London
December 1923
There was an excited, almost frenzied energy in the air as the audience in the Palladium Theatre filed into the stalls and began to take their seats. The chatter of men in suits and women in sparkling, long evening dresses filled the enormous hall with an echoing din.
Raoul's seats for the performance tonight were excellent, just a few rows back from the stage, and almost in the centre. His father had kindly spared no expense and had treated him and his group of Cambridge friends to the seats. Fond of Christine's late father, Raoul's parents had been overjoyed to hear of Christine's upcoming debut performance on the West End.
Raoul was seated next to an attractive young woman with curly bright red hair and freckles, whose hand rested comfortably on his knee. Her name was Agatha and they had only started seeing each other recently, despite Agatha's sweet confession that she had been hopelessly infatuated with him since the day they first met, on campus, at a birthday party for her cousin Toadie. Toadie was there tonight too, sitting a few seats left of Raoul, as was Graham, Toadie's blonde friend, and Graham's dark-haired and handsome college roommate Antony.
In Raoul's lap was a bouquet of flowers he intended to give to Christine later, she had invited him to come back to her dressing room at the show's conclusion to celebrate. There was also the morning's paper, open to page seven, where a slightly comical photograph of Christine and Professor Destler, wearing twin expressions of shock on their faces, white and overexposed from the flash of a surprise camera, accompanied an article outlining many scandalous details of the highly publicised relationship. Most of these details, Raoul knew to be false, though Professor Destler's significant role in his friend's rise to fame – first as a Cambridge prodigy, then as the star performer in lesser-known productions, and now finally on the West-End – he knew to be substantially true.
Christine had only told Raoul of the previously quiet relationship several months prior, when a tabloid article due to be released the next day was going to reveal the couple anyway. The confession came to Raoul's intense surprise, and enduring disbelief. He had not forgotten her first impressions of the Professor – rude, acerbic, and almost cruel. But Christine insisted that once she had got to know the masked man, she had discovered an entirely different character to the cold projection she had first encountered. A passionate man, damaged, but loving, one who wanted nothing more than to give her the world.
Or so she said.
"This is so exciting." Agatha gushed, as the sound of the orchestra tuning to a Concert A rang out into the wide-open mouth of the theatre. "Christine's West-End debut! I can hardly believe it!"
Raoul looked around him as the lights in the theatre dimmed. It had been a much publicised and anticipated production, and he couldn't see any empty seats. In one of the decorative box seats to the left of the theatre hanging above the stage, Raoul's eye caught the reflective glint of a shiny flesh toned mask. So, there he was, sitting tonight with a glamourous couple Raoul recognised as the semi-famous producer and director of the show, Georgina and Ian Watkins. They were laughing together like old friends, and Raoul wondered with a hint of envy whether he would ever make his way into this world of successful musicians and creatives like his friend had. He had been trying. For a long time, it felt. Raoul had lost count of how many compositions he had submitted to publishing houses, only to be curtly rejected.
The orchestra started to play a romantic sweeping ballad to introduce the music, a sentimental musical theatre score heavy with jazz influence, unselfconsciously riding on the coattails of George Gershwin. It was a new production about a young woman, played by Christine, and her wartime lover.
The curtain opened to reveal the painted set, pre-war London, and then the stage light found its target, Christine. She was wearing an elegant gown in the fashion of the turn of the century and a wig of brown hair.
She walked around the set, then, smiling to herself as her character waited for her instrumental cue, and Raoul found that his eyes were glued to her, mesmerised by her beauty, and by the elegance and detail of her movements. Professor Destler had been right. Whatever it was that created a star, that uncharacterizable, unteachable feature, his friend had it.
She opened her mouth to sing, then, and Raoul didn't think he closed his own for the rest of the performance.
After the final applause, and a brief ceremony where Christine and her male co-lead were presented with enormous bouquets of flowers by the dazzling producer – director couple on stage to commemorate the opening night, Raoul and his group of friends filed out of the theatre, eagerly discussing the show.
