Chapter 91 Faux Pas

Though they'd been received with a few odd glances, Erik took note that what the occupants of that small village fixed their gaze upon was not him, but rather the appearance of a proper woman arriving in town on a horse. "Perhaps their carriage has a broken wheel," one old woman offered to another.

Erick had received nothing more than a passing glance, with the exception of one elderly woman and her granddaughter who smiled ferociously waving at him, and then whispering something in her granddaughter's ear. Erik thought it odd. Each time he looked at her she was smiling and waving, as if she'd known him.

They continued down the street, passing other men on horses who simply nodded in polite gesture. For being a small country village, the residents were all quite proper. No doubt there were some families of affluence for such an impression to be made on the culture of what most would consider to be a farming village. Even the street lamps gleamed from a recent polishing. Men were in topcoats, ladies in evening dresses. The few children he observed were well behaved and stayed close to their parents.

Erik's eyes perused the shops on the left and the right, making plans as to which one's he'd need to visit. He began shaking his head at his own folly. He'd be able to do so in the full light of day if he now wished, he'd not need to sneak about like unwanted vermin. An entirely new prospect for procuring his goods; he'd be able to ask for assistance whenever he had a question. He smiled to himself. Perhaps this new "face" offered some benefit after all.

Erik took them down to the end of the street, veering to the left as the street wound around a park at the center of the village. There was a small open theater, rows of benches lined in front of it. A fountain, now dormant, laid at the center, a beautiful cherub with a violin in hand its crowning glory.

Just down the road, there was a cluster of restaurants, of varying flavors and design. One could quickly tell which were frequented by commoners, and which were only patronized by the aristocrats. Christine was not at all surprised that Erik had chosen the one that would be the most discrete.

A finely appointed front walk led to an elegant, yet private retreat behind a tall vine-covered wrought-iron fence. A young boy appeared seemingly out of nowhere to collect their horses. There was a small but neat stable behind the tavern, where horses could be fed, and groomed if their owners so desired.

Erik had dismounted, assisting Christine to her feet. The coachman nearly followed the boy back to the stables, but had turned abruptly when Erik cleared his throat, and he motioned for him to accompany them in for dinner.

Erik followed behind Christine as the coachman led the way inside. "Good evening sir," said the concierge, "for you and your wife, and guest perhaps?"

"No sir, she is his wife." He said pointing back at Erik.

"Forgive me monsieur, a table for three?" Erik nodded. The concierge took them to a private alcove near the back.

As soon as they were seated, a young boy in a white apron appeared with a large pewter pitcher of water. He lifted each crystal glass and filled them. Quickly behind him was a young woman with a silver basket of French bread. She reached inside the basket, selecting a slice with a silver tong, then depositing it on the bread and butter plates in front of each of them.

Christine glanced over at Erik. He already had his napkin in his lap. She discretely did the same. The coachman was munching on his bread, not having noticed.

Christine lifted the silver tray of strawberry preserves and passed them to Erik. Taking a teaspoon's worth he held out the silver dish for the coachman. He looked at him quite puzzled, and then sat down his bread. "Thank you." He scooped nearly half the dish of preserves onto his plate, proceeding to dip his bread in it.

Christine tapped her finger on her glass trying to get the coachman's attention. She raised her napkin to her lips, pressing at an imaginary crumb. He glanced at Erik who was doing the same. The coachman reached out snatching the napkin in front of him, wiping the bit of strawberry that rested on his upper lip. He looked at both of them as they put their napkins back in their laps. He followed suit.

A gentleman in a dark jacket with a white cloth over her his forearm approached the table, two bottles stowed in his wine porter, a small collection of goblets in his hand. "Merlot or Chardonnay?" He said, displaying the bottles. During his time in Persia, Erik had grown rather accustomed to this ritual. He would select the grape, the other guests would select the bottle. Tonight neither of his dinner companions would be of any help, and he dared say neither would object to his selection.

Christine put her hand over the glass to politely decline the invitation. "Have you any Bordeaux good sir?" The gentleman smiled. Certainly this was a man of good breeding a bon vivant! He nodded and turned to return to the cellar.

