Thank you Barb, my beta for this chapter, which is short, but moves things forward. Happy reading!
-Leesainthesky
Ch 91 Interlopers
Erik scrutinized Nadir carefully, astonished by his revelation. "Do you mean to say Signore Vincenzo and Signora Adolpho are related?"
"Precisely. After leaving Signora Adolpho's home, I followed Vincenzo to a nearby café and engaged him in conversation and we made our introductions. I told him my name was Masood Nafisi and I was certain I'd seen him before; regrettably, my feeble old mind did not allow me to remember where.
Antinio Vincenzo suggested the Lyric Opera House, which he managed. I confided that the opera held no charm for me since my dear wife passed on. The only place I ventured to on a regular basis was my son's house on the Rue Maybeer."
"Did he 'bite the bait'?" I asked and bit into the tender scone.
"Indeed. He revealed that his widowed cousin also lived on the Rue Maybeer and perhaps I had spied him on the way to her home. I agreed it was possible and asked him if I might know of her? 'Doubtful,' he replied. Evidently the woman is not well and spends most of her days indoors.
"The condensed version, if you please, Nadir," Erik commanded politely.
"When he told me her name was Signora Lia Vincenzo Adolpho, I wondered aloud if he were somehow related to the late composer Adriano Adolpho. He confirmed that they were indeed cousins by marriage as Madame Adolpho's maiden name was Vincenzo."
"You wily man, you." I winked at Nadir.
"I offered my regrets for his family's loss, saying that Signore Adolpho was a significant talent. I then enquired about Signora Adolpho's health. Vincenzo said his cousin was mentally stronger than her husband; her shortness of breath kept her from her rose garden in the spring."
"I'll bet she suffers from severe allergies or asthma," I said and Erik nodded as if he understood my diagnosis.
"Evidently Signore Adolpho was a sensitive man whose nervous condition kept him a prisoner of his own mind. Vincenzo swore to me that someday he intended to 'make those responsible' for his late cousin's condition pay dearly. In that moment, I sensed great wrath in the man."
"Ooh, not a good sign. I'd heard the composer wasn't wrapped too tightly," I said.
Erik's countenance morphed into something unnamable and alarming.
"Do you know of his work, Erik?" Nadir asked.
"The ' composer,' as he liked to call himself, made me appear sane. His better scores began promisingly enough; delicate as angel hair woven within a cacophony of brittle intensity. Sadly, by the third or fourth movement of most scores, the music became a muddled mess of misshapen notes, murdering any hope of success. Signore Adolpho struggled for recognition and success among the beau monde, but unlike me, his ideas were above his talent—a fault which eventually drove him mad. The more my work became accepted and admired, the farther down he spiraled into his abyss of insanity."
"My guess is that Signore Vincenzo hopes to keep the composer's art alive in the only way a man with no musical talent can—by making his mark in the theatre. We music lovers with little talent contribute where we can. I share the Italian man's modis operandi." I said, perching my folded hands high atop my belly and looking from Erik and Nadir.
Erik left his place to join me on the divan. He hooked an arm around my shoulder and gave me a knowing smile. "You have many fine talents, darling."
"You're blinded by my charms, sweetheart."
"As for Signore Adolpho, I once eavesdropped, quite by coincidence, on one of his tantrums. It was at the Verdi Opera House in Pisa. I was waiting outside the artistic director's office to firm up the terms of my latest contract when I heard two men arguing."
"Arguments, your favorite sport!" My cajoling earned me a sour look from Erik. Nadir, unused to watching his former phantom friend suffer any sort of teasing, choked on a sip of coffee.
"May I resume, darling?" asked Erik with affected sweetness.
"Please do." I replied, smothering an amused smirk.
"Thank you. As I was saying, I heard a man yelling in angry Italian that he was a true Viennese artist, not a French fraud. Signore Parelli, the opera's artistic director, feigned sympathy with the man's plight. He said, 'Adriano, it is not I, but today's bohemian audiences who make these decisions. They clamor for the rich darkness, death, and forbidden erotic undercurrents found in Monsieur DuPuis' operas. It is my job to procure entertainment not only for artistic excellence, but its ability to fill seats as well.' Signore Adolpho countered by saying he could not fathom the idiocy of the public for accepting my overblown operatic drivel as artistic brilliance while remaining blind to the true genius of his work. How dare he compare his elementary piffle to my music!" Erik spat.