"She really was divine." Agatha gushed for the tenth or so time that evening. "That scene in the second act when we thought that her lover had died and she sings to him…I was in tears."
"Her voice is unbelievable." Said Antony. "I've never heard anything like it."
"That musical was soppy." Said Toadie. "But Christine's easy to watch, I'll give her that."
"Toadie!" Agatha chided as Graham sniggered.
"What?" Toadie shrugged without embarrassment. "It's true."
"Give her our congratulations." Antony said when they reached the exit and Raoul turned to make his way to stage door. "And don't forget to tell her those flowers are from all of us!"
"I will." Raoul agreed. "Sorry you couldn't all come – I think Christine had to pull some strings to get me backstage as it was."
"It's no matter, I'm exhausted anyway." Toadie said with a yawn. "Time for bed."
"See you soon." Raoul said to Agatha, taking her hand and kissing it gently with a smile. "I'm just going to say congratulations then I'll be back. I shouldn't be too late."
Raoul made his way backstage with some difficulty, the security guard at the door stopped him and despite Christine's prior arrangement it took some explaining and running around before he was able to get authorisation to get through. When he did, he walked awkwardly through the hallways where performers still half-dressed in costume and stagehands carrying props regarded him curiously.
Eventually he located Christine's dressing room at the end of a long hall in the labyrinth of rooms. However, as he approached, he saw a tall man, dressed immaculately in a suit and tails, and carrying an enormous bouquet of red roses that made Raoul's offering look pitiful, knock twice on Christine's dressing room door. The man was wearing a flesh-toned mask that obscured half of his face.
For some reason, Raoul's breath caught in his throat as he recognised the masked composer, and he stopped short. There was something foreboding about his presence, something in his manner that made Raoul hesitate to approach and introduce himself. The man didn't notice him, however, and as Christine called out that whoever was at her door should come in, the man disappeared out of sight, in his haste, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.
Raoul walked to the door, slowly, unsure what he should do. She was expecting him, and it would be rude not to see her. On the other hand, she was clearly otherwise engaged.
Just as Raoul made up his mind to risk impropriety and interrupt, she spoke, and the emotion in her voice made Raoul's hand, poised to knock, freeze.
"Erik, they're gorgeous. Thank you." Christine's voice said, earnest, and emotion drenched. Raoul could just make out part of her face through the crack in the door.
"They are infinitely insufficient." Said Erik. "One thousand roses could not possibly do justice to your performance tonight. Every time I think I have heard you sing your best, you outdo yourself yet again."
"Only thanks to you." Christine said emphatically, taking the man's right hand in both of her own from where he was kneeling in front of her, and pressing it to her cheek. "I owe all of this to you."
"I merely brought out what already existed. In you. Delightful, perfect, heavenly you." The man's voice was honey now, low pitched and seductive. "Christine." He whispered. "Do you have any idea how much I love you? Sometimes I feel I could die from it."
"It can't be half as much as I love you." Christine insisted.
"I am the luckiest man alive." Erik said, with a strange, short laugh of astonished wonder. "Even though I am the last man who should have ever deserved it, even though most days I am scarcely able to believe it."
"You must believe it. It hurts me for you to doubt me for a second."
"Then I won't. My darling Christine… I can't go a second longer without asking you."
Raoul heard the click of a wooden box opening just as Christine inhaled sharply.
"Yes, Erik, of course I will! Yes!"
"I haven't even asked you, yet!" Erik said, with a voice that was laughing through bewildered, joyful tears. "I had a whole speech prepared…"
"You will have to recite it to me later." Christine said, joining his laughter. "Right now, I'm too ecstatic to focus on anything. Oh Erik, the ring is beautiful. Of course I'll marry you."
The couple continued to murmur words of love to each other, laughing and weeping in turn, and Raoul realised with a shock that he was still standing there, frozen, that he needed to leave, as swiftly as possible.
