Chapter 45

Every possible disastrous scenario flashed through my thoughts as I dressed for our evening at the theater. I donned a flesh-toned half-mask and looked at myself in the floor-length mirror. My unbuttoned shirt hung loosely draped over my shoulders, waistcoat and dress coat still hung in the wardrobe. On the bed was a note from my uncle addressed to me. I intended to bring him with me, if only in spirit. If nothing else, I hoped his wisdom would guide me.

I had never been to this particular theater, and with no knowledge of the layout, if something were to go terribly wrong, I assumed I would be trapped inside. The very thought of walking into a trap nearly put me into full blown panic. Of course, Le Blanc had no need to lure me into his theater and cause a scene. He as well as every opera house in Europe had my address, which meant if he wished to send gendarmes after me, the most he had to do was direct them to my home rather than risk damage to his theater.

Still, I considered every damnable possibility.

Aggravated by my pessimism, I looked out the window into the back garden where Lisette sat on the stone wall between her current and former home, book in her lap and a sun hat shading her eyes. She looked to be nearing the end of Treasure Island and I had no doubt she would wish to discuss the adventurous tale once she finished the story.

I could not help but think that my feelings toward our reception at the theater was a bit like Captain Smollett expecting a mutiny from the crew.

The clock in the hall chimed and I hastily finished dressing and returned downstairs to wait for Julia to finish whatever regime of lotions, powders, and perfumes were required for an evening out.

"You look beautiful," Alex said from the far end of the hall.

"Thank you, Alex, I certainly hope your father-" Julia stopped mid-sentence when she walked out of Lisette's bedroom and came to an abrupt pause with Alex at her side. She smiled and put her hand over her heart once she saw me. "You look so handsome."

The sight of my wife in her lavish blue evening gown left me speechless. I had little interest in women's fashion, however, I was certain there had never been a more beautiful woman attending an opera-no less on my arm.

Julia gave a nervous smile as I approached. "The neckline is a bit deeper than I expected," she said as she fumbled with a tear-shaped pendant nestled perfectly at her deep neckline.

I took her gloved hand in mine, bowed before the queen of a woman I had the great fortune of marrying, and unabashedly looked her over for a second time.

"Would you say something?" Julia said. She nervously started to push her hair back from her face, but there were enough pins holding each curled strand in place. Instead, she smoothed Alex's hair from his eyes.

"There are truly no words that would suffice to describe the woman standing before me."

"You should tell Mother she looks beautiful," Alex interjected.

Julia's nervous smile gave way to a grin that wrinkled her nose. She leaned forward and offered a chaste kiss to my cheek. "Sometimes the look in a special person's eyes is all you need."

Alex furrowed his brow and made a face, clearly finding romance off-putting. "May I be excused?" he asked.

Julia nodded and told him he could join Charles if he wished, and before she finished speaking, Alex dashed off through the dining room and kitchen and out the back door.

"You look handsome as can be." Julia ran her hand along my waistcoat, her fingers circling the top button. With a half-step she closed the space between us and filled my head with a dozen lurid thoughts. "I mean that very sincerely. Blue is a good color on you."

"I assure you I will act the part of a gentleman for our evening out, however, the moment we return home I intend to free you from the buttons, laces, and whatever else stands in the way of making you mine." My gaze dropped to Julia's neckline and I ran my thumb over the jewel and her flesh begging to be touched.

Julia looked up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. "You, sir, are staring at my necklace."

"I cannot help myself, however, if I catch any man staring at this pendant..." I warned through my teeth.

Julia chuckled and pulled me closer. She removed her glove and placed her palm against my right cheek and smiled up at me. "How I love the feel of a fresh shave," she murmured. I couldn't help but notice the way her breasts heaved when she spoke. She was truly maddening, intentionally or not. "You really do look very nice, which certainly makes me glad I decided to bring my fan for tonight," she said.

"Why is that?"

"To shoo away any woman who dares stand too close to my husband," Julia answered.

I could already see the headline in the morning paper: Composer E.M. Kire's Wife Banned from Opera, Beats Principal Ballerina with Fan.

oOo

We could have made it to the theater faster on foot, such was the traffic on the streets of Paris, however, given the weight of Julia's skirts and the heat of summer still resonating on the cobblestones, we sat in the carriage for forty-five minutes with the windows open and a warm but steady breeze flowing through what was an oven pulled by horses.

