Disclaimer: The characters and plotline of the Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.
Chapter 7
He had hidden himself behind one of the walls of Gardiner's office. He had positioned himself so that he could see inside and look at her half of the conversation. He had heard and seen everything, except her for her face.
Two weeks of watching her, and he had seen much in her facial expressions. Had he been able to then, perhaps he might have understood more. Still, there was much he had been able to learn.
At least he now knew why there had been doubts about her place. He wondered about this.
She had gotten in without an interview. Such conduct was unheard of at the Ravelle. Gardiner could be a fool at times. He shuddered as he remembered Ms. Guidacelli's audition, and the praise that had been lavished on her ridiculously when she was out of earshot. She had only needed two interviews to secure her place, and she had the backing of a famous – albeit undeservingly so – mother. Yet this girl had gotten in without any of that. He had skipped a day of auditions to recover from Ms. Guidacelli's. Obviously that had been the day she had tried out, otherwise he would have heard her.
Her voice should have recovered within two months. He had to hear it.
True, most of the 'talent' that came out of the Ravelle was, to his mind, mediocre at best and remained so – seeing as most chose to milk the name on their degrees as much as they could. This girl however, had Gardiner's approval without question – certainly no one else would have been able to stay for so long whilst incapable of performing. She also had Madame Giry's full support. A rare thing, no matter what the relation.
He considered what had been said about her: I know of no one else who lives for music. Her dedication was clear if she was willing to go through the inevitable ridicule. The world was indeed cruel.
You are not the only one to know pain.
Those words returned to him unbidden. She had endured ridicule before, yet she accepted the probability of it again. She had lost her father two months ago, yet she behaved as though it were only two days. She did not make a show of her grief. With the exception of the time he and Giry had found her on the floor, he had not seen her cry once. He had seen the tear tracks down one side of her face, but nothing more.
He got the impression that 'pain' was not sufficient enough a word for her grief. He knew the signs well.
He decided. He would watch over this child.
He knew only the pain of rejection, the loss of what could have been. The loss of an obviously loving parent was not something he understood. The loss of everything else, the solitude that came with it, he knew all too well.
He had followed Giry and her – what did she call her? – second daughter as they left, had watched as the girl had stopped and allowed her guard to fall. He had seen her coming and going over the last fortnight, the change in her once the door was shut was immense. And it was the same one he saw when she lowered her hands. All the light was gone from her face. She looked like she carried a burden on her shoulders that was beyond her years, and it told upon her.
As she fell into Giry's embrace, he watched dumbfounded. She had been so strong in the theatre when she had been mocked before the entire class. She had answered Gardiner's questions honestly and calmly, even though he had obviously touched upon a few painful subjects. She had walked out of there with the quiet grace he had admired when he first saw her.
And then she broke.
It was not a breakdown as complete as the last one he had seen, but it was severe nevertheless. In all the years he had known Antoinette Giry, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had allowed herself to display any kind of sadness outside of her home or family.
Before she had brought this girl into his world anyway.
She had looked at him. He understood what she was silently asking for. It took him a few moments before he recovered from the shock enough to slip away and allow them to grieve with dignity.
Giry clearly still grieved for her lost friend, even whilst she supported her charge. The girl, however, was lost to her sorrow and pain, no matter how well she hid it.
Yes, he would watch over her. He knew pain like that, and he knew there was far more to it than he had learnt thus far. His curiosity was piqued far too much over his houseguest, and such distractions simply would not do now, would they?
Perhaps tonight he would attempt to satisfy one of his curiosities.
She hears the music in your house. It is the only place where she can begin to heal properly.
He had not played a note within those walls in all the time that she had been living there, whether she was in the house or not.
If someone could hear his music, then it was time he played again.
If she could hear him, then he would not disappoint.
If music could help her heal, then his would certainly be beneficial.
If she needed a protector, then he would be watching.
And in return: if she lived for music; then she would live for him.
Author's Note: Sorry this one's a bit shorter, but like with Chapter 4, the ones centred on one character will be a bit shorter. On a positive note, it was from the pen/mind of a dear friend of ours. There is more to come. Thanks again to TalithaJ, Busanda, Lady Winifred, and a special thanks to CarolROI for their latest reviews and support. Nearly ready for a double update guys. Thanks to all my readers as well. Nedjmet.