A/N Okay so this day actually started in ch 11! Let me say this...no more crawling or I will be here keeping you on the edge of squee for a year (i'm just not that evil and I do actually want this to end at some point!) Anyway 3 cheers for Meg being a stroppy cow.
Chapter 13
Meg tried to maintain a dignified silence the whole way to the post office lest Erik question her. She could not deal with listening to the sound of his haughty voice at the moment; the last words he uttered having sent her to the depths of despair for a variety of different reasons. He had shouted at her in such a violent manner that she could not help the sting of tears to her eyes although she had managed to keep it hidden, choosing to walk behind for once. He could make use of his superior internal compass and she would have quiet for a time while she attempted to fathom why he had been so cruel. Had she not saved him from the Parisian mob, secreted him away until she could get him out of France and then brought him to the one place she knew he would have a chance at life? Did that not count for anything? No, apparently not when she was nothing like Christine. The more she thought about her friend the more she began to resent her for a multitude of sins that were not even hers alone.
She knew this was not fair but she did not feel particularly fair at the moment. She felt as if she were surplus to requirements. She was not used to being shouted at like that and to hear how very much he had meant it really poured salt in the wound. If she was not comparable to Christine and therefore unlikely to remind him of her then what in the name of God made him so angry with her? He was an enigma and while mostly his little oddities amused and intrigued her, today they just made her want to hit him. He may have meant what he said but he did not have to say it. He of all people should realise just how much simple words could hurt? She was never so sure that Christine was better off without him; he would have had her in floods of tears on an almost constant basis having no concept of engaging his brain before he spoke.
Meg had never been so quiet for such an extended period of time and it irked him. Erik recognised correctly that she had been in foul humour from the moment she stepped onto the dock. They had practically had a shouting match on the quayside and she had gone and stamped her foot at him again. He had sworn before that he would remain unaffected by her little temper tantrums but her silence unnerved him. Had she really thought she would remind him of her friend? Aside from the fact of their friendship they were nothing alike and he would have thought that was blatantly obvious. Women, he was rapidly discovering were a complete mystery.
He was leading the way for a change, Meg wanting to walk behind and he could feel the hair standing on the back of his neck from the daggers he was sure she was throwing at him. In the midst of all the tension and his subsequent bewilderment he was barely noticing as people brushed past him. Finally he could see the post office, crowds milling about outside and her turned back to Meg. She was dragging her feet, head bowed as if in defeat and he could just make out the redness on her cheeks which was not a remnant of her earlier blush. Had she been crying?
"Meg, we are here." She looked up staring fixedly at his nose, refusing to make eye contact. What the devil was wrong with her? She appeared to be ignoring him now as she just brushed past him and said nothing.
"Why so silent?"
"I do not wish to speak to you." Meg was determined to stay mad with him as long as it took for him to realise what a pig he had been or until she felt better about making him suffer for it; whichever was the sooner.
"Why not?" Erik was baffled. She was acting very strangely and not at all like the woman he was familiar with.
"Because I do not like you very much at this moment." There, she said it. In fact she did not like him one bit. "And before you even think about asking...you know exactly why." Meg stormed off towards the huge arched building that housed the Rialto Post Office, clutching her letter tightly in her hand leaving a perplexed Erik in her wake.
Almost two weeks after arriving in Venice they were finally admitted through the great iron clad doors of St Mark's and as it was almost closing time the huge building was nearly deserted. Erik was getting used to being ignored, having been subjected to a wall of silence all the way from Ponte di Rialto. Now they were both standing in silence, struck dumb by the stunning beauty of the great basilica and Erik suddenly felt very small; nothing he read would ever have done it justice. The gilded mosaics that covered the entire ceiling shimmered in the candle light and cast a golden glow all around giving the entire space an otherworldly feel that he imagined heaven must look like. The smell of frankincense hung heavily in the air and he was almost faint with the overwhelming sense of peace that pervaded. He imagined that nothing bad could ever happen in a place like this, even to him. He watched as Meg's eyes travelled across every surface eagerly drinking in every detail, her previous melancholy temporarily forgotten. Tentatively he followed her progress through the huge building, keeping a safe distance behind her; hoping she would eventually cave in and ask the million and one questions he knew she was bound to have.
