CHAPTER 48
"What are you doing?" Julia asked.
"Leaving."
"Why?"
I looked from her to the gendarmes. Four of the six men were missing, and I had no doubt they were climbing the stairs toward the opera boxes looking for me. The very thought made my stomach drop.
"Because we cannot stay."
"But-"
"Julia," I growled. "Now."
She pulled her hand from mine and shook her head. "No," she protested. "No, I will not leave. Not now. Your opera-"
"Julia-" I pleaded.
"Monsieur," George Greaux tried again to garner my attention.
"May we have a moment?" Julia asked, turning from me to George. "I do believe my husband is a bit nervous now that we are moments away from seeing his work on the stage."
George nodded, a bewildered look on his face. "Yes, Madame, of course. I will ask Antonio to delay the performance for a few minutes if you and Monsieur Kire need to step outside."
George darted out of the opera box ahead of me as I once again grabbed Julia by the wrist and pulled her toward me with greater force than I had intended.
"Erik, please stop," Julia begged as she struggled to keep her feet beneath her. Frightened hazel eyes stared back at me, and her voice emerged as a desperate, breathy gasp.
I released her at once and took a step back, horrified by my own actions. "Did I harm you?"
Julia rubbed her wrist and shook her head. "I'm fine, but you must tell me what has come over you."
"There were six gendarmes in the theater a moment ago. Now I only see two," I answered, keeping my trembling voice low.
Julia stared back at me, her eyes wide with alarm. She walked toward the balcony overlooking the theater and stood for a long moment with her arms crossed.
"Your cousin is here," Julia said over her shoulder. There was a hint of surprise in her voice, but she remained far calmer than I felt. "Did you know he was attending the performance tonight?"
"I had no idea. He walked in behind the gendarmes," I mumbled. The tightness in my chest became overwhelming as I attempted yet again to pull Julia out of the opera box and down the stairs. "We do not have time, Julia, please come with me."
Reluctantly Julia followed. I had no recollection of walking down three flights of stairs or what Julia and I said to one another. All I could think of was being cornered in an unfamiliar theater, of six pistols pointed not only at me, but at my wife.
We made our way down to the main floor hallway, which was thankfully unoccupied, and I glanced through the set of doors propped open that led to the orchestra section.
One of the gendarmes stood not ten paces away twirling the end of his mustache as he scanned the audience, oblivious to my presence. He seemed to be more preoccupied with a young woman batting her eyelashes at him than his surroundings.
With not a moment to spare, I started toward the side exit with Julia behind me. I pushed hard on the door leading into the alley, flinging it open with such force that I startled the man on the other side into spilling his drink.
"Oh, for God's sake," the man muttered under his breath as he yanked his handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his drink from his shirt and waistcoat. "I suppose I will spend the next three hours smelling like scotch thanks to you."
He met my eye with a scowl, which quickly turned to astonishment once he recognized who stood before him.
"Comte," I said tightly. The piece of wood he had used to prop the door open clattered onto the ground between us.
Raoul de Chagny blinked at me. He took a deep breath and forced an uneasy smile. "Monsieur Kire. Then the rumors were true, I see, and you are in attendance tonight," he said as he turned his attention to my wife. "Good evening, Julia, a pleasure as always."
"Raoul, how wonderful to see you," Julia replied.
'Wonderful' seemed like quite the generous description of running into the Comte.
"You look lovely." His gaze flashed from my wife's face to her necklace and low neckline of her dress, then back to me.
"She always looks lovely," I said through my teeth.
"I'm afraid we will not be staying," Julia said as she put her hand on my arm and glared at me briefly.
The Comte's smile faded. "The opera has not even started."
"Yes, but I am not feeling well, I'm afraid," Julia explained.
Raoul's eyes flashed momentarily to me. "I see," he said slowly. "That is unfortunate."
"Julia," I warned.
"I hope you enjoy the performance," Julia added quickly before she turned away. "It looks to be starting any minute now."
Raoul chuckled to himself and shook his head. "They will start at least twenty minutes late." He gestured toward the open doors where the gendarme who had been standing guard stood with his back to us. "One of the season ticket holders has once again managed to cause a bit of a stir, this time apparently involving the gendarmes in his grievance."