"We are late," I said more to myself than Julia as I looked at my pocket watch for the fifth time in a matter of minutes.

"They will wait."

I eyed her momentarily. "You care nothing for punctuality today?"

Julia patted my arm. "They will hardly start the reception without you," she pointed out.

"True enough, but that does nothing to calm my nerves."

Julia sat forward and peered out the window. "There it is," she said as she nodded toward the building across from our carriage.

There was something truly remarkable and intimidating by the baroque revival architecture. From the pillars to the archways and the bronze statues out front, it looked as though we were about to enter a building reserved for royalty, which was fitting considering the theater was called the Grand Palace.

Julia gripped my arm tighter than necessary as the carriage looped around and came to a rolling stop in front of the building. The driver, a man my age with pale blue eyes and hair graying at his temples opened the door and helped Julia down.

"Watch your step, Madame, watch your step."

Once I exited, he collected his fee and squinted at the building. "A little early for the performance, aren't you?"

"A little," I answered.

The driver shrugged. "They said the composer is supposed to be seeing his opera some time this week or next."

Apparently every single person in all of France had read Luc Testan's article in the paper.

"Is that so?"

The driver grunted. "Ain't never been in there," he said. "Looks nice enough, though."

If not for the hand of Fate, I would have never found myself inside the Opera House either, I wanted to say to him. I doubted he would have cared.

A young man in his twenties a full head shorter than Julia ran down the opera house stairs and scurried toward us.

"Madame Kire, I recognize you from your visit last week," he said. He flashed a grin before he turned his attention to me. "Which of course must mean that you are our distinguished guest, Monsieur Kire."

Just before the carriage driver climbed back into his seat, he paused and craned his neck, eyeing us with a furrowed brow.

"George Greaux," our greeter said. "I will escort you inside if you would be so kind as to follow me."

Limber as a cat and quick as a squirrel, Greaux scampered toward the entrance while I offered Julia my arm and helped her negotiate the stairs.

Once we reached the entrance, another man with a neatly trimmed beard, waxed mustache, and round eyeglasses greeted us with a giddy smile.

"Monieur Le Blanc," Julia said. Her voice echoed through the spotless marble lobby. Natural light streamed from glass windows in the ceiling and longer windows above the entrance.

"Madame Kire," Le Blanc replied. He greeted Julia before turning his full attention to me. "Our most distinguished guest."

Le Blanc patted his overcoat, waistcoat pockets, and dug into his trousers until he found a neatly folded piece of paper. He was different than I had pictured over the years. In my mind I had thought of him as a pretentious man in his sixties with thin, graying hair, a constant expression of frustration, and little patience.

The man before me could not have been older than his late thirties with curly dark hair that reminded me of Alex, dark eyes, and a personality that I thought would be fitting for Bessie if she were a human.

"I prepared a speech," Le Blanc said as he proceeded to unfold the paper and look nervously at me. "Is that too formal? Should I skip the speech?" Before I could reply, Le Blanc shook his head and folded the paper again. He adjusted his glasses and nodded to himself. "We will skip the speech."

Le Blanc placed his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. "You must tell me, Monsieur Kire, what was it that finally changed your mind?" he asked.

I looked from him to Julia, who appeared awestruck by the sheer size of the lobby.

"You have my wife to thank," I answered. Julia turned her attention back to us and blushed.

"I hear you were recently married," Le Blanc replied. "And that you have a son and a daughter. Perhaps we will see them at a performance in the future."

"Perhaps," I answered. In reality, I had already promised Lisette a visit. She would have been beside herself from the moment we walked through the doors. The thought of her reaction made me smile inwardly.

Le Blanc motioned for us to follow him up a wide, curved staircase with several vases of roses perfuming the air. Lush ferns hung over the edge of an indoor fountain in the midst of the lobby, adding to an exotic touch.

We walked down a hall that led us past the coat check and toward box seating. Frosted wall sconces illuminated the paintings of landscapes and angels adorning the walls.

"I speak for every single member of our orchestra and company when I say we are beyond thrilled to host you and your lovely wife here today," Le Blanc said with the same giddy smile still plastered on his face. "We were beginning to think you were merely a ghost."

