September 18th 1892: Christine
Philippe and I had just finished eating – or in my case, nibbling on a piece of bread to pretend I was eating – when Erik entered the room, a spring in his step. His mood couldn't have been more different from the last time I had seen him. There was no trace of sadness or anxiety left on his face. Instead, his lips were curled into a broad smile.
"Good morning, everyone," he greeted us cheerfully, sitting down on the abandoned chair next to Philippe. "How is my boy today?"
"I'm fine, Uncle Erik," my son replied. "But what about you? Are you feeling better? Maman told me that you couldn't come to breakfast because you were feeling sick."
I gave Erik a small nod, encouraging him to go along with the story I had made up.
"It's much better now," he assured the boy. "I don't feel like eating, but I do think I should drink something. What did you have for breakfast?"
Philippe answered his question, and I used the time to fill a clean cup with coffee and handed it to Erik, who accepted it without looking away from the boy. I didn't join the conversation about food, but was content with watching the two of them, especially Erik. I was very glad that he was happy again. He didn't even seem to be angry at me.
I also congratulated myself on knowing my son that well. I had been right: Without his sister he didn't address the topic of the mask once. I could see him throw little glances at it every now and then, but Erik obviously didn't notice them. At least he didn't react to them in any way.
I only started listening properly again when the subject of the conversation became the rest of the day.
"What will we do today, Uncle Erik?" Philippe asked. "Will we go to the opera again?"
"I will go to the opera, yes, but you won't," Erik replied. Seeing the disappointed expression on the boy's face he added: "I have to do a few very boring things there. You wouldn't like them anyway. So it's better for you to stay here. I'll give you something to do, and your mother can keep you company.".
"And when will you come back?" the boy wanted to know.
"I'll be back by noon," Erik promised. "You see, your mother's friend Meg and her husband have invited us for lunch at their house."
"Oh, that's nice," Philippe cried, clapping his hands. "I like Uncle Jean. He's always so funny."
I couldn't help smiling. It had always been like that: Antoinette loved Meg, whereas Philippe preferred Jean. He often made him laugh with his absurd stories. It was a pity that my daughter wouldn't be able to accompany us, but that couldn't be changed. Her teacher was an excellent one, who had other pupils as well. I couldn't expect her to agree to Antoinette missing several lessons at such a short notice.
"Yes, he is," Erik remarked, smiling. It looked as if he were thinking of a fond memory, and I wondered how Jean had reacted to meeting him. Knowing Meg's husband for years, I assumed he had been delighted. I thought about asking Erik, but decided against it. The last thing I wanted was for Philippe to be reminded of the sad fact that not all people liked his teacher.
Erik drank the last sip of coffee, stood up and said:
"Let's go then. The things I have to do at the opera are boring, but important. I have to leave as soon as possible. But first I'll show you what I want you to do.".
He led us out of the dining room, down the corridor and into the music room.
"Practice playing the C major scale for a few minutes, then you can start with… this piece," he instructed the boy, handing him a sheet of paper that he had pulled out of the pocket of his jacket.
Only now did it occur to me that not only Erik's mood, but also his appearance had changed. Apart from his white shirt and black trousers, he was also wearing a black jacket now. His shoes were shining, and his hair was combed neatly. He looked so handsome as he stood at the piano, showing the boy onto which keys to put his fingers, that I felt a rush of desire. I could hardly keep myself from walking over to him and giving him a kiss.
Yet after one or two minutes, it was he who came over to me.
"When he's finished, tell him to read the next story in his book," he said. "And help him with words he doesn't know."
"Of course," I assured him. "And you're going to the opera?"
He nodded.
"I'll find out how much a certain chorus is willing to do in order to influence the Opera Ghost's opinion." He smiled, making a cold shiver run down my spine. He wouldn't really let her… or would he?
ErikI rejected Christine's offer to ask the neighbours whether they could lend us a coach to bring me to the opera. I still thought it better not to draw too much attention to the fact that I was there. Besides, I preferred walking anyway. There were many things I had to think about, and it was better to do so alone.
I was a good actor. Even in my childhood I had already possessed the ability to disguise my emotions and show other ones instead. It had come in very useful today. Neither Christine nor Philippe had noticed how nervous I had been. If they had seen me standing in front of the door to the dining room before coming in, with sweaty palms and a much too fast heartbeat, they wouldn't have fallen for my performance.
Yet since they had had no idea in what a state I had been, it had been easy to make them believe I had been perfectly cheerful. They hadn't heard my heart pumping in my chest while I had been talking to the boy, afraid that any moment he could bring up the dangerous topic, plunging me into misery again. They hadn't seen my hands shaking when Christine had handed me the cup. I had been so afraid that any moment she could start apologising again. All in all, that peaceful and relaxed conversation had been one of the most stressful situations in the last weeks.
On the one hand, I was relieved that they hadn't noticed anything, for it had spared me a new discussion, new explanations. But on the other hand I had to admit that I was a little disappointed. Philippe was a child. Of course I hadn't expected him to realise I was only acting. But Christine… She knew me better than most other people in the world. Why hadn't she noticed that I had been much too cheerful?
I had even tried to provoke her into saying something. My pointed comment about Estella had only had that purpose. I had waited for Christine to tell me how much she loved me and that she was afraid something could happen between the chorus girl and me. But she had merely smiled and wished me good luck. She hadn't even told me to be careful.
That was the reason why I was feeling almost defiant now. Why shouldn't I be a little adventurous? Christine didn't seem to care about what I did anymore. By saying nothing, she had taken her position at the side of her son. This meant that if he chose never to see me again after finding out how despicable I was, I'd lose her as well.
The prospect made me feel as if my heart would break, but I fought back those feelings. It was likely that my marriage to Christine as well as my stay in the de Chagny house would end tonight, and there was nothing I could do about it. However, I could at least enjoy the time before it would happen. And if it solved the mystery who was attacking the family, that would be very good as well.
When I reached the opera, I realised that the situation this morning was ideal for my purposes. Because of the performance in the evening, there'd be no rehearsal. The chorus girls would all have the chance to use the stage and practice the steps they still had problems with. If it was necessary, they could ask Mme.Giry for help. Traditionally the new chorus girls arrived first because they were the most nervous ones and used every spare minute to practice. The older girls, who were more self-assured, came later. So I still had to chance to reach Estella's dressing room before she'd be in it.
The room was indeed empty when I entered it. Neither Estella nor the two other girls she shared it with were there yet. I pulled the note I had written out of my pocket and placed it on the dressing table. I hadn't given away much in the short letter, merely that the Opera Ghost had heard of her wish to meet him and was waiting for her in the empty dressing room at the end of the corridor.
Making my way to that room, I couldn't help hoping she wouldn't let me wait too long. I didn't have that much time. Besides, being alone would only make me start pondering about what would happen tonight again, and I didn't want that. I needed to free my mind from such thoughts, or I wouldn't be able to enjoy myself. And I would enjoy myself… this way or another.