Erik leaned over to the coachman "I am sorry, have you a name that we may address you?"

The young man took a sip of his water, washing down the bread that he'd pushed into his mouth whole. "Erik." He managed through a mouth full of food. Erik huffed. This impish clod was spoiling what would have otherwise been an enjoyable evening.

"Yes, have you a first name?" The coachman looked back at him bewildered, "yes, my name is Erik!" Erik rolled his eyes, "how utterly inconvenient." The coachman looked at Christine confused. Erik inhaled, trying to maintain his composure.

"Have you a proper middle name?" "Why yes, I do." Erik waited, leaning his ear towards the young man who simply smiled back at him. "What is it man?" The coachman suddenly felt uncomfortable.

"It's my grandfather's name….it's Stephan." Erik could not believe his luck. Of all the names in the world, of all the coachman in the world, this one was in his employ. Christine looked over at Erik, though she wanted to laugh at the irony, she could not.

Erik sighed. "We shall call you Erphan." "But sir no, Stephan was my…" he was suddenly silent, realizing he was dining with his employer, and if he should wish to call him anything at this precise moment he could do so. The newly dubbed Erphan simply nodded.

The man in the black coat returned. He poured a scant half-inch in the bottom of Erik's glass. Erik enjoyed this ritual, it brought back pleasant memories. He took a drink from his water glass to cleanse his palate. Then he lifted the glass into his hand, raising it to the light to admire the hue. He swirled it around the glass to fully release the fragrant bouquet. Ah, yes, it hinted of pomegranates. Finally he lifted it to his lips, taking in a few teaspoons, rolling it around on his tongue as he sensed the sweet, waited for the tartness, and the smooth finish that was the hallmark of a fine wine. It was pleasing in every sense. He pronounced, "it is perfect."

The gentleman smiled, filling Erik's glass two-thirds full, and then turning to Erphan and filling his. Erphan simply smiled in recognition, then jerked his head in an exaggerated nod, trying to imitate what Erik had done.

Next a woman brought out individual plates of sliced apples and cheeses, garnished by a few shelled nuts. She put it in front of them. Christine watched in amazement as Erik selected the correct fork for the task. No doubt he'd had training that she'd not known of. Indeed the vast part of his past was still a mystery to her. Christine reached down and selected her fork, bringing the first slender slice to her lips.

Erik's gaze was now fixed on Erphan. "I am not a squirrel! Who eats such little meals?" He reached down and made a smallish sandwich of the cheese and apples, and was munching on it rather loudly. Erik closed his eyes. He would excuse this man's poor manners, for who would have ever taught him otherwise? He could only pray it would not continue.

Soon the plates were collected and a shallow soup bowl appeared. It was barely half full. Erphan looked down at it. "Excuse me," he said to the woman, "I believe you've spilled some of my soup as it appears…" His complaint was cut short as he felt Erik's eyes boring a hole clean through him.

Christine reached under the table putting her hand on Erik's knee. Erik swallowed hard. He could not even look at him.

Christine looked at Erphan. "We are enjoying a six course dinner. This may be all very new to you, so please do allow me to explain. Each course compliments the other. Because there are so many, no one course is too large lest it spoil your appetite for the next." Her calm tone began to soothe Erik's gagged nerves.

"We started with bread, followed by fruits and cheeses, next is our soup, which will be followed by salad, then of course our main entrée. I think you shall find you will be sufficiently full when we are done." Christine lifted her spoon, dipping it into her broth.

Erik looked at her and smiled. He always appreciated her compassion, together they were a perfect match, tough and tender. Erik was grateful that at least Erphan did not slurp when he consumed his soup, though his obvious lack of manners could be seen in how he used his spoon as a scoop, pulling it toward him instead of pushing it to the outer rim of the bowl and lifting it toward him gracefully. Erik could overlook that small social faux pas as well.

Erik was about to comment on the flavor of the soup when Erphan lifted the bowl to his lips, shaking it about trying to dislodge the final bits of vegetables from the bottom.

Erik could not take it. He stood, excusing himself from the table without a word. Christine decided not to go after him. He simply needed time to calm himself.