It had been a long time since she had been in a proper church, only ever visiting the tiny chapel in the opera house when she wanted a bit of peace and quiet provided Christine was not there which now she thought of it had seemed like all the time. Meg could not believe the immensity and sheer opulence of the place, dripping in gold which reached all the way up into the huge domes that crowned it. There seemed to be nooks and crannies everywhere, another secret little chapel around every corner. The smell of incense which she had always associated with death and funerals would now forever be entwined with the memory of this beautiful, decadent, heady place. There was a huge bank of candles in front of one of the side altars and she was drawn to the flickering light, registering the light footsteps of her shadow behind her. Erik was bound to be in a spin in a place like this...so much history, architectural significance and every wall heavy with the work of old masters. She rummaged in her little drawstring purse for a few coins and took three long, slender tapers in her hand from the huge stack beside the money box. She had only ever lit candles for the dead as she supposed was customary, when one of her Populaire family had passed on...like Madame Lemoine who was predecessor to Mme Fleury, the wardrobe mistress. She had loved her as the grandmother she never had or a fairy godmother from one of her childhood fairytales.
Erik watched in fascination as Meg lit the three candles she had chosen one by one, taking a few moments before she moved to the next and frowning for some minutes after she had finished, staring determinedly into the flame of the last. He had lit candles all the time but they were a necessity for light rather than for any means of reflection on the past. Who did she mourn? Her father perhaps? He did not know much about Antoinette's family only that her husband had died when Meg was small and in all the years he had been at the Populaire had never seen or heard of any other relatives.
"Do you miss them?" Erik did not know quite how to ask but was curious all the same.
"Miss who?" Miss the candles...he was the one with the hundreds of candles. What is he talking about now? Always riddles.
"The people you lit them for...I assume they are family you lost?" Perhaps he should not pry. Perhaps this was painful for her.
"Oh...no...I mean I did not light them for anyone that died although that is normally what is done. I lit them for the living...it seemed appropriate here." She did not want to think about death or the past in this serene place. It was full of calm and peace and that is what she lit her tapers for.
"Oh, who then?" Really he should stop pestering; she might not want to share that information with him but he supposed she would be quick about telling him so if that were the case.
"Well...I lit the first one for Maman so that she may have the strength and courage to triumph in the face of adversity. She will need it now when they begin to rebuild." She winced as she thought about her second candle and really did not want to make an already painful afternoon even worse but neither would she lie to him.
"The second one was for Christine...so that she may be happy and content with the choices she has made." Meg watched carefully for any sign that her words had hurt him but Erik remained defiant in his outward appearance.
He swallowed when she mentioned her friend and concentrated on breathing evenly. She was altruistic in her wishes for others, especially Christine even if he could not quite bring himself to feel the same. "And the last?"
"The last one was for you...because you need all the help you can get." She could still be mad at him; just in a more serene, ladylike way and it did not have to stop her praying for divine intervention on his behalf...for the redemption of his soul and the mending of his heart. But he did not need to know that.
Well that explained the extended period of frowning, Erik thought as he watched her wander off again into the main aisle, tactfully making her exit; leaving him alone to ponder her words. This was a sacred, consecrated space and Meg had lit a candle for him within its hallowed walls. Despite her earlier anger (and he still could not figure out what that was all about) his little dancer had found it in her heart to make a wish for him, sending it out into the great beyond to whoever watched over them all. No one up there had ever listened to him before but maybe Meg's intentions, whatever they were, would not fall on deaf ears.
