Erik woke up at about four o'clock that afternoon and saw that Father Michel was still resting. They would be expected for dinner at six o'clock. Just enough time for a nice hot bath and a fresh change of clothing, Erik thought, with perhaps some left over to peruse the collection of shelved books in the sitting room.
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Erik immersed himself in the soothing hot water and leaned his head back to rest on the porcelain tub. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Suddenly, there she was…he could see her in his mind's eye, standing on the rooftop of the Populaire, embracing that boy. He opened his eyes quickly and leaned up, grasping the bar of honey soap and scrubbing his body briskly. Oh, God, if only this could wash her completely away from me…out of my heart and mind!
He tried to think of other things besides Christine, but she filled his senses. He was suddenly aware that he could almost smell her…that familiar scent of lavender and roses, which was so intoxicating to him. He felt disgusted with himself for being so weak when it came to her. His thoughts drifted back to the night he had first taken her through the mirror and to his home beneath the opera. He could smell her hair and skin as he took her in his arms and sang to her, and he wanted her. God, how he wanted her! He had planned for so many years to woo her and make her his wife…the music, the illusion of the Angel of Music, the roses he left for her regularly, the wedding gown he had commissioned, the bedroom he had designed just for her, and the hypnotic seduction of his opera…all of it was to make her love him…and all of it had been burned to ashes, along with much of the Populaire. He had not only smelled her…he had tasted her…the sweetness of her mouth mingled with the saltiness of her tears. Before she left me for the safety and boredom of that young Vicomte, she gave herself to me in that kiss. But what other option did I leave her? It was all to save him! Erik thought. But…why did she kiss me a second time? Not once, but twice…and the second time was very different…almost as though she…no. No! I do not believe it! She couldn't possibly have…feelings…for me…could she? Oh, Erik, you damned fool! Your wishful thinking is getting the better of you! Erik finished with his bath and stood, drying himself with a towel and dressing for the evening meal that he was to have with the Laurent family—and trying desperately to put all thoughts of Christine from his mind…at least for a while.
"Ah, I wondered if you were awake," Father Michel addressed him as Erik sauntered out of the bedroom at the back of the house. The old priest had fallen asleep on the settee in the front room and had rested rather awkwardly. He had lines on one cheek and wrinkles on one side of his clothes, clearly indicating that he had been sleeping well during his afternoon nap. "Well, you look quite ready for dinner. Unfortunately, I look like I have slept in my clothes. Perhaps that is because I have!" he chuckled.
"Obviously," Erik replied dryly, eyeing the priest's wrinkled clothing. "Perhaps the Laurents will be so distracted by my mask that no one will notice your horribly wrinkled attire."
"Well, I could only hope for that," the old man chided him. "Perhaps I shall go and at least wash the sleep out of my eyes, then." He strode past Erik down the hall to the lavatory.
Erik sighed. All this constant chatter, he thought. It makes my head hurt. Now, what have we here? He walked briskly to the bookshelves and ran his fingers along the titled spines of the books. Voltaire, Locke, Shakespeare. Hmmm. He lifted a large book of the collective works of William Shakespeare from the shelf and sat down in the armchair by the window to glance through it until it was time to leave. "Much Ado About Nothing." Well, that seems to fit my life perfectly right now, so I shall have a look, he thought, amused with himself. How is it that I can find any humor at a time like this? he wondered. He chuckled as he read, however, as the sarcastic banter between Benedick and Beatrice flowed so easily. These two characters seem to hate each other, he thought, and yet there is such chemistry between them. I shall have to continue this story tonight after the meal. Erik dog-eared the page and closed the book.He stood as he heard Father Michel exit the lavatory and come back down the hall.
"Ready to go, Erik?" the priest questioned, looking slightly refreshed from his recent face-scrubbing.
"As ready as one can be, I suppose," Erik shrugged.
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"Come in, Father, Monsieur Erik, please. Have a seat." Monsieur Laurent smiled at them as they entered the wooden double doors leading to the large dining room. The room was a light rose color and floral arrangements were set on white pedestals in each corner of the room. A fireplace served as the center focus of one wall, and an oil canvas of a garden hung neatly above it. The long rectangular dining table was cherry wood, and a small crystal chandelier hung overhead. Elegant, but not gaudy, Erik thought again.
Monsieur Laurent motioned to two chairs on his left, and the two men took their seats. "So, how is everything going at the guest house?" He asked politely.
Erik glanced at Father Michel and briefly waited for him to respond. He did not. "Everything is fine. Thank you." Erik replied succinctly.
"Glad to hear it," Monsieur Laurent responded. "Dinner will be served momentarily. My wife and daughter are anxious to meet you, Monsieur Erik," he said, smiling warmly.
"I can't imagine why," Erik replied darkly, looking suspiciously at the man.
Monsieur Laurent chuckled. "Ah, here they are now."
