The next day dawned bright and clear. Reyer was in a foul mood.
To be fair, Reyer was nearly always in a foul mood, but today it was more black than usual. The chirping birds along the avenues infuriated him. Even though his home was a good distance from the Opera Reyer preferred to walk in the mornings, but today he wished for a cab. Or at least a sack of stones to throw in the trees. Or perhaps earplugs. The sheer cheerfulness of the atmosphere was disgusting. What had he to be cheery about? A long day of rehearsal and Carlotta stretched before him, nothing but crowd control and Carlotta's endless reminders that he was not fit for even a chorus master's job. That… and he was supposed to meet with Mademoiselle Daaé today to arrange her lessons. Reyer's mood improved a fraction of a notch. Well. Perhaps one bright spot.
Entering the Opera House at last, Reyer ascended the Grand Staircase—he had long ago lost his capacity for gawking at it—and walked the long corridors to his office. It was only a shade bigger than Madame Giry's. Although the door was closed the way he had left it, he was surprised to see light shining from underneath it. Brow furrowed in annoyance and confusion, Reyer twisted the handle and opened the door—to find a guilty-looking Christine Daaé perched nervously on the edge of the overstuffed armchair Reyer kept in a corner of the office.
"You're early," he said gruffly to mask his surprise, taking off his coat—but leaving his trademark bowler hat on—as he retreated behind his desk. "Have you nothing else better to do in the morning than break into peoples' offices?"
"I wanted to see you before ballet rehearsal began," Christine said timidly, looking appropriately chagrined. It was eight o'clock in the morning, early enough for the ballet rats but too early for the other artistes. The singers never came in before nine-thirty if they could help it. Her explanation suited Reyer enough; at least she was eager to work. He folded his hands on the desktop and peered across at her.
"Very well. Mademoiselle, when are you not in regular rehearsal?"
Christine thought on that for a moment, staring at her hands in her lap. "I have ballet in the morning and early afternoon, a few hours each, now that rehearsal for Hannibal has begun," she said slowly. "Chorus rehearsal in between. I have very little free time, monsieur."
Reyer sighed. He hoped this would not be difficult. Oh, if she were just a singer instead of a dancer, this would be easier… "Well, what little time you do have free can be put to good use," he replied as patiently as he could.
Christine was silent again for a moment. "I have perhaps an hour free in the afternoon. I could come in early or late if it—"
"Absolutely not," Reyer interjected. The thought of earlier mornings and longer hours rankled him. And he had the Girys to see off at night. "You will be too tired to practice properly. It will have to be in the afternoon. Is this agreeable?"
Christine nodded.
Reyer gazed off into space for a moment, thinking. "The rehearsal rooms are out of the question, he murmured, mostly to himself. "My office is in a part of the Opera that is frequented too often…" He began drumming his fingers on the desktop. After a minute the ditty slowed, and he eyeballed Christine again. "When exactly is your free hour?"
"When everyone is out for lunch," she replied.
Reyer thumped the desktop lightly with his fist. "Well, there we have it. We can hold your lessons then. The smaller rehearsal room—you know the one—will have to do. I would like to start today if possible. Bring a piece of music you are familiar with and we will begin from there." He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Agreed?"
"Agreed," Christine acknowledged.
Reyer inclined his head towards the door. "You may go. I know Madame Giry does not like to be kept waiting."
"I know. Thank you very much again, monsieur," Christine said with a timid but genuine smile, standing and leaving as quietly as always. Reyer smiled to himself as she left. His mood was now, inexplicably, much improved. This should turn out to be very interesting indeed…
The morning rehearsal went by smoothly; Carlotta was her usual imperious self but refrained from blatantly halting practice this time around. After dismissing the company Reyer picked up some music off the piano and walked down the corridor to the smaller rehearsal room, which was more fit for one-on-one instruction and practice with small groups. It was empty for the moment; Christine had disappeared to places unknown at present, which suited Reyer just fine. Placing the music he held on the corner of the rehearsal piano, Reyer seated himself on the bench and played a few experimental chords. As much as he secretly enjoyed his occupation behind the piano he sorely missed singing for a living. As a result, he often liked to sing the old operatic songs when no one was around to hear him—he got enough ridicule from Carlotta as it was. He was a little bit rusty but not completely out of practice; this time he picked the sequence from Hannibal that plagued Piangi so and sang it softly under his breath, picking out the notes on the piano as he went. Really, it was embarrassing. In Reyer's mind he could sing it better than that overweight, fawning little man. At least he could pronounce 'Rome' correctly! Reyer knew exactly how Piangi had come to be so favored in the manager's eyes, and it rankled him; that wasn't to say the man didn't deserve principal tenor, but really, there were others—
A shadow appeared in Reyer's peripheral vision; startled, his knees hit the underside of the piano, nearly causing the keyboard lid to come crashing down on his fingers. Equally startled by his reaction, Christine jumped back a step, clutching a thin sheaf of music to her chest.