His head reeling, Raoul walked back down the hallway. He would write to Christine in the morning, plead a cold or tiredness. She would understand. He would leave the flowers at stage door, so at least she would know he came to drop them off. Hastily scribbling a note of congratulations, Raoul left the theatre and walked out onto the street.
His head was swimming, agitated. His oldest and dearest friend, soon to be married! And to Erik Destler, a man she once hated. Would they still be friends, after the wedding? Would Christine ever have time again for Raoul, in this new glamorous life of celebrities and stage lights?
Everything would probably change, now.
Raoul turned up his winter coat to the frigid London night air.
x
It was a Saturday at the chateau, and Raoul had spent the week with Christine in a haze of lazy breakfasts, long afternoons reading by the lake, trips to the market, and outings to see Peter and Camilla, as well as some other friends and neighbours Christine had made in the little village.
Since that awkward, drunken night, Erik had spent most of the days away, predominantly in Paris on business with Nadir, which suited Raoul. The masked man had humiliated him immensely, and he found himself less inclined than ever to be in his presence for even a second longer than necessary.
Every so often in the house, inevitably, Raoul and Erik met on the stairs or in the dining room, and exchanged curt greetings, both cold, neither making any attempt at conversation beyond the obligatory. Raoul felt tense and ill at ease around the man, and he was sure the feeling was mutual. Still, he had overheard no further fights from the couple about his being there, and Christine seemed to have settled into the assumption he would stay at least until her birthday party, which was fast approaching.
With the masked man so scarce, however, it was easier than ever to enjoy the house and the countryside, and Raoul found himself feeling immensely grateful for this precious time with Christine, whether they were collecting hen's eggs, working in the garden, or picking pears and apples from the bountiful fruit trees in the orchard. There were moments when Raoul found himself imagining with a smile himself and Christine as they would have been as children on this estate, racing through the cypress forests playing bandits, swimming in the lake with wooden swords, pretending to be shipwrecked pirates.
On this particular Saturday, however, Erik was unfortunately present.
It had been decided the previous night that the inhabitants of the Chateau des Lavandes would accompany Camilla and Peter, and their children, to a famous beach spot several miles out of the village for a picnic lunch. Raoul wasn't too concerned – it was easier to avoid the masked man in a large group, and he could hardly be bullied again into performing music at the seaside.
The party met at the chateau, dressed in wide-brimmed hats and cool linen, and bundling up beach umbrellas, chairs and picnic food into their motor cars. Christine's friend from the village, Megan Giry, was accompanying them, and was introduced to Raoul.
"Raoul, this is my friend Meg." Christine said. "She lives in the village with her mother, a lovely woman, a retired ballet teacher."
Meg was a tall, slender girl with dark hair and eyes. She held out a dainty hand for Raoul to kiss, and blushed when he obliged.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr de Chagny. I've heard so much about you."
"Pleased to meet you too." Raoul said politely, wishing he could say the same, and raising an eyebrow slightly at Christine. He noticed that their introduction was being closely observed – as Raoul glanced at Camilla she quickly looked away and exchanged a small smile with her husband. Raoul felt a twinge of dread in his stomach, beginning to suspect that his wishes that no-one play matchmaker had been ignored.
The group of nine piled across two automobiles and set off for the seaside. Della, to her great happiness, was permitted to join them, and barked happily at the wind as they drove.
The beach lived up to its reputation as one of the nicest in the region. The sand was white hot, and the water too was warm and calm. Children played, kicking sand and building castles, while men in navy trunks and women in colourful swimsuits splashed where the waves broke at the shore. As the group walked across the burning sand they passed lunch picnics of tomato sandwiches, salads and cold meat on ice. Most conversations were in French, but Raoul noticed that there were many English conversations too, whether tourists or other expats, Raoul wasn't sure.
