Dear readers, I feel your love for Christine: Tramp, Fop's widow, the B word. And your funny comments: the smell of Napalm being launched, soul-tormenting anxiety, writing C a poison pen letter. Thank you all for the entertaining comments and the useful reviews and suggestions. All are well noted and appreciated.

Some of you said that my Christine seemed mean. I don't wish to portray her as a villainess; she is simply lonely and pining for Erik. Remember that this Christine is older too, therefore bolder and more determined.

-Leesainthesky

Ch 54 Inquiring Minds

I'd always heard that curiosity killed the cat, and my former fiancé, Tony once likened me to one. He claimed it was my green and brown feline eyes and the ability as a reporter to bait my prey with purrs and stealthy moves before going in for the kill. Then he would deflate my ego by reminding me that I also had a penchant for long, lazy naps in the sun.

I was indeed curious of Erik's reaction to the letter, but I sensed that expressing my curiosity would not be the wisest of my moves within my adopted century.

It was with disappointment that I watched Erik lock Christine's letter into the small middle drawer of his desk.

Erik faced me and placed his hands on my shoulders, he was about to speak when he lost focus. "Gabrielle, I…"

"Yes, darling?" I tipped my head up and searched his face.

"I…I shall need a bath. Working out of doors in this unseasonably warm weather has left me positively grimy. Will you be planning the midday meal soon? I had only coffee for my morning meal."

"And you've worked up a hunger. Of course I'll fix something for you, Erik. Go freshen up; lunch will be ready when you're finished." I said this while fingering the ruffle on the front of his open shirt. Go quickly lest Marie sees you and faints at the sight of your bare chest," I managed to grin.

We left the library together. Erik headed upstairs for his bath and I walked the length of the long wide hall to the kitchen area.

Marie had finished her ironing and was putting the kettle on for tea when I entered the kitchen. "Hello again, Marie, how is your day faring?" I asked looking for a way to enter into conversation.

"Fairly well, dear," the elder woman answered. "And yours?"

"Interesting, Marie, while everyone was about their separate business, a special delivery letter arrived for Erik, which I signed for since I was the only person in the house at the time."

"Rather unusual, I must say. We do not receive many deliveries after the regular post comes. Have you any idea what it was?"

"Well, that's what I need to speak with you about Marie. It's a personal matter and when I tell you how I know what I know, you'll no doubt think less of my methods and me.

She frowned, not understanding where I was going when the teakettle whistled.

Marie moved to the stove and turned off the flame. "Tea dear?" she nodded at me.

"Please," I sat and watched her prepare two cups of Earl Gray for us.

In hushed tones, I began to tell Marie about how I saw the feminine hued seal on the letter, of how I opened it and read the contents and of how I resealed it and placed it dutifully on Erik's desk for him to find.

"Oh Gabrielle, you should not have done such a thing. Yours is a grievous disrespect of Monsieur DuPuis' private rights." She scolded me righteously, waggling a bony finger at me.

"I know it is, but Marie, I had to know if my gut feelings were correct."

"Your gut feelings of what, dear?"

"That Christine de Chagny was flirting with Erik last night, that she wants more from him than innocent voice lessons."

She leaned toward me and whispered in clipped tones, "Gabrielle, you are too much of a lady to let a woman's jealous nature overcome good sense."

"I am not the jealous type Marie," I retorted indignantly. "I'm telling you she was making eyes at Erik, it was obvious. You would have fainted at her sugary endearments."

Marie's expression changed from motherly scolding to worry.

"Marie, it was the way they looked at one another, as if within that instant, a thousand memories of what was and what could have been tumbled through both of their brains. Not only did I see, but also I felt it happening. What do you think it could mean?"

She spooned sugar into her tea, "Hum, that is worthy of note indeed. I shall contact my sister in Paris. She and her daughter, Meg, remain connected with Christine. Perhaps they can endeavor to shed some light on the young lady's intention; that I will do for you my dear. As for your fiancé, you would do well not to let on that you know anything about the letter or of your concerns. Men are not prone to suffering nosey women."

"Your sound advice is keenly noted, Madame."

"Gabrielle?"

"Yes, Marie?"

"Always know that I am your advocate, your friend. Call on me whenever you must, day or night, dear."

"Thank you. You're the best, Marie."

"Oh, I don't know about that child!" She waved me off and exited thorough the back door to the cottage she and Henri shared.

Peering into my empty cup, I remembered a woman who told fortunes on a Chicago morning radio show. She called herself Geraldine, the teacup psychic. If she were available now, I wondered what she would see for me in the leaves of my cup.

Eventually I tore myself away from my musings and got my butt in gear preparing lunch. Erik would be enjoying a midday repast of a hearty potato soup, brown bread and smoked salmon.

Whether I read a book, went to market, or joined Erik in the music room to accompany him on my guitar, I could not tear my thoughts away from the letter. Locked away in Erik's library desk, it mocked me with its rosy wax seal melted upon the expensive cream parchment envelope.

As for Erik, there was nothing in his manner indicating whether or not he'd read the letter's disquieting contents. Life at the manor was status quo as he went about his usual daily routines.

