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. Nor do I own any of the songs or music used or referred to within this story. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.
Chapter 45
She was nervous. Actually, that was an understatement. She was so anxious that she was trembling – and it was rare for her to tremble from anything unless it was deeply felt.
When Christine had arrived at the Girys', she had been full of excitement at the success of the operation. She finally didn't have to hide her face anymore, or worry about getting caught in the rain. In fact, she had resolved that the next time it seriously rained she would be going for a very long walk. Though the scars were gone from her face and neck, they were still there on her back and arm. The visible ones had been removed, but strangely, she hadn't been able to part with all of them. It wasn't that the stress of the procedure would have been too much – granted it probably would have meant a bit longer in hospital – nor was it for want of persuasion from the doctors and those she counted as family. Though it wasn't the best, and it certainly wasn't one of the most pleasant, it was still a tie to her father. Perhaps one day, she would have another operation. For now though, she still needed them to finish healing.
Meg had teased her to no end last night: for once, it had been her who had literally spent hours in front of the mirror. After plenty of study, she had just about forgotten what her face had looked like, and though she was still surprised by her reflection, it wasn't quite enough now to make her do a double-take. There was a small hairline scar around her temple, and another near the base of her neck, but they were barely noticeable – she had had to point them out to Meg. Perhaps it was time to hang a few mirrors in the house. It would certainly make a change, having to check her appearance more often, but she would relish it. She hadn't felt this feminine for a long time.
Which may explain why she had spent so long choosing what she would wear to her lesson today. Assuming she would be having a lesson. Once they had seen off Uncle Gustave and Meg and Mother Giry had finally let her go back to the house, her thoughts were finally allowed to rest solely on her Angel. She had been so excited at the thought of 'seeing' him again that she had rushed upstairs and begun digging through her wardrobe immediately. It was probably silly, trying to impress an angel. As she had been changing though, it had hit her. She wasn't trying to impress an angel. She was trying to impress her Angel.
She was trying to impress a man.
Since her talk with Uncle Gustave in the hospital, the memory of their duet which she had thought would be a comfort had instead been utterly confusing. Was it possible that her Angel did love her? Or even thought about her at all in that way? If so, what had that song done to him? If he'd gotten the wrong idea then their relationship could be lost. She had known what the song really meant even as she'd suggested it. And yet she wouldn't have chosen anything else. What did that mean?
It was these and many other questions that had gotten her nerves so fraught. Coupled with the fact that their parting could have gone better if she'd been a bit less forgetful or worried, she actually dreaded opening the dressing room door. She was stood outside for quite a few minutes before she finally plucked up the nerve – or at least realised that there was every chance he was watching and her behaviour wouldn't be doing her any favours.
As she switched on the light, she let out a small sigh of relief. The room was just as she remembered it. She didn't know why it was comforting; probably the hope that they could just pick up where they left off. She didn't take off her coat straight away. Instead she tentatively called out:
"Angel?"
Silence. She waited a few moments, and then her shoulders sagged. It wasn't as if he had said he would be waiting for her all the time. But he had said that he'd be watching, and made her swear to come back as soon as she could. Perhaps he hadn't been speaking of lessons. But what else could he have meant?
She sat down on the couch and let the warmth return to her. It being the start of January, the weather was bitingly cold, and she was glad she'd wrapped up warmly. The chill outside appeared to have extended within, in spite of the warmth of the décor. Even though her temperature was gradually being restored, Christine still felt the occasional shiver. The silence was driving her mad! In the hospital, it was to be expected so she had been prepared for it. At the Girys' – well, there was little room for silence courtesy of Meg. Here though, it was just plain wrong. She began humming to try and dispel the thick atmosphere that she was beginning to feel. The notes were quiet and tremulous at first, just a nonsensical little ditty like the kind anyone would sing. Then she found the notes forming a recognisable tune of their own accord.
"That is not meant to be hummed." She jumped up off the couch and faced the mirror.
"Whilst Chalumeau's work leaves a lot to be desired, there is no excuse for belittling it and yourself in the process." The rebuke continued. Christine didn't care too much, she was just glad to be hearing him.
"I didn't realise I'd been humming Hannibal." She replied, somewhat breathlessly.
"Is this how you define practising? Wasting your voice by allowing yourself to fail the music?"
"No, Angel." She hadn't called him her angel. "I have been practising the way you taught me. The staff didn't let me waste my voice once I started."
"Staff?" Where had she been?
"The staff where my Uncle works. I spent some time with them there." She answered a little too quickly.
"Tell me, what uncle would work during Christmas with you as a guest?" From his tone, she wasn't sure if he intended that as a complement or an insult.
"He's a doctor. We both anticipated it. I just enjoyed the time we had together."
"There is still a full week left of the holiday." He ventured.
"I know." Silence. He was expecting something. "When we were planning it, we weren't sure when the holidays would fall or how long they'd be. We had only planned for the two weeks. And I wanted to come back. I missed you." She finished quietly, her head lowering with the volume.