Christine looked down at her bowl, placing her spoon on the plate beneath it. Erphan was puzzled, not knowing what he'd done, but knowing that it was something he'd done to irritate his employer. Christine said, "do not worry, he will be back."

The waiter produced the predicted salad greens topped with pine nuts and a balsamic vinegar, accompanied by several wedges of stale dark rye bread. Christine pointed to her own place setting of utensils, touching the appropriate one for Erphan's benefit. She lifted it, and her knife, as she began to eat her salad. The quiet with Erik's absence was almost deafening.

Outside Erik clasped the railing of the porch that surrounded Christina Campbells. He was grateful that the courtyard was surrounded by the high vine-covered wrought iron fencing. He gazed out onto the lawn, inhaling deeply of the cooling night air. The noises of the hustling and bustling of a town on a Saturday evening could be heard in the distance.

Erik had no excuse, save his obvious ill-at-ease, for his behavior. What would the man have known of proper manners being raised in the company of gentry? Once he'd calmed himself completely he would return and apologize for his abrupt departure.

His thoughts wandered off to Persia, as they had so many other times in the last week. Perhaps it was being out in the world that reminded him of it. Not all of his time in Persia had been unpleasant, rather many memories of luxury and comfort persisted. It was because of the last months that he'd spent there that he'd tried to suppress the memory of the experience entirely.

His face turned down. He'd enjoyed power and influence there, but it had all been a ruse. For he was but a pawn for a much more reprehensible creature who made his past pale in comparison to their butchery. He'd somehow have to resolve to keep the good, and dismiss the bad, or the memories would forever shadow the new life he was trying to fashion….for his family's sake.

Erik inhaled once more, having decided he was calm enough to be in the company of others and was just turning to retreat indoors, when he could sense two pairs of eyes peering at him through a hole in the vines. A thin hand reaching in to wave at him. Erik recognized her as the woman on the street from when they first arrived in Chauesser. The girl, he guessed to be her granddaughter, was imploring her to move on before the authorities were called for and they were fined for loitering.

"It's not him, please let us leave this man in peace!" The hand was pulled back through the vines and disappeared. Erik shook his head. Whoever the woman sought she was mistaken, because Erik knew it could not be him whose face she'd recognized…for it had only been sculpted a few months before.

He sighed and retreated indoors to the table. The salad plates were just being collected, Erik opting not to keep his plate. The waiter appeared once more, "and for dinner sir?"

Erik inquired "do you still prepare the medallions of beef?" The waiter said, "yes, sir, we do indeed." Erik smiled, "the lady should like those, with a plate of vegetables, and milk." The man nodded, "and for you sir?" "Have you still the quail?" "yes," the waiter said, making note.

Christine cleared her throat. Erik smiled, he'd almost forgotten. "Do tell me, have you any Yorkshire pudding?" The waiter smiled at Erik, surely this was a man who took great pains to please his young wife. "Sir, if we have none, I shall find for her an acceptable substitute." That pleased Erik.

"And for you sir?" the waiter turned to Erphan, who was dumfounded.

Erik smiled "I'm rather afraid this is his first dining experience of this nature, he's unaccustomed to the pleasures of a meal taken in leisure." The waiter smiled. "Tell your chef to prepare his specialty, that shall do nicely." The waiter departed with a nod, he'd see to every detail himself.

A young woman appeared with three miniscule dishes of crushed lemon and mint, placing one in front of each of them. Erphan looked down, quite perplexed. Erik began "it is to cleanse your palate, so you can fully appreciate the flavors of your entrée without the interference of your tongue's memory."

Erphan had no idea what that meant, but followed Erik's lead in dipping the spoon taking a small bit to his tongue. It was tart, and not at all pleasing he decided as he winced. That made Christine laugh, and in turn made Erik laugh. The meal would be enjoyable from this point forward, the worst was already over, and the best was yet to come.