Erik turned to see a tall, slender woman enter the room, wearing a modest lavender dress and wearing only a small amount of gold jewelry. Her blond hair was piled neatly on top of her head, and her brown eyes sparkled when she smiled. "Good evening," she nodded to Erik and Father Michel. She was followed by a servant carrying a girl who appeared to be about fourteen years of age. The girl had straight brown hair, which fell to the middle of her back in a braid. She was dressed in a blue flowered dress that accented her blue eyes perfectly.
"Father, I believe you already know my wife and daughter. Monsieur Erik, this is my wife Suzette and my daughter, Amêlie."
Madame Laurent curtsied and held her hand out to Erik. He grasped it cordially and nodded his head at her but did not kiss her hand. "So nice to meet you, Monsieur Erik. I am pleased that you have come to stay with us." She smiled at him, and Erik read no fear in her eyes.
"Thank you, Madame," he replied sincerely. He turned to see the servant settling young Amêlie into her dining chair. "Hello," she said, wrinkling her nose as she smiled at him.
She has her mother's smile. "Good evening, Mademoiselle," Erik spoke in a softer tone of voice so as not to frighten her.
"Father says that you are a musician. What instrument do you play?" the young girl asked Erik directly.
"I play several. Piano, organ, violin…" he answered her.
"Oh! Violin! I should love to hear the violin!" Amêlie interrupted excitedly.
Erik frowned. "I'm afraid that when my home was burned, my violin met the same fate."
"Oh." Her expression turned to one of disappointment. "Well, we do have a lovely piano! Perhaps after dinner you could play for us?" she asked sweetly.
"Amêlie, mind your manners!" Suzette reprimanded her. "Monsieur Erik has only just arrived and would most likely wish to rest this evening after our meal."
"Yes, Mother. I apologize, Monsieur Erik. I…I just suppose I wasn't thinking." She bit her lip and lowered her gaze.
Erik smiled slightly. "Actually, it wouldn't be much trouble. I haven't been able to play a piano in quite some time due to my…situation."
Amêlie's face broke into a wide grin. "Oh, would you? Thank you so much, Monsieur!"
The servants came in carrying trays of food and everyone was served. Dinner was pleasant enough as Erik watched the Laurents smiling and laughing with one another. Father Michel even joined in, but Erik felt like he was the dark cloud over the whole evening. Still, none of them made him feel as though he didn't belong. He began to relax and even chuckled slightly at some of their stories.
"Oh, Gregoire, really, you must tell your story about the time you traveled to the Holy Lands and saw so many interesting sights!" Suzette encouraged her husband.
"Ah, there is really nothing to tell, mon cher. I'm sure that Father Michel knows what is there and would be thoroughly bored hearing about it," he responded, shaking his head.
"Nonsense!" Father Michel replied. "I should love to hear about what you saw when you were there, as I'm sure Erik would. I have never visited the Holy Lands."
"Well, I saw all of the typical sights…Mount of Olives, Garden of Gethsemane, the Church of the Nativity, the Via Dolorosa…it was quite a bit of history, I must say. Monsieur Erik, do you know much about the history of the Holy Lands?" Monsieur Laurent asked curiously.
Erik was startled by the question. He cleared his throat. "I am aware that it is held by many to be a sacred place, Monsieur, by Jews, Christians, and Muslims. I suppose I have never taken the time to research much about it," he replied honestly.
"And why not?" Monsieur Laurent demanded.
Erik was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable. "I have busied myself with other things…composing music, designing, architecture…hobbies of that sort."
"Do you find that religious matters are not to your liking?" Monsieur Laurent pressed Erik further.
This man is rather forward to be asking me such questions! "Monsieur, I am not certain that I like your tone," Erik replied darkly. "Do you have a problem with those who do not enjoy discussing religion?"
Suzette reached out and patted Erik's arm. "Oh, goodness, no, Monsieur! This is just Gregoire's way. He likes to engage people in the most taboo topics of conversation!" She laughed warmly. "Gregoire, if he does not wish to discuss his religious beliefs, then you should not force him. After all, he is our guest, not a spy, for heaven's sake!" She grinned at her husband.
"I should simply like to know what sort of man will be living in our guest house, ma cherie," Monsieur Laurent responded to his wife. He turned his gaze again to Erik. "Monsieur, I did not mean to offend you. But if you will indulge me, please do tell me about what you mentioned before…your composing and architecture."
Erik straightened in his chair. "I have done much composing, though very little of it has been published. And most of my works were unfortunately destroyed in the fire. I have also done some designs and architectural work…but that was long ago."
"I should like to see what you can do in the way of architecture, Monsieur. I have an acquaintance in Melun who is looking for another architect at his firm. Would you be interested in acquiring an interview?" Monsieur Laurent questioned.
"Y-yes, I believe I would," Erik stammered. He looked at Father Michel with a stunned countenance, eyes wide. Can this be happening? Could I actually obtain gainful, legal employment by using my talents in this way? Perhaps my prayers have not gone unheard after all, Erik thought. Then suddenly, his insecurity reared its ugly head. They will never hire a man like you…you would only be a freak to them! His thoughts were interrupted by Monsieur Laurent's voice.
"Wonderful! Now, shall we retire to my study and have a look at what you can do?" he asked.
