Breakfast the next morning was uncomfortable. Though both Christine and Erik were sitting at the table when Raoul came downstairs, each appeared uninclined to speak to the other. Christine said a half-hearted good morning. Erik ignored Raoul completely, his concentration apparently deep in the morning paper.
Raoul sat down in the quiet broken only by the chirping of birds outside the window and the clink of cutlery on ceramic.
Eventually, Erik announced he was going out for the day. Christine remained silent, and he didn't wait around for her reply. Once he had left Raoul noticed that she was sniffling.
"Are you alright, Chris?"
"Yes."
"Would you like to go into the village again today?" Raoul asked gently.
"Not really."
"What about the lake?"
"You go, I'm tired. I didn't sleep well last night."
"Are you sure you're ok?"
Christine looked at Raoul. "Sorry Raoul. I'm moody today."
After a few more minutes of silence, Christine set down her fork and pushed away the eggs on toast she had been picking at, giving up the pretence of eating. The plate scraped across the table with a squeak.
"Raoul, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Do you want children?"
Raoul's eyebrows rose slightly. He had gathered the crux of Christine and Erik's ongoing disagreement last night. But he had not expected her to bring it up so soon, or so frankly.
"It's a lovely idea. But it feels unlikely to happen now." Raoul replied honestly. "The recent disaster in my personal life…"
Christine looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sorry Raoul. I've been so caught up in my own problems while you've been here, I've scarcely asked about how you are coping with it all."
"Nonsense." Raoul said. "I asked you not to talk about it. I'd still prefer we don't talk about it."
"I know you say that…but it's a lot to think about. And Raoul, I wish you would stop feeling like there's something wrong with you, you're – "
"Christine. I meant it. Let's just pretend none of that ever happened."
Christine sighed.
"You haven't even told me whatI'm pretending never happened." Christine said. "You've been so elusive about the details…about why it ended, exactly."
"You already know why it ended." Raoul said, his arm crashing down onto the breakfast table as his temper flared. Several white ceramic plates shook precariously. "You know why I will always be alone. And you know what – I've made my peace with that!"
"Yes, you sound very peaceful." Christine said flatly.
"Sorry." Raoul said, sighing. "I didn't mean to yell. Look, if I suddenly want to discuss it…. you'll be the first to know. The only person to know." Raoul said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "Really, you're the only person I could talk to about any of that."
"But Raoul, you can barely even talk to me about it."
"PleaseChris…"
"Fine." She sighed, resigned.
"Why do you bring up children?" Raoul asked, firmly diverting the conversation away from himself.
Christine's face fell.
"Because…I want them Raoul." She said helplessly.
"I want them so badly I think I'm going crazy. For half a year now, I've felt like my mind can't focus on anything else. I love seeing Juliette, and Antoine, I really do, and yet every time I see them, and Camilla and Peter, I'm just filled with such unbearable envy."
A crease formed between Christine's eyebrows, her eyes welling up, and Raoul felt his chest wrench for her, his sympathy rising with her obvious distress.
"I've had so many offers to go back to England, to perform… Erik thinks I'm crazy, he can't understand why I don't want that life anymore, when we both thought it was my dream, and when I spent so many years perfecting my voice. He's so disappointed that all I want now is to be a mother. He thinks he wasted his time on me. But this isall I want. I feel like I'll die without it."
"I'm sure Erik doesn't feel that way." Raoul said. "He loves you."
Christine's face crumpled, and the tears that had been threatening to spill finally did.
"He doesn't want them, Raoul, not ever, and non - negotiable." She managed to choke out. "And he won't even tell me why, and nothing I say will change his mind."
"Christine." Raoul said helplessly. "I'm so sorry."
"I don't know what to do." She said, shaking her head, almost gasping, her eyes wide and wild. "I love Erik. But I'm doubting everything now. How can this be the right life for me, when I want this thing so much, and he doesn't?"
Raoul had no answer for her. All he could do was squeeze her hand.
"Everything is terrible between us." She went on miserably. "Raoul, I think we might be headed for divorce. We just go around in circles. The same fight over and again. It's poisoning us. I feel so guilty every time I bring it up, but what else can I do? I can't ignore it."
"I don't think you should feel guilty, Chris. It's the most natural thing in the world, what you want. If Erik knew he didn't want children, he never should have married you."
Christine shook her head slowly, her expression pained. "No, Raoul. That's the worst thing. I have no one to blame but myself. I knew Erik didn't want children when I married him."
Raoul looked at her.
"I'm…surprised, I guess. I remember leading up to the wedding, I'd never seen you so happy. I had no idea anything was wrong."
"Yes…leading up to the wedding…I think I had convinced myself I was ok with it, then. But I found out just after we got engaged. Just after my West End debut."
"What happened?"
"Well…that was all such a blur. I had been hoping he would propose for weeks, and when he did, I was deliriously happy. I could hardly bear to spend a day away from him, then. But then one day, I brought up children, what names he liked, that sort of thing – and he was just shellshocked. He had assumed I would continue to perform, and he would compose, all through our lives. I think he was picturing us like Ian and Georgina Watkins, you know that famous couple who do all those shows on the West End? They produced my first show, Erik knows them quite well. Anyway, they're childless, by choice. Their whole lives are devoted to music."
