Christine spent the rest of dinner picking at her food and listening to Raoul ramble about family matters. They had inherited quite a bit of money after his father's death, even though he was only the youngest of the Count's children. He was unsure of where to invest it; he had previously relied on his father's advice on matters regarding money. Philippe was no help. His addiction to alcohol caused him to be raucous in the evening hours, and unresponsive and melancholy in the morning. Raoul was worried about him and reasonably so. His bad habits worsened and there seemed to be no way to get him out of the black, deep hole that was his future. Their prospects seemed dark, but they had each other.
Their plates cleared away, the couple went on their way to the opera house. Raoul accompanied her to her dressing room before parting ways with a chaste kiss brushed on her cheek. Christine pushed all thoughts of her obscure future away and tried to transform herself into the beautiful gypsy she played in Carmen; the opera was to start in a little over an hour. She gladly accepted the assistance of the maids as they helped her into her intricate costume and piled the heavy stage makeup on her face. She cooperated as they drove pins into her hair and piled the heavy wig on top of her head. Meg and Jammes came into the bustling dressing room and the three wished each other luck as they did before every show.
As she waited for her entrance behind stage left, she heard a faint rustle behind her. She whipped around and tried to make out what lurked in the darkness behind her. Her eyes frantically swept the black expanse of old props but she could not make out any movement of something living.
"Be still. It is I, Erik."
She relaxed. "You had me worried," she admitted weakly.
He stepped forward from the shadows into the dim light. His tilted fedora hid his face and his mask covered what little bit that was visible. "I do not say good luck because you should not have to rely on good fortune to do well; it comes from you. You are very talented Christine, and I trust that you will stun them all. Remember what I told you about the aria. Keep your vibrato slight. Tune your voice to Bianchi's in the duet."
She nodded weakly, suddenly feeling more nervous knowing that he was watching.
He sighed and moved to place a hand on her shoulder but dropped his arm halfway through. "Just sing. You will do wonderful."
She recognized her cue to go on stage. "Thank you," she whispered with a fleeting smile. She saw the corner of the visible side of his lip quirk ever so slightly. He nodded in response.
She sang for Erik that night; sang to thank him for all the help he had given to her. She thought it might have been one of her best performances to date. She felt him there, felt his overwhelming and powerful presence. She put everything she had into that opera knowing that it was one of her last and that her teacher was watching. Those two motives caused her voice to flow perfectly. The crowd roared in approval as she reappeared after the curtain fell. Patrons lined the walls leading towards her dressing room. She smiled gratefully at them as she pushed her way through. Once in the solitude of her dressing room, she struggled out of her costume and unpinned her hair. As she placed the pins on top of her vanity she noticed a single slender rose. It stood out from the superfluous vibrant bouquets. She picked it up and ran one finger down the smooth stem and traced the velvety petals. She felt the corners of her lips tilt upwards; she knew it to be Erik's stamp of approval. As she donned her cloak and slipped on her boots she tucked the flower gently into her pocket. She yawned as she opened the door, eager to go home and fall into her bed.
She expected to see Raoul waiting for her since she had not seen him since they parted before the performance but was greeted with an empty hallway. She tried to think nothing of it.
"Christine," a voice called from behind her. She needn't turn around to know who it was. Only one person had such beautiful voice that they could make her name sound like a beautiful melody.
She turned and walked to meet him, her hand unconsciously reaching inside her pocket to finger the rose that she hid inside.
"I have never heard you sing so beautifully," Erik said. His deep voice seemed to coat each word in honey as the syllables dripped from his tongue. She felt her heart beat faster and her spirits lift considerably because of that one simple sentence. Erik was not one to lavish praise upon someone; he was quicker to point out faults. She could see that uttering that compliment had been a stretch for him. His golden eyes tore themselves from her and darted around the room nervously.
"Thank you, Erik. I—I sang for—"
"Christine!" this vice belonged to a different person entirely, namely her irritated fiancée. "Are you here?" Her wide eyes darted to meet Erik's.
"He doesn't know," she whispered. "I never told him about you and I, I know I should have—"
"There you are!" Raoul said rounding a corner. She glanced at him and then turned back to plead with Erik to leave, but he was already gone.
Her heart was pounding frantically against her ribcage at the notion of Raoul uncovering their secret. She forced a smile on her face.
"You were amazing, mon cherie. But why are you lingering back here?"
"I was talking to Madame Giry. She just left," Christine lied.
"Well then, let's be on our way then! There's no use hanging about here. I'll see you back to your apartment."
She nodded agreeably and the pair set off. Christine cast one lance glance over her shoulder to see Erik standing among the rubble of old props. He tipped his hat and vanished with a swirl of his cape. Christine allowed herself a small smile.
The next two performances went as well as the first. Erik attended them both and never failed to leave his customary rose but she never saw him. Monday arrived with a fruitful rehearsal. Afterwards she hurried to her dressing room and donned her cloak and boots. Erik was waiting for her outside the mirror.
"I don't think I ever got the chance to thank you for the roses."
He chuckled. "I'm surprised that you found it amongst the sea of blossoms."
She started at the sound of his laughter, jumping a little and pausing mid-step.
This caused him to laugh even more and the melodic sound echoed off the cold stone walls. "Did you not know that I am capable of laughter?"
She blushed and was thankful for the cover the darkness gave her. "I—no, you misunderstand me, I—"
"Do you remember the time when I gave La Carlotta the croak of a frog as her voice?" he asked, saving her from further embarrassment.
They both laughed at this and the sound fused to create a beautiful duet. "Quite clearly."
"I think it was more of an improvement than a regression."