He closed his eyes in silent relief. He knew she'd been stood outside the door, and dreaded the reason for her disquiet being that she wished to end their lessons, or that something had happened to 'distract' her – like that boy. She had missed him, and she had been nervous about admitting it – she was blushing now. Or was the blush because of a lie. She had been a little too quick in her explanations of her uncle.
"I assume you have come ready for a lesson." He returned coolly. Her head shot up again with a smile brighter than any he had seen.
"Yes, my Angel. I brought the score for Hannibal as you requested." He had said they would be preparing solely for the opera once the concert had passed.
"Very well. Place it on the stand and open it to the aria you were attempting. If you will perform it absentmindedly, then I think you had better learn to do so correctly."
She finally got around to taking her thick coat and gloves off, then took out the score and obeyed. He was extremely glad she couldn't see him as she arranged the sheets. He had noticed that she wasn't wearing her glasses when she'd come in, but now . . .! The red turtleneck sweater and black knee-length skirt and boots clung to her every curve where her previous wardrobe had hung loose. Her hair was hanging down her back and although she had pinned some of it away from her face, there were still a few loose tendrils framing her forehead. He had thought her beautiful when he'd first seen her. He had known it when she'd sung for him. As she performed on the stage, he had thought her perfect. This was a whole new side to her. She looked . . . sexy. It was a word he'd never consciously applied to a woman before. The most wonderful part of it was that she moved as though she didn't even realise the power she had. She carried herself with more confidence than usual, as though she felt more attractive, but was still restrained enough that he could tell she didn't know the full extent of her charm. It was so . . . Christine.
"Angel?" She asked softly. He was glad he hadn't addressed her as 'child' today. It didn't seem appropriate somehow. It was going to be a long lesson.
Two hours later, having discovered that whist she had indeed been practising and that the aria was as challenging as she imagined, Christine was finally allowed to rest.
"Enough. We will continue tomorrow." Since he'd resolved not to call her 'child', he had ended up being even more curt than usual – he couldn't think of anything else.
She collected the music – since he hadn't asked her to leave it, and she needed to study it anyway – and then moved back over to the couch where she began packing away.
"I was intrigued by your last request of me." Her movements stilled. "I confess I would not have expected you to think of Lift the Wings." She turned to the mirror.
"I suppose I don't just take after my mother with my looks."
"Oh?"
"She used to sing that song as a goodbye when she really didn't want to say it. It was something she only did for the people who were most important to her. I couldn't think of another song that would suit." She remembered Uncle Gustave's advice and didn't say the 'l' word.
"Thank you, Christine." The whisper echoed in return.
"Angel, may I ask something of you?" She asked tentatively, wringing her hands a little.
"Of course."
"Meg will be wanting to spend the rest of the holidays with me, but she doesn't usually get up in the mornings without her classes. I was wondering – seeing as there's all that free time – I was wondering if we might have some extra lessons in the morning? Only if it's convenient for you."
"Had you not gone, we would have been having extra lessons anyway. It is not inconvenient, it is essential. There is much to prepare, especially as you are not as familiar with this music as the Fantasia."
"Would eight o'clock be alright then? I'll probably have the whole morning free."
"Of course." He replied, lighting up inside. Four extra hours a day with her, and she had volunteered them.
"Thank you, my Angel." She replied, finally putting on her coat and collecting her bag. As she turned to the door to make her way out, she caught sight of something on the dressing table. Where the customary rose would be at the end of a good lesson, there was instead a small black velvet box. After hesitating a few moments, she went to the box and allowed herself to touch it.
"Go ahead, Christine." Twice in one lesson, he had never said her name that often. Never mind the trembling, it was with now shaking hands that she picked up the box and opened it. Resting on the black silk inside was a small pendant on a delicate chain of silver. It consisted of a circle of glass with a tiny rose pressed inside. Christine lifted it delicately to find that on one side the rose was yellow and on the other, it was red.
"Happy Christmas, my dear." He whispered. It didn't matter that it was belated. It was each of their roses in one combined. It was without a doubt the most beautiful gift she had ever received. She lifted the chain carefully and placed it around her neck. As it settled, she touched it delicately and turned to her reflection in the large mirror. It was her turn to whisper.
"Thank you, my Angel." She didn't bother to hide the tears that sought to fall; it was a luxury she had not enjoyed for some time. She let them fall so that he might see what it truly meant to her.
"Go now. You have an early start tomorrow." She left him with a smile.
She had come back to him. Had asked to spend more time with him.
He drew his hand down from his side of the mirror where it had come to rest after he had vainly reached out to wipe away her tears. One day. Those tears had not been of sorrow. She appreciated the value of his gift – and not in monetary terms.
He thought of their duet again. It was the last memory he had of Katie. She had sung it to him. He had refused to sing it with her when he found out the reason for it. He hadn't even looked at her until she was finished. She hadn't wanted to leave him. And he had ignored that, thinking only of her betrayal. Perhaps the promise he had been waiting for, for so long was going to be kept: she had said her child would save him.
And Christine was well on the way to doing that.