Meg had had quite enough of wandering around in circles by herself so she made her way back to the bank of candles where Erik remained standing bathed in their warm glow, transfixed. The flickering light had caught in his eye and made it sparkle and dance in a way she had never seen before. She wished she could see all of his face as the candle light had softened all the sharp angles and smoothed out his frown so that he looked almost angelic. Almost. That spark in his eye was most definitely not if the annoying little lurch in her stomach was anything to go by. So what if he had magnificent eyes? She had a magnificent ability to stand en pointe for longer than anyone she knew though she doubted that was going to make anyone's insides churn the way hers currently were. Snap out of it Meg! She really wanted to know about this wonderful place and Erik was like her personal encyclopaedia.
"Erik?" She watched as he turned his gaze towards her, his right side to the light, the left in shadow. He turned the right side of mouth up in a tentative almost-smile and raised his visible eyebrow in answer.
Oh lord! Please stop. Whatever you are doing, please stop! Meg's knees almost went from under her and her already delicate stomach flipped over like a crepe on a hot skillet. She had managed to successfully avoid acknowledging the fact that he was so devastating all the way from Paris, having had no place in the current scheme of things but now it came crashing down around her ears. On their own she could have coped with his eye or his smirk or that eyebrow he was incredibly fond of exercising but all three at the same time left her nowhere to turn. His stature had increased noticeably since she spoke and she knew OG was not far away. Damn you Erik, you're not being fair. She had never experienced anything like this before and she really had no clue how to handle it. Her mouth would not open, her throat locked shut. Her normally light feet felt like they had been cemented into the floor and he was still staring. He had come forward a step and as desperately as she wanted to retreat she could not. The closer he got the thicker the air became; the combination of it, the pungent aroma of incense and the intimate light sharpening her senses to a fine point. She was convinced she could actually hear the candles flickering. This was way beyond her experience, having never felt the focus of male attention before if she discounted the leering stage hands who had shouted obscenities and suggestive remarks at her and the other girls. And she would have to discount them because whether her maddening friend knew it or not, he was in a league of his own.
"Meg! Are you quite alright? You look as if you might faint." Erik had been watching her having what he could only assume was some sort of spiritual experience He supposed it was entirely likely in a church...maybe she had seen a vision. Her eyes had glazed over completely, her hands falling limply to her sides and she looked to be staring straight through him to a point at the back of his skull. She began to sway and he was suddenly gripped by the realisation that she was about to fall to her knees. She would crack her skull on the stone floor! Shooting a hand out he gripped her arm just above the elbow and held her steady until she composed herself. He noticed the mist lift from her eyes just before she squeezed them tightly closed and shook her head as if clearing a fog.
Breathe Meg, breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Breathe! She wished for one of Erik's trapdoors to open and swallow her through the floor. She was mortified and terrified and so ridiculously confused. He had stopped her falling...she had almost made a total fool of herself by fainting. Meg Giry did not faint. Ever. Even when her toes had bled and her calves had burned from hours of practice without a break, little food and dizzy from sleep deprivation. Christine had fainted –a lot but her? Never. So much for being serene and ladylike.
"Thank you, sorry; I am not sure what happened. Perhaps I am just overwhelmed." It was nothing but the truth. "Can we sit down in one of the pews for a while and then you can explain to me where all this gold came from?" Give him something to do, make him churn out endless random facts about the architecture, the art, anything; anything to take his focus off her so she could breathe.
"It is a rather overwhelming place so I am hardly surprised. Come...did you realise that each of the five domes produce a very different sound when music is performed here? It is a wonder of architectural acoustics." Erik kept his hand at her elbow and steered her up the main aisle and into a wooden pew, in his element now that she had finally given up her silence.
The minute they got back to the little house above the pasticceria Meg excused herself. Dinner would wait but her sanity could not.
"Um...I am going to take a bath so if you can wait a while to eat I will try not to be very long." She felt sticky and hot from the walk and longed to scrub away the turmoil of the day, feeling somehow that if she was squeaky clean she could start afresh with a clear head.