Julia released my hand and turned her head to the side. "I beg your pardon?"
Raoul shifted his weight. He swirled his drink in his glass and took a sip, then moved closer to the doorway and pointed. "There. That man there with the dark hair and beard speaking with Monsieur Le Blanc. I assume you have met the theater manager, have you not?"
"We have," I answered.
My cousin was still arguing-quite loudly at that-with the theater manager. Everyone around them openly gawked at Phelan's boorish display, which I assumed is precisely what he wanted.
"The gentleman speaking with Antonio is Monsieur Phelan Kimmer. He's an artist in his free time and works in finance from what I understand. Unfortunately for everyone else, he has a habit of putting on his own performance every time he steps foot in here." Raoul gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head. "I've never seen a grown man cause so much trouble in a theater."
"Is that so?" I asked sardonically.
Raoul turned his attention to me then and cleared his throat once he realized his folly. I stared back at him, jaw clenched and nostrils flared, unsure of whether he was being facetious.
"Do you have any idea what the gendarmes are doing here?" Julia asked.
"Privately hired by Monsieur Kimmer, I would assume, to test out all of the chairs in his row and determine if he was given the least comfortable seat in the orchestra section."
Julia chuckled at the Comte's remark while he in turn smiled at my wife in a way I did not find amusing in the least. Once Julia glanced in my direction, she pursed her lips and took my hand.
"I believe we are heading outside," Julia said.
Being a perfect gentleman, the Comte held open the door and had the audacity to follow us out. As soon as the door started to shut, Julia gasped and turned around.
"My fan," she said, catching the door before it closed. "I believe I left it in the opera box."
Before I could tell her I would purchase a new one, she picked up her skirts and skittered back into the theater, effectively leaving me outside with Raoul de Chagny in the muggy, stagnant evening air.
The Comte cursed under his breath and I watched him from the corner of my eye. "I believe we are locked out," he said as he bent and picked up the wedge of wood that had previously kept the door from locking. He turned it over in his hand, then tossed it down once more.
I rolled my tongue along the inside of my cheek and sighed to myself in frustration as I faced away from him.
We stood for a moment in uncomfortable silence, neither of us acknowledging the other one's presence. The theater door was heavy enough to block out most of the noise, which meant I heard nothing more than the Comte's obnoxiously heavy breathing. He sounded like a horse fresh off a gallop.
"You have never seen one of your operas performed live?" the Comte asked quite suddenly.
"I have not."
"That is quite unfortunate."
I grunted. What was truly unfortunate was his desire to engage in conversation with me.
"You've written three that have been performed?"
"Five." Technically seven if I counted Don Juan Triumphant, which I did not. On Summer Nights had been performed twice to my knowledge, but Madeline had threatened to never speak to me again if I didn't change the ending, and so it was retired after the second performance at which time I changed parts of the story as well as the ending to appease the only person whose opinion mattered. "The Fox Pursues, Margarite, The Soldier and the Shell, North Star and of course Mauro and Jewel."
Raoul appeared impressed by my prolific catalog of operas. "I didn't realize you wrote North Star."
"I did," I snorted.
"Was it under a different name?"
"No."
"What does it seem like there is another one you're forgetting?"
"Perhaps because you desire to hear more of my music."
The Comte grunted, and with that I expected our conversation ended, but naturally he intended to irritate the hell out of me while I waited for Julia to return.
"You were in box three tonight," he commented.
My back straightened, breath momentarily held as my apprehension escalated. I turned my head to the side and looked at de Chagny from the corner of my eye.
"We were," I answered at last.
The Comte stepped closer, his breathing still harsh. Again he swirled his drink in his glass and took another sip. "All of these years I have purposely avoided your work. Given how our paths previously crossed, I doubt you find that surprising."
I made no reply. Out of all of the people in the theater, de Chagny was the one individual who could confirm my identity beyond a shadow of a doubt.
It suddenly occurred to me that Julia very well could have been stopped by the gendarmes and questioned regarding my whereabouts. I brushed past the Comte and yanked on the door handle in a moment of pure desperation.