In my mind's eye, I saw Erik sitting and listening to Adolpho's insults—fists clenched, eyes glinting dangerously, steam puffing from his ears, ready to pounce on the man in an instant. I retained a neutral expression as I listened to the rest of Erik's recollections.
"How did Adolpho react to Parelli's words?" Nadir inquired.
"Silence, followed by a cry so feral the hair on my arms bristled. Things crashed and thumped against the door and the walls of the office. I considered bursting in to rescue Parelli, but then I heard him trying to appease Adolpho, begging the man to conduct himself as a gentleman. Should he polish up his best work and re-submit it, Adolpho may have a chance at a commission with the opera house. Signore Adolpho resumed his wailing, 'A chance, Vincent? Did you tell that mask wearing devil to polish up his work?' Signore Parelli apologized to Adolpho, for what, I do not know, and asserted cautiously that my work was more a different sort of music for a different time. The audiences demanded DuPuis. Signore Adolpho began to weep."
"The poor man, sounds as if he didn't have a clue," I said, rocking back and forth against the leather divan's cushioned back.
"It was all pathetic, really. I knew if Adolpho found me in the waiting area, there would be words . . . and blood -- his. So, I hid within the recesses of the anteroom until he left."
"Serious drama and trauma for sure."
"Quite. Shortly thereafter, one of his operas opened to brutal reviews at a lesser known venue in Florence. Weeks later I read in the paper where he'd taken his own life—blown his brains into the orchestra pit of La Fenice Opera House in Venice," Erik said flatly.
"Egad!" I said, reacting to the violence by cradling my belly.
"Forgive me, dear."
"What I don't get is that whenever we meet, Vincenzo acts as if he knows me; knows about my origins," I said, whispering so the inquiring minds of Marie and Mademoiselle Caruso wouldn't hear.
"Or is he a garden variety lecher and I'm paranoid enough to read more into his intentions? What do you guys think?" My gaze flicked from Erik to Nadir.
Nadir looked at my husband. "You've been privy to their exchanges, what is your assessment?"
"Where my wife is concerned, Signore Vincenzo is overly attentive. Otherwise, I find him irritatingly solicitous—a pesky gnat of a man and I should like to squash him." Erik did not blink when he said this.
"When I was away, did you have any more dealings with him?" I asked.
"A letter arrived from the Lyric in December. In it, Signore Vincenzo wished to discuss arrangements for a new opera, passing along the artistic director's request for something romantically devious; a black comedy, perhaps. In closing, he bid cordial greetings to my lovely fiancée, Madame Thomassen. I informed him in my return correspondence that Madame Thomassen was no longer my fiancée and therefore not in residence at the manor. In January when I met with the Opera board I found he'd taken a brief sabbatical."
"In the middle of the season?"
"Nothing but a spoiled bluenose dabbling in the arts, I supposed. Saved me from having to pummel him into submission." Erik laughed and refilled his coffee cup.
"Let us hope this is the end of the matter. I'll keep my nose on his trail," Nadir assured us.
"Amen to that," I said, toasting him.
Erik's head jerked toward the library's double doors. Mademoiselle Caruso teetered on the threshold, clutching onto another plate of scones.
"Monsieur DuPuis, Madame Roux has gone to market with Monsieur and asked me to deliver these to you."
"Yes, come on then," Erik motioned for her to enter the room.
"Good day Mademoiselle Caruso, how are you?" I asked pleasantly.
"Very well, Madame, and you?" she replied in her girlish voice.
"Better now that you've brought more scones," I said as both gentlemen laughed politely. She scanned our faces quizzically.
"My condition," I explained. "It keeps me in a ravenous state."
She mouthed an "oh" and set the plate on the server.
"Anything else for you," she asked."
"I believe we're set for the afternoon, Mademoiselle," I said.
"I'm off to the laundry. I'm afraid I won't hear the bell in there, should you need me."
"No matter, we've all required for a pleasant afternoon," Erik said, waiting for her exit.
After an uncertain pause, she and curtsied and left.
"An addition to your staff, Erik? You surprise me," Nadir said arching his brows.