He turned to open a pair of double doors and did not see my expression falter or pace slow. There was no time to react further as the doors opened with the help of Greaux, who skittered around us in a wide arc and and ushered us inside.

There were a dozen people seated in a dark-paneled room, all of whom immediately turned their attention to us as soon as the doors open. Both men and women alike stood once we entered to a murmur of voices and a gasp or two.

Le Blanc pulled the note from his pocket once more and took a breath. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great honor to introduce you to the esteemed composer, Monsieur E.M. Kire."

Le Blanc stood stiffly in front of the small crowd and read off what I assumed was a complete list of every composition of mine the theater had performed over the last six years. Once he finished, applause followed and Le Blanc offered refreshments and desserts.

Once he left my side, I took a deep breath and ventured toward a table set up in the back of the room with a bowl of punch and an impressive selection of desserts just as Julia had promised.

Julia spoke to Le Blanc and another gentleman in a purple suit who flashed a particularly flirtatious smile at my wife.

"Monsieur," a woman to my left said. I barely heard her speak and wasn't immediately certain if it was because she spoke barely above a whisper or due to years of playing the violin which had taken a toll on my hearing in that ear. There were a number of times when Alex approached quietly on my left side and startled the hell out of me as I did not hear him until he was in front of me.

When I turned, a petite woman with straight blonde hair and gray eyes stared back at me. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her and toes pointed out.

"Nicolette Stan," she said.

I recognized her name immediately. She was the principal ballerina, one of the youngest in all of Europe, at the age of twenty-three. Widely sought, she had left Kiev and made her home in Paris.

"Erik Kire," I replied, although I suppose she was already aware of who I was considering Le Blanc had introduced me when I entered the room with Julia.

"Meeting you is a dream come true," she blurted out as though the words had been contained for far too long. "Your music inspires me to put my soul into every performance, just as you have written yours into every note," she continued. "Everything I've heard of yours is so poignant."

Her statement left me speechless. My lips parted, but rather than speak, I merely nodded at her compliment. In all the years I had composed, no one had ever said anything of the sort to me.

"I hope you do not mind me approaching you," she said bashfully.

"No," I said quickly, realizing how rude I must have seemed. "No, not at all. Forgive me, I was not sure what to expect from this reception."

"Of course, of course. We did not know either. You have not attended a performance? Did I hear that correctly?" she asked.

"I have not."

Her perfect posture seemed to straighten ever so slightly. "Then tonight I will dance for you and your wife. It will be my utmost honor."

"You performed at the exposition," I said.

Her already large eyes widened. "Yes, yes I did. Were you there to see me dance?"

"You were outstanding," I replied.

Nicolette had danced on the stage before Christine sang at the exposition. Shamefully I recalled rolling my eyes at the ballerina's extended performance. Now that she stood before me, I wished I had been able to compliment her routine with more sincerity.

"That is very kind of you. Do you enjoy ballet?" Nicolette asked.

"I trust I will enjoy your performance more than any other I have seen before, and this time much closer than my place at the back of the crowd for the exposition."

A man who looked almost identical to her tentatively approached and stood beside Mademoiselle Stan.

"Sergei Dushav, choreographer," he said, extending his hand gracefully. I'd seen photographs of him in the paper over the last year as he was new to Paris by way of the Russian Empire. "I hope we do your opera justice tonight, Monsieur Kire. We have rehearsed the ballet for hours on end for you, our guest."

"I will say honestly that I am not much of a critic when it comes to ballet."

"Well, then," Dushav said with a chuckle. "Perhaps tonight we put the dancing sheep on stage instead."

Nicolette slapped his arm and gasped. "He knows Madame," she said in a loud whisper. "The Madame."

Sergei Dushav immediately blanched. "My apologies, Monsieur Kire, I meant no offense."

"Madame Giry?" I questioned. My brow furrowed.

Two sets of wide eyes looked back at me, heads bobbing in unison. They acted as though I had spoken the name of vengeful spirit. It was quite possibly the most amusing response I could have imagined when speaking of Madeline. That woman and her cane instilled fear not only in me, but apparently in theaters throughout Paris.

"How do you know Madeline Giry?" I asked.