Raoul nodded, remembering the night he had seen them, sitting with Erik, in the box seats at the Palladian theatre.
"But it was clear when we talked, that we had different visions for our lives. I wanted to settle down after a while, raise a family. And he…he's never given me a clear answer about why he's so averse to the idea…he just said that he didn't see himself ever having children."
"I tried to get him agree to one child – just one – but he wouldn't compromise. He couldn't even seem to bear discussing the subject. So, I broke it off with him. I've never seen him so distraught."
"What changed your mind?"
Christine put her head in her hands.
"The pain was unbearable, Raoul. I thought I had been heartbroken before…but this was something else. It was as if I had ripped out half of my own soul. In the end, I didn't last a week. One night I left my flat and went and knocked on his door. He opened it, and I could immediately see that he was miserable too – glasses of whiskey all around, his apartment a mess, he looked like he hadn't slept in days. Then he opened his mouth – and told me I should leave immediately, or he didn't know whether he would ever be able to let me leave him again." Christine chuckled through her tears. "So, I told him I had decided I could live without children, but not without him."
"And I convinced myself of it too, for a while." Christine said. "I thought I had come to terms with the fact that while I wouldn't have the life I'd envisioned, it could be a good one nonetheless. And that at least I had Erik. Everything would be ok as long as I had Erik. But then this ache started up, Raoul, burning and desperate and awful, and ever since, a child has become all I can think about."
"Oh, Chris…and you have no idea why he's so against the idea? Is he worried it would interfere with his composing?"
"I don't think so." Christine shook her head slowly. "I told him I'd be willing to do everything. And…how strange that I'm able to say this, but we could easily afford a nanny."
"It's odd." Raoul said, baffled. "He seems perfectly content to have Juliette and Antoine around."
"Yes…he was worried that they would be afraid of him, initially – afraid of the mask. But they didn't bat an eyelid. Children have no idea of what 'normal' is supposed to be." Christine tilted her head, looking out at the garden. "It's kind of wonderful."
"Yes, I suppose."
"So, you see, Raoul, this is all my fault." Christine said sadly, turning her head back to face him. "I can't even be angry with him, because I knew, and I married him anyway."
x
The morning of Christine's birthday party arrived at last, and Christine and Raoul spent a pleasant day in preparation, hanging lights in the trees surrounding the courtyard at the back of the house, winding shimmering decorations through the stone bannisters of the grand staircase, and welcoming the musicians of the hired band who began to warm up their shining brass instruments over a chorus of cicadas as the hot afternoon turned to dusk. Christine hadn't again mentioned to Raoul the issues troubling her marriage, but he noticed her muted sadness, so obvious now that he didn't know how he had not seen it before. He saw it in her dimpled smile, warm and welcoming to the band, vanishing to blank vacantness as soon as her head was turned and she was no longer observed. He saw it in her distraction, a strand of blue string lights dropped on stone and shattering as Camilla and Peter, giggling children in tow, arrived early to help with the setup.
And he saw it in Erik too, in the anxious way he asked whether there was anything he could do to help, in the kiss he placed on his wife's forehead as she insisted that there were already plentiful hands on deck, and he should get back to his overdue work, lest Nadir succumb to any more conniptions. He could hear it in Erik's music too, wafting out of the window, this latest composition a series of disjointed, staccato passages, unsettled. Unsure.
Raoul felt powerless to help, distressed to see his friend so unhappy. The only thing he felt he could do was distract her in conversation, try to ground her in the moment. He chatted to her chirpily as they setup the house, about how nice everything was starting to look, about how eager he was to try the delicious looking birthday cake – white icing decorated with fronds of lavender – that he had snuck a preview of in the kitchen. He hoped that she could enjoy this one night without worrying about the future, a night so long-awaited, a night of celebration, rather than a cruel timestamp urging her that what she wanted most was fast slipping away.
"Say Christine, this is an awful lot of chairs." Raoul said as he carried another stack of bentwood chairs up out of their storage location in the unused cellar below the house and to the garden, where they were being carefully arranged behind tables covered in white tablecloths. "How many people are you expecting?"
"Around sixty."
"Sixty!" Raoul said in surprise. "I didn't even think that there were that many people in the village! You've made friends quickly."
"Not just from the village." Christine said, smiling faintly. "There are plenty of people from London coming. Old friends from the shows I did, actors, producers... and from Cambridge – I invited some of your friends so you would know some people."
Raoul froze.
His heart felt strange, like it was suddenly required to pump much harder to keep the blood circulating in his veins. Christine's lips, as she talked, seemed to be moving in slow motion.
"Raoul, are you alright?" Christine asked, concerned. "You've gone all pale."
"Christine," Raoul said weakly, shakily setting down the chairs he was carrying. "Who exactly is coming?"
Christine looked at him sharply. "Oh, don't be ridiculous. Of course I didn't invite Agatha."
Raoul recalled a fight he had overheard between Christine and Erik on the first night he had stayed in the chateau. "Invite him to the damn party if you must, like those other idiotic boys I detest…"
"I just invited Toadie and Graham."
Raoul's white button-down shirt felt too tight, restrictive. His fumbling hands undid the top button, to little effect.
"Christine, would you be very angry with me if I missed the party?" Raoul said, his voice wavering.
"What?"
Raoul looked at her, eyes wide.
