As a young child and with nothing to contradict his wild fancies, Erik used to imagine that Gerard had appeared out of nowhere, fully grown, in order to take care of him.

As a grown adult, he could smile at this notion, having gotten to know his benevolent protector a little better in the intervening years. Only a little, mind you. There was so much he did not know about him still, so much that remained hidden in those troubled eyes. And the amusing thing was that the wealthy patrons of the Opera House did not know him either, despite all their boasting and pretentious claims that he was "a dear friend".

One of Erik's favourite activities was to hide in the darkest corners of the grand atrium before a performance, watching all the patrons socialise, discuss business and exchange petty gossip, all dressed in the latest fashions and sipping from tall glasses of wine. And there among them was Gerard; Gerard the blacksmith's son who had surely never dreamt of mingling among the elite of Paris like this when he was growing up.

"How wonderful to see you again, Madame! I hope you are enjoying the evening?"

"Yes, the food is quite delicious, is it not? I will certainly give your compliments to the kitchen staff, you are very kind."

He could always recognise Gerard's voice, the voice that was so similar to his own, in any crowd.

"Good evening, Monsieur le vicomte. I trust your visit to London was an enjoyable one?"

"And how is your lovely daughter, monsieur? Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. Please send her my wishes for a speedy recovery."

"Yes, the musicians are very good tonight, aren't they? I'm glad you're enjoying yourselves."

On and on, the same people, the same compliments, the same narrow small talk. How did Gerard keep it up all evening without wanting to run into an empty room and scream? That neat little bow perfected by years of practice, that jovial, slightly unctuous tone, the little chuckle that followed his weak jokes, or those of others. Who on earth was this man, the man they all knew as Gerard Carriere, the manager of the finest Opera House in France?

This was not the Gerard he knew, that was for sure. The Gerard he knew was once a naughty little boy who stole apples from the orchard in the vast du Plessis estate and got a hiding from his father when he was found out. He had helped to forge the iron gates at the entrance of that very estate, and many others things too, at an age when most of these visitors would still have been at school. He was that regular, nosy visitor who came to discuss Opera House business with him and ensure that he was eating regular meals. And most of all he was that busy, harried friend who would collapse into an armchair in Erik's lair and unburden himself of all the problems and worries he was experiencing, every week without fail.

Well, to be truthful he did not come as often these days. Running the opera house took up a lot of his time, of course, and there were all those parties at the local bistro with the members of the company and the various gatherings to which he was invited. But no matter. Those visits, regular or otherwise, were his favourite times, for this was when the true Gerard would emerge, complaining about lazy employees or demanding patrons, or perhaps revealing a little vignette about his childhood escapades. Whenever a member of the du Plessis family visited Erik would tease him about how they might still want recompense for their missing apples, and it did Erik's heart the world of good to hear his friend laugh.

"If he makes any trouble for you, just let me know and I'll put glue in his hat," Erik teased him one day.

"And I have no doubt you would do it," Gerard murmured in return.

True, he knew only snippets of Gerard's early life but it was enough for him to build up a picture of someone far more human than any of those people could ever know.

oOo

Erik had seen the de Chagny's around the Opera House before of course; they were among its most regular and most influential patrons. He had seen their daughters here before with their husbands but the Comte and Comtesse seemed fond of Gerard and always made it their business to talk to him before the performance. Tonight there was someone with them; a tall young man with blonde hair who was tugging at his bow tie.

"Philippe, leave it alone, please."

"But Mother, it's so uncomfortable! Do I have to wear it?"

Ah, this is Philippe, their son Erik thought to himself. This was the child that Gerard had told him about, somewhere in the recesses of his memory. He looked at the young man again and realised that it was only his height that made him look older. He was clearly no more than fourteen or fifteen and although he had his father's blonde hair he definitely had his mother's features, giving him a soft, almost feminine appearance. When he spoke again, Erik recognised that deepening adolescent voice that he had once had, with its intermittent squeaking. After a little while, the boy gave up trying to adjust his bow tie and took in his opulent surroundings, looking around him in fascination.