"What, pray tell, is so odd about having more people in my home, Daroga? Three is hardly a full staff." Erik said with velvety sarcasm.
"A wife, a child, welcoming more strangers into your home? Even as far back as Persia, I knew the heart of a true gentleman lay within your dark shroud. I salute you Erik."
"Dear friend, I am, and have always been, more than a deft chameleon. Gabrielle has shown me that I am first and foremost, a man." He picked up my free hand and kissed it tenderly.
"Besides, Madame Roux needs assistance and soon my wife will have a child. The new girl is a bit awkward but comes with impeccable references," Erik answered.
"Have you chosen a name for your offspring?"
"If it's a boy, and I'm pretty sure he'll be Erik. For a girl, Hope, which is self explanatory," I said, happy to indulge my new favorite pastime; talking about our baby.
"Gabrielle insists on Erik. I am not certain I wish to burden a child with my name. I've not led a charmed life."
"Oh pooh, you are a king and your son, a prince who deserves to carry your name." I met and held my husband's adoring gaze long enough to make Nadir squirm.
"Yes, Erik, a fitting name indeed." Nadir broke the awkward silence and leaned forward. "Do you think we've privacy?" he continued.
"The Roux's will be gone for hours and Mademoiselle Caruso is at her wash. I doubt anyone can hear us except for the walls."
Erik agreed and focused on Nadir's concerned visage. "What is on your mind, my friend?"
"I've been wondering about Madame Thom—DuPuis, how lovely a sound it is to hear your name linked with a woman's, Erik—anyhow, how have you been faring in our backward century, dear?"
"I manage. I think it's like anything one does that's foreign. At first you miss what you do not have eventually making do with what is available until you become more accustomed to the adjustments. There are small joys, and even days when I forget about some of my twenty-first century habits—except for my family, that is. But hey, you can't have it all, can you?"
Empathizing with my loss, both men looked at me dolefully. The main difference between their losses and mine was that what I mourned could not be rectified. There had been no rejection, no death, only a long century and a half between my family and me.
"But I sure do miss a good frozen piña colada on a hot day; can't get those here," I laughed, trying to brighten the mood. "Nadir, you've just gotta see what Erik did for me while I was sowing my wild oats in England."
I rose from the divan clutching Erik's hand. "Come Nadir, you must see Erik's new creations. They're nearly as grand as a Persian Palace. My husband is the most brilliant and generous man alive," I enthused, ignoring Erik's protests of my efforts to show off his work. Nadir threw back his head and laughed at my enthusiasm.
"I see who is the master here," he quipped.
Erik splayed his hands in surrender. "What can I do, Daroga? The woman is a sorceress."
I dragged Nadir around the manor, showing him the spa and the baby's room. Despite witnessing Erik's genius on a much grander scale, he still displayed amazement at the brilliant creations.
The tour completed, we returned to the first floor and walked down the long hall leading to Erik's music room. What a sight we were; the pregnant trans-century woman, the tall immaculately dressed masked man, and the elegant former chief of police. A better matched band of misfit friends I would never find anywhere, in any time.
When we neared the music room, I felt a draft. Erik must have, too, because we both turned to find the source and noticed the door was ajar. Erik approached with jaguar like stealth and slunk into the room. Standing behind him, I couldn't see, but I heard the low feral growl of his contempt. "What do you think you are doing, Mademoiselle? Cease this instant or you will not live to snoop again!"
Mademoiselle Caruso screamed with the shrill intensity of a civil defense siren and dropped something.
Puzzled, I peered around Erik's rigid frame. Strewn about Mademoiselle Caruso's feet were the broken pieces of what had been my laptop computer. I'd been trying out my new batteries and carelessly forgot to lock it away in Erik's wall safe. The snoopy girl had found it.
"What in the fuck are you doing woman?" I screamed while Erik restrained me with one arm.
"You!" Her face was twisted into a terrified grimace. She jabbed a finger at me and backed up against the window sill and screamed, "Get behind me, you devil woman!"
"Wha—? How dare you call me names, you stupid wench. I ought to kick your—oh, crap. Erik!" I sank to my knees and doubled over in pain.
That was the precise moment our child chose to begin his exodus from my womb.
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Dun, dun, dun . . . Review please! -Leesa