"You can't be serious!" She cried. "Yes, of course I would. I invited them just for you. I never even really liked them. I just went along with them because they're your friends."
He looked at her in distress.
"Oh, God." He said. "Chris… theywere there, when…"
"When what?"
Raoul didn't answer.
"When you broke it off with Agatha? Why on Earth were they there?"
"Christine," he said, licking his suddenly horribly dry lips. "You do remember that Toadie is Agatha's cousin?"
"And? He was your friend for years. Plus, he strung along his fair share of women at Cambridge. I'd have thought the friendship came first…"
Raoul shook his head.
"Raoul, is Toadie still very angry with you?" She asked.
"To put it mildly." Raoul said.
"But … I don't understand why he would have accepted the invitation, then. He wouldn't be coming if he resented you, would he? That doesn't make any sense."
"You told him I'm here?"
"You didn'ttell him you were here?" Christine was staring at Raoul, aghast.
Raoul shook his head slowly.
"Raoul… you're telling me you left England for amonthand didn't even tell your best friends where you were going?"
"You're my best friend." Raoul said miserably. "My only friend."
"Raoul, what on earthis going on?"
Raoul opened his mouth, but no words emerged. He put his head in his hands.
"Look, even if I sent word now, it wouldn't reach them in time." Christine said, chewing her lip. "They'll already be on the train here. It's too late to ask them not to come."
"I just won't come, then." Raoul said. "I'll ask – I'll go ask Nadir if I can stay at his place. He lives in the village, right?"
"Raoul, don't be ridiculous. You have just as much right to be at my party as anyone. And you'll hurt me terriblyif you don't come. You and Erik – that's all I really care about."
Raoul looked at Christine in distress.
"You have to stop feeling ashamed about what happened." She went on. "I know you hurt Agatha's feelings, and it was very wrong of you to string her along, but you did the right thing in the end, breaking it off. What would be truly wrong is to marry someone you couldn't love."
Raoul closed his eyes. He had been trying so hard not to remember. To pretend it all wasn't real. To pretend the events that had occurred just before he left for France were just a horrible, nightmarish dream.
Southern England
June 1926
Beams of sunlight sparkled and glistened on the black motor car travelling down the English country lane. The roads were winding in this part of the world, and framed by tall English trees, hedges and lawns that contained picture book cottages.
A group of five young people were in the vehicle. A beefy red headed man was driving, animatedly telling a dirty story, occasionally accompanied by the additional one-line quips of the blond man in the passenger seat. In the back were three people, a floppy haired boy, a girl with red hair, and a young man so dark and handsome he belonged on the cover of a romance novel or a women's magazine. The group laughed at the story and made disgusted faces where appropriate.
The red-haired girl was holding hands with the floppy-haired man. His large fingers interlocked with her delicate white ones, manicured red nails peeping through the combined hands at regular intervals. At the punchline of the story, the car erupted into laughter. The girl squeezed her lover's hand. As she moved, the sunlight caught the large diamond ring on her fourth finger, shooting fractals of bounce light around the interior of the car. The girl noticed this and smiled, head tilted, admiring the gorgeous stone. The floppy haired man noticed it too.
His stomach flipped in an emotion he told himself was excitement.
The car drove through tall iron gates, held wide open like arms; the house was expecting visitors. At the front door of the English country mansion, all stone and ivy, the inhabitants of the car began to disembark and remove their luggage.
"You can't be serious, Agatha." Complained the handsome boy, as the red-haired girl handed him a heavy suitcase, then while he was holding it, piled an additional two, plus a sun hat, on top. His large biceps began to strain under the load. "Who needs this many clothes for a couple of days away?"
"Toadie, Antony's bullying me again." Agatha said, pouting.
"Complain to your fiancée, Ag." Said Toadie with a grin, closing the door on the driver's side. "It's not up to your cousin to look out for you anymore. That's on you now, de Chagny!"
"But Raoul's too nice." Agatha said, giving her fiancée a smile.
"Here, give me one of those, Antony." Raoul said, gesturing to the pile of Agatha's suitcases. "I can help."
"See what I mean?" Agatha said with an exaggerated expression of exasperation, as the group of friends laughed.
"What Antony, think your muscles aren't up to it?" Said the tall blonde man. "What's the point of all those hours in the gym then?"
"No need to be jealous, Graham." Antony replied. "Even a skinny bastard like you could grow a muscle or two with practice. Lots and lots of practice…"
The friends kept bickering playfully as suitcases were carried into the house, and as beds were made, and all through the evening meal. Too much wine was consumed, and early, around 9pm, it was agreed that everyone would go to bed.
Raoul's room was dark and musty, an enormous four poster bed stood at the centre back of the room. There was a painted wooden figure depicting the crucifixion on the wall. Raoul stopped to survey the unpleasant sight, the red painted blood on the figure's head and hands was too gory for Raoul's tastes. He knew Toadie's family was zealously religious, but to sleep in the same room as a statue, condemned to hang frozen in the space between agony and death for eternity, seemed particularly morbid. He turned away from the picture and fell asleep.
Raoul was awoken a little past midnight by a knock on the door.
"What is it?" He said groggily.
"Who do you think, silly?" Said the familiar voice of his fiancée.
"Ag! I thought you'd be fast asleep."
Switching on the light, Raoul saw his fiancée in the doorway. She was wearing a nightgown that left little to the imagination.