The door did not budge, and I balled my hand into a fist and drew my arm back, fully intending to punch the door.
"What do you play again? The violin?" de Chagny asked as if to remind me I could very well break my hand with one foolish move.
"I play whatever the hell I damned please," I snapped.
The Comte said nothing in return and I took a step back from the door and attempted to harness my anger.
"You thought they were coming for you," de Chagny said quietly after several moments of silence.
I stood with my back to him. He spoke with such casual indifference to the situation that I felt my stomach lurch.
"The gendarmes," he continued. "That is why you are leaving, isn't it? You saw them enter and assumed they had been summoned because you were in the theater."
Still I said nothing, which likely was all the answer he needed. I stared at the closed door and felt an overwhelming sinking sensation weaken my knees. I could not leave Julia behind and yet I could not enter the theater as I feared I would be shot on sight or taken into custody the moment I was spotted.
"As soon as you spotted me, did you consider alerting them?" I asked.
"The gendarmes?" he questioned. "Of course not."
"No, of course not," I mocked him. "Why would you ever do such a thing?"
I turned toward him and fully expected him to shrivel beneath my enraged gaze, but the boy I had tormented years ago stood with his drink in hand and a look of annoyance at my presence.
"How is Alexandre?" he asked pleasantly.
The question caught me off-guard and I stammered for an appropriate answer. I imagined at that very moment Alex was either asking Charles how many stripes zebras had on average or staring dreamily at Ruby as she finished her duties for the evening.
"He is well," I said at last.
"And Lisette?"
I wondered if my daughter had finished her book yet. I fully expected she would have a list of questions for me regarding Treasure Island. How strange it felt to worry about disappointing her if I did not return home for our discussion on the book.
"She wants to attend a performance," I said absently.
The Comte nodded. He took another sip of his drink and rubbed his thumb along the rim as he eyed me.
"H-how are Isabelle and Domini?" I stammered, feeling somewhat obligated to return the same small talk rather than stare at him in silence.
Raoul's expression faltered. "They miss their mother terribly and I fear each day I am not enough for them."
I nodded. It was a feeling I knew all too well. How a man of such breeding and wealth could ever think he was inadequate was beyond me. He had an entire army of maids, butllers, and nannies for his children. They would never be without for a single moment of their day.
"This is the first time I have been away for an evening since… since..." Raoul finished the rest of his drink in one gulp and stared up at the evening sky.
"Surely someone inside has noticed you are missing," I brusquely said in an attempt to redirect our conversation away from Christine.
Raoul turned his glass in his hand slowly and shrugged. "I am attending alone," he said slowly. He gave a humorless laugh and made a face. "Does that strike you as odd? I know nearly every person in the orchestra section, every damned one of them, and yet not a single person has asked about my children or said their names."
There was an edge to his voice I did not expect. I considered changing the subject to something safer like how intolerable the heat and humidity had been for the last few days, but he continued speaking.
"And Christine," he continued. I cringed at the sound of her name. "No one has spoken of her, not for weeks. Sometimes I'm not sure if they forget she existed in the first place or if they fear saying her name will cause greater pain. They apologize for my loss, but are quick to change the subject to politics and the weather and I have no desire to discuss such inconsequential topics."
"That is unfortunate," I mumbled.
"I exist as a title, Monsieur, a polite and proper title. A widower, perhaps as well, but nothing else. Not a father. Not a man. Not much of anything."
He inhaled sharply before he scuffed the toe of his shoe against the uneven bricks paving the alley.
"Isabelle and Domini are with their governess for the night enjoying hair braiding, dressing up in hats and the like in our new home. No more hotels or temporary residences across Europe. They need stability, I believe, a home where they feel secure." He shook his head and sighed. "I do believe they are sick to death of me smothering them every waking moment. For years it has been the three of us while their mother toured and performed. I have feared leaving them alone for a night, but I cannot hover over them forever, I suppose."
"I have never spent an evening away from Alexandre," I remarked. It felt odd to confess such a thing to Raoul de Chagny of all people, but I made no attempt to retract my words. He had spoken freely of his daughters and I felt obligated to do the same. "He is almost nine years of age and I have never been away from my son. Not for more than a handful of hours."
