Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters, they are the brainchilds and brillian of Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Chapter three.

"Raoul? Raoul!"

Christine barged through the double doors to Raoul's study and meeting room. There were several gentlemen in tophats and pristine suits crowded around the meeting table covered with documents and briefcases; the thick stench of cigar smoke pilfered the air, creating a discernible haze. Raoul stood at the head of the table, the unfathomable surprised look adorning his aristocratic features at his wife's abrupt interruption of his meeting was replaced by high annoyance. "Christine?"

Several of the gentleman turned to look at the ungainly sight of their business partner's distressed wife.
Raoul chuckled nervously.

"A-ha.. erm, Christine dear, what are you doing out of bed?" The servants quickly appeared in the doorway behind his wife.

"Raoul, Raoul, I must speak with you!"

"Ah, Messieurs you must excuse my wife, she is not well at the moment." He walked up to his wife as the low, nearly indiscernible rumble of dissapproval began amongst the gentlemen. He pulled his wife from the room, and in a low voice whispered, "For Goddsake Christine, what is wrong with you? What did you think you were doing interupting like that? Do you have any idea how important this business meeting is, how much you have just embarassed me in front of such important people!"

A tear stubbornly made its way down Christine's cheek and plopped onto the floor. She felt as though she were a child being scolded by an angry parent. What had happened to her husband? Suddenly it were as though the blinders had finally been taken from Christine's sight, she began to see things more clearly. How long has Raoul been treating me like this? Since when did I cease becoming his little Lotte and began the life of a trophy, to be seen and not heard? Christine shook her head and looked upon her husband with a new light. Who was this man who stood before her?

"Well?" he demanded.

"I-it's nothing. Forget about it, it can wait until another time." It was only a dream after all. Suddenly she felt very foolish.

Raoul glared at her, obviously her insistence that her 'interruption' was for nothing had caused him even greater annoyance, before turning on her abruptly and returning to the room. The door clicked behind him with a sense of finality.

One of the servants approached her from behind. "Madame?"

Christine turned to look at the closest thing she had to a friend at the estate, Adele. She stood with a concerned look upon her sparkling blue eyes.
"Madame, are you alright? Christine nodded wearily.

"Are you sure?" She placed a light, comforting hand upon her shoulder. "Is there anything I can get for you? Tea perhaps?"

"Yes, thankyou Adele, tea would be lovely. Could I also have the latest newspaper please." Christine gazed out the window, trying to calm her racing heart, her ragged breathing and shattered nerves. It was mid-morning and the sun was mid-way in the sky casting long shadows across the manicured lawns. "Adele, could you bring that outside, please? I would very much like to sit in the gardens."

Adele curtsied politely, then bustled off to prepare the tea. Christine tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and ventured out through the large oak double-doors. Despite it being Spring, the sun was surprisingly warm. Christine quietly wandered through the gardens, observing the buds that were readying to bloom, and the blossoms already adorning some of the fruit tress. She found a shady spot beneath an ample sized tree, and was about to sit at the base of its trunk when her newly-found lady manners took hold, and instead she sat daintily upon a nearby garden bench.

Despite the vastness of the de Chagny estate with its many servants, gardens, stables, and quarters, Christine had soon found that the novelty of the place began to wear thin after abundant days of being social prisoner to its confines. As a comtess she was expected to be seen at all the parties and social outings, and to make an effort to create friends with the wives of important men, that Raoul may benefit from having the connections to. At the beginning Christine has felt like a princess in this fancy world of outings and parties, dazzled by the sparkling jewels, the beautiful gowns and the luxurious company. But she soon came to realise that the numerous tea-parties were just the war grounds of vicious gossip, the lavish gowns were no more than masks hiding he cruelties of the women who wore them, who one could never trust for the fear of being backstabbed at a moments notice. The people in this 'fine Parisian society' were hardly fine at all, it was a vicious circle that Christine had found herself thrown into, and the hounds were always encircling, waiting for her to slip up so they could tear her apart. The insincerity of these people made Christine sick, and she knew that half the women who kept friends in company secretly hated them and wished whole-heartedly for their demise. In this kingdom, wealth and status ruled, and for Christine being a former ballet rat and Opera 'harlot' (as was the general opinion circulating the town) was social suicide.

Christine gazed steadily around the gardens, and noted with annoyance that there were no leaves on the ground. It was just the beginning of spring, there ought to be leaves on the ground, but only vast expanses of perfectly manicured lawn spread about her, It was always the little things the Christine noticed, the little things that a casual passer-by wouldn't notice, but Christine, with the insurmountable free time she found on her hands, had too much time to ponder upon. It was the little things that bothered her the most, the lack of dust behind dressers, how whenever she purposely messed her bed up, it was always in perfect order when she returned. Nothing was ever left when Christine forgot to put it away, and when she went looking for it, it was always where it was supposed to be, stashed away in her bedside drawers, or hung neatly upon a coat hanger. Growing up in an Opera House, Christine was used to untidiness and chaos. To have a lack of it Christine found to be unnatural and quite frankly, unnerving. But it was the gardens that bothered Christine the most, and until today, the reason why this was so had eluded her. Now she looked upon them with a clarity she had not formerly possessed.