The trio sat enjoying their entrées as the restaurant filled with scurrying couples. It was obvious that this was a place frequented by those who enjoyed the finer things, and preferred an intimate venue. Christine had a perfect view of the entrance, and had seen many young ladies, dressed in lovely gowns, escorted by men in handsome suits pass through the door. The couples looked eagerly at one another, some appearing to be in the first throws of their love.

How Christine had missed that part of being a newlywed, she missed Erik even though he sat not feet away from her. She watched as the light from the candles danced across his face. How he'd managed to relax, and enjoy himself.

Erik talked to Erphan of horses and equestrian bloodlines; something that Erphan was most decidedly interested and well versed in. They discussed at length 'Oliver Twist', both Erik and Erphan's face lighting up when they talked of the twists for poor little Oliver.

Only once did Christine see Erik's look change when Erphan began his ranting, "Oh, and can you believe the demur little Oliver rose up and grabbed that Noah Claypole by the throat, rattling his teeth about in his head, then felling him to the ground…" Erphan had broken into a fit of laughter. "Can you imagine anyone becoming so enraged over being teased that they'd commit murder? Certainly our Mr. Dickens has a vivid imagination!" Erik's face had changed, a bit of horror flashed through his eyes. Christine saw the nerve jumping in the right side of his cheek, but he'd taken the last sip of his wine and rearranged himself, pouring back into the story. Erphan simply had no idea what Erik had endured, and neither, truly did Christine.

She thought to herself, for all the time Erik had spent alone, he had somehow mastered the art of listening, of being a worthy conversationalist for anyone he encountered. He made the other person feel validated, appreciated, and heard.

Erphan had gone from being a near stranger when the bread was first put on the table, to something of a friend by the time the crème brulle had been consumed. They now sat relaxing over the fresh cups of cappuccino that had been delivered.

Erphan sat back just slightly, readjusting his shirt. "Madame Courtland, you were most correct, I am entirely full, and entirely satisfied." Christine smiled at him, "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Erik's gaze turned to her, suddenly realizing he'd not included her in the conversation in the last half hour. Leaning over he whispered in her ear, "my dear, did our daughter enjoy the Yorkshire pudding?" Christine smiled. She'd not let Erik win that easily. "I'd say he rather enjoyed it, wouldn't you Erphan?" She said aloud, smiling coyly, but rather triumphantly at Erik. Erphan responded, "oh yes, very much." Clever girl, Erik thought to himself as he flashed her a mischievous smile.

When the last of the cappuccino had been drunk, the dessert plates collected, and the bill settled, they stood to leave. The staff being most gracious thanked them, and bid them to all come again.

"Now, my little dove, how do you feel about a bit of shopping?" Christine slipped her arm into his as they strolled to the door, Erphan having run on ahead of them.

"I think I should like it very much, although I am rather looking forward to going home." Erik looked down, running his hand across hers that lay on his arm, "if you are feeling spent, or are tired…" Christine reached up, standing nearly on the tips of her toes, placing a kiss on Erik's cheek.. "I am not tired in the least," she said, running her finger along his jaw. Erik's mind swirled, she was doing it again….that infernal flirting…she had no idea who she was dealing with, he thought to himself as he followed her out the door, and into the night.

Author's Notes:

O.k., I am very sorry to leave such a line hanging over the weekend! Anticipation is indeed the mother of joy….

I just wanted to clarify a couple of items for the most particular readers. Degas would likely have been a bit too young to have painted the ballerinas at the Opera Populaire, given the time frame of the book.. However, I didn't want to detract from the brilliant work this magnificent impressionist artist completed at the Garnier in Paris, which, after all, the movie version was based around. So, please allow me that brief deviation to historical "correctness" in order to keep the fluidity and beauty of the story.

The second general note, is in regards to the restaurant where they dined. It is an actual place, though not in nineteenth century France. It is my favorite place in Colonial Williamsburg (USA). It stands in the same place now that it did when George Washington was a frequent patron. At night, it comes alive with such historical colonial accuracy, that it makes one wonder about time travel. If ever you're in Willamsburg, be certain to stop there, it is a sensory experience of the finest kind. I make it a point to stop there whenever I'm in that area, which, alas, is not nearly as often as I'd like. This little explanation is provided so as to pay proper homage to a wonderful little place in America!

