September 18th 1892: Christine
It was difficult to find a place to hide in a house that didn't belong to me. Of course I had been here every now and then to visit Meg, but unless she had wanted to show me something, we had always stayed in the sitting room or the garden. Moreover, Jean was well-known for his love of redecoration. According to Meg, it was normal for her to come home in the evening, walk into a room and find it completely changed.
But then, it was not as if I had a preference as to where to go, as long as no one else was there, least of all my best friend. Friend! Could I even call her that anymore? What was the right term to describe a person who couldn't leave me in peace for as long as a minute? I had been so successful in suppressing the memory of the argument with Raoul, and she had dragged it to the surface again.
Why couldn't she understand that I didn't want to talk about it, just like she understood that I didn't want to talk about what had happened today? It was bad enough that Jean had overheard us and told his wife about it, but why couldn't she have kept the knowledge to herself instead of forcing a conversation on me on the first possible occasion? There were things that became better if one talked about them, yet this one did not belong to that category. It would only become worse.
I could practically see Meg's face in front of me, her eyes wide as she whispered: ´You told Raoul that you lay with Erik? But why did you do that? He might have never found out…´. She wouldn't understand that sometimes things had to be said in order to hurt another person. I was certain that Jean and she had never had an argument like that. They seemed to live in perfect harmony.
But then, so did Raoul and I, at least according to most people we knew. Only about a week ago, an elderly neighbour had told me that she had rarely seen such a lovely couple. If she had heard us argue, she would have changed her mind quickly. When had we become so… spiteful towards each other?
I wasn't completely blinded by self-righteousness. I knew that Raoul had only reacted to what I had said. It had been I who had started being cold and unfriendly, not he. And that was exactly my problem: Sometimes I didn't understand myself. I didn't understand why I couldn't be nice to Raoul, who was always so loving and gentle. And why, why had I told him about Erik and me and even hinted that Erik had been better than him? Yes, I had wanted to hurt him, but why had I wanted it?
Perhaps I was growing insane. Pushing away my husband and my best friend – this couldn't be called normal behaviour. Maybe I could blame the pressure of the last days. Living in constant fear of attacks wasn't normal either. Yet this would mean that everything would become better now, as we had all told each other so often, and I couldn't feel any change yet. The first waves of fury had subsided, but I still didn't feel the wish to go to Raoul and apologise. First he'd have to apologise for having said all those horrid things about Erik.
I turned around as I reached the end of a corridor and simply marched back into the direction I had come from. For the moment, the corridor was a good enough place for me to be, as long as I avoided the doors leading to the bathroom and Meg's dressing room. No one else seemed to walk around here, so that my thoughts and I were alone. Since I had not been alone for quite a while, it was rather comforting. Seeing other people only meant more questions, and I didn't feel like answering them at the moment.
Of course, the person I wanted to meet least of all was Raoul. I was still angry at him. I might have made a mistake by telling him about Erik and me, but he had made mistakes as well. He hadn't even asked why I had been with Erik. If he had done so, I could have told him about the secret wedding, and he'd have understood. I shook my head wearily. No, he wouldn't have understood it, not even if I had explained it a thousand times. And he didn't have to understand it, did he? He just had to accept it.
Yet I knew that expecting him to accept it was asked a lot. It must have been hard enough for him to leave Paris with the suspicion that something might happen between Erik and me. Finding out that something had indeed happened was even worse. No matter how hard I fought against it, I couldn't help starting to see the situation from Raoul's point of view. Perhaps I hadn't lost my empathy after all.
Raoul had been forced to go away when his family had needed him most, and he had been forced to leave us with Erik at our side, whom he didn't trust. Well, he did trust him to look after us, but not to leave me alone. And now he had come back, and his worst fears had turned out to be correct: Erik and I had made love. I was wearing his ring instead of the one I had been wearing for more than ten years.
I stopped walking abruptly because my legs were tired and I was feeling dizzy. As I leaned against the wall, catching my breath, my gaze was drawn to my right hand. Yes, there they were, the two rings. Before Raoul had mentioned them, I hadn't even thought about the fact that I was still wearing them. Other things, such as surviving, had been more important. It seemed that no one else had noticed it either. So why had he seen it? Couldn't it have been someone else? Then I could have taken off one ring and pretend the other one was the one Raoul had given me.
Vaguely I wondered where the real ring had gone. I had taken it off when Erik had slipped the other one onto my finger, but I couldn't recall where I had put it. It felt as if all that had happened years ago, not just days. Yet it didn't matter anyway. Wherever I had put the ring, it was very likely that it had been destroyed in the fire. Raoul would have to buy me a new one. If he still wanted to, that was…
I had reached a point in my thoughts from which I couldn't go on. Seeing things from Raoul's point of view was all very well, but I had to stop now. Continuing would have required me reading his mind and guessing his thoughts to predict his actions, and naturally I couldn't do that. If I had noticed one thing during the argument, it was that Raoul was almost a stranger to me. There had been a time in our relationship when I had been able to understand him almost as well as I understood myself, but that time was over. Perhaps it would never be like that again.
My head was throbbing worse than ever, demanding a rest after all those thoughts. I needed a place to sit or even lie down, at least for a few minutes. Then I'd go back into the bathroom, bring Antoinette her dress and pretend to be all right. Maybe Meg would be there as well, but she wouldn't dare address the topic of the argument with the children around. I'd be safe.
Since most of the rooms on the first floor were bedrooms, it didn't matter which one I'd take. I tried the door next to me. It was locked. Well, perhaps it did matter a little which one I'd take. It should be one with an unlocked door. Looking down the corridor, I spotted a door that stood slightly ajar. Surely it would be the easiest choice to take that one.
I approached it quietly. It had just occurred to me that there could be a maid inside, cleaning, and I didn't want to startle her. Yet the agitated voices I heard clearly didn't belong to a maid. I knew both of them only too well.
"I can't believe she did this to me!" Raoul was saying. "And then she told me about it, just like that, as if she hadn't done anything worse than buying a new dress without asking me first!"
"But are you sure that she meant it?" Jean wanted to know cautiously. "Perhaps she only said it to… infuriate you."
"Believe me, she meant every word of it," my husband spat. I was slightly shocked to hear him that angry. I had been sure that he'd have calmed down by now. He always calmed down quickly… didn't he? "She lay with the Phantom, and she enjoyed it… more than with me…" His voice trailed off bitterly.
"Does the Phantom even do such things?" Jean mused aloud. "I always thought he was more a person who acted on a… mental level, not on a physical one."
"Oh, he can be very physical," Raoul assured him. I didn't have to see him to know that he was tracing the line of the Punjab Lasso on his throat, like he did it so often when he was under pressure. "Very physical indeed. But then, you wouldn't mind, would you?"
"Pardon?" Jean muttered. "I don't understand…"
"You wouldn't mind him sleeping with Meg, as long as you'd be able to watch them," Raoul explained, his voice sounding shrill. "After all, you're one of his biggest admirers. Why don't you ask him when he comes here? I'm sure he'd turn it into a lovely performance for you."
"Enough of that!" Jean said sharply. He dropped his voice to an urgent whisper, so that I couldn't understand him anymore. But I had heard enough anyway. Now people were not only arguing with me, but also because of me. It was getting worse instead of better. Quickly I walked away, before anyone could notice me.