Behind Closed Doors

Dear Madame Manager,

I must offer my condolences on the regrettable death of Mr Joseph Buqet. I'm sure he is a great loss to your establishment.

I'm afraid before we can turn to happier affairs, I must issue you with a warning – I would very much prefer it if you did not mention our correspondence to anyone else, including your young husband. I find that outside interference can cause an unhappy business relationship and I'm sure that you can sympathise.

I have decided that my position of Opera Ghost is one of great importance to your company. Mindless fools, as you know, will flock to a 'haunted' opera house and will provide you with a great deal of business. I will provide them with suitable entertainment, on the following conditions:

1. Box 5 will be kept empty during ALL performances. This includes the exclusion of yourself and your husband.

2. I shall be requiring a salary. I shall contact you at a later date with information.

3. I will be making some 'suggestions' that should be carried out, in relation to the operas performed here. For the moment things shall remain as they are until I have time to attend to these matters.

I thank you for this attention in this matter. Also, I must inform you that if you should try to investigate into my business, you shall regret it. I suggest you pass this warning on to other curious employees.

Your Humble Servant

O.G.

PS: I found your requiem most touching. May I suggest that you keep up your music? As manager, you should at least show some basic interest in the arts.

It was the longest letter yet, but Christine had read it so many times that she could have recalled it by heart.

What was this? Some ridiculously elaborate prank (and hardly an amusing one at that)? Some madness by one of the employees? The theory that the Opera Ghost had been Joe's imagination was now out of the window. When Christine had first seen the letter, she tried to think how he could have put it there, but there was no earthly way that it could have been possible.

And, despite her rational nature, she was confused. Obviously this couldn't be real. There was no ghost in the Opera Populaire. Yet, Christine couldn't help feeling as though such a letter could not possibly have been composed by some earthly entity. This feeling was completely irrational and yet… there it was.

Christine took out a notepad and began to write a reply, half off her mind telling her that it was ridiculous to do such a thing and the other half wondering if this was such a good idea, as the Ghost had left no instructions to reply.

Dear Opera Ghost,

I hope you won't mind my correspondence. If, as you imagine, we are to become business acquaintances, perhaps it would be better if we were more readily available to talk to one another. In any case, I wanted to reply to your latest letter.

To start, I do not wish to discuss the death of Joseph Buqet. Especially when half of the Opera House believes that it was your doing.

I believe that your threat is quite unwarranted. Believe me when I tell you that I couldn't tell anyone about this – I prefer that people believe that I am still sane. Clearly you do not have that preference.

Your business proposition is an intriguing one. However, I'm sure you know that the Opera Populaire is quite capable of making its own business. It will not create a good reputation if we are suddenly overrun by ghost hunters and curious public.

In answer to your demands:

1. Box 5, as I'm sure you know, is one of the most expensive and sought after boxes in the opera house. Your demand of it for every performance would not be viable from a fiscal point of view, which I'm sure a businessman such as yourself understands.

2. A salary? Forgive my amusement, but for such a thing you would have to be registered as living and on the official payroll of the opera house. This is not likely to happen.

3. I leave it up to Mr Reyer and Mrs Giry to decide on the performance details. Any queries should be taken up with them.

As yet, Sir, you have neglected to mention exactly what your business is. How could I therefore investigate it? And I should have thought that such an aloof gentleman as yourself would not care of the investigations of a few curious stagehands and giggling ballet rats.

Yours Faithfully

Christine de Chagny

PS: You shall never know the true meaning that music holds in my life.

The last line was one that held a great deal of interest for Him. Indeed, the whole letter was extremely interesting – as well as amusing. This manageress, this Christine de Chagny, imagined that she held some sort of power over Him.

Yet, there were a few comments within her letter that made Him rather… curious. The veiled jibes at Him, the sarcastic teasing. Clearly this woman was not talking to a ghost. In fact, she hadn't even intended for anyone to see the letter. It had lain abandoned on her desk as she went to attend to more important work. He had waited until she was further occupied before taking it and reading with an inquisitive manner.

He paced His quarters, reading and rereading the letter. The wording was strange, gently taunting and there was a good deal of mockery in it. However, there was also the essence of something else behind the words. Something that He suspected was a longing for… what? Company? She had plenty of that; she was constantly surrounded by people. If it wasn't those idiotic deputy managers, it was performers or crew. And when she wasn't with them, she was with her husband. But there was a want in her letter. Indeed, she seemed to be displaying far more emotion in her script than He had yet witnessed from her face.

He scratched His exposed chin with one long finger before sitting to compose a reply. One that He suspected would take a great deal of time to write.