Captain Oblivious: I couldn't agree with you more. If reading fanfiction all night would produce an income sufficient to support all of the other things that I require, I'd be its most devoted employee! Sadly, we live in the real world…so to work we must go.

It is my hope that by this weekend you'll have received your Dracula 2000 video, and will have much to say about our dear Gerard. My 'The Jury' video still has not arrived, and I am waiting like a dog expectantly by her dish for it!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Not to throw a carrot out there, but I've a most special chapter planned for Monday as well. Have a great weekend! And don't hurt yourself, or Gerard, with that Pauly Shore gun!

Diveprincess: I am sorry to hear of the sudden change in your life. Things such as this are very difficult for anyone. My parents too divorced when I was sixteen, it was a most difficult time for me, I had so many questions that went unanswered. I was both angry and sad, and didn't really know what to do with myself. I, like you, found reading to be a welcome distraction. It took me to places and times where people were in love, and dreams really came true. I dare say, along with a considerable amount of prayer, reading is what helped me survive those dark times when I wasn't really sure that love, or family truly existed out there.

If I may offer some unsolicited advice, from someone who has walked in your shoes,….try not to be too hard on yourself. People in your life, no matter who they are, will inevitably disappoint you, though they don't intend to hurt you. None of us were created perfect. Keep your chin up, and remember you always have literature as a means of escape. It waits for you whenever you need it, it will be there. Even if the literature was written hundreds of years ago, if it speaks to your heart, the author will have fulfilled their very purpose for being on this earth! Though literature can be very dated, like our beloved Phantom of The Opera, true love is timeless, and that will never go out of fashion!

I hope you enjoy the next chapters. It will provide a little fluff to lighten your spirits.

Phantomluvr: Yes, I believe I did warn you this story would be a long one! I am glad to hear you are enjoying it. I still haven't gotten into Harry Potter, and I am trying to resist the temptation to read the first one. It's not my typical genre, but so many people have mentioned it, I am almost feeling compelled to read it! I hope you continue on this journey with us…

Poetzproblem: I laughed when I read your response. I do remember Blondie, though I don't recall the song you refer to. Ah, I like the idea of thinking your tag name came from your deep desire to tinker with words….that sounds most intriguing as I have a bent for that myself!

Nadir, yes, he could tend to be a bit of a thorn in anyone's side I'm afraid. He and Erik no doubt caused their share of mischief together when they were in Persia. Whether either of the two of them will ever give up even one of their most solemn secrets, remains to be seen. Yes, no one should underestimate Nadir, for that would be most imprudent.

I hope this "fix" (a.k.a.; chapter) suited your needs!

Stellalorilai: Finally, I feel better being able to include you in the most current update! I'm rather glad that someone has picked up on the joy of the cat-and-mouse game that Christine and Erik are playing about the gender of their child. It lets us in on a playful side of their most serious relationship. Though they are deeply, madly in love, when the newness of a relationship wears off, there had best be something else to sustain them. I have always maintained that a relationship devoid of humor is doomed. Laughter speaks to the soul the way no other language in the world does, and to imagine the two of them sharing a little game like this is most precious to me too! Boy or girl…..hmmmm I guess we shall have to wait along with the parents….I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise!

Now, referring to the gifts that I give…I didn't say that they always appreciated receiving them as much as I did giving them! I can recall the holiday I gave everyone the book 'Chicken Soup for the Soul' (whichever version suited their age or life-stage). I imagined it to be a most thoughtful, insightful gift. When I delivered each one, I tried to give a most eloquent introduction before the gift was opened. I received varying responses ranging from "Oh….how…nice." to the comment that I simply lacked the imagination or motivation to find anything original!" Needless to say, the next year they all got gift certificates for restaurants in their area…I guess you could say, I made them eat their own objections….though they did seem to enjoy them!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I laughed so hard at points when I was writing it, that I think my poor little Schnauzer thought I was having a seizure! I could only imagine Erik's utter annoyance with "Erphan." Monday will bring a chapter that was most touching to me….Alas, I cannot tell you why….have a wonderful weekend!