When a location was acquired, the party made up their spot at the beach. Camilla had brought a beach chair, and Peter a large blue sunshade. Antoine and Juliette ran to the shore, buckets and trowels in hand, followed shortly by their parents and pursued by the barking dog.
"Christine! Let's make a castle!" Juliette cried. Antoine had brought his toy plane, and ran with it, making whirring noises over the rolling sand.
"I will my darlings, I will. Just let me lay down for five more minutes…"
Christine sunbathed with a large white hat, stretching out luxuriously on a soft towel, while Erik made himself scarce from the group and went for a long solitary walk across the headland.
Raoul had noticed the many stares he had endured already on this short expedition, and, despite his growing dislike, felt a reluctant twinge of sympathy for the man. He supposed it had been different in London, where the mask was something of an icon, the unique marking feature of a venerated celebrity composer, subject to intrigue but rarely scorn. Anonymous in France, he was simply a man with a curious appearance.
Raoul lay with Christine, Nadir and Meg sunbathing for a while. He watched the children play with a smile, then noticed two young men in handsome navy and white striped swimsuits attempting to body surf in the shallow water, spluttering and laughing as the powerful waves carried their bodies to shore.
"So, Raoul," Meg began speaking to him shyly, pulling his reluctant focus away from the surf. "I hear you're a composer, like Mr Destler?"
"I…am trying to be." Raoul said, grimacing slightly. "I'm not having much success."
"But Christine said you composed so beautifully?" Meg said, glancing at Christine, who appeared to be asleep.
"Did she? That was kind of her. But not beautifully enough, it seems. I've been thinking recently that perhaps I should give it all up and go into law."
"I've always thought the law sounded awfully boring." Meg mused. Raoul privately agreed.
They discussed Cambridge for a while then, until Meg commented that she wished she'd had the opportunity to go to university, that it could be lonely in the village, without many young men her age, and she bet Raoul had a big group of lifelong friends now, something she could only dream of.
Suddenly the blistering heat was unbearable, and Raoul announced that he was going for a swim.
He rose, walked down to the shore and dived into the sea, swimming out to where the light blue water turned to navy, and his dangling feet, inexpertly treading water, could no longer reach the sandy bank below.
From his view out at sea the beach was a haze of white dotted with colourful umbrellas. Craggy cliffs, shrubbery, and low - flying birds swarming around busy fisherman were to his left, the pastel-coloured buildings that made up the holiday town were to his right. And behind him, the open ocean, diving gulls, and a smoggy horizon.
This was paradise, Raoul thought, floating on his back. The oppressive endless drivel that was English weather felt further away than ever. He could easily believe the life he had left behind had never really existed at all. Raoul gazed up at the wisps of cloud in the sky, as his body relaxed, rising and falling with the gentle waves.
"Do you mind company?"
Raoul startled, kicking salt water into his eyes and mouth, and recovering from a hacking coughing fit managed to make out the blurry outline of Nadir Khan through his watering eyes.
"Sorry – I didn't mean to startle you." Nadir said, his expression apologetic, but the right side of his mouth curled upwards in concealed amusement.
"I think you inhaled some water there." He said again as Raoul failed to answer, and instead continued to cough.
"I'm ok." Raoul said hoarsely, thumping his chest several times. "You just startled me, I think I was half asleep. It's so relaxing here."
"It is a lovely part of the world." Nadir mused, effortlessly treading water. "When Erik told me they had decided to stay indefinitely, I couldn't believe it. Erik with his career going so well and Christine taking off as a bright new London star… to think of them all the way away in rural France! But I understand it now."
"So, you moved out here to help Erik manage his work?" Raoul asked, making conversation.
"More or less. I suppose I could have taken on a different client, but this business relationship is mutually very beneficial. Erik's compositions always sell, obviously. But I don't think anyone could be his agent. He can make enemies easily, offend people… the right agent needs to manage that. It can be a challenge at times."
"I can imagine." Raoul said emphatically, without thinking, then backtracked. "I didn't – I mean."