"A full week and no more disasters." Firmin said confidently Christine on Friday morning. She glanced at him sideways.

"Don't tempt fate, Mr Firmin; that is the last thing that we need."

"Ah, but of course. Anyway, I have a few things to finish with Moncharmin. Rehearsals are full fling and going beautifully!"

"Then I think I shall go and see for myself." Christine said, rising from her office seat. She dropped a few used pieces of paper into the bin and was just leaving behind Firmin when Raoul appeared before her. She blinked in surprise and then smiled.

"Raoul, what are you doing here?"

"Can't a man just show up to see his lovely wife?" He smiled, kissing her. She raised an eyebrow and he sighed. "I know. I've just got off the phone with Philippe. He wants me to go over to America to help him tie up a business deal before we fly back on Saturday."

Christine's heart sank a little but she ignored it, running her arms around his neck as Firmin excused himself.

"If you have to go, then go."

"You're not upset?"

"It'll give me a chance to go and see all of my other boyfriends." She said lightly. He nodded.

"You've been neglecting them lately." He said in a jokingly-casual voice. Christine smiled and said,

"Raoul, you've been away before. It's fine. When's your flight?"

"I can catch one tonight."

"Then go and organise it." She said, letting go of him. He kissed her and held her tightly for a moment before leaving.

Christine walked slowly up to Box 5 so that she could watch the rehearsal without being disturbed with the petty matters that Firmin and Moncharmin would almost inevitably come to her for help. She sat in the single chair of the box, curling her legs beneath her as she thought about Raoul. He had gone away on business trips before. And every time, she missed him, even with daily telephone calls and emails. He was her near-constant companion, the only person who she trusted completely. When he went away… half of her felt gone.

She sighed softly and watched as Carlotta sang Juliet's aria in a crystalline voice. The French lyrics were so sweet and Carlotta sang them so tenderly that Christine felt tears rise in her eyes. She pushed them back and closed her eyes as Reyer halted Carlotta to point out a particular note, drifting away to a place where music played and voices sang and there was never any need to leave.

The next day, Christine arrived early at the Opera Populaire. Raoul had departed the previous evening, and Christine had decided that she would be more use at the opera house than sulking around at home. After picking up a cappuccino and Danish pastry, she entered the lobby, only to hear music floating from somewhere. The dance rooms. She followed the sound, recognising it as the light-hearted ballet from Il Muto, an opera they had produced the previous year. Christine opened the door to see Meg Giry, in a leotard and tights, dancing as though the world would end if she didn't.

Christine stood in the doorway, watching delightedly at the unearthly beauty of the movements. The human body was capable of such grace and loveliness that you rarely saw. But Meg was giving of waves of these qualities as she spun and stepped as lightly as though she were barely touching the ground at all. The music faded away and Meg stopped to smile at Christine.

"You're here early." Christine commented, sipping her coffee. Meg nodded and drank thirstily from her water bottle.

"It's easier to practise when it's quiet. Mum let me in, I hope it's OK."

"Of course it is. You dance amazingly."

"Thanks! I have to practise hard though." Meg said, stretching her limbs. Christine sat and broke a piece from her pastry.

"Perhaps you'll be able to take over from Sorelli as prima ballerina eventually."

"That's my aim! I've got a long way to go before then, though. Mum's been training me since I could walk. Without her, I'd never have been good enough." The ballerina said truthfully. "Some of the other girls are just fantastic and they hardly ever practise. I'm training every spare moment, and not just ballet. I'm running, jumping, doing the hokey-kokey. I do gymnastics three times a week as well as everything else."

"It shows. I mean, I'm no expert on ballet, or any dance for that matter. But I can tell that you're brilliant."

Meg laughed lightly and sat down on the floor, stretching her legs in front of her.

"So, I know why I'm here at some insane hour. What about you?" She said, leaning forward to touch her toes. Christine shrugged slightly.

"No particular reason. Raoul's away in America with his brother until next week, and I've got a few things to do here. So…" She shrugged again. Meg grinned.

"You miss him?"

"Hmm…"

"I would too." She winked and Christine smiled, a little surprised at the girl's forwardness. Meg continued. "How do you think Romeo and Juliet is going? I mean, you were watching the rehearsal yesterday, weren't you?"

"They're going well." Christine said, "I hope it'll be as successful as our last production."

"Oh, it will be. Since you arrived, we've been doing brilliantly. We were about to close down before you came along." Meg pointed out. Christine smiled.

"I couldn't let that happen. As soon as I found out, I begged Raoul to consider patronage. Believe me, his brother wasn't happy about it. But it's been a financial and social miracle for him, so he doesn't mind so much anymore."