"Agatha…" Raoul said warily.
Agatha ran her ringed finger through her bright red curls, smiling, but slightly self-conscious. She walked to the bed and sat down, as Raoul sat up in bed, pulling the covers with him.
"I thought maybe you were getting lonely, here in this great big room, all by yourself…" Agatha said, trailing off. Her hand was on Raoul's thigh.
"Ag, we've talked about this." Raoul said, gently removing her hand. "We're not married yet."
"And?" Agatha said, in hurt frustration. "We're going to be married in two months. What does it matter, really? How old fashioned are you?"
"It's important to me to wait." Raoul said. "And your family…"
"They don't have to know."
"Ag…"
"What?" Agatha asked tearfully. "Sometimes I feel like you don't really even want me. I know you love me, Raoul, but do you want me?"
"Of course I do!" Raoul said.
"It doesn't feel like it, sometimes. A lot of the time, even."
Raoul took Agatha's face in his hands and kissed her gently on the lips.
"Better?"
"A bit." Agatha sighed. "Sometimes I wonder…"
"Yes?"
"You're not still in love with Christine, are you?"
"What?" Raoul said sharply.
"Toadie warned me, when we first met. That you were still hung up on Christine. But I thought now she's married, that maybe you'd be able to move on."
"Agatha, I know he's your cousin, but Toadie really is full of it sometimes. I'venever been in love with Christine."
"Oh don't lie to me." Agatha said, standing up from the bed. "Don't treat me like an idiot. I know you aren't completely in love with me. I know there's something missing between us. But fool that I am, I love you. And I'll marry you anyway. I just need to know that you will be able to get over her, in time."
Agatha was crying now, hot embarrassed tears running down her face, and Raoul's stomach clenched in guilt and self-loathing.
"Darling, don't cry." He said tenderly. His words had little effect. "I don't love Christine like that. I really don't. She's like my – "
"If you say 'sister'," Agatha interrupted coldly, "I'm going to scream."
Raoul said nothing.
"If we can't be honest with each other, Raoul, this is never going to work." Agatha said, getting up from the bed, wiping her eyes, embarrassed and emotionally drawing back. "This was a stupid idea. Like it always is."
When she was gone, Raoul rose to get some water from the bathroom across the hall, thinking that it was unlikely now, that he'd be able to sleep. He switched on a light, only to be confronted with the figure of Christ's crucifixion again, regarding him woefully from the wooden cross.
Raoul looked away from the suffering man and made his way to the bathroom.
When he came out into the hall, he saw Antony, half-doused in shadow, mid-step and frozen.
"Sorry." Antony said quickly. "I was going to the bathroom anyway, and I couldn't help overhearing. Trouble in paradise?"
"Oh…well." Raoul cast around for something to say, anything to explain. "You know. Women."
"Not really." Antony said.
Raoul realised his hand had found his hair. He smoothed over it, self-consciously aware that it was probably tousled from sleep. Anthony wore only trousers to bed, Raoul noticed. The skin on his muscular chest and back were bare in the cool night air.
Raoul shivered.
"Were you going to use the bathroom?" Antony asked.
"Oh – yes – but after you." Raoul said, gesturing towards the bathroom door.
"Ok." Antony said.
He turned and looked at Raoul as he closed the bathroom door. The pupils in his brown eyes were large and black in the darkness.
x
Night had fallen over the chateau, and guests had been arriving ever since dusk. They had come in swathes, each shiny motor car trundling down the driveway kicking up a stream of red and grey dust, covering those who followed. Some people Raoul knew or vaguely recognised from his visit over the last month had arrived – Nadir and Meg, who greeted him shyly, Peter and Camilla and their children, as well as some of the other artistic types who had appeared in the entrance hall and promptly disappeared into Erik's study for hours. But the majority were total strangers, some French locals from the village, but mostly English men and women, who arrived in glittering dresses, diamonds and furs.
Raoul recognised the producers of Christine's first show on the West End as they arrived, Georgina and Ian Watkins, both dressed glamorously. Ian was in a midnight blue suit, and Georgina was sporting a sleek, black bob and wearing a silk hat. They greeted Christine with the put-on screams of performative joy Raoul had noticed often in creatives, quickly praising her blue gown and her sapphire earrings, and insisting how desperately they wished she would return to the stage.
A troupe of young women who looked lithe and athletic enough to be dancers arrived around the same time, also squealing in high-pitched excitement as they embraced Christine, lamenting that it had been far too long.
The grand entrance hall had been transformed for the event. It had looked enormous in the afternoon once all of the furniture had been cleared, however the fast-growing party made it appear crowded again. The band had started up around nightfall and were playing popular jazz tunes that some enthusiastic couples had already started to dance to. The staircase itself was glittering too, with the coloured decorations Raoul had carefully wound in and out of the bannisters. Alcohol, poured liberally into tall champagne flutes, was being served by servants in black and white.
Everyone looked glamorous and jolly. Raoul mused that he had never before been in an atmosphere so incongruous with his internal state.
He fiddled with his tie, which was too tight around his neck, and pulled distractedly at his cufflinks, silver circles engraved with the de Chagny family crest he suddenly realised he hated. He wandered from packed room to packed room, where inebriated women quickly swarmed him, trying to engaged him in conversations he was too agitated to follow.