Nadir just laughed. "You don't need to tell me."
"But you're also friends, right?"
"Yes, for a long time. Since Erik and I were young men. We met in Persia, when Erik was still working as an architect and composing … as a hobby, I suppose you'd say. He showed me his work, and I spotted his talent right away, though he wouldn't let me attempt to publish anything for a long time."
"Why not?"
"Ah…well, Erik was …significantly changed by the war, should I say. He was bolder, afterwards. Less afraid of…being known."
"Oh?" Raoul said with interest.
Nadir's eyes remained on the shoreline.
"I suppose the war changed everyone." Raoul said. "And especially those who had to bear the …physical side effects."
Nadir made a non-committal noise. Raoul watched Nadir out of the corner of his eye, his dark hair slicked back with the water revealed more than usual of his striking face. His dark eyes were on the beach, his thoughts apparently far away.
"I do wish I'd been old enough to fight, to do my part." Raoul said. "It's frustrating. When something terrible is going on, and there's nothing you can do to help. You feel so useless."
"Don't wish that." Nadir said. "War is hell."
"I suppose."
"Didn't you say your brother was killed?" Nadir asked.
"Yes."
"And that doesn't influence your perspective on it at all?"
"It does." Raoul said. "Perhaps if we had both served, it would have been me. Instead of him. And perhaps he would have got to live. I think that would have been better for everyone."
The words were out of him before he'd even become aware he was going to say them. They took him by surprise as much as they did Nadir, who looked sharply at him.
"I think saying something like that would break your mother's heart." Nadir said with a steady gaze.
"Hers, perhaps. But my father expressed that sentiment, more or less, the last time I saw him."
Raoul looked away from the pity in Nadir's expression. He wanted to reach out into the air and swallow the words back down again.
"I'm so sorry, Raoul. That's a terrible thing for a parent to say."
"I don't know why I told you that." Raoul said, colouring. "Forget I said anything. The heat is getting to me, I think."
After a short silence, Nadir spoke again.
"I wanted to apologise for how Erik treated you, that night I came to dinner."
Raoul looked at Nadir in surprise.
"Since you are unlikely to ever get an apology from the man himself." Nadir added wryly.
"It's…ok."
"Also, in case you were feeling discouraged, I want to reiterate that your composition was genuinely very good." Nadir said. "You have a lot of talent. Erik was probably quite so harsh precisely because he realised that. I think he was expecting you to be someone he could feel superior to."
"But he is superior to me." Raoul said, letting out a perplexed laugh. "Everything he said about me is true. I am stunted. I can't express feeling like he does. I could never be as good as him, not in a hundred years."
"Perhaps not, but no one is. Still, you show a lot of promise. Erik was being deliberately harsh. He's awful when he's jealous."
"Jealous?" Raoul said, laughing incredulously. "But he's a famous – "
"Not creatively jealous." Nadir said.
There was a long pause.
"Oh."
"You've known her a very long time, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"And she knows you very well, would you say?"
"Christine and I are old friends." Raoul said. The words came out of him with more force than he had intended.
"I know, I wasn't implying – "
"It's one thing coming from him, I know he's just like that, but honestly I'm pretty sick of being suspected of having … dishonest intentions … when it was her who invited – practically begged – me to come here. It's unbearable."
"I know, Raoul." Nadir said calmly. "I wasn't implying that at all."
Raoul reddened at his childish outburst and was silent.
"You wish to go home, then?" Nadir asked.
"England doesn't really feel like home to me anymore." Raoul said. He didn't know why he was being so careless with his words today. There must be something in Nadir's calm demeanour that inspired frankness. "As it turns out, her last letter asking me to stay with her came in rather good time for me personally."
Nadir looked at Raoul, the question in his eyes unasked, and it went unanswered.
Nadir turned his head towards the shore again. "Sometimes a change of scenery is just what's needed. And I'm sure whatever it is, it will pass."
