September 17th 1892: Erik
By the time my conversation with Christine was over, I wasn't more than a wreck. I had been tossed around by the tempest of emotions, hers as well as mine, till my sails were hanging down in rags and my masts were broken. I was so exhausted that I didn't even manage to stand up and go after her. All I could do was stare into space.
Yet all that was only referring to my appearance. Inside the motionless body, struggles were erupting everywhere. Positive emotions were fighting against negative ones. Both sides were throwing snatches of the conversation around, forming arguments or simply shouting loudly. It was a complete chaos, and I had no idea how long it would go on like this.
There was just one thing I knew: In the end, the negative emotions would win. I knew it, for that was the way our conversation had ended as well. I simply couldn't erase Christine's surprised face and her incredulous voice from my mind. She had probably assumed that talking about our wedding night would make me more cheerful than I had been before.
This might have worked for a normal man. But I wasn't a normal man. The expectant sparkle in her eyes had only reminded me of the fact that she was indeed looking forward to that very special night. Well, special it would be, if only especially embarrassing and especially disappointing. Yet I couldn't imagine that this was what she had had in mind.
Perhaps it was strange of me to become that upset about a wedding night, so shortly after she had told me that she loved me. Shouldn't that be much more important? Of course it should. Yet in my mind all those things were connected, and I sensed that they had to do with me feeling inferior to the Vicomte. He was the man she'd always love, not only for a few days. He also was the man who knew how to make her happy in the bedroom. I'd never stand the comparison to him.
Yet even all those bad things had a tiny positive aspect: At least I could be sure that she wasn't able to read minds. If she had done so at today's lunch, she wouldn't have been surprised about me being less than happy now. I didn't blame her for being a little insensitive in that respect, though. She must have thought I'd be eager to become more experienced in matters of the flesh. How could she know that the more I brooded about it, the less eager I grew?
There was but one solution: I wouldn't spend the night in her bedroom. I wouldn't spend the night in bed at all. Instead, I'd walk around in the corridors and the garden all night long, keeping my eyes and ears open. No one would come past me to attack the family. After all, that was what I had come to do in the first place.
It also had the advantage that everybody would apprechiate it. Christine would perhaps be a little disappointed when she'd first hear it, but in the end she'd understand. Besides, I'd only spare her further disappointment by avoiding her bedroom. It would be best for all of us.. with the possible exception of myself.
I gave a sigh. It was the first sound that could be heard from me after minute after silent minute. I was aware that by sparing us the embarrassment, I also robbed myself of a unique chance. If I refused Christine tonight, I'd probably never get the possibility to make love to her. Yet what did it matter, as long as I didn't lose face in front of the woman I loved?
Yes, I'd stay away from her bedroom. Maybe I'd even ask her to lock the door, just in case I'd grow weak. But then, of course I didn't need a key to enter a locked room. I could just… but I wouldn't do so. It stroke me as particularly ironic that I had argued with the Vicomte over the right to sleep in her bedroom and wouldn't do it now. Yet merely seeing the expression on his face had been worth the effort. It had been priceless. Perhaps I should make up a few nice stories about what had happened between Christine and me, just for the sake of tormenting him. So I'd at least gain a little pleasure from the situation.
Shaking my head about the kind of ideas I sometimes had, I decided to join Christine and Philippe in the living room. At last I came to my feet, poured a little tea into the third cup and added sugar. It was about time that the boy had a break. One couldn't expect him to practice too much. I didn't want to spoil his interest in music by letting him play the same melody over and over. That would have been boring, mindless work, and I certainly was no supporter of such things.
I left the kitchen, went down the corridor and pushed open the door to the living room, which stood ajar. It was clear that Philippe wasn't playing anymore, or I'd have heard it.
"Here, my boy," I said. "I brought you a cup of tea, for I know that playing the organ can make very thirsty." I handed him the cup and watched him take a long gulp. I had obviously been right: He had needed a break.
Christine looked at me. It seemed to surprise her that I didn't only care for the child's intellectual, but also for his physical needs. Did she really think I had never given him food and drink in the times when he had been with me? I was a good teacher, and also a good godfather, even though I hadn't officially been made his godfather. I didn't care about such technicalities.
"What will we do now?" Philippe asked me as soon as his cup was empty.
"Well," I replied, slipping onto the bench next to him. "Now we'll play together. You have your melody, and every time I'll tell you so you'll play it, while I'll play something else."
The melody I had instructed him to practice had been chosen carefully, so that it fit together with another one I had recently composed. They wove into each other like two different kinds of thread, making the most wonderful patterns. Of course my part was much more difficult than his, yet one couldn't hear that too clearly.
The moment we started playing I knew it had been a good idea. He seemed to enjoy it, and so did I. Admittedly there were a few mistakes in it every now and then, but they were barely audible, for I quickly altered my part of the composition to make the new notes fit in. It was a highly enjoyable way of playing, maybe even better than playing alone because it was livelier.
Even Christine obviously liked it. She had taken a seat next to the organ to keep her son company, so that I could throw her a few sideways glances. She looked rather pleased. Apparently I had found something to teach her son that she approved of. It made me glad, even though I had no intention to stop teaching him all the other things. One couldn't be a decent Opera Ghost with playing the organ only. Nobody would have the slightest bit of respect for me if I didn't have a few other abilities as well.
After a couple of minutes the piece was over. My beloved applauded.
"That was wonderful, Philippe," she praised him. "I had no idea you could already play this well. If you want to, you can practice in the music room as well from now on," she offered with a warm smile, which was very contagious. Before long, the boy and I were smiling as well.
"Thank you," he said.
"Yes, thank you," I added. "I'm glad he'll have the chance to practice more." I knew how hard it had to be for her to open the music room for her son. After all, she had even forbidden her daughter to learn ballet years ago. Things had clearly changed since that time, and I had a feeling I was the one responsible for it.
It seemed that Christine only noticed then that I was there, too.
"You also played very well," she muttered, looking down at the organ.
"Thank you," I said yet again. I wouldn't force her to look up at me if she didn't want to. It was clear that our previous conversation was not only troubling me. I couldn't help wondering what exactly she was thinking about, but I wouldn't ask her. It would have made me appear too curious.
I met Philippe's eyes, yet now the expectant sparkle didn't bother me. At least I was able to satisfy the child's wish for entertainment.
"Let's go and visit Orpheus," I suggested. "He hasn't seen either of you in weeks."