September 15th 1892: Raoul
After my conversation with Christine I hadn't felt like going out anymore. I had wanted to stay at home, hold her in my arms and tell her everything that was on my mind: how much I loved the children and her and how worried I was that this could be taken from me. In those few moments in which I had recalled our past I had felt as if I could talk to her about everything, certain she'd understand me. After all, we had been through a lot together.
But of course staying at home had been impossible. I couldn't ask my business partner for a meeting in one minute and decide against it in the next. I knew there were businessmen who treated others like that, yet I had sworn myself never to become one of them. So I had dressed, called a brief goodbye to my children, telling them I'd be back in the afternoon and taken a coach to the restaurant.
And now I was sitting here, paying attention to M.Levarne with a tiny part of my mind, while the bigger part was busy thinking about my wife and the Phantom. Maybe I shouldn't have left her to eat lunch with him. Who knew what could develop from a simple meal… I mentally slapped myself. Where had those overwhelmingly positive feelings gone? Why did they vanish as soon as Christine wasn't close to me anymore?
I knew that in order to make things right in our relationship I had to regain my trust in her, but I didn't know how it was done. Perhaps the first step was believing her nothing had happened at the Phantom's lair last night. I hadn't had time to talk to him anyway. This could be my chance to practice to simply take her word for it. My much too vivid imagination wasn't making that process any easier, though. If only I could stop all those thoughts for a while!
"M. de Chagny? Did you hear what I've just said ?" The way in which M.Levarne raised his voice made it clear that my face had shown I had been miles away from the conversation.
"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I didn't pay attention for a few… moments." Actually ´minutes´ would have been a more accurate term, but I preferred not to tell him for how long exactly I hadn't listened to him. "Could you repeat it, please?"
My business partner smiled and nodded. Something far worse would have to happen before he grew seriously angry. He was a very gentle man.
"I was talking about the Norwegians," he informed me. "Two days ago they've sent me a rather impolite letter, claiming that the amount of money they had got from us wasn't enough for their project. They want to talk to us in person a second time, but…"
"… but they refuse to come to Paris and insist on us coming to Oslo instead," I finished his sentence, rolling my eyes discreetly as he nodded again. Usually only the first meeting took place close to where the persons who wanted money from us lived, so that we could have a look at their projects, and the rest was dealt with in Paris. Yet the Norwegians had never obeyed that unwritten rule. If they hadn't been recommended to us by a man with whom we already had a very successful partnership, I'd have never considered giving them money at all.
"Could you arrange a meeting and travel to Norway alone?" I asked him, expecting him to accept dutifully, even though we had both only returned from there a few weeks ago and hadn't liked it. Yet to my surprise he shook his head.
"I'm afraid that will hardly be possible," he replied, staring down at the table instead of meeting my eye. "Juliette, my wife… she's expecting. The birth could take place any day, and you know what…" He swallowed hard and was unable to go on, but it wasn't necessary. I knew what he was referring to: When his wife had given birth to their first child, she had lost so much blood that it had nearly cost her life. I could understand that he wanted to stay with her. Still it put me in a really bad position.
My worries seemed to be visible on my face, for he said:
"If you insist on me going, I'll do it, of course. I know you want to work less and spend more time with your family.".
Naturally that generous offer threw me into an even worse conflict. Could I stay at home, knowing M.Levarne, who was the most loyal and reliable partner I had ever had, was in Norway and would perhaps never see his complete family again? The mere thought made me feel like a terribly selfish person.
But then, if he didn't go, I'd have to. And what would Christine say if I came home with such news? She wouldn't be happy, that much was certain. After all, she had been angry when she had found out about this meeting. I could imagine very well what her opinion on me leaving the country for days would be like. Maybe she'd even accuse me of having known it all the time and holding back information from her.