Erik could never quite explain his almost instant dislike for this young man who seemed harmless enough in truth. It was not his expensive clothes or his aristocratic bearing which irritated him, for Erik was fond of dressing well himself. It may have been that perfect face, so unlike his own, or the fact that he had a mother and a father, or that he was so young, with his life ahead of him and the certainty of finding happiness with someone he loved, something the Opera Ghost could never imagine. Or it may have been the way Gerard made straight for the little family, greeting them like the old friends they were, when he had spent so little time down below lately.

"How lovely to see you, monsieur and Madame! I trust you are both well?"

The Comte shook his hand warmly. "Very well indeed, thank you Carriere. I must say this is a wonderful gathering. An excellent choice of wine, as usual. Oh, and by the way, this is our son Philippe, who is enjoying a night at the Opera for the first time this evening. Philippe, this is the manager of this fine opera house, M. Gerard Carriere. You've heard us talk about him of course?"

Philippe stepped forward with confidence, already aware of his place in the world.

"Of course, Father. It's a pleasure to meet you, M. Carriere."

Gerard gave his customary bow. "And it's a pleasure to meet you, Philippe. I saw you at your sister's wedding last year, of course, but didn't get the chance to speak to you. I couldn't believe how grown up you looked, and my goodness, now you're spending your first night at the opera! How old are you now, might I ask?"

"Fourteen, sir, but I will be fifteen next month," he replied proudly.

"Nearly fifteen! My goodness, it only seems like yesterday when you were born. You're making me feel very old, you know!"

The little group chuckled at this, before moving on to other subjects. Erik watched as Philippe grew increasingly bored. His mother was eulogising about how well he was doing at the military academy and how he had become so interested in music over the last few years.

"He plays the piano whenever he gets the chance, you know, and he's always asking about these productions. It all started a few years ago. We had a gardener at the time, from Sweden originally, and he and his daughter were always-"

She stopped suddenly as her husband cleared his throat and before asking about the new tenor who was already very popular, and the subject was not broached again. Gerard thought no more of it; he was too busy watching Philippe who was discreetly trying to loosen his bow tie again. He leaned towards him.

"They really are a nuisance aren't they? Bow ties, I mean, not parents."

Philippe nodded, grinning.

That light hearted remark annoyed Erik no end as he observed the scene from behind a nearby pillar. It was as though a tiny glimpse of the real Gerard had slipped through and he did not feel quite as privileged as before.

He watched as his guardian questioned this boy politely about school and his favourite pieces of music. As their conversation progressed he could not understand why his jaw was clenched in irritation at how easily his only friend chatted away or how he requested a glass of lemonade for Philippe because "you must be bored drinking water". That was one thing he did admire about Gerard; he did not see opera as the preserve of the older generation and was always happy to welcome the younger visitors and make them feel at home. But still…

Gerard spoke to a few other people after that, but before long the performance was due to begin and the room began to empty out. Slowly but surely, the procession of colour and finery made its way into the large auditorium, and after the lights were extinguished Erik emerged out of his hiding place to wander around, the smell of perfume and cigars still wafting in the air.

Feeling a presence behind him he turned to see the shadowy but familiar figure of Gerard standing at the doorway, the last to leave. Did he see me earlier? he wondered, knowing that neither of them would bring up the subject in any case, just as they never discussed the many items he "borrowed" any more. He merely nodded in the direction of the shadow then turned to leave for Box Five by another door, leaving his friend behind in the dark room.

This will probably be the last chapter unless I can come up with some more inspiration. I just wanted to give a few glimpses into Erik and Gerard's life while Erik was growing up and in this chapter I wanted to try and explain why Erik resented Philippe so much. He tells Christine "He is not worthy of you" so there was clearly some resentment even before Christine arrived.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and followed this story.