For the life of me I could not recall the last words I had spoken to Alex and Lisette before Julia and I left for the evening. Most likely I had sternly told Alex to be on his best behavior and gently asked Lisette not to stay up too late. I was certain Alex groaned and Lisette nodded readily, such was their polar opposite stances.
"You should stay to see the opera," Raoul suggested without looking at me.
"Should I?" I felt the overwhelming desire to challenge him still despite no reason to invite a rivalry.
Raoul shrugged and ignored my tone. "I hear the music is magnificent. Some have said it's your best work to date."
"You must not read Testan's column then."
"You read the reviews?"
"Every word." Sometimes repeatedly until I felt thoroughly lashed by a harsh critique of my work. Madeline often hid the newspaper from me to prevent my sulking and agonizing over Testan's review.
Raoul chuckled to himself as he held up his empty glass as if to toast. "The composer is a bit of a disagreeable fellow from what I understand. Or at least was in the past. Now he is a man concerned about his children being home for a few hours while he takes his wife out." The Comte met my eye once more, his expression unreadable. He shifted his weight and took a breath. "Did you honestly think I attended the performance for a chance to corner you?" he asked sharply.
"If the opportunity arose, why wouldn't you?"
"Why would I?" he countered.
"Humiliation," I answered automatically.
Worse than physical pain was the resonating memory of being gawked at and taunted day after day by strangers who had paid a small fee not to simply stare at me, but to stalk around the cage in which I was kept and make certain they destroyed in me every way they could.
I could still picture the first stranger who spit on me, his strawberry blond hair and eyebrows so light in color they were difficult to see above his pale green eyes. He strolled into the tent like everyone else, but the moment he saw me hooded and confined to a cage, he looked ravenous.
It was the second day I was placed on display and the final show of the night. From the moment he entered the tent he had stalked around the cage, his eyes narrow and cruel.
Every time I thought of him, my stomach dropped. I remembered how I sat starting at my own bruised, filthy bare legs, how I flinched every time he stomped his foot or rattled the bars with a stick. Eventually he snarled through his clenched teeth for me to look at him, and when I obeyed, he spit in my eye.
For days, for weeks even, I fixated on that single moment of unmatched humiliation. In a single heartbeat I went from a confused and grieving boy to numbness. That day I lost what little dignity I had felt in the months spent with my uncle, and for years I thought of that man and wondered if he ever spared a passing thought for me, or if he ever heard and enjoyed my music. I doubted he remembered what he had done. I had not mattered to him, but his actions had followed me for decades.
Raoul de Chagny was capable of humiliating me as well, but in a way that was much worse. He could take everything away from me simply by stating I was the Phantom from the Paris Opera House.
I would lose what admiration I had regained with Alex and the trust Lisette had placed in me. For the rest of their lives they would be plagued by my wrongdoings if Raoul de Chagny pointed his aristocratic finger in my direction. They would see me hanged for my crimes and be labeled as the offspring of the devil.
With a grunt, the Comte turned his wedding ring on his finger. "Humiliation," he said to himself. "You think I am quite petty."
"You were not my concern this evening, if you must know," I tersely replied.
"No?" Raoul raised a brow.
"No."
"Then who? Monsieur Kimmer?" Raoul chuckled to himself. When I did not reply, his brow furrowed and mirth faded. "You know him?"
"We have met," I said vaguely.
Raoul turned from me and muttered something under his breath. I watched in silence as he wandered around in the alley, empty glass held loosely in his left hand.
I considered asking Raoul how he knew Phelan, but Julia burst through the door again with George and Antonio at her heels. I stepped protectively in front of my wife, half-expecting six gendarmes to spill out from the theater and into the alley behind the theater manager and his assistant.
"Oh, praise the Lord, there you are, Monsieur Kire," Antonio said as he threw his hands in the air and sighed in relief. "We thought for certain our esteemed guest had run off after that small matter in the sixth aisle." He looked from me to Raoul and furrowed his brow, distress evident on his visage. "Comte?"