"It's all right, Raoul," M.Levarne assured me. "You don't have to say anything. I know that I'm the one who has to go. I'll place the fate of my family in the Lord's hands. If it's in His will, things will be fine by the time I'll come back…"
Interestingly, it weren't his words that caused me to make a decision. It was the use of my first name. Even though I had offered it to him at least a dozen times, he stubbornly refused to call me Raoul, claiming it wasn't decent for a man not belonging to aristocracy. Yet on those rare occasions when he did use it I clearly felt the friendship that had blossomed between us over the years of working together.
And suddenly a second scenario appeared in front of my mind's eye. I no longer saw myself standing in our living room, talking to my wife. Instead, I imagined being on Juliette's funeral, sitting in the row behind M.Levarne and hearing his muffled sobs, knowing that his misery was my fault. What would it feel like to live with that guilt? No, I couldn't do that to him. I wouldn't be able to cope with the knowledge that I had destroyed a family.
Covering his hand with mine for a moment I told him:
"You're not going anywhere, Gilles. Your wife needs you at her side, not hundreds of miles away. I'll go.".
A bright smile lit up his face.
"Oh, thank you," he breathed, looking so relieved that I was afraid he might try to embrace me. Quickly I changed the subject, before something embarrassing could happen.
"Did the Norwegians say how long they think my visit will take?" I asked.
"They were speaking of a few days, but knowing them a week is more likely," he replied.
I nodded.
"I'll need about a day to get everything settled here in Paris," I muttered, speaking half to myself. "So send a message to Oslo, telling them I'll depart tomorrow afternoon, and make all necessary arrangements." As an afterthought I added: "And hire a coach for me. I can't take ours – Christine will need it.".
He gave me a lopsided smile.
"The Norwegians won't be pleased about the additional expenses," he said.
"Well, that's their problem," I gave back with a shrug. "If they came to Paris, there would be no such expenses."
We finished our meal during a pleasant conversation about our children, then we said goodbye. I was no longer particularly looking forward to coming home. Telling the driver to stop at the market I bought a bouquet of colourful flowers for my wife. Maybe they'd help her digest the bad news more easily. I could only hope the Phantom wasn't there anymore. He'd doubtlessly make me look like a heartless fool who didn't care about his family. But then, not everyone could have work that didn't require him leaving the house…
Arriving home I noticed in delight that that coach from the opera, which had stood in the street when I had left, had gone. I dared relax a little as I opened the door. Yet before I could do as much as take off my hat, Larisse came running along the corridor, faster than I'd have thought possible.
"M. le Comte! Oh, thank Heavens you're here!" she exclaimed, and for the second time within an hour I was exposed to the danger of being embraced by a very unlikely person. Involuntarily I took a little step backwards. "Something terrible has happened!"
My heart sank. Frantically I looked around for signs indicating what had been going on, but everything seemed quite normal. But then, there were crimes that didn't leave traces that obvious. A terrible suspicion crept up my spine and settled down in my head.
"Was it… our guest? Did he do something?" I asked, wondering when my mouth had had time to become so very dry.
"No, no, M.Erik has already left the house an hour ago," she replied. "Thank goodness he has taken the children with him. He promised to bring Antoinette to her teacher on the way, you know…"
"So what did happen?" I wanted to know impatiently.
"Oh, it's terrible!" the cook cried. "Come with me!" She led me down the corridor. My mind was racing. There were so many ´terrible´ things that could have happened in my absence. On the one hand I wanted to ask Larisse about it, but on the other hand I was too afraid to do so.
The cook opened the door to the living room, and we went inside. To my enormous relief my wife was sitting there on the sofa, seemingly unharmed. She was clutching the hand of Jacqueline, who was next to her. With a few quick strides I was at Christine's side.
"What happened?" I asked, touching her shoulder softly.
She looked up at me, and I saw tears glistening in her eyes. Wordlessly she pointed at the table. A piece of paper was lying next to a little cardboard box. One word was written on it in big red letters: Soon. Cautiously I lifted the lid of the box… and gasped in shock. A dead sparrow lay on a layer of black velvet.