She laughed even more and turned to meet his eyes which were shining with mirth. "She was quite the hit!" She reached up to pull her cloak further around her shoulders and her engagement ring glinted in the dim light, refleting brilliantly onto the dark wals.
Suddenly the smile fell from his face and he cast his eyes to the ground.
"We should hurry," he barked harshly. "We have much to accomplish tonight and you must want to return to the Vicomte."
"I am in no rush," she told him. He seemed not to hear her.
She was surprised at the abrupt change of his mood. His pace quickened, his brow furrowed, and his fingers curled up into fists. She wondered what she could have said to upset him but could think of nothing. After a moment she gathered the courage to speak.
"Are you alright, Erik?"
His eyes darted over to meet hers for a second. They seemed to be blazing with anger. "I am fine," he spat.
She lowered her eyes, baffled at this quick change of atmosphere. There had been laughter ringing from the walls and now a deafening silence took its place. She was almost running to keep up with his quick pace. When they reached his home they did not converse as they did most often, but he uncased his violin and rosined his bow briefly.
"There is nothing that you need to work on for Carmen tonight. I have prepared something from my opera. It is a difficult passage. The emotion and rhythm are going to challenge you. Start from the pickup to twenty-two. I'll stop you when either you or I need to fix something. I do not think you will have to go far before I do."
She nodded timorously, trying to glance over the music before jumping into it. He gave her a free measure and she started in. She did not get through a measure before he stopped her.
"No, no, no. That's not right. Like this." And he sang it for her. His voice was so full of pure raw emotion that she felt her knees go weak and her head spin. She didn't know how he made it sound so real, like he was singing about himself. He finished and looked at her expectantly.
"You understand?"
She nodded mutely, dumbly, still shocked by his singing.
"From the pickup then."
She tried to copy his passion but could not reach his level of intensity.
"That's not right," he hissed. "Do you need for me to sing it again?"
"No," she replied hesitantly.
"Then get it right. Same place." She began and once again tried to match his emotion. He stopped her once more with a sigh.
"It needs to be perfect before I can make any corrections on the music. I need your voice Christine, otherwise I would not have come back and put you through this. I know you have better things to do, but you agreed to this and the sooner you fix it the sooner you can leave."
His harsh words cut through her. She hadn't the faintest why he was so cross tonight. She was a little offended when he said that she didn't want to be here. If she wanted to leave she would, but she wanted to help and some appreciation would be nice. She welcomed cool indifference even more than his spite.
"If I wanted to leave, I would," Christine voiced her thoughts. "But I want to assist you. So here I am. I would like to be thanked for my efforts but it seems you are incapable of letting one kind word pass through your lips." She knew her words were a little harsh and she mentally chided herself for not filtering her contemplations.
"I am not going to lavish undeserved praise upon you when you have done nothing to earn it!" Erik snapped, the edge on his voice slicing through her. "The problem is not my heart but your lack of emotion."
"I apologize if I cannot sight read perfectly!" she cried indignantly, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
He sighed. "Try it once more. Try and think of someone or something that will help you to relate to the lyrics. Your father, the Vicomte—" this was uttered with a hint of spite—"anything that will help you to get it right. From the pickup."
She tried to focus on Raoul, to picture his smiling face and put the intensity of her affection for him into her vocal chords.
"Better," Erik admitted, stopping once again. "But not close to perfection. Again."
This time she thought of her love for her father. A different type of love, yes, but she would have to try different versions of the feeling until she found the right one.
They went a little further this time until he stopped her. "I don't feel it, Christine. I've you heard sing with astounding passion before and it did not sound like this."
She lifted her eyes from her score to look at him from where stood next to her, towering above her small frame. His brow was furrowed and he was staring intently at the music, fingering through the music while his right foot served as a metronome by tapping a steady beat on the floor. He remained lost in the music for a moment before turning sharply to her when he noticed she was staring at him.
"Yes?" he snapped.
She started. "Oh—nothing. Nothing."
His eyes remained on her for a moment before returning to the music. "Once more from the pickup. If it still is not right after this time we will move on and come back to it another day."
He was quite irritated now. She had disappointed him.
A little innocent thought crept inside her head. What if she were to think of Erik? She pictured him and his music, composing it, singing it, playing it on one of his vast array of instruments. He was not someone she loved, but she could not think of anyone else to sing for and if she only had one more chance to sing it then why not?
He let her run through the whole entire song before he stopped her.
"I—that was—what did you do differently?" He asked, bemused.
A faint blush tinted her cheeks. "I sang for Raoul," she lied effortlessly.
He nodded. "That time it was perfect. He is a lucky man; that you would be able to sing so beautifully for him."
She nodded mutely, feeling even more ashamed. If he knew what she had really been thinking he would have been shocked, appalled.
They ran through it many more times, pausing for Erik to make some rearrangements in the score. All the while she pictured him in her mind. The time flew by quickly as they worked continuously on the piece. Without windows that showed the setting sun Christine didn't know how many hours she had spent underneath the opera house. Erik finally lifted the hem of his sleeve, revealing a gold wristwatch.
"You must be going," he said and began to pack up his violin. He crossed the room quickly with long strides and collected her things. His hands gently placed her cloak on her shoulders and they began the journey across the lake. She was silent for her mind was too preoccupied thinking about Erik and how she had sounded when she sang for him.
It wasn't right.
She should have sung like that for Raoul, not Erik. She was confused and afraid. She didn't have feelings for Erik, she was engaged to another man! But there was no denying that she had sung better for him.
She was bewildered.
She mentally shook herself and shook the matter to the back of her head. There must be a logical reason for this which she would uncover when her head wasn't fuddled from a long day.