In an instant the Comte's demeanor changed. Rather than wander around the alleyway, he paused, turned his attention to the theater manager, and stood straight and tall with his eyes narrowed and jaw set. He looked like a man of authority-which he was-but I had never thought of him as anything but an inconvenience in the past.
"Antonio," Raoul replied smoothly as he offered his hand. "I trust you have settled Monsieur Kimmer down?"
Julia stepped out from behind me and dug her fingers into my arm. I reached up and took her hand in mine.
"He is seated and compensated for his troubles." Antonio shook the Comte's hand, but his gaze continued to flash in my direction. "Heavens, Comte de Chagny, were you locked out here?"
Raoul looked from Monsieur Le Blanc to me. "I was," he answered somewhat impatiently. He stood a little straighter and lifted his chin. "And thankfully this gentleman heard me pounding on the door." He gestured toward me and Antonio's eyes bulged. "His wife forgot something inside and, fools that we are, we were both locked out."
My heart stuttered at his words. I looked from Raoul to Antonio and saw the theater manager's eyes narrow with suspicion.
"I see," Antonio slowly replied.
"Does something concern you?" Raoul asked as he stepped closer to Antonio and cocked his head to the side. The Comte's voice dropped dangerously low, a growl of annoyance that dared the theater manager to question him.
"No, no, of course not!" Antonio blurted out. He held out his hands in supplication. "I apologize if I offended either of you."
"We've been standing out here talking about our children," Raoul continued, his tone considerably lighter but still with an authoritative edge. He straightened his waistcoat and adjusted his cuff links without sparing Antonio a second glance. "You must imagine my surprise when I realized to whom I was speaking."
Le Blanc's mouth dropped open and color drained from his face as he slowly nodded.
"I do hope we have not missed any of the performance. I trust you understand how much I love and support the arts." Raoul eyed the theater manager like a parent issuing a stern warning to a child. "If my donations are any indication, Monsieur…"
"You have not missed a single note, Comte de Chagny, not at all." Le Blanc stepped toward me as he finally regained his composure. "Monsieur Kire, I do apologize for not introducing the two of you properly. I thought perhaps...of course I was wrong. I beg your pardon."
Raoul put his hand out, palm up to silence the theater manager. Le Blanc stood at attention like a well-trained dog before its master.
While it should not have surprised me, I found myself mesmerized by the Comte's authority over Le Blanc. Clearly he held a great deal of sway in the theater, which undoubtedly came from his title as well as the amount of money he donated on behalf of his family to the arts.
"There is no need, Monsieur Le Blanc, I assure you it was no inconvenience. We have been introduced." Raoul said. He glanced briefly in my direction before his gaze settled on the theater manager once more.
The theater director nodded and appeared somewhat uncomfortable as he looked from Raoul to me again. "I am relieved that the two of you have been introduced."
"Three of us," Raoul snapped. "Or have you forgotten Madame Kire?"
"My apologies, Madame, I meant no slight." Le Blanc cleared his throat and continued to look us over. "Five minutes to curtain. I trust you would like to take your seats immediately."
"Of course," Raoul agreed. Since the Comte had answered on my behalf, I merely nodded.
Le Blanc turned to leave while George eyed the three of us a moment before he gently shut the door onto the wedge.
"He knows," I said once I was certain the manager and his assistant were out of earshot. I directed my attention back to Raoul. "Doesn't he?"
"Of the past?"
I nodded once.
Raoul's posture relaxed and he took a deep breath now that his performance for Antonio and George and had come to an end.
"He may, but it serves him no purpose to question me or find himself out of favor with Madame Giry."
"You know of their acquaintance?"
"Of course. Doesn't everyone?"
Clearly I was the only person in all of Europe who had no idea Madeline still had strong ties to the theater community.
"Antonio would not dare lose her services, Monsieur, it would ruin the ballet. Surely you are aware of the prestige they have enjoyed for years thanks to her input? There is nothing that compares to the Grand Palace, not in all of Europe. How do you think Antonio was able to convince Nicolette Stan to sign on for three years as principal?"
"Ah, yes. Of course," I said dryly for lack of anything better to add.