"Yes," Erik replied simply. He noticed then that young Amêlie had a sudden look of sadness upon her face. He leaned forward slightly and spoke to her softly across the table. "I have not forgotten about you, Mademoiselle. I shall play for you as soon as your Father and I have finished." Her face brightened and she smiled at him.
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Monsieur Laurent, Father Michel and Erik stood around the large mahogany desk in the study, looking at the impromptu sketches that Erik had drawn. "I must say, I am quite impressed with your drawings here, Monsieur Erik," Monsieur Laurent commented warmly. "You have quite an eye for detail. I am almost certain that Monsieur Giroux will want to hire you immediately."
Father Michel smiled at Erik with a look of pride upon his face. "Yes, my boy…you are a man of many talents, I see." He patted Erik on the back. "Now…I believe that you have a prior appointment which you must keep." He motioned with his head toward the door, where a servant was once again holding Amêlie.
"Yes, of course. My prior appointment," Erik winked at the young girl and asked, "Now, where is this piano of yours?"
"Right this way, Monsieur. Follow me!" she giggled as Erik followed the servant down the hall into a door on the right. "This is my favorite room in the entire house! It's sort of a library for me. I come here when I want to be alone and think." The servant seated Amêlie in a high backed chair near the piano. She folded her hands in her lap gently and looked up at Erik. "Please, what will you play?"
Erik had not played for anyone except Christine and Father Michel in such a long time…he was feeling a bit nervous. His tension grew further as he heard a noise at the door to the room and Monsieur and Madame Laurent entered, followed closely by Father Michel. Erik nodded at them and turned back to Amêlie. "Mademoiselle, do you have a favorite song which you like to sing?"
Amêlie looked surprised and delighted all at once. She blushed nervously and replied, "Do you know the Messiah?"
At first, Erik was not sure what the young girl was speaking about, but then he realized that she was referring to the musical work of Handel. "Ah, yes, I am familiar with it. Where would you like to begin?" Amêlie motioned for Erik to come closer to her, and continued to motion until he was inches from her face. She looked deeply into his eyes, and he felt strange…to be so close to such innocence was almost unbearable for him. If she knew my crimes, she would never wish to be this close to me, he thought to himself. She whispered in his ear, and he nodded. "Very well," he spoke aloud, seating himself at the piano. "Shall we begin?"
Amêlie nodded. Erik began to play the beginning of the music for Act II of the Messiah. On cue, the young girl began to sing:
"Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world…"
Erik closed his eyes.
"…He was despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. He gave His back to the smiters, and His cheeks to them that plucked off the hair: He hid not His face from shame and spitting…"
He abandoned himself to the ethereal, innocent sound of her voice and it was as though he were truly hearing the words for the first time in his life.
"…Surely He hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows! He was wounded for our transgressions; He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him. And with His stripes we are healed…"
He unconsciously began to tremble as he thought about the suffering servant, the Christ...they spat on His face…He was wounded and bruised….
"…All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way. And the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all."
Amêlie had stopped singing, though Erik continued to play, lost in the music. After a few moments, he came to his senses and ended the song. As he opened his eyes, he felt a tear escape and he quickly turned away from all eyes that were fastened upon him. He discreetly wiped the tear from his cheek and turned to smile at Amêlie. "That was lovely, Mademoiselle. You sing…like an angel." He meant it. Though she was quite young, he believed that she had the potential to become a great singer one day. "You must be sure to continue with your singing as you mature. Perhaps one day you will sing before a much larger audience."
Amêlie had tear streaks on her cheeks. "Monsieur Erik, I have never heard anyone play with such emotion. Thank you for allowing me to sing with you. You are wonderful." Her eyes brimmed over with tears and she bowed her head humbly.
If she truly knew me, would she still say such things? "Thank you, Mademoiselle. And now, I believe that I am growing rather tired. Would you mind if I excused myself, Monsieur? Madame?"
"Oh, not at all!" Monsieur Laurent waved a hand at Erik. "You have done enough entertaining for one evening, I believe! I shall arrange an interview for you with Monsieur Giroux. If…he would like to set it up for tomorrow, would you consider going on such short notice?"
"I believe I have no other plans at the moment," Erik replied honestly. "Notify me as soon as you have received word from him." He paused. "And thank you for the meal." Erik turned on his heel and left the room. He heard Father Michel excuse himself as well and turned to find him following him out to the foyer.
"Erik, would you mind if I stayed over at the guest house tonight? It is growing late and an old man such as myself needs to get to bed at a decent hour. I promise I won't be any trouble, and I'll take my leave in the morning."
"Fine." Erik thought for a moment. "Father, does an old man such as yourself require the use of a bed for the night, or would you do well enough with the settee in the front room?" He cocked one dark eyebrow, hoping that the old man would choose the option of less comfort.
"Well, I am getting old, my boy. Could you suffer through one night on the settee?" Father Michel asked with some trepidation.
Erik sighed. "Somehow, I knew this arrangement was too good to be true," he grimaced.