This was especially true of Meg. He didn't seem to be able to shake her, she appeared determined to follow him around the party for the entirety of the irksome evening.
She was walking behind him now as he entered the packed drawing room, which he was dismayed to find included Erik, talking to Camilla and his wife. Meg was speaking at length about the dress she had on, a sparkly pink thing that appeared to be about three quarters tulle and one quarter glitter, and the difficulty she had had in sourcing it in the small village.
Meg's interest had apparently not escaped the notice of Erik, who looked up at Raoul from across the drawing room with scarcely concealed amusement.
"Miss Giry seems to have taken quite a liking to your friend." Raoul heard Erik say to his wife over the chatter of other voices and conversations. "He's practically developed a second shadow."
"Yes, she does seem rather interested." Christine said.
"You don't seem particularly buoyed by the thought." Erik said.
"I love Meg. It's just not a good match."
"Not a good match! He's a young man, she's a young woman… plus, she seems very devoted! What more do you need?" Erik laughed.
"I don't know, Erik." Christine sighed exasperatedly. "Intellectual similarities, perhaps? Aligned values?"
"You sound almost jealous of the girl." Erik said, his voice cooling, and Raoul swiftly exited the room again, feeling particularly unable to cope with Erik's jealousy right now, on top of everything else.
As he found himself in the entrance hall again, Raoul watched enviously as Juliette and Antoine chased each other from room to room, engaged in a game entirely separate to the party, which was nothing more than a backdrop for their imagination and games. Antoine bumped into a servant and a platter of hors d'oeuvres crashed to the ground, avocado and salmon splattering wetly on stone. The children were hastily chastened by an embarrassed-looking Peter who sent the pair outside.
The front door opened again as the butler, Williamson, showed a new carload of people inside the house. Raoul's heart lurched as a group of young men entered, and he quickly found himself ducking behind a stone column at the back of the hall. An unfamiliar group entered the packed room, and quickly dispersed, and Raoul's heartrate lowered slightly.
"Why are you hiding?" Meg asked Raoul curiously, peering at him around the bend of the column.
"Can't you find someone else to follow around?" Raoul snapped.
"Oh." Meg said, stung. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I'll go…"
"Meg, wait…" Raoul said, his chest twisting in regret and guilt, but she had disappeared into the crowd.
Raoul shut his eyes tightly, and rested the back of his head on the cold stone column, hating himself.
"Raoul?" Christine appeared beside him several minutes later. "What on earth did you say to Meg?"
Raoul opened his eyes. Christine was standing in front of him, looking beautiful in her soft blue gown and glinting sapphire earrings. Her long hair had been ironed straight and arranged carefully into a faux bob, the rest piled under a hair clip. But her expression was angry.
"I was terribly rude to her." Raoul admitted, rubbing his temple. "I'll apologise. But – tomorrow. She won't stop following me around. And right now, I can't really handle it."
"Then come and talk to someone you like." She said. "Nadir is here too."
Raoul stayed silent and surly.
"Look, there's no sign of them." Christine said as a loud car horn hooted outside. "Maybe they decided not to even bother to show up. Seriously, you can relax a bit."
Raoul reluctantly agreed to be led away, just as the doors opened again.
Two large and well-dressed men in their mid-twenties walked through the door. Raoul's stomach dropped.
"Oh dear." He heard Christine say weakly beside him.
"Christine Daae!" Called a familiar low pitched booming voice. "It's been far too bloody long!" Toadie had slicked back his red hair for the event, and looked even beefier than Raoul remembered, his shoulders broad and his face blotchy. Graham was by his side.
"That's Christine Destler to you, now." Christine said with a faint smile as Toadie strode out into the dining hall towards her, enveloping her in a bear hug.
"Careful, don't let the husband see you do that." Graham smirked, running his hands through his blonde hair. "Rumour has it he's the jealous type."
"'The husband' has a name, Graham." Christine said.
"Our apologies, Mrs Destler." Toadie said. "Where is Mr Destler?"
"I'm not sure." Christine said, glancing around at the dancing couples around them. "You'll have to say hello later."
Toadie's eyes darted around the room, only to land, quickly widening, on Raoul.
"And … Raoul is here!" Christine said with an air of forced cheerfulness. "Isn't this nice, a real class of 1922 reunion!"
The two men regarded each other.
Raoul could feel the blood draining from his pounding head, while Toadie's red cheeks appeared to grow even redder.
"De Chagny's here?" Graham said in shock from beside Toadie.
"Yes, he was a dear and came to visit me." Christine said. "We've had a lovely last month or so together, after so long apart."
After a short pause and a strained laugh she added, "Well – you'd better say hello!"
Raoul slowly held out his hand, which Graham, after a furtive glance at Toadie, shook, stone-faced, before quicky dropping and backing away.
Christine's eyes grew round and nervous as Toadie's huge fingers enveloped Raoul's. Toadie pulled Raoul close to him, thumping him on the back several times, in a gesture that from the outside would have looked like a hug.
"Does she know?" Toadie said, when their faces were closest.
Raoul said nothing.
"Good to see you, Toadie." He managed to say, hoarsely, when they were further apart.