I wondered how Madeline had kept this considerable secret from me all of these years, however, I suppose I should not have been surprised considering all she had done for me over the years with no one knowing.
Perhaps someone should have informed Marie Carot that Madeline Giry would serve France well with her ability to keep national secrets as well as provide world-renown talent for the president.
Applause filled the theater, followed by Antonio offering an apology to the crowd for the delay.
"Places," Raoul said with another raise of his empty glass. He strolled toward the door and up the two stairs. "A pleasure as always, Monsieur and Madame Kire. I do hope you return inside to watch the performance. I mean that sincerely."
"Thank you," Julia said to him. "Comte, you have no idea-"
"Perhaps you would accept an invitation to supper one evening, your children and mine," he offered.
"That is kind of you," I said.
Raoul didn't appear surprised by my lack of commitment to his offer. "Give Madame Giry my regards," he said before he slipped back into the theater.
Once we were alone, Julia squeezed my arm and exhaled hard. "The gendarmes are gone," she said quietly. Her lips trembled and eyes appeared glassy. "I was halfway up the stairs for the fan when Antonio approached me and asked where you were. He was quite concerned."
"I would have bought you another fan."
"I know, but, your mother gave this one to me and I didn't want to lose it," Julia explained. "And it ended up being a good thing I returned inside. You dropped this."
She handed me an envelope with a distinct mark from a shoe and a tear through the paper where there would have been an address from the sender. I cradled the letter from my uncle in my hands for a long, agonizing moment, afraid the contents would also be ruined.
"The letter itself isn't damaged," Julia said. "I opened it to be sure."
"Thank you," I said as I gently unfolded the page and looked it over. Every word was still there, every kindness he had shown me still waiting to be read.
"My uncle would have been disappointed in me yet again," I said more to myself than Julia. I straightened the envelope as much as possible, and placed the letter back inside.
"I think you underestimate how much he understood you." Julia placed her hand atop mine, and I bent forward and pressed a kiss to her temple.
"The moment the door shut and we were apart, all I could think of was how I had put you in danger and how upset Alex and Lisette would have been if-"
"I know." Julia flung her arms around me briefly and sighed in relief. I felt her relax when I embraced her, and at last I felt my own tension ease now that we were alone together.
After a brief moment, Julia pulled away and took a step back. She looked up at me with an enigmatic smile, rose to the tips of her toes, and pulled up my mask.
"Julia-" I inhaled sharply in response and fought the urge to pull away, fearing someone would see us.
She kissed my damaged cheek and searched my gaze for a long moment. "You are not the same person you were ten years ago," Julia whispered. She kissed me again, this time on the lips before she pulled my mask back into place and traced along the shell of my ear. "You are not the same man you were five years ago when we first met, or a year ago when..."
"I felt as I did years ago." I caught her hand in mine and kissed her knuckles, then gently turned her wrist, dreading the formation of a bruise from my actions earlier in the evening.
"I am fine," Julia said. She reached up and caressed my neck. "Did you and Raoul honestly stand out here talking about Alex and Liette?"
I exhaled, still unsure of how I felt toward Raoul de Chagny. "And Isabelle and Domini. If you had been gone much longer I am certain Bessie and Aria would have come up."
Julia drew circles on my overcoat with her index finger and smiled to herself. "Would you come back inside, if only for the first act? Just this once and then if you prefer we don't have to attend another performance."
The overture started as my wife finished speaking. I was reminded of how the music in my mind had drowned out my angry, self-deprecating thoughts the first time I saw Julia face-to-face. The tentative way in which she spoke to me, the way she stood several feet away at first but continued to step forward as the stilted conversation continued.
I could think of no better way to express my love for her than the opera I had written when we first met.
"I did not intend to ruin our night," I said.
"My night is far from ruined," Julia replied. "I am glad it turned out to be nothing."
She took my hand, and together we walked back into theater. The moment we reached the first step toward the opera boxes, I felt the heaviness of someone staring. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the door to the orchestra section close.
"Erik," Julia said, nodding toward the next staircase.
At last I turned toward her. "Right behind you," I murmured.
