September 18th 1892: Erik
I didn't have to see the stunned expression on Christine's face to know I had done it all wrong. I had planned to tell her slowly, enumerating one fact after the other, in a way she'd understand and accept, and preferrably in a private, but less romantic atmosphere than this one.
Well, it was too late for changing it now. Christine's blind trust in the assumption that I'd be at her side for all times had made me blurt out with the unpleasant truth, and now I had to do my best to make things right again.
"Actually what?" she asked anxiously. "Will you leave me as well?" She fell silent and seemed to think about something. Then she inhaled sharply. "Have you been hurt so badly in the fight? But I can't see anything… Is there something wrong with your heart, maybe? Oh, you shouldn't have done so much to save us. And I didn't even notice it! I thought you were all right, but you're not, are you? You don't have much time left, and now you've come to say goodbye…"
Up to now, I had been too shocked by her sudden almost hysterical outburst to reply, but as I saw the first tears in her eyes, I knew I had to act quickly.
"I'm not dying, Christine," I assured her hastily. "I'm fine. A little fight like that couldn't have given me such injuries. Actually, it's just the other way around. I've never felt so alive before."
I smiled at her, but she looked at me as though she didn't understand anything. It was obvious that I had to explained more.
"I told you once that I didn't know how much time I had still left," I started. "And that was true at the time. Compared to all the young people I saw at the opera every day and also to Philippe, I felt very old indeed. But the fight and all that came with it showed me one thing: I'm not dead. There are still many things I can do. And that's exactly what I want. I want to travel around the world, to the places where I lived when I was younger and to those I've never been to. I want to do all this… as long as I still can."
"You want to go?" she repeated faintly, her eyes still full of tears. "Just like that?"
"I've thought about it ever since I left you earlier today," I said. "There's no other way. I mustn't wait too long, or it might be too late for me after all. I'm still healthy at the moment, but who knows how long it'll last?"
"And Philippe?" she asked. "He relies on you to be there for him, and he needs you, now more than ever. Do you want to deprive him of one of the most important people in his life?"
"I've thought about this as well," I replied, glad that I had rehearsed at least this part of the conversation in my head. I had known that the question would come up sooner or later. "First of all, I won't leave right away. I still have to organise everything, and it'll take a while. So I'll be with the boy till his worst fears will be gone. I'd also like to give him a few tasks at the opera, so he'll have something to do, and the people won't notice I'm not there. And then, when I come back, I'd… I'd like to take him with me for a while." I uttered the last part very softly, almost shyly, for I knew that she'd like it even less than the rest of what I had said.
Christine stared at me as though she thought me insane.
"You can't take him away from me," she cried, her voice so loud in the silence of the night that I jumped. "He's still so little. He needs his mother. Letting him live with you for a few days was all right, but in a foreign country and maybe for weeks and weeks? Never!"
"I don't know how long I'll be gone," I pointed out. "It could be more than a year. By that time, Philippe will be older, and of course I'd never take him with me against his own free will. If I manage to organise everything the way I want, I'll come to Paris every few months to look after my business at the opera and to spend time with Philippe. And one day, when you and I think he's ready, I'll ask him to come with me. Is that a plan you could agree with?" I looked at her pleadingly.
"I'm not sure," she answered hesitantly. "Give me a little time to think about it, will you?"
I nodded readily.
"You don't have to decide anything before I leave," I said. "And even after I'll be gone, we'll stay in touch. I'll send you letters, and if I stay somewhere for a few weeks, I'll give you the address, so you'll be able to write me as well."
My words should have sounded soothing, but apparently, they had just the opposite effect on Christine. For a moment, she looked at me with her big eyes, like a girl who had expected a new doll for her birthday and got a pair of woollen stockings instead. Then she burst into tears. It was clear that she had thought the conversation would go into a very different direction, but I wasn't sure which one.
Comforting someone who was sitting in a chair a few feet away wasn't an easy task. I couldn't even embrace her without the armrests being in the way. So I merely inched my chair closer to hers and patted her on the arm. Compared to how close we had been in the last days, it was truly pathetic. But then, I could hardly complain about it. My own words had built a wall between us. The least I could do was try to make it slightly better by talking.
"I know you think I'm leaving the children and you all alone," I told her. "But I'll still be able to help you. If you need something, you can always send me a note to the address I'll give you once I'll know it myself. I can also leave you money, if that's what you're worried about. I'll give you whatever sum you need. And if you don't want to stay here with Meg, I'll find you a new house. It's not as if I were abandoning you. I'm still willing to take responsibility for –"
Christine turned around to me abruptly, my hand slipping off her arm.
"Responsibility?" she shrieked. It seemed to be her purpose in this conversation to repeat parts of what I had said. "That's all we are for you? That's all I am for you? I… I thought there was something special between us…" Her voice trailed off.
"That's not what I wanted to say," I muttered, stumbling over my own words in the attempt to get them out as quickly as possible. "I just meant that… I meant…" I sighed, realising that this would get me nowhere. A different approach was necessary, and for that approach, I needed far more physical contact that a hand on her arm.
I got up from my chair and kneeled down in front of Christine, suppressing the urge to wince in pain as my knees, one of which had received a vicious kick in the fight, came into contact with the stone floor of the balcony. One of the things that told me I wasn't dead was the pain. Despite the effort it took me to remain in this position, I smiled up at her, taking her hands.
"I love you, Christine," I said solemnly. "I've loved you for more than ten years, and I'll love you for the rest of my days, no matter how long or how short that will be. You and Philippe and also Antoinette have become my family, but… but I know this isn't real. It only worked well for a few days. Please don't think me ungrateful – those days have been wonderful, much better than anything I could have hoped for. But they were just an exceptionally beautiful illusion. It wouldn't work that well forever. You… you wouldn't want me at your side for all times."
"But perhaps I would want it after all," she disagreed with me. "Perhaps I would choose you. I certainly don't want Raoul at the moment, and – "
"That's precisely what I mean," I interrupted her quickly. "At the moment! At the moment, you're angry at the Vicomte, and you think that being with me would be better. But we've also had our arguments, haven't we? And one day, we'd have an argument so serious that you'd think living with the Vicomte would be better after all, and you'd go back to him. Don't you see in what a chaos this would plunge us, and the children as well? I just want to avoid that we hurt each other any more than we already have."
"Your plan isn't working too well," Christine stated bitterly. "You're already hurting me."
One look into her eyes, which had grown as cold as ice, told me that I had been pursuing a wrong approach. Perhaps hating rather than understanding me would help her get over everything more quickly.
"Well, that's what I've chosen to do, and you have to accept it," I said matter-of-factly, getting to my feet. "I'll go now and ask Meg whether she has a room for me. Good night, Christine. We'll see each other in the morning."
I crossed the length of the library quickly, before she could reply, and opened the door. And there, standing on the threshold, his hand raised as if about to knock, was the Vicomte.