"Yes of course. Perhaps you will feel better for it?" She had been silent yet again on the walk back from San Marco but it was not the angry, vibrating silence of before. It was as if something had startled her in the basilica and she had become jumpy at the slightest provocation. Women, he marvelled (and not for the first time that day), were a complete mystery. Perhaps it was hormones. He had often overheard Antoinette blaming a good portion of her problems with the girls in her care on hormones. Perhaps he would play something...after this morning's foray with Mozart he was eager to get back to it and it would serve to release some of the discord in his mind. Maybe he could play something that would appeal to Meg, something soft and gentle that would empty her mind. He was not above using underhanded means to ensure she was in a far better humour after her bath than before. He suspected unless some miracle happened in the meantime, Meg would come down the stairs before dinner and proceed to clatter pots with a vengeance and he was not enamoured with the idea.
Meg was never so thankful for the luxury of running water and her own bath. She stripped to the skin and stepped into the big copper tub that was at least half as big again as the one her mother owned. She had decanted half of her mother's precious rose oil into a smaller bottle before she left, wanting something to remind her of home and she intended to make it last; only allowing a few drops to fall into the warm water. Sinking down, letting her shoulders fall below the surface she expelled the breath she had not realised she had been holding. With it went the anxious, squirming sensation she had carried all the way from San Marco. Oh bliss! Her feet ached from those horrific boots – she would have to speak to Erik about a long overdue shopping trip. She sank further letting the water flow over the top of her head, soaking her hair and wished her mother was there to wash it for her. It just was not the same when she did it herself. The feeling of calm washed over her as she slowly inhaled the steam and scent of roses. She was almost sleepy, her head falling back against the rim when her composure split at the seams, her stomach releasing a flutter of butterflies all eager to test their wings.
Erik! He was playing downstairs and the notes were wafting up the stairs, around corners, through the floorboards. It was something slow and dreamy, very different to what she had heard earlier. Breathe. Determined to relax; she gave herself up to the music swirling around her and lay back again, closing her eyes and imagining it was his way of apologising for being such a clot earlier. She could hardly blame him for what happened in the basilica; he could not help it if she was suddenly incapacitated by his eyes...his mouth...his hands...goodness this was ridiculous! But he did play so beautifully and oh, she recognised it now as it swelled to a crescendo; it was Chopin's Nocturne.
Erik smiled to himself as he imagined the baby giraffe splashing around in that huge copper bath as she caught the notes he sent floating up the stairs. He sincerely hoped she was not cross with him anymore; he could not handle the weird silences for much longer. Companionable silence was one thing and actually comfortable but the determined wall she had put up all afternoon was stifling. As he played he thought about the candle she had lit for him and what her wishes might have been. He could not imagine her praying for anything bad so he contented himself with the thought that she had sent forth only good intentions. He would take a leaf out of her book and so sent forth only the best notes, putting every effort into make his beautiful violin sing for his cross friend. As he walked slowly around the room he paused at the balcony doors spying his young friend Bella hanging out of her first floor window across the courtyard; her chin resting on her elbows as she too listened.
The familiar and unsettling scent of Meg's rose oil preceded her down the stairs followed by a lightness of step that boded well for a change in her humour.
"Better?" Erik was careful with his words, not wanting to break the spell he had woven lest she reverted to the silence before dinner.
"Yes, much and thank you for the beautiful serenade. I am holding you personally responsible for my prune-like state!" Meg had lingered far longer than she had intended, lazily immersed in the haunting melody invading every space around her. She could almost believe he was singing instead of playing; it was uncanny what he could do with his instrument. She had never heard any of the orchestra play like that.
"I am glad you liked it." He gave her a small bow in acknowledgment of her thanks. Erik did not think she looked anything like a prune; she was all pink-cheeked and glowing and her shimmering hair hung loose about her shoulders and down her back. He caught a waft of her as she glided past him into the kitchen and he swallowed. That rose oil was doing funny things to his brain again. A rumble from his stomach reminded him to think of anything else before he began losing the ability to speak again.
Across the courtyard Rosa and Marcello Pellizzari stood, arms around each other in awe at the magic coming from above their little bakery. Rosa turned back to her husband of twenty five years and looked questioningly into his eyes. "What do you think amore mia? I suspected from the start that she was not his nurse and now I am sure of it...he was playing to her."