"Knock!" Reyer fairly roared at her, furious and a little embarrassed at being caught daydreaming at the piano. "Make a noise! Do a pirouette! Do anything you like! But do not sneak up on me like that again! Is that clear?"
Christine blinked at him with wide eyes, swallowing and stammering, "I'm sorry, monsieur, truly—I didn't mean to startle you—"
Reyer turned his attention back to the piano, fuming, lifting the lid again and shifting into a more comfortable position on the bench. He might as well have had a storm cloud hovering above his head, for all the black mood he was in again. Had the entire world lost its sense of etiquette?
"You have a nice voice," Christine ventured weakly.
Reyer's fury became so great he did not immediately reply for fear of doing something he might later regret. He had said and done many insulting things in his life, but he had yet to hit a woman. Well, what did she know? Daae must not have a very good ear if she thought he had a good voice—if he hadn't been able to make it in the Opera chorus—
But that was only self-torture. He knew talent or lack thereof wasn't the true reason he had been dismissed, but reality was reality: no matter how one looked at it, he hadn't been good enough to last.
That was in the past, however; no use dwelling on it at the moment. Reyer held out a hand in Christine's direction without looking at her. "Your music, please," he said shortly.
Silently, Christine handed it to him.
"I know you have warmed up since we have already been rehearsing," he continued in the same tone. "Come over here and stand in front of the piano where I can see you." He looked at the music Christine had given him. "The Jewel Song?"
The skepticism quite evident in Reyer's voice didn't seem to dishearten Christine much; she merely stood as tall as she could and nodded, a little nervously. "I won a prize singing it at the conservatory."
Reyer sighed. Well, wasn't that lovely. She couldn't be too horrible a singer, then… but if she was, then he supposed he could always tune her out. He had no great faith in the conservatory. "Very well," he said. "I will give you a one-bar introduction—doubtlessly you already know the place." He considered for a moment. "I would like you to sing the entire song."
Again, Christine only nodded, visibly nervous now, and gathered herself together in preparation. Reyer glanced one last time at the music before him, and began to play.
And then Christine began to sing.
Long after the final chord and Christine's voice had died away, Reyer sat in silence. Christine didn't know what to make of it. He hadn't outright condemned her, or praised her—though she certainly hadn't expected that of him. He hadn't even looked at her. He just simply sat and stared at the music in front of him without moving an inch. Christine was on the verge of asking if something was the matter when Reyer finally spoke. "You are too quiet," he said, "and your breathing is a little lacking." He looked through some of the music he had; Christine noted with relief that he had notcriticized her voice itself. After a moment he stood and placed an open score on the top of the piano, turning it towards Christine so she could see it. "Look over this, please."
Christine stepped forward to pick up the score, her eyes growing wide in surprise. It was turned to Elissa's great aria from Act Three of Hannibal.
"You want me to sing this?" she breathed.
Reyer looked at her peevishly. "Well, don't just stand there like a gaping fish, go on and look at it. We haven't got all day."
Obediently, Christine stepped away from the piano with the score, skimming over it while Reyer played some of the melody from memory. It was a beautiful song, not too difficult for a well-trained singer and certainly not as grandiose as Carlotta made it out to be. She was utterly stupefied as to why Reyer should have given her this music so soon. It was rather irregular. Christine wasn't sure what she had expected, but being handed music for the leading role in Hannibal certainly wasn't it.
From his place behind the piano, Reyer cleared his throat loudly to get Christine's attention. "Try the first verse, mademoislle, if you please. I will give you two bars' introduction. Stand up a little straighter—thank you." Again, from memory, Reyer began playing the melody, nodding his head sharply as a cue for Christine to come in if she wasn't sure when to.