The gardens, whilst beautiful, (though Christine had never had a garden before), were too neat and confined within their dainty little planter boxes; the hedges were as straight as the very fences they represented. The trees - shaped into little balls of perfection - didn't seem right, because nothing was natural. There was no wilderness within these feeble plants; trees weren't meant to be confined to meticulous shapes... they were meant to be free! And with every day Christine spent suspended in this surreal and secluded space, the more she unwillingly felt the fire within her soul be contained, her very essence being conformed - to be a comtess, as was what society expected from her. It was, after all, her duty.

Christine's musings were interrupted by the arrival of her tea. Christine virtually snatched to paper from her grasp, frantically scanning the headlines, and then searching the obituaries. Adele frowned at this strange behaviour. Christine let a long-held sigh of relief escape her lips. There was nothing, not mention of capture, no notice of death. Nothing. The whole world was none the wiser that an Opera Ghost even existed! Adele frowned again. "Is that all madame?"

"Adele?"

"Yes Madame?"

"Do you ever wish that you were a part of this?"

Adele smiled nervously. "A part of what, Madame?"

"This." She threw her hands into the air, wildly gesturing around the lavish estate. "Do you ever wish you were a part of this society, subject to its standards, people and wealth..."

Adele sighed and thought for a moment. "No."

"No?" This answer surprised Christine. "Why ever not?"

"I have seen many things Madame, some of the most terrible ways people have treated their so-called "friends", have been revealed to me in this job. I have seen people do things, Madame, that you could not possible imagine, and I see both sides. Despite the power that comes with this life-style, the ability to make a difference in ways that matter..."

"Not even for wealth?"

"Madame, there is no denying that I do not desire wealth, what fool could say they do not? But the reasons why I desire wealth differ from those of the people you now find yourself associating with. If I desire wealth, it is only because I wish to provide a better living for my family, we are not so well-off you see." Christine nodded and thought for a moment as Adele continued.

"Everyone starts off with the best of intentions, Madame, but money? power? they corrupt the soul, and I would not trade my morals, nor the close bonds I am grateful for within my family, for this,"

Christine smiled. "You're truly one of a kind, Adele. Thank-you for being my friend."

Adele smiled and blushed a little. "Is there anything else Madame?"

"No, thankyou Adele, you have done for me more than enough."

Christine sighed and sipped her hot, sweet tea, allowing her thoughts to mull once more.

That evening Raoul decided to join his wife for dinner. He had cancelled the previously arranged business dinner plans, optioning for a quiet night in, Lord he knew he needed to de-stress. To his annoyance however, he found that Christine wasn't overjoyed at his sacrifice, on the contrary, she showed nothing but poorly contained mild surprise. Was it really that shocking that he should wish to dine with his wife? He shook his head disheartedly.

Christine... Christine...

"Christine!" Christine jumped, startled. "Christine, I've been calling your name now for several minutes." Christine blinked, the glazed look in her eyes disappearing.

"Yes?"

Raoul threw his napkin down in frustration. He was irritated by the fact that Christine wasn't listening as he told her how he managed to close an extremely important deal with the Martineuxs. Naturally she had been off in her own world. Raoul looked at her concernedly, she had not been herself lately, and he had no clue why. He knew that having to be away on business all the time was probably taking its toll on his wife, but this was not what he expected. He wanted to be able to come home, to have his wife run into his arms with the excitement of him being home, to listen to his trials about work, to relax him after the stresses of arguing with clientele and affiliates, after poring over numbers for hours on end. He wanted to be able to come home, tired and stressed and see his beautiful wife smile at him warmly, want to know about his day - he didn't want to have to fight for her attention. Something else was also bothering him, yet he couldn't remember what it was. Suddenly he recalled the incident.

"Christine, dear? What was it that you wanted to talk to me about today?"

Christine turned her gaze upon her husband, as she thought about her vivid dream, and the absence of any articles in the newspaper. "Oh, nothing Raoul. I told you to forget about it. It wasn't important."

Raoul sensed that she was bitter over his little outburst and abruptness. What she didn't understand was how important that meeting really was. God, he was under enough stress as it was without having to do damage control because of his wife's poor behaviour. This, however, was one battle that he would have to surrender and concede defeat.

"Christine, honey, I want to apologize, for earlier." he reached across the table to take up her hand. "I had no right to be so abrupt with you, especially if there was something deeply concerning you. I truly am sorry. Can you forgive me?"

Christine looked upon the face of her husband, his boyish good looks had faded into the visage of the man that sat before her.

"I forgive you, Raoul."

"Thankyou Christine, you make me very happy." he stood then, and crossed the table's length to press a lingering kiss to her forehead, then her lips.

"I'm kind of tired Raoul... perhaps I'll go and have a rest. You don't mind, do you?"

Raoul sighed. "No, of course not... but if there's anything you need, just let me know." And before he knew it, she was gone. Raoul sighed again, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He wasn't quite sure what was wrong with Christine, or indeed how to reach her. Perhaps some time away from work could do them both the world of good. He groaned resignedly and pushed his drink away, turning to face the door that Christine had just left the room through. "I love you Christine."

Christine slept fitfully again that night, her dreams were filled with haunting melodies and masked me, bloodshed and tears.

Hope you're all enoying this fic, let me know what you think!