The two of them exchanged looks. "Everyone knows Madame," Sergei said as though it was obvious.

His statement left me truly perplexed. Quite frankly I was surprised Madeline hadn't been invited to the soiree considering her ties to the theatrical community.

"Monsieur," Le Blanc hurried to my side and touched my elbow. "Our conductor would appreciate a word with you."

I looked longingly at the desserts, then followed Le Blanc's gaze toward the man in the purple suit who had Julia's rapt attention. Her laughter filled the small room, garnering the attention of a few people standing nearby.

Le Blanc cleared his throat and clasped his hands together. "If I may interrupt, Adrian, this is Monsieur Kire. Monsieur Kire, our conductor Adrian Agard."

I had decided the moment Agard looked at Julia that I did not care for him. He was young, strong-jawed, far too handsome for my liking, and evidently humorous. He could not have been more irritating.

"You made quite the entrance," Agard said as he shook my hand. His grip was unnaturally strong. Yet another reason for me to dislike him. "Nicolette thought she would starve to death in the twenty minutes it took for you and Madame Kire to arrive."

Julia giggled. "As I said, we had a bit of traffic."

"All of Paris should move aside for a woman of such exquisite beauty and her famous husband." Agard winked, his dark eyes creasing as he offered a wide smile.

Another giggle escaped Julia's lips. Her eyes twinkled as she placed her hand over her heart. "You are too kind, Monsieur Agard."

"You must call me Adrian," Agard insisted. He looked toward me. "And what do you prefer?" he asked.

"Monsieur Kire," I answered without a hint of approval in my voice with the familiarity he showed my wife.

Julia cleared her throat and stepped toward me. "Adrian, if you would excuse us for a moment, I do believe a bit of refreshment is in order," she said as she pulled on my arm and guided me toward the back of the room.

We stood alone for a moment at the table nearly cleared of desserts. I grabbed a particularly small piece of cake on a dessert plate as well as a few cookies which I crowded onto the edge while Julia poured punch into crystal teacups.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Julia asked without looking me in the eye.

"I was," I answered. "I would ask you the same question but I've seen already that you are quite entertained."

Julia immediately turned her attention to me and shook her head. "You are truly impossible. You know full well I am being polite."

"You should be less polite and use your fan."

Julia turned away so I could not see her smile, but I certainly heard her laugh. She stayed by my side for the remainder of the time at the reception. The principal soprano and tenor introduced themselves, as did the violinist and first cello. The other four people in the room were understudies who did not say much outside of praising my work..

Le Blanc sat with us and showed his extensive knowledge of everything I'd published, including a few pieces I'd forgotten about, while repeatedly saying he could not believe I had agreed to attend the reception. Every so often he would stop speaking, look me over, and shake his head before apologizing for his behavior.

"We were beginning to think you were not real," he said.

Luciano Zuccarelli, the principal tenor, nodded readily. "We place wager," he said in his thick Italian accent.

"Yes, yes, but do not tell him that," Le Blanc admonished.

"You placed bets on what exactly," Julia asked.

Le Blanc looked uncomfortable. "Honestly, we thought Testan was behind all of it, a ghost writer of sorts pretending to be this Kire person."

"Testan?" Julia and and I said in unison, her tone considerably lighter than mine.

"Yes, of course. Why, for years he's done nothing but complain. What better way to draw in the crowds than to see if he was correct with his review in the paper than to see for one's self? Especially with the bit in the newspaper about attending the performance we thought for sure that old goat had pulled one over on us for years," Le Blanc said.

I couldn't decide if I should be insulted that they thought Testan was capable of writing anything half as good what I had created or flattered that they thought my work was so impressive that someone would pretend to be me.

"Then this lovely creature approached." Le Blanc reached for Julia's hand and bowed. "And she told us you were attending the performance.

"Then of course when you were late-which we fully understood the reason behind-Adrian was prepared to collect his winnings. Now it seems he owes me three francs."

"And me," Nicolette chimed in.

Luciano raised his hand. "Good bet."

Hearing his name, the conductor, who stood with the choreographer, offered a wave from across the room.

The fact that Adrian Agard was out nine francs pleased me immensely. I sat back in my chair and smiled to myself. Served him right, flirtatious fool of a man betting against me.