Christine began singing uncertainly, nervously. "Think of me, think of me fondly—"
"Louder," Reyer said.
"—when we've said goodbye…" Christine upped her volume a notch. "Remember me every so often—"
"Louder," Reyer repeated, continuing to play.
Christine stared at him in mild irritation, nearly missing a beat, and Reyer almost grinned. Good, she was getting angry. "Promise me you'll try… On that day, that not-so-distant day, when you are far away and free—"
"Louder!" Reyer repeated again, almost gleefully, and Christine's face flushed crimson, but she apparently lacked the nerve to say anything sharp. Reyer stopped playing and peered at her with an evaluating eye. "Your problem, mademoiselle, is that you are too meek. You have no confidence. You will never make it in the world of opera if you do not gain a little backbone."
Christine's face was burning, but she said nothing. She knew in her heart that Reyer was right, but she was not about to admit it to herself. How dare he say such things to her! And yet, he was her teacher now, not just the testy chorus master, and he was only giving her advice in his customary tactless way… Still, she felt awfully indignant. And well I should! she thought heatedly. That man is incapable of even one kind word!
Reyer watched the emotions crossing her face with something akin to amusement. "Now," he said after what he felt was an appropriate length of silence, "with that in mind"—he raised his eyebrows—"would you care to try again?"
Christine sighed heavily, willing the fire in her cheeks to dissipate. "I won't let you down," she said. "I promise."
Reyer gave her a faintly amused smile from behind the piano. "'Promise' is a strong word, Mademoiselle Daaé." He played the two-bar introduction without further comment; Christine took a deep breath and threw herself into the song, vowing silently to herself that she would never again do anything to give Reyer cause to call her weak.
Playing the accompaniment this time, Reyer smiled to himself as Christine resumed her singing with more gusto than he had guessed she might have. If he could find a way to keep her this irritated at him all the time, then he had a feeling her lessons would be extremely productive…
"You seem pleased," Madame Giry said that night as she, Meg, and Reyer left the Opera. "Was La Carlotta more docile than usual in rehearsal today?"
"That she was," Reyer confirmed, stepping out onto the sidewalk, eyes in search of a cab. "But rather, I was pleased with Mademoiselle Daaé's lesson today."
"You're giving Christine lessons?" Meg asked in surprise.
Reyer turned to look at her sternly, but there was a slight tinge of affection in his next words; he had known Meg since she was a child. "You hold your tongue, you chattering monkey. This isn't for public consumption."
Meg put her hands on her hips and cocked her head at him in mock outrage. "Really, monsieur, there's no need for such language. I won't tell a soul."
Reyer barked a short, derisive laugh as his raised his hand to flag down a cab. "Now, Mademoiselle Giry, I know you dancers are all alike—all gossip and no brains. I fail to see how your poor mother can stand it." A cab pulled to a stop in front of them and Reyer reached to open the door of the carriage.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
Reyer gave the man the names of both streets and helped Meg and Madame Giry into the carriage, then climbed in after them. The cab started off at a brisk trot. "Mademoiselle Daaé's lesson went well?" Madame Giry asked.
"Better than I had initially thought it would," Reyer replied musingly, folding his hands in his lap. "If I could cure her of her damnable shyness I'm sure much progress could be made."
"But why are you giving Christine lessons?" Meg asked curiously. "She has a beautiful voice."
"That is all well and good, Mademoiselle Giry, but a beautiful voice will not get you anywhere if no one can hear it," Reyer retorted. "I offered to give her lessons in the interest of restoring peace to rehearsal."
Meg grimaced. "La Carlotta?"
"Exactly."
"I cannot stand that loud, overdressed toad," Meg muttered wrathfully.
"Now, Megan." Madame Giry put a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "It is wicked to speak ill of others."
Meg put on a pout, and pointed a finger at Reyer. "It never stopped him before."
Reyer glared at her. "Enough from you, mademoiselle!" he exclaimed. "Your mother raised you better than this. How I choose to address others is none of your concern, you saucy little sprite!"
Meg grinned triumphantly, eyes twinkling in merriment despite her fatigue, and Reyer knew he had been trapped. She loved to goad him; it had been a favorite pastime of hers for years. And even though he complained and called her names, Meg knew he secretly enjoyed the ribbing.
Sighing, Reyer briefly raised his eyes heavenward. "I see you have caught me again, Mademoiselle Giry. I concede defeat."