"Raoul was just getting a drink, weren't you Raoul?" Christine said. "But why don't you let me introduce you to some other people. Come through this way…" She led Toadie by the arm out of the hall. Graham followed slowly, glancing back at Raoul with unconcealed contempt.
x
Raoul observed the next few hours of the party like a stranger, wandering from room to room, carefully surveying the occupants before daring to venture inside. He stopped to talk to no one, though he did supply himself with liberal amounts of white wine.
For a long time, he sought refuge in the garden, sitting alone, concealed by the dark. A couple of minutes after ten, he caught sight of Toadie and Graham through a window, moving as if to come outside, and he leapt up with a racing heart, but they were steered away by someone, to another indoor room. Raoul sat back down.
"Antoine? Juliette?"
Camilla and Peter walked out into the garden, then, calling for their children, who Raoul could hear giggling and hiding under a table. Raoul had watched them disappear under it earlier, carrying a desert trifle like stolen treasure. In a scene that may have struck Raoul as comical and charming, had he not been so agitated, the children's parents endured the embarrassment of going from table to table, pulling up the white cloth table covers, apologising to guests, and attempting to locate their children.
They were soon found, to their obvious disappointment.
"Time for bed." Camilla said.
"But it's only 10pm!" Antoine protested.
"Yes – it's 10!" Camilla said. "And your bedtime is usually 8pm! Your father and I have been very generous already. And we don't want Antoine's sleepwalking to get worse."
"I'm not sleepy anyway." Antoine said sulkily. "I won't sleep! I won't!"
"Well, you can lie awake in your bed then." Peter said.
"It's not fair!"
"When you're grown-ups you can stay out as late as you like." Camilla said consolingly. "Go with your father, now. Same beds as last time. We'll come collect you in the morning."
Protesting, the children nevertheless followed their parents into the house and up into the spare bedroom that had been prepared for them that day.
Erik came out into the garden next, holding a half-empty champagne flute and accompanied by Georgiana and Ian. Raoul stalked off behind a wall, trying to stay concealed.
"We've got the perfect part for her, Erik." Ian's high-pitch voice crooned. "A new musical, strong lead, great tunes, all the makings of success. Christine simply must come back to us! You've had your fun with her, all locked up here in France." He said, wagging his finger at Erik. "Time to bring her back where she belongs."
Erik's back was to him, and Raoul couldn't tell what he said in return. But after a few minutes, Raoul's heart sunk as he watched Toadie and Graham make their way outside and approach the talking trio.
"Mr Destler." Toadie said, in a tone more reverent and respectful than Raoul had ever heard him use in his life. "I'm not sure if you remember me. I'm Andrew Toadman, Christine's friend from Cambridge, and this is Graham White."
"Yes, I believe we may have met once or twice before." Erik said, turning to regard the men.
"We don't mean to intrude on your conversation, sir. But there's a matter we think we need to discuss with you."
Georgiana and Ian excused themselves, and heart thumping, Raoul watched, concealed, as Toadie and Graham led Erik into a more secluded part of the garden.
"What's this about?" Erik said, surveying the men suspiciously.
"I'm afraid it's about Raoul de Chagny, sir. We understand he is a friend of yours."
"You are mistaken."
"That is good news indeed, sir. Are we also mistaken in thinking that he has been lodging with you for several weeks now, and is very close to your wife?"
Erik was silent for a moment. When he replied his tone was icy. "What is this about, gentlemen?"
"Sir, we have information that I'm sorry to say…you are likely to find highly distressing. We would have preferred not to tell you tonight, at risk of ruining your wife's party…and we would hate to cause any conflict between you and your wife…but our consciences won't be clear until the truth is out. Until we are convinced that you know exactly who this man…Mr de Chagny…really is."
"And who is that?"
"He is a despicable man. Vile and deranged. He was once our friend, and had us quite fooled, so we urge you to look past his outward show of innocence…Mr de Changy is quite the manipulator. A brilliant liar. Exceptionally good at keeping secrets."
"Gentlemen, I'd urge you to get to the point."
"My cousin was once engaged to him, as you may have heard. I can only thank God that de Chagny's true nature was discovered before they married. Agatha caught de Chagny in a compromising position…if you catch my drift, sir…with someone he should never have been with. Someone that it was highly unnatural for him to be with."
"Are you implying…what I think you are implying, Mr Toadman?"
"Sir, please heed my warning. If Christine is anything like she was when we knew her at Cambridge, she's a charming girl. But also naïve…too sympathetic for her own good. I know she invited de Chagny to come here without any knowledge of his… tendencies. But please allow me to say, I wouldn't want him to exert his … immoral influences…on my own wife. I hope I have been clear."
The champagne flute in Erik's hand broke, its long glass neck cracking to one side in his fist. A trickle of bright red blood made its way down Erik's palm. He looked down at his hand, which was visibly shaking, in disgust.
"You have, gentlemen." He said, and Erik turned around to walk back inside the house.
x
For a long while, Raoul stood, concealed, in the garden, away from the guests, trying to breathe slowly enough to slow his racing heart. He picked someone's unfinished glass of wine from a table, and downed it.
He watched the guests enjoying the warm air, chatting pleasantly, sitting on the chairs and tables he had helped setup just earlier that day. They all seemed to Raoul a swirling blur of black suits and colourful dresses, abstract, not really meaning anything, like the geometric pattern on a rug.
He should probably start making his way up to his room and start packing. Erik would want him gone as soon as possible, now. He made his way around the garden and up the side of the house, hoping to slip, unnoticed, through the dancers in the entrance hall and up the stairs.