The sound of lapping water and children playing sounded too loud, all of a sudden. Raoul wanted to slip under the water and hear nothing but the sand moving with the waves, and the wooden boats creaking with the tide.
"Raoul." Nadir said, looking at Raoul again, hesitating. "I don't want to overstep. I know we are hardly more than acquaintances, but if I can offer a word of advice…I think perhaps if Erik knew you … as well as Christine does… you would find staying with them more enjoyable."
Nadir was giving him a very pointed look.
Raoul thought of how much he had been enjoying his swim before Nadir had come along, a feeling that was quickly dissipating now. He felt a strong pull from the open ocean behind him. An urge to start swimming out, past the fishing gulls, past the moored white sail boats, past where the midnight blue water turned almost to black. Just swim, don't think, and don't look back.
"I think I'm catching a chill, Mr Khan. It was nice to speak to you." Raoul said curtly, and he started to swim back to shore.
Nadir said nothing, quietly continuing to watch the waves.
Near their picnic location, Christine was building sandcastles with Antoine and Juliette. They were working on an elaborate one, with turrets decorated with draped fragments of seaweed and broken shells.
Raoul saw Meg's eyes perk open at his arrival, and he watched as she subtly tried to inch her purple beach towel closer to his. Camilla and Peter too were lounging in the sun.
Shortly after Raoul's arrival, Christine rose from where she was playing with the children at the shoreline, and walked back up to join the group, and sighing, sat down in front of Erik, who had returned from his walk and had procured a chair from somewhere, sitting under the shade cloth, draped in shadow. Raoul watched his hand move to her back and gently stroke along her exposed shoulder blades.
"Well, I think they've worn me out for the day." Christine said, helping herself to a bottle of iced lemonade.
"You're wonderful with them, Christine." Camilla said. "A natural. When are you going to have your own?"
Christine choked on the lemonade and succumbed to a short coughing fit. Raoul watched Erik's white hands stiffen on her back and turn paler.
"Darling, your grip…" Christine laughed uncomfortably, prizing off his hands.
"Sorry." Erik said quickly, and the hands retracted back into the shade.
"Well." Christine said in response, after a long pause. "We…we haven't decided yet."
"Don't take too long!" Camilla said merrily. "The longer you leave it, the higher the risk of problems with the baby…that's what the doctor's told me."
"Christine's still young, my dear." Peter said. "No need to scare her."
"It's true, though!" Camilla said. "I'd rather be scared and informed than full of regret. It gets harder the older you get. How old are you now, Christine?
"Turning twenty-four." Christine said. "And I already feel old."
"Ridiculous." Erik murmured. "You're not even halfway through your twenties."
Camilla launched into her own fertility story then, but Raoul watched as Christine's expression, blank, stared out into the sea.
After swimming the length of the beach, Nadir returned, and pulled a white towel around his dark bare shoulders, more muscular than Raoul would have guessed when he was clothed. Nadir laid out his towel in the shade next to Erik.
"Erik, you're sunburnt." Nadir said disapprovingly as he glanced at the masked man's face. "Did your years in Persia teach you nothing?"
Erik's hand found the unmasked side of his face, which indeed had suffered a slight redness over the very pale skin, probably during his walk around the headland. He scowled.
"Heaven forbid my otherwise perfect visage should suffer sunburn, Nadir." Erik drawled. "However will my vanity recover?"
Raoul tensed in surprise – he'd been of the impression the injury was something of a sore point, never to be mentioned aloud – but the comment drew chuckles from the group.
"Say Erik, you never have told us the story of what happened in the war…to necessitate the mask." Peter said. "Of course, we've heard the many rumours in the village… but nothing from the man himself."
Raoul watched Christine's eyes widen slightly, but if Erik was perturbed, he succeeded in concealing it.
"Is there anything so galling as incessant rumours about oneself?" Erik drawled simply, tapping the side of his glass of lemonade, mostly unconsumed, with a fingernail.