Meg cheerfully steered the conversation back to its original subject. "But what do you think of Christine? Do you think she could replace La Carlotta?"
Reyer looked at her strangely. "I didn't say that," he said, turning his head to stare out the window of the cab.
"But do you?" Meg persisted.
Reyer did not reply for a long moment. Despite her weak volume, despite her lack of nerve, Christine Daaé had the most perfect voice he had ever heard in his entire career. Perfect tone, perfect pitch, perfect diction—she could reach every note with ease, and with none of the overblown self-confidence of Carlotta. It was refreshing and an utter pleasure to hear. She was simply too quiet! It was now quite clear to him why the diva held a grudge against Christine; obviously Carlotta had overheard the girl singing and, recognizing her faultless voice and more youthful looks, realized what would happen should Christine's talent ever become known. Well, Carlotta's ploy had backfired. Now he, Reyer, knew of the talent she had worked to suppress, and he was going to make damn sure Christine would be able to go on for Carlotta at a moment's notice--teach her every note of all Carlotta's roles. He hesitated to call her an unofficial understudy. Christine was more like… an unknown element. A very talented element, a wild card that no one but he and two others knew of.
"Perhaps," Reyer replied finally, distantly.
"So you're taking lessons from Monsieur Reyer?" Meg whispered to Christine during company rehearsal the next day.
Christine's eyes widened in shock; quickly she glanced towards the front of the room, where Reyer was berating the men's chorus for missing notes. "Whoever told you that?" she hissed in terror.
Meg put a reassuring hand on Christine's arm. "Don't worry, Christine, he told me himself. Monsieur Reyer and my mother are sort of friends. He sees us home every night."
"I didn't think that man had any friends," Christine muttered darkly. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment as she recalled the previous day's lesson. That hadn't started off on the right foot at all…
"Oh, he's not as bad as he seems to be," Meg replied, furtively glancing at the other dancers to make sure they weren't listening in. "When I was younger, before I became a member of the corps de ballet, he used to give me sweets during company rehearsals—he said they were to keep me quiet so I wouldn't disturb Mother. Now that I'm older he insults me instead of bribing me to shut up. He just has a bad temper, that's all."
"No!" came the disgusted exclamation from the front of the room, "no, no, no!" There was the overexaggerated thump of piano keys as Reyer banged out a line of melody on the weathered instrument. "This is the pitch! Can you not hear yourselves?!"
Meg chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. "At least it's not Signor Piangi this time," she joked weakly. Bad temper indeed!
Christine watched Reyer's outburst at the male chorus with a faintly appalled expression on her face. "He called me spineless, Meg!" she whispered.
"Well, you are!" Meg whispered back cheerfully, giggling softly at her friend's aghast look. "You're so quiet all the time, Christine, you're always afraid to have any fun! You'll never be a prima donna if you don't get a little nerve!"
"Hush!" Christine hissed, her eyes sad. "I'll never be a famous singer. Not while La Carlotta is still alive." I'm sorry, Papa, she thought dejectedly. I've failed you… why hasn't the Angel of Music you promised come yet? It's been three years… where is he?
"Of course you will! You've got a beautiful voice."
Christine glanced nervously towards the front of the room. "Does… does Monsieur Reyer think so?"
"Yes. He told me so himself!" Meg said warmly. Well. It wasn't an outright lie, more like a twisting of facts, but if it bolstered Christine's nonexistent self-esteem, then she was willing to fudge things a little. Besides, he'd all but said Christine had a beautiful voice. Surely he must think so.
Christine's pale face lit up with guarded delight. "He does? Honestly? Why—"
There was a loud crash and a flurry of exclamations from the vicinity of the male chorus; Reyer was shouting something at the top of his lungs. One of the singers was picking himself up off the floor, and everyone's seats were in disarray. Carlotta's piercing laugh rose above the hubbub. Meg and Christine craned their necks, trying to see what had happened.
One of the ballet girls was laughing hysterically. "I cannot believe it!" she cried, nearly doubled over in mirth. "Monsieur Reyer actually threw his score at them!"
"And it is only the third day of rehearsal!" her friend added gleefully.
"We must be next!" another chimed in.
Meg and Christine looked at each other with expressions of mingled amusement and horror. Then Meg burst into a fit of giggles.
"I hope your lesson goes well today, Christine!" she whispered , laughing merrily.