Meg glanced at her.

"That's not why you did it though. You love the music, don't you? I see you sometimes, just watching the rehearsals and I know you've got better things to do. But I see you standing there and I can just tell that it means more to you than the money."

Christine looked at her in surprise. Meg grinned.

"I'm not falling for that mysterious manager act, thanks."

"Well, you saw right through me." Christine said in a half-teasing voice, before becoming serious and fingering the rim of her coffee cup. "I took a degree in music at university. I'd always loved it. My father used to… he played the violin. He taught me everything about music. I grew up with music in my life and I could never let go of it."

"Is he…?" Meg hesitated. Christine nodded, feeling a familiar pang of sadness in her chest. Some wounds never healed.

"When I was sixteen. I lived with a family friend, Mrs Valérius, until I went to university and met Raoul again."

"Again? You knew him before?"

"Yes, when we were children. Papa… my father and I used to live down by the coast, near the de Chagny home there. We played together every summer, when Raoul came to visit. Then my father and I moved away." Christine explained, not entirely sure why she was telling Meg this. Meg seemed to sense her hesitation and said,

"My dad's dead as well."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. He left when I was just a kid. He used to… well, he hit my mum. Eventually she told him to get out and he did. He came back when I was nineteen, wanting to get to know me. I told him to get lost and he died a few months later." Meg said in a matter-of-fact tone, but her hands unconsciously clenching. Christine frowned and Meg shook her head. "We're better off without him. Mum's the only person I need. She kept him away from me, made me a strong person, gave me a proper life. Why would I need a father when I've got her?"

They were both silent, contemplating their differences when the door opened and Mrs Giry appeared in the doorway.

"Megan, that doesn't looking like dancing to me. Or perhaps you've engaged with some new form of training?" She said dryly. Meg leapt to her feet and turned on the CD player. Giry looked at Christine.

"Good morning, Mrs de Chagny. I hope my daughter hasn't been irritating you too much."

"No, we were just… chatting." Christine said. She looked at Giry a little more closely and felt a new respect rise within her before excusing herself to go to her office, where a pile of letters were waiting for her.

She spent nearly two hours sorting through the mail and answering it, before reaching the one that she had placed to one side. Addressed, as it always was, to The Manager the black-trimmed envelope was not particularly important.

Dear Madame Manager,

Excuse my belated rely. A ghost has many duties that take up his attention.

In return to your previous letter, I agree that we have many things to discuss. Therefore, I shall continue this correspondence. It may prove beneficial to both of us, especially since you insist that you are not a threat to me.

Allow me to assure you that I had nothing to do with Mr Buqet's death. I have far better things to do with my precious time than adhere to 'the investigations of a few curious stagehands and giggling ballet rats' as you so charmingly worded it.

In reference to Box 5 – I will be using it for the performances. If you should choose to sit in it, or sell it, then the consequences will be on your conscience. I also happen to know that the de Chagny family has more than enough disposable income to pay a suitable salary for what will soon become an extremely beneficial employee. I shall certainly be contacting Reyer and Giry. There are certain things that cannot possibly be left as they if you wish this production to be in any way successful.

My business, Mrs de Chagny, is none of yours. Let us keep it that way. And if, as you so adamantly insist, music is of such importance to you, perhaps you should indulge in it occasionally. An ignorant manager is as of much use an untrained soprano. And speaking of La Carlotta, kindly inform her that screaming a top note is insufferable. Either ensure she receives suitable training or prepare another singer. And putting a little passion into her song would greatly enhance her music as well.

Yours faithfully

O.G.

PS: I shall retrieve any further letters from Box 5. I trust you do not mind my putting my replies in your office. I sent this one in with the usual post to avoid any indignation on your part.

A/N: Long time, no update. Ho hum. I've now officially finished school. I only have to take my exams, hopefully pass them, and then, with a bit of luck, I'll be off to university in September! Thank you all for your kind comments about my troublesome dog. He's fine now, for the most part. He's had an operation on his mouth, after deciding that it'd be just hilarious to chase a squirrel, bit into a barbed wire fence and then not let go, splitting a tooth. Sigh… he's lucky he's so adorable, he really is. Here's a piccy.

http / img. photobucket. com/ albums/ v178/ Kat097/ Toppa4. jpg

Anyway – chapter. Yeah. Hope you liked it. I really loved writing those letters; it's just so much fun to get inside Erik's mind! Please read, review, constructively criticise, etc. I have stinking cold right now and I kinda want to go to bed. So nighty night!

Love

Katie