"Erik doesn't like to recount the story." Christine said, looking at her husband.
"It's not pleasant." Erik said curtly. "Certainly not a story for delicate ears."
"Come now, we're all adults here!" Peter said. "The children can't hear us."
"I can give them the broad strokes, Erik?" Christine said hesitantly.
Erik said nothing, which Christine appeared to take as reluctant assent.
Nadir coughed uncomfortably, but Camilla and Peter were looking at Christine with hardly disguised interest.
"Well…" Christine started slowly, her eyes pained. "Erik's squad had been the victims of a surprise attack, and he was the only survivor. He found himself wandering along country roads, on foot, somewhere in the Somme, exhausted and disoriented. After several days, he came across what had recently been a small village…now, it was rubble, still burning in parts. Then he heard the screams of children coming from a schoolhouse up on a hill; it had been set alight. And locked. Erik realised that he must be in a recently acquired German-controlled area."
Camilla gasped. "Locked in…children…the mind can't fathom the cruelty."
"Yes. And Erik knew that it could be a trap, but he couldn't let them die. He ran into the building, breaking down the door, and managed to get the children out, though he was burnt in the process. The teacher had managed to radio for help, which arrived…but the medic couldn't save everyone. One little boy…"
"… did not survive." Erik finished grimly.
"How awful." Camilla whispered. "There's no doubt at all that you deserve that Victoria Cross, Erik."
"I'm so sorry, Erik." Peter said. "I've heard that burns are…exceptionally painful."
Erik said nothing.
"And they do leave horrible scars. Still, I'm sure it's not so terrible that you need wear that uncomfortable thing all the time."
"I assure you, I do." Erik said very coldly.
"People are used to seeing war injuries, these days." Peter pressed.
"Not like this." Erik said curtly.
"We're …we're all more than our appearances." Christine said, her lip trembling slightly, placing her hand on her husband's knee.
"Prudent words, which would perhaps have greater impact if spoken by someone other than my uncommonly beautiful wife." Erik drawled, which broke up the budding tension in the group with a laugh. Christine appeared stung by the comment, however, which she did not appear to take as a compliment at all. She removed her hand from Erik's knee.
"Well, the visible portion of your face is very handsome, Erik." Peter said consolingly. "Say, do you have any pictures of yourself before the war? It would be interesting to see, the man in his prime!"
Erik's expression froze, and Raoul noticed Nadir had been quiet for a long time, possibly regretting the comment that started this line of conversation.
"No." Erik said. "I don't."
x
Raoul fell into bed far earlier than usual that evening, pleasantly exhausted and with sand continuing to fall from his hair to his shoulders like dandruff, despite his earnest attempts to scrub most of it out in the bath. He woke around midnight, and after tossing and turning for some time, hungry and restless, decided to venture into the kitchen to see if some food would help him fall back asleep.
When he returned to his bed with a bread roll, there was a light on in the courtyard below his window, and he could just make out the silhouette of Christine, standing still and crossed-armed in the courtyard in her blue dressing gown.
A taller figure appeared behind her.
"Darling?" Erik said. "Are you alright?"
"I can't sleep again."
"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"
"I don't think so."
Erik gently wrapped his arms around his wife, who returned the embrace, resting her head on his chest. Erik's long fingers entwined with Christine's blond curls as the couple stood, looking out at the night together, for a long time.
"I got you a present." Erik said after a while. "From Paris. Just a small thing. I haven't had a chance to give it to you yet."
"You did?" Christine said, and there was a smile in her voice.
Erik released Christine from his embrace and retrieved something from his pocket, a small box, which he placed into Christine's hands.
She lifted the lid with her thumb.
"Oh Erik…. They're beautiful. Thank you."
"I hoped you would like them." Erik said, sounding pleased.
Christine carefully attached two small blue earrings to her ears.
"How do they look?" She asked her husband, teasing herself by pretending to have an affected air, cupping one hand behind her head.
