September 18th 1892: Christine
Tonight? Raoul would maybe come back as soon as tonight? The chaos which that tiny post script caused inside me was terrible. If my thoughts had been screaming aloud instead of fighting in my head, I'd have gone deaf within minutes. There were two groups of feelings, groups so different from each other that it was unbelievable that they actually both fitted into the same person.
One group was shocked. ´Why does Raoul have to come home already?´ it seemed to ask me, as if I knew the answer. ´Just when you're so happy with Erik…´ That group would be rather pleased if Raoul came back much later. Or.. I tried to stop the thought, but it was there anyway. Or if he didn't come back at all.
The other group, however, was looking forward to Raoul's return. I realised with a start that I had missed him, his gentle voice, his kisses… A moment later I was shocked that I had been shocked about that realisation. After all, he was my husband. Missing him was normal. Or was Erik my husband at the moment? In that case it would be wrong to miss Raoul, wouldn't it?
I let my head sink down into my hands with a loud sigh. I hadn't expected it to be like this. I hadn't… well, actually I hadn't thought that much about Raoul's return and what would happen afterwards. The things I had told Erik to encourage him had been true for me as well: In the last days I had tried to live for the moment, pretending that there was no future, or at least that all future problems would solve themselves without me having to do anything about it.
Only now did I realise how childish such thoughts had been. Not once had my problems solved themselves, so why should it happen now of all times, when the problems were bigger than ever before? No, at the end of the day I'd be the one who had to solve the problems. No one else could do it for me.
And once more, people would end up hurt, no matter how I'd… decide. I let out another sigh. Making decisions really wasn't one of my strong sides. In the past, my decisions had had the alarming tendency to be wrong. Yet despite that sad fact, I knew I couldn't postpone it any longer. This time, I'd have to make a decision that would last forever. Forever was a very long time. I had to get the decision right.
Yet the mere thought of Raoul, Erik and me standing or sitting in a room and the two men looking at me expectantly made me break out into a sweat. I wouldn't be able to stand such a scene a second time. Moreover, what good had it been? I had decided against Erik, and still we had ended up married and sleeping with each other.
Perhaps I should try to decide while I was alone and only tell the men of the choice I had made afterwards. That would save me the direct confrontation with both of them. Yet it had one crucial disadvantage: If the men didn't have to be with me, nothing kept me from making a decision right now. I didn't have to wait for Raoul to come back.
But I wanted to wait. I wanted to wait for a long, long time. I needed every minute I could get to think about everything. And I… I straightened up, suddenly remembering something. I didn't have time for making a decision now. Philippe was sitting upstairs, waiting for me. I couldn't let my son wait for selfish reasons, could I?
I left the living room quickly, closing the door with a determined snap, as if by doing so I could lock in the thoughts I had had. The letter was tucked away safely in my pocket. Of course I'd tell Philippe that his father had written, but I wouldn't show the letter to him. Since Erik had started teaching him, the boy's abilities had grown quickly, and I wasn't sure how much he could already read.
Yet before I went back to my son's room, I made a little detour to the kitchen. After all, I had promised Philippe something to drink and was feeling rather thirsty myself. Larisse bid me welcome with a warm smile.
"Madame," she said, looking up from the pile of potatoes she had just been peeling. "What can I do for you?"
"I just want something to drink for Philippe and me," I explained. "But I can get it myself," I added, as she made to stand up. "I know where everything is. You can just go on doing what you're doing."
Larisse made a slightly helpless gesture, then continued peeling the potatoes. She knew better than to argue with me about such matters. Even after more than ten years of living with servants in the house, I still did many things myself which the neighbours would have never done. Making the servants do too many things for me, especially if it meant that they had to interrupt another activity, made me feel a little guilty, although, as Raoul reminded me every now and then, they were being paid for it after all.
As if she had sensed that I was thinking about my husband, the cook chose this moment to ask:
"Did you receive good news from the Comte?".
"Oh yes," I answered in what I hoped was a casual voice. "He'll come home soon." I myself wasn't sure whether those were good news, yet for Larisse there seemed to be no doubt about it. She beamed at me.
"You must be so happy," she remarked. "And the children, too. They miss their Papa."
"They do?" I couldn't help asking.
"Of course they do," Larisse replied. "Jacqueline and I were talking about it only yesterday."
It took me a huge amount of self-restraint not to stare at her in disbelief. Of course Jacqueline had a very good connection to the children, but usually I also knew what was going on in their heads. Had I been so busy with Erik that I hadn't noticed anything else?
Quickly I turned around, afraid that the cook could read my thoughts from my eyes, and opened the cupboard.
"Well, it's only natural that they miss him," I said flatly. "He's their father. He misses them as well; he told me so in his letter."
"Such a nice man," Larisse muttered, her knife working without pause. "Surely you're very glad that you have him."
"Mmm…" I made, rummaging in the cupboard loudly, even though I had spotted the glasses on the first glance. If I was loud enough, I could pretend that the rest of my comment had been drowned by the sounds. Slowly I was having enough of Larisse's remarks about how happy I had to be, but I couldn't bring myself to saying so. She was a lovely person, and I didn't want to offend her.
Apparently I had been standing there with my head in the cupboard too long, for the cook's next words were:
"If you don't find the glasses, just let me look for them.".
"I've already found them," I said, taking out two glasses hastily and putting them on the table. I filled them with juice, called "Goodbye!" in Larisse's direction and was glad that I could leave the kitchen.
Yet I was aware that it had been a narrow escape. A more suspicious or less busy person than her would have noticed that something was wrong. I'd have to disguise my feelings more carefully, starting right now. Not only Philippe's ability to read, but also his perception had grown in the last weeks. And once Erik would be back, nothing in my head would be safe from detection. But I didn't want to worry about that now. I had to face one problem at a time. So I forced myself to smile, hoping it would trick Philippe into thinking I was fine.
The boy was sitting in his beloved armchair at the window when I entered the room. It was exactly the place where I had left him. He looked very serious and important as he sat there with the big book on his knees, tracing a line with his index finger and mouthing the words. His legs were so short that they didn't touch the floor. Placing the glasses on a table as I passed it, I went over to him and kissed his forehead.
"I'm sorry that I didn't come back sooner," I said gently. "Larisse arrived, and she brought a letter from your father."
"Can I read it?" he asked instantly, looking up from his book.
"You wouldn't be able to read it," I replied, glad that I didn't have to make up a lie. "Your father's handwriting is much more difficult to decipher than a text in a book. But I can tell you what he wrote: He misses you, and he'll come home soon."
"That's wonderful," Philippe said, smiling brightly. "And how soon is soon?"
"Tonight or tomorrow – he didn't know it exactly himself," I answered cautiously, since I didn't want to raise his hopes.
"And will he – ?"
My son was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a door being slammed shut somewhere in the house. It was followed by hurried footsteps coming up the stairs. A few moments later the door was wrenched open, and Meg's face appeared. Her cheeks were red, her hair was untidy, and she was panting slightly.
"What happened?" I asked in alarm.
"It's Erik," she said simply.