I, on the other hand, was losing my mind.

On the second evening after the arrival of the letter, we lay in bed reading. Erik read his Emily Dickinson and I, my Robert Frost, snuggled beneath the cushy comfort of a down coverlet.

The hour was late, and I was tired. I placed my book on the table on my side of the bed and laid my head in Erik's lap. He too ceased his reading and retired Emily to his table. I felt his hand touch me softly and he began to stroke my hair casually.

"Caron sent me a letter, she wants me to visit her soon," I said recounting the highlight of my day.

"I see—when does she wish for you to call?"

"Whenever we are settled in to married life, and you give me permission, of course," I said with a chuckle.

"You may go whenever you wish, darling. I hold no claim over your person beyond the reasonable respect a spouse expects. Is her husband not home from the Navy?"

"Well, he was. Her Majesty's Navy has him out on maneuvers for the next five months, which sucks considering that Caron's is five months pregnant with their first baby."

"Expecting, Gabrielle, Caron is expecting." Erik corrected my uncouth use of the unmentionable.

"Oh geez, Erik, when we're together, why can't we call it what it is? Caron is pregnant; it's a beautiful and natural fact of life, not a dirty little secret."

"I do agree with you, dear, but from time to time, I feel I must remind you of what is good and proper public decorum."

"Thank you Miss Manners."

"Who?"

"Another American institution of what is good and proper."

"Must you always liken me to American women? Are there no future icons of the masculine ilk to compare me to?"

I giggled and inched up closer to his face and playfully nipped at the divot on his chin. "Let's see—there's Donald Trump, no way…really bad hair and definitely not cool enough; Frank Sinatra, no not sexy enough…hmm, you are a combination of many; the brains and innovation Bill Gates, the dark sexuality of Trent Reaznor, the grace of Mikhail Baryshnikov and the genius of composer Andrew Lloyd Webber, Prince, Lennon and McCartney; all worthy comparisons, my darling."

"One can only hope," Erik rolled his eyes.

"Yet still, none can hold a candle to the incomparable Erik."

He ran his fingers down my back, resting them only when he reached my hips and gently stroked the sensitive area of flesh just above my buttocks. I stretched like a cat and sighed against his naked chest.

"Erik," I purred, "Did you ever find out who sent you that special delivery letter?"

"Why no, I completely forgot it. Thank you for the reminder, darling."

I ran my index finger around the circumference of his belly button, pondering how to continue my careful snooping.

"We don't get many special delivery letters here at the manor do we?

"Indeed," he murmured.

"It must be terribly important. I'd be beside myself with curiosity if it were my letter. I'd have already torn it open."

"Yes, well darling, I am not you now am I?" Erik condescended with a short laugh.

"Simple feminine curiosity, dearest. I don't possess the mastery over my emotions like you do, Erik," I cooed playing the role of the agreeable female.

"Please Gabrielle; let's talk of something more interesting shall we?"

"Okay, but you know sweetheart, I couldn't help but notice the rosy-hued seal on the envelope. You must have a female admirer," I played at teasing him, but he was not amused.

Erik sat up and let my head fall from his chest onto the bed. His tone was frosty.

"Whatever do you mean, dear, a female admirer?"

I propped my self up on my elbows and shot back at him, "Come on Erik, you said yourself it was the de Chagny crest on the seal. We both know that the only survivors of that bloodline are women. Please, Erik, listen to me. I'm not trying to pry but it is obvious to me who sent it. Do you forget that I was a news reporter in my former life?"

He rolled onto his left elbow to face me. "What business is it of yours, pray tell?"

I ignored the obvious answers like, I'll soon be your wife so what's Christine doing sending you letters three and one half weeks before your wedding; instead I took the offensive.

"All I'm saying is I cannot help but be curious about why the woman is sending you a letter after six years have passed by, Erik. Women in this day and age do not normally do that when they know a man is engaged."

His eyes turned storm cloud green and his mouth took on a brooding pout, Erik's usual expression for communicating displeasure.

"Before you become indignant, listen to me. I can only imagine if the tables were turned what your reaction would be to my receiving a letter from a man, especially a man who once loved me. Why is my asking you about the letter such a problem, Erik?"

"The problem is, dear, you are meddling in my affairs."

"I see; well then, if asking you a routine question about a not so routine piece of mail is meddling, then I can only wonder what it is that you're worried about my knowing."

"Not a damn thing, Gabrielle!" Erik demonstrated his mounting frustration by throwing his body back into the pillows and smacking the bed hard with both hands, then glowering at me menacingly.

"Okay, all right, enough of the death-glare."

I threw up my hands. "Look, I didn't mean to start a row, forget I said anything about it, Erik. Goodnight."

I ended the conversation in a soft tone hoping to diffuse the situation, turned over and wrapped my hands around my pillow.

I heard him sigh heavily right before he extinguished the lamp.

Tomorrow he would read the letter.

It was with wicked irony that I realized Erik's loving gesture of taking me to the opera gala could well be the onset of our undoing.

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While Erik's reading the letter, you'll have time to send me a review. Just don't flame the author, it's never productive… ; )

-Leesa