"Beautiful." Erik said. "Though I don't know if I would personally pair sapphires with a dressing gown..."
Christine laughed, and Erik's eyes glowed as he tilted his head to observe her.
"Goodness." Erik said, his voice warm. "It's nice to see you looking so happy."
Christine's smile faltered.
"Darling?" Erik said.
Christine opened her mouth but for a moment no words came out.
"If you don't really like them – that's fine." Erik said quickly. "I'll return them. It's no problem."
"Oh Erik, you know they're beautiful."
"Then what is it?"
"Erik…" Christine whispered. "Please can we talk about the conversation at the beach today?"
Erik's looked out at the shadowy forest behind the house.
"There were many conversations at the beach today."
"You know which one."
"Do you not think we've exhausted the topic?" Erik said. The warmth was quickly leaving his voice.
"Exhausted it? You won't ever discuss it."
"What can possibly be said? You know my thoughts on the matter. And I know yours. We are at an impasse."
"If you could just explain why," Christine pleaded, "Maybe I could make my peace with it."
"Oh, God, Christine. Not tonight."
"When?"
"I don't know."
"Is it because of what happened – in the war?" Christine asked softly.
"What?" Erik said, his face whipping back from the forest to look at her.
"When you saved those children, in the burning school. The one who didn't make it, the little boy…"
"Yes?"
"I thought that perhaps… that event …made you feel like you could never protect anyone." Christine continued. "Even though what happened wasn't your fault at all, and if you hadn't gone into the school, they all would have died. I just thought…events like that can leave more than just physical wounds."
There was a very long pause.
"You think me far too noble, my dear." Erik said.
"What does that mean?"
"Christine, I know this is a … problem." Erik said, shaking his head. "But can't we think about this in three years? Please, just give me three more years. Let's forget this, just for a while. Let's go back to England, back to your performing. I'll compose…you'll perform my songs…just like it was always meant to be! Just like we planned! I'm sure that when you remember the thrill of it, the excitement – you'll remember that you're made for the stage. For music."
"Oh, Erik…if I could change what I want, I would. If I could forget this, I would."
"We were happy then, weren't we?" Erik said, looking at her intently, his eyes pained. "We were happy in that life?"
"We were."
"Then we could be happy again!"
"I couldn't be."
"You could. Christine, you could. When we go back, I'm sure – "
"I'm twenty-three years old Erik. Twenty-four in a few days. You heard what Camilla said…"
"Don't listen to that silly woman…you're still young. Twenty-four is so young."
"It's different for women."
"Two years, then. One year. Please, Christine, just one more year…."
"And then what? Then you'll change your mind?"
Erik was silent.
"Darling…" He said hesitantly, "When we got married… "
"I know." Christine said in despair. "This is all my fault."
"No, that's not what I – "
"Yes, it is my fault. But it doesn't mater, anyway. What matters is that we can't go on like this." Christine said, her voice anguished. "I've been unhappy for ages. And I know my unhappiness is making you unhappy."
"Unhappy? I adore you, Christine. I know I've been – irritable – since your dear friend came to stay with us. But before that boy arrived, I was perfectly happy. When he's gone, I'll be perfectly happy again."
"We were fighting about this long before Raoul got here."
"Just a year …if we could just have one more year..."
"Oh, Erik. I used to feel we were so aligned, you and I. I could say anything to you, and I felt like you understood. But with this I feel like I don't know you at all. Like I'm shouting at you through a window, and you can see me crying out, but you can't understand the words I'm saying."
There was another long pause.
Erik took a long, shaky breath.
"Christine, what if I'm not the man you think I am?" He said, quietly.
"What does that mean?"
"What if I'm a much worse person than you think?"
"Nothing could stop me from loving you."
"I don't think any woman could."
"Well, tell me what it is, and let me decide."
Erik seemed to try to speak several times, only to choke on his words.
"I …can't." He said at last.
There was a pause.
"Well, then I don't know what we're going to do."