The scent of lavender, heady and sweet, was thick in the air as he walked quietly along the grass.
Raoul suddenly felt the legs kicked out from under him, and his face collided with the hard ground. He heard guffaws above him.
Groggily, his ears ringing, Raoul lifted his head, half expecting to be kicked back down again.
Knowing what he would see, he turned around to see Toadie and Graham. Toadie's face was red from booze, and Graham's eyes looked wrong, somehow. Unfocussed. Raoul suspected that in the time since they had spoken to Erik, the duo had taken something stronger than alcohol.
"You really have gall, being here, de Chagny, if your family is even allowing you to use that name anymore." Toadie scoffed. "I'm surprised you can show your face without dying of shame. If I were you, I'd have crawled into some godforsaken hole months ago, done the world a favour, and died."
"Get lost, Toadie." Raoul said, wiping away a trickle of blood that had started running down his lip from where his face had collided with the ground.
"Drop the attitude." Graham sneered. "You're at our mercy here."
"I don't know what you could possibly want from me." Raoul said.
"I'll tell you what would be nice." Toadie sneered down at him. "A hundred."
"A hundred pounds?"
"50 for Graham's silence, 50 for mine."
"Silence." Raoul guffawed humourlessly. "I already heard you talking to Destler."
"Oh yes?" Toadie seethed. "Sneaky little eavesdropper too, are you? Well if you don't pay up I'll grab one of those nice expensive microphones in that band back there, and announce to everyone what a slimy piece of shit you are. I wouldn't even have to beat you up myself. I'm sure someone else in there would do it for me."
Raoul laughed shrilly. "Let me guess, Toadie, you've gambled away your pocket money and your father cut you off again."
Toadie's fist met with Raoul's face, and he fell back to the ground, blinding hot pain bursting through his skull.
"Drop the attitude." Graham said again, towering over him.
"You're out of luck." Raoul said, surveying Toadie and Graham through a rapidly swelling eye. "I don't have any money."
"Bullshit." Toadie spat, pulling back his fist again.
"I don't." Raoul gasped, his arm coming up, pathetically, to protect his face. "Father disowned me. I have nothing. Because of you."
Graham hit Raoul across the face this time. Blood started to trickle into Raoul's mouth, warm and metallic.
"Because of us?" Toadie said furiously. "Don't blame us because you're a degenerate. We did your father a favour, telling him what his son is."
"You'll ruin Christine's night."
"Don't pretend to give a shit about Christine, de Chagny." Toadie said. "We all know how little you think of women."
"Last I saw she was crying anyway." Graham said. "And fighting with that freaky husband of hers. Maybe he told her what you are. I'd be packing my bags if I were you."
"You obviously just came here because you had nowhere to go." Toadie spat. "Alone. Friendless. All of your old 'friends' in London hate you."
The men surveyed Raoul contemptuously for a moment.
"Agatha has been distraught ever since June." Toadie added, his harsh voice wavering almost imperceptibly. "She stopped talking to us, stopped eating. She's lost so much weight she looks like a ghost. Our whole family despises you."
Raoul recoiled. The words hurt far more than the punches had.
"I'm sorry." He said, his voice cracking as tears, hot and wet, started to stream down his face. "For hurting her."
"Midnight." Graham said. "You have until midnight to get the money."
"It's what you owe her." Toadie spat. "For the wedding dress she never got to use."
Raoul bowed his head. He felt a tear crawl down his face and drop to the grass, mingling with his spilled blood.
"You really are pathetic, de Chagny." Graham said, and both men left Raoul alone lying on the grass.
Raoul slumped over then, grateful to be away from the party, the jazz band and chatter carrying on unwittingly behind him.
Southern England
June 1926
Raoul lay across Toadie's family's enormous brown leather couch, occasionally rising to sneeze into a handkerchief. The cold had come without warning the morning after his fight with Agatha and was in full swing now.
The five friends staying at the country house were lounging in the living room. Graham, Agatha and Toadie were playing some complex card game which Raoul's sick brain was too addled to comprehend, and he had given up after only a few rounds. Antony professed to hate games and was reading a novel quietly, tucked under a light blanket in a reclining chair in a corner of the room, near the large bookcase overflowing with dusty thick volumes Toadie proudly professed to have never read or even opened. Raoul watched as Antony turned a page and brushed his thick fringe, out of his dark brown eyes.
"Oh, this is unbearable." Agatha said, putting down her cards after losing another round to Graham.
"Yes, it must be terrible to be so rubbish at cards." Graham said.
"Oh, quiet you." Agatha chided as Toadie laughed.
"I mean, this!" Agatha said, gesturing around the room. "We're all young! In our prime! We should be out in a pub somewhere, dancing, not wasting away reading books and playing cards like a bunch of elderly people."
"I could put the record player on." Toadie suggested.
"No, don't." Raoul said quickly. "I have a headache."
Toadie rolled his eyes, and put on a record anyway. It was a lively jazz number, and Raoul groaned, pulling a pillow over his ears as his head thrummed.
"We could go out." Graham said. "There's a pub in the village."
"That's not a bad idea." Toadie agreed.
"Feeling up to it de Chagny?" Graham asked.
"No, but you go ahead."
