I sadly don't own the Phantom or any other characters created by G. Leroux, S. Kay and A. L. Webber, but they always have a place in my heart.
A big thanks to my beta: you're the best!
Visitors
Erik had spent the whole day at the construction site of the Hotel de Carnavalet, a 16th century building which Baron Haussmann had foreseen to host the new town museum, the Musée de Paris. It was a prestigious project, led by the young architect Victor Parmentier, who had gladly used Erik's blueprints as his own, paying him a considerable amount of money. Erik came regularly to the site, sneaking in unseen, checking on the progress. He didn't mind that his designs were passed of as someone else's, but he was adamant that no additional changes were made without his consent.
He came home, tired and exhausted, wanting nothing else than relax quietly in his rooms. When he heard the knock on the connecting door, he knew that he would not be able to do so. He still wasn't ready to talk to Joséphine, disturbed by what had happened two days ago in the living room, but it seemed that he couldn't avoid her any longer.
That evening, he had nearly run back to his rooms, locking and barricading both doors. In a fit of anger at letting himself be seduced by his wife, he grabbed the first object at hand and threw it at the wall. Ripping the mask from his face, he sat down on his bed, ashamed of the betrayal he had committed.
'It wasn't my fault, it was Joséphine's,' he told himself. She was the one that had kissed him.
'But after the first kiss, you kissed her back,' a small voice in his head spoke.
'I got carried away!' he justified himself.
'You should have backed away in the first place,' the voice continued. 'How can you say you love Christine with all your heart and then act like this?'
'I don't know,' Erik admitted. And he said the truth; he didn't know how it had happened. He felt comfortable enough around Joséphine that he had started to let his guard down, telling her more of himself than anybody else in the last years, with exception of the Daroga.
Besides feeling ashamed for blemishing his love for Christine, he couldn't understand why Joséphine had wanted to kiss him at all. It had felt so different to the kiss Christine had given him. He could not see an ulterior motive behind it.
He had been shocked when Christine had kissed him in his lair. All he had ever wanted was her love, but the kiss, deep though as it was, had felt like a sacrifice. What had she said to him before the Vicomte appeared?
"This haunted face holds no horror for me now… It's in your soul that the true distortion lies."
Joséphine had said something similar. She told him that his behaviour made it impossible for Christine or anyone else to fall in love with him. Yet, she had kissed him. Did that mean he had already changed, or did she like him in spite of everything?
Two days had passed, and he had not found an answer to this question. He hoped that Joséphine wouldn't insist on talking about what had happened. If she tried, he would cut her short, unwilling to discuss the matter further.
"Come in," he said calmly, waiting for her to enter.
The door opened, and Joséphine stepped into the room. "Hello, Erik," she said, a smile on her lips, but her composure betrayed her insecurity. She looked at him for a while, trying to decipher his mood, but his face gave nothing away, so she continued.
"I received a letter from some friends. They want to come by for tea tomorrow afternoon, and I wanted to know if it would be convenient for you."
'Good,' Erik thought, 'she does not seem to want to talk about it either.' Erik motioned for her to sit down, which she happily did, choosing the chair at the desk. Erik remained standing, but leant his tall form at one of the bedposts.
"Whom are we talking about?" he asked her after she was seated.
"Christian and Florence de Douville," Joséphine replied.
"The politician?" Erik asked, interested.
"Yes, he is a friend of my father. He and his wife came by now and then since my father left for Africa, verifying that I was fine. They were one of the first Clara informed of my 'illness', stopping their visits, and she always intercepted the letters I sent them."
"You have not yet accepted their request?"
"No, I wanted to make sure that you would be here." He looked at her, and she willed herself to meet his gaze without flinching.
"This is the opportunity you wanted. Florence has a tendency to not keep things to herself; she loves spreading news in society. It would be in your own interest to make a good impression on her, because her opinion matters greatly among other people," Joséphine explained, hoping to convince him with her arguments.
"Do I have do be present all the time? I have work to do, and I loath to fall behind my schedule," Erik said coldly.
Inwardly, he knew she was right. If this couple accepted him as one of their own, it would be easier for him to mingle in society. But he was unwilling to let her know how much this would mean to him.
Joséphine tried not to let him see how much his icy behaviour disturbed her. He was blaming her for what had happened, that much was clear. But if he could proceed as if nothing had happened, then so could she. She rose and strode towards her door.
