?"
"Yes, it would be the perfect way to reintroduce you to the opera house. Would you not like to work there again, Erik? To hear the orchestra perform daily, to be there for every opera, to have a say in the decisions made?" Reyer asked, noting the glint in the younger man's eyes. "It would be a good job, Erik."
"And what are the chances that I will be hired?" Erik asked quietly.
"Very high, I should think, but then the Erik I know never backed down from challenges before," Reyer chided. "I thought you a brave man when you turned up on my brother's publishing house's doorstep one day of out the blue."
"Ah, but I do not back down from challenges, Eustache," Erik corrected. "I merely plan for them well before jumping in headfirst."
"I would have thought that the chance of going back to the opera house to see her would have you leaping for joy. It is what you have been waiting for, have you not?"
Erik looked at him, surprised. "Was it that apparent, then?"
Eustache smirked. "Apparent, from the way you tried to 'casually' ask me about how the ballet rats were doing after the incident? Apparent, from the way you asked me daily whether you could return to the opera house in secret, just to see someone? And then there is that," he gestured with his chin to the pianoforte. A sheaf of papers sat on the ledge above the ivory keys, a manuscript in progress, with a title scribbled lovingly on the cover of the roughly bound book. Amélie-Rose.
"I do not think it merely a coincidence that there is a ballet rat in the opera house who goes by that very name," Reyer said conversationally. "Especially not when she was the one who I gave my brother's name card to. The one you turned up holding in your gloved hands, Erik, in case you do not recall."
Erik coughed awkwardly, a slow blush creeping up his neck, and Reyer laughed.
"Ah, young love, how amazing it must feel, Erik. And now, I must retire to bed, for it has been a long day. But soon, Erik, soon." He clapped him on the shoulder heartily, then headed off to the staircase that led to his rooms.
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"Come on in, come in!" The new manager ushered them in warmly, gesturing to the seats before the manager's table. "You must be the friend that Reyer mentioned."
Erik extended a gloved hand slowly toward the manager. "Monsieur Chevalier, at your service."
The new manager shook it heartily. "Yes, yes. I am pleased to meet you. Reyer must have told you about the position I was interviewing for; I presume you would be interested in the role?"
"Yes," said Erik quietly and dignifiedly. "I am very interested in this job, indeed."
"And he is more than qualified," Reyer interjected. "While he may not be professionally trained in music, he is a self-taught musical genius. Have you heard of Musique, monsieur?"
"Musique? The manuscript that was sold out in Paris not long after it was launched? Yes, I have, indeed! I attempted to obtain one for myself, but alas, I was abroad for business at that time, and by the time news about the manuscript travelled to where I was, it had been long sold out in Paris."
Reyer smiled broadly. "Then, monsieur, I would like you to meet the composer of Musique."
A faint blush had begun to spread over Erik's neck as Belcourt stared at him incredulously.
"The composer of Musique? Sitting before me? Mon dieu, I'd thought he had decided to retreat from the musical world after the launch of his one and only book!" Belcourt stood in excitement. "Why, it is an honour, Monsieur Chevalier!"
"Call me Erik, please." The faint blush had grown to a full-blown redness, cresting over Erik's exposed cheek as he shifted in his seat uncomfortably at the man's enthusiasm. He could have sworn he heard Reyer chuckle at his reaction.
"Yes, yes! I would be more than delighted if you would deign to work here, monsieur! But a question, first… why do you wear a hat even indoors?"
Erik stiffened. He had anticipated that question. "An accident as a child, monsieur… an unfortunate incident that left one side of my face scarred. I am… not comfortable with showing it to the public."
He braced himself for rejection, even though Reyer had told him repeatedly that he felt that the new manager was not of that sort.
But Belcourt merely nodded solemnly, and assured Erik that it was of no issue, and that he could do whatever he felt was most comfortable for himself.
And Erik, the once mighty Opera Ghost, gaped as the new manager patted him on the arm heartily and made him sign the contract.
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"Have you heard the news? The new manager is hiring somebody!" A ballet rat hissed to the one next to her, as they did their stretches after a rigorous practice. "Someone saw him as he entered today with Reyer!"
"And so?" The other ballet rat yawned. "If he knows Reyer, he's probably as old and boring as him. What of it?"
"He's not!" The first ballet rat squealed excitedly. "Odette said he was tall, and dressed all in black, and most certainly not old!"
"Oh?" The second ballet rat perked up in interest. Let us go take a look! If we hurry, we might be able to catch them as they leave the manager's office. Ooh, I wonder what he is like. I wonder if the new manager hired him.
They got to their feet excitedly, gesturing to Amélie. "Come on, Amélie, join us! Are you not curious?"
"Not at all," Amélie grumbled, as they pulled her to her feet and dragged her out of the door. "He's probably just one of Reyer's friends.
There was already a small crowd of ballet rats clustered around the wall, peeping around the corner to spy on the manager's door, whispering to each other, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the newcomer in the opera house.
The door to the manager's office creaked open at last, and the manager stepped out, gesturing toward the person inside.
"I look forward to working well together, Monsieur Chevalier." The new manager said pleasantly, holding out a hand. The person inside took it, shaking it as he stepped out, a black hat tipped over his face.
"As do I, Monsieur Belcourt. As do I," said the man, tilting the brim of his hat further over his face.
Amélie stopped breathing.
She would recognise that stature anywhere.
The black cloak. The gloves. That hat.
That voice.
Erik.
Her mouth fell open limply as the newcomer raised his head and turned to leave, and she caught the brief glimpse of white on his face.
Erik!
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A/N: Our favourite leading man is back (; As usual, please read/review/favourite/follow/let me know what you think! See you all next Monday. xx hazel