"Oh you are a bore sometimes, Raoul." Toadie said.
"Leave him." Agatha said. "He's sick." Raoul felt a prickle of guilt. The couple had been cold with each other since their disagreement the other night, but Agatha was always on his side.
"Are you really that sick? It's just a little cold." Graham said.
Raoul sneezed then, timing he was pleased with, and narrowed his eyes at his friends. "I'm not stopping you from going." He said moodily.
"Alright princess." Toadie said. "We get it, you're ill. The rest of us can go."
"I'll stay too." Antony said. "This book has just started to get exciting."
Toadie rolled his eyes. "What a bunch of old bores. Alright Ag, Graham. Let's go."
Raoul and Antony watched from the lounge as their friends put on their coats and hats. Agatha walked over to the couch and kissed Raoul on the cheek.
"Don't – you'll make yourself ill too."
"I don't mind." Agatha smiled. "I love you."
"Love you too." Raoul said.
The red-haired cousins and Graham left then, their chatter following them down the front steps.
Once they had gone, Raoul rose, and walked over to the record player.
"If we're going to have music, we might as well have something nicer." Raoul said self-consciously to Antony. They hadn't been alone in a room together since meeting on the first night at the house in the bathroom. That meeting had stuck with Raoul, for some reason. The image of Antony's dark eyes, watching him, as the door to the bathroom slowly closed.
"Oh, yes?" Antony said. He had got up from the couch now too, stretching his muscular arms over his head with a wide yawn, and was examining some of the dust covered volumes in the bookcase, several feet from the record player.
Raoul sifted through Toadie's record collection, unsure what exactly he was looking for. The seconds seemed to tick by rather slowly. Then he came across a familiar record.
"Oh." Raoul said in surprise, holding one up with the familiar face of his best friend, looking made-up and dazzling. "This is one of Christine's. Must have been a present."
Raoul put on the record, a collection of famous Classical soprano pieces. As Christine's crystalline soprano voice filled the room, Raoul sighed in awe.
"She really is something else." He said. "I wonder what it's like to have talent like that."
"Is Toadie still convinced you're secretly in love with her?" Antony asked. Raoul glanced at him. He was smiling, a half-smile, one finger on the spine of Les Miserables. Christine's voice rose to a higher pitch, the string orchestra accompanying her, swelling in a romantic moment.
"I'm not in love with Christine." Raoul said simply.
"I know." Antony said. "Toadie's blind as a bat."
He didn't look at Raoul. He continued to examine the bookcase, but Raoul had the impression he wasn't really taking in what he was reading anymore.
"You're not in love with Agatha either, though, are you?"
"Of course I am." Raoul said quickly. "We're engaged."
"I'm not judging you." Antony said, not bothering to acknowledge Raoul's disagreement. "It's not an easy world, for people like us. I think if I had an opportunity like you did, to look normal, with a nice girl like that, I'd probably take it too."
"Or maybe I wouldn't." He mused further. "I don't think I could sustain the lie."
Raoul's breath hitched. Antony had given up the pretence of examining the bookcase now. He was simply looking at Raoul.
He really was unbelievably handsome, Raoul allowed himself to fully acknowledge. His dark hair framed his big brown eyes, the pupils large. The same eyes he had seen that night in the bathroom. Looking at Raoul. Really seeing Raoul. There was something in his expression that made it impossible for Raoul to look away.
Raoul didn't know when Antony had got so close.
"We might not have that much time." Antony said, glancing at the clock above the mantlepiece.
"I'm not, you've got it wrong, I'm not – "
"We both know that's not true."
"Look – fine, maybe I am." Raoul said, his voice cracking. "But just because I'm – broken, wrong – doesn't mean I have to act on it."
Antony just stared at him. "I know you probably think if you just hate yourself enough, it'll stop being real. But it won't."
Raoul said nothing. Antony had moved closer somehow.
"I'm sick." Raoul said. He didn't mean the cold.
"You're not, Raoul. There's nothing wrong with you. With either of us."
Antony glanced up at the clock. "They left at five past seven." He said. "I want to, if you do. And I think you do."
Raoul realised he was kissing Antony before he had registered making the conscious choice to do so. Hungrily, his hands wound into Antony's soft dark hair. Some part of his brain recognised that Antony had unbuttoned his shirt and it had at some point fallen to the floor. The clear soprano voice of his friend was at a peak now, the music soaring and swelling, the orchestra fortissimo. Raoul couldn't have planned the moment to be any more perfect, any more romantic.
Then he felt a cold draft on his naked back.
A crash behind them made the two men jump apart, Raoul crashed into the record player and it smashed to the floor, glass and metal spewed onto the hardwood. Christine's high vibrato was instantly vanished from the night. Antony hit the bookcase and several volumes thumped to the floor in plumes of dust.
When Raoul looked up, Agatha's face was white and frozen. Her green eyes looked almost perfectly round. The front door was open, letting in the night air, and the coat rack by the door was lying down, coats and furs strewn across the ground.
Raoul looked across the room to a counter where he saw what she had come back for, her bright red purse.
"Agatha – " Raoul said, without any idea of what he could possibly say.
She didn't retrieve her purse, and she didn't wait to listen to Raoul. She turned and ran, her heels clacking on the stone steps, a flash of curly red hair vanishing out of site, leaving nothing but the cold night wind still blowing in the door.