"I did not expect you to, but you should at least show up. I will tell them to arrive at four o' clock." She gave him a challenging look. "And if you're able to, behave a bit warmer towards me in front of them. How are they going to believe us our story otherwise?"
That said, she left for her rooms, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Back in her room, Joséphine sat down at her desk, ready to write the reply letter to the Douvilles, but her hands were shaking and she was unable to hold the quill. It had cost her a lot to follow Mathilde's advice and not talk to Erik about the kiss. Finally, it had seemed the right choice, because his detached and cold behaviour could have instantly turned to seething anger, about that she was sure. She hoped he would see the importance of this meeting and therefore behave accordingly. Having calmed down enough, she retook the quill and started the letter.
The next day, everything was prepared for the visit of the Douvilles. Clara, conveniently, was out again, and not expected back before dinner. Mathilde had taken great care in choosing a dress for her, insisting on a frail blue one that made her look paler than usual, reinforcing the impression that Joséphine had just recovered from her malady.
She came down short before four o' clock, and waited for the arrival of her guests in the living room. The servants had orders to lead them to her immediately. She prayed to not let anything slip that would give the false impression, or worse, give Erik away as what he was. She hoped that they would not openly comment on his mask, making him more uncomfortable than he certainly was going to be.
The doorbell rang and Joséphine tensed instantly. She rose from the fauteuil to greet them. Moments later, the Douvilles appeared at the door.
Christian de Douville was a man of around fifty, with greying hair and a likewise moustache. His protruding belly proved him to be a man who loved to eat and favoured the good things in life. His wife, Florence, was an elegant lady in her late thirties, with her blond hair pinned up, and dressed in the latest fashion. Her grey blue eyes warmed when she set eyes on Joséphine.
"My dear, I am happy to see you well again after all this time," Florence exclaimed, reaching out for Joséphine to give her a motherly embrace. "With the letters your mother sent us, we feared for the worst." Joséphine cringed inwardly as Clara was called her mother, but she let it pass without comment.
"Yes, I am glad that the whole ordeal is over," Joséphine replied. "Please have a seat, tea will be served shortly."
The three took their places, the couple on the fauteuil and Joséphine on one of the armchairs across of them. One of the servants entered and brought a tablet with tea and amuse-bouches. She curtsied, placed it on the coffee table and left quietly.
"You seem considerably well after all this time, though still a bit pale, and thin, if you don't mind me saying," Christian remarked. Joséphine thanked Mathilde silently for the excellent choice of her wardrobe.
"The doctor Clara consulted from abroad worked real wonders," she informed the couple, helping herself to a cup of tea. "And…" she paused, waiting for them to serve themselves, wanting to have their full attention when she broke the news, "I had some sort of a miracle cure as well," she added, smiling mysteriously.
"You did?" Christian asked, intrigued. His wife leaned forward, equally interested. "What was it?"
Joséphine put down her teacup. "I got married," she stated simply. Florence, who was about to take a sip of tea, nearly choked on the hot liquid, Christian gave her a concerned look, then addressed Joséphine.
"I admit I didn't expect that. Neither did my wife, apparently." He smiled at Florence, who had regained her composure. "How did you…" he started, but his wife interrupted him.
"Stop the suspense and tell me all about it!" She said impatiently. Her eyes had widened at the surprising news and she could barely contain her joy over it.
"He's a friend of the doctor who treated me. He should be here shortly to keep us company," Joséphine said, glancing towards the door, hoping Erik would show up as promised and not embarrass her.
"But, that must have happened fast. Or were you still ill when you two met?" Florence inquired further.
"Quite fast, I confess. I was still recovering when he came to our house in search of his friend, my doctor. I was so eager to have some fresh company after these months of…isolation that I jumped on the opportunity and invited him for dinner." She smiled, as if thinking fondly of the memories she had.
"He's not the talkative type, but I managed to get at least some things out of him. He's an architect, and he travels a lot."
"This must have pleased you, as you always envied your father for going abroad," Christian remarked.
"Of course, I asked him a thousand questions, surely getting on his nerves a bit, but he put up with me without complaint. I actually invited him to come visit me the next day." Joséphine took a hors d'oeuvre, enjoying the fact that both were hanging on her lips, waiting to hear her fairytale.
"He didn't show up at the arranged time, and I was disappointed beyond believe, thinking I had been too forward. But, at last, he appeared. It wasn't long before we became engaged and married soon after that," she concluded.
"Oh, my dear Josephine, this is a story people will love to hear!" Florence said merrily, lifting her teacup to her lips. "A stranger, no, a prince who sweeps the sick lady of her feet and marries her, wonderful!
"You were talking about me?" Erik asked, having entered unheard and startling Joséphine and the guests alike. Florence's teacup shattered to the floor as her hands went to her mouth to stifle the sound of surprise at his sudden appearance.
Joséphine rose and walked over to stand by her husband. "My friends, this is my husband, Erik Perrault. Erik, these are Christian and Florence de Douville."
"Forgive my wife, Monsieur Perrault, she is easily startled," Christian said, getting up to welcome him. Erik walked over and shook his hand, then gave a kiss on the hand of Florence. It was only at this proximity that they noticed the mask that covered half of his face. The Douvilles exchanged a furtive glance and did not comment on it. Josephine sat back on the armchair; Erik took the one next to her.
"Joséphine told us that you are an architect?" Christian asked politely.
"Yes, though I tend to sell most of my blueprints to other colleagues who oversee the realisation of the designs," Erik explained, equally polite.
"Were you not involved in one of the projects of our dear Baron Haussmann?" he probed further, referring to the plans of the famous prefect of Paris, whose ideas of rebuilding the town would change the face of the Paris forever.
"Not on a regular basis, as some other architects. But I designed quite a few buildings here in town," Erik elaborated.
For the next hour, Erik was outdoing himself, answering nearly all the questions Florence and Christian posed him. He was charming, witty, and, for his standards, quite talkative. The only time they caught him unprepared was when Florence spoke about the beginnings of their marriage.
"Oh, this must have been quite the coup de foudre between you two," she said, sighing. "It's just so romantic. I'm so glad that Joséphine finally found someone who loves her so much." At that, Erik had paled, but the Douvilles thankfully did not notice.
Finally, the couple got up to leave, promising to invite them both to dinner the next week.
"We really need to get you out again, you missed nearly a whole season," Florence stated. "Thankfully, you are already married," she looked at Erik, and then back to Joséphine. "After a year not being out in society and at your age, you would not have had many possibilities left, my dear." Erik saw his wife's eyes light up at this veiled insult, but since she remained calm, he said nothing either.
When they arrived at the entrance hall, the front door opened, and Clara stepped into the house. Her eyes widened at the sight of the visitors, but she managed to hide her surprise well.
"Madame la Marquise, what a pity that we are about to leave when you come home. I am sorry to hear that you already had other plans when we asked for this visit," Florence said, and Erik noticed that, although she was very polite and friendly, her voice did not contain the warmth it had held only seconds ago.
Clara shot her stepdaughter a scathing look. "Yes, unfortunately I could not change them at this short notice," she answered. "But I will be happy to welcome you again in my house in the near future," she added.
"But of course," Florence replied. "Now that Joséphine is well again, we will come by more often, won't we, Christian?" She looked at her husband, who nodded dutifully.
"You must be happy to have wed your daughter to such a great man, Madame, and this when not so long ago you feared for her life, as you wrote in the letters," she continued, and Joséphine suddenly suspected that Florence had started doubting the story of her severe illness.
"Yes, I must confess that I still can't believe how things developed," Clara said sternly, walking them to the door as was her duty as the lady of the house, while Erik and Joséphine remained in the middle of the entrance hall. Due to this, they did not hear what Christian said to his wife as Clara closed the door behind them.
"They fit, don't you think? Maybe old Stanislas will have an heir to his title at last."
Clara's eyes narrowed, for her inability to conceive an heir had become a big problem in her marriage over the years. After three years of marriage, she still hadn't been pregnant, and her husband withdrew more and more from her, dividing his attentions between his research and his daughter Joséphine.
Clara was jealous and completely crestfallen when Stanislas d'Escayrac drew up the contract. She saw it as a punishment for not giving him a son and heir, and when he left for Africa, she had started to let all her frustrations out on Joséphine, hoping that by preventing her from marrying, she would at least have the fortune, as her husband had preferred to roam the jungle instead of remaining with his infertile wife.
Well, if she was unable to produce children, then Joséphine would have none either. If they had already consummated their marriage and Joséphine had conceived, she would make sure that her stepdaughter had a miscarriage. And if they had not yet slept together, she would prevent them with all her power of doing so.