Chapter 3: The Dimness After the Storm and the Gleam of Days Gone-By
Raoul de Chagny glanced at the dark-haired soprano sitting in front of him, and though he was not a person prone to clouding his mind with unnecessary worries, he couldn't stop a hint of such a feeling from slipping among the optimism filling him.
The Parisian higher société and artistic circles were still buzzing with enthusiastic reviews about Christine's unexpected debut, mirroring his own awe, but instead of blooming in the light of such praises, she herself seemed to almost withdraw from the public. When the morning after the premiere the older diva had burst into the theatre with an unstoppable force of a steam locomotive, clearly furious about the performance's success, his friend had simply resigned from the lead without any complaints. And he could only once again inwardly thank his impulsive decision to come to the opera straight after his arrival to Paris, a day before it was appointed.
Modesty and conflict-avoiding were undoubtedly in the nature of his childhood playmate, but at present he couldn't help but start to think that maybe there was something more to her actions than he had first assumed. The last six days had been rather hectic for both of them, limiting their interactions to merely a few words exchanged during the furtive encounters in the Palais Garnier's corridors, so he hadn't paid much attention to it. Yet now, as Christine sat on the opposite side of a cafe table, he could not fail to notice a trace of tension etched into her delicate features.
The young viscount's eyebrows furrowed slightly and his thoughts went back again to the night of Hannibal's premiere. Christine had looked truly happy seeing him that evening, but then she had vanished without a trace when she had been supposed to join him and the managers at the banquet. As it had turned out later, she had been urgently called by her teacher, so – though it had not been exactly his dream situation – he didn't let such a trifle bother him. Especially since, as he belatedly recalled with a pinch of contrition, perhaps Christine had been trying to mention something about that meeting to him before he had left her dressing room. Anyway, it was just a tiny inconvenience in their generally joyous reunion, so after receiving explanations, he didn't spare the incident much thought. A part of him, though, was starting to wonder if it was actually the best approach.
Christine shifted on her chair, sending another furtive glance towards the opera house, and he let out a short breath.
"Is something wrong, Christine?" His gentle voice filled the silence that had stretched between them ever since they had received their croissants and drinks, and the brunette twitched slightly, turning back to him.
"I..." She couldn't quite hold his gaze. "I guess I'm just a little tired and overwhelmed by the recent changes, that's all. Nothing important enough to bother anyone from the outside with." A tiny half-smile brushed her lips, but it was a bit too forced to fool him.
The wrinkle on his forehead deepened, and Raoul leaned forwards, resting his forearms on the table.
"Christine, I might have not seen you for eight years, but I can still clearly sense that something is troubling you. And if that's so, I would like to be one of the first to know." His eyes locked with hers, a note of concern slipping into his usually rather carefree tone. "Have the managers been giving you a hard time because of La Carlotta? Or maybe it has something to do with that mysterious teacher of yours?"
A shadow flickered across Christine's countenance at his last question, giving him the answer, and his brow creased a little more.
"So it is him, after all?" He could not hide his slight distaste. "You were breathtaking as Elissa, so he should be proud of you. And if he is not pleased with you giving up the role, then he should know that you couldn't start an argument both with the management and Signora Giudicelli on your own." His countenance clouded a fraction only to brighten back a second later. "Though, if it's that the case, I can always talk with Messieurs Andre and Frimin as well as with your teacher, so–"
"No!" A hint of panic that flashed across Christine's face took him aback at least as much as her tone seemed to surprise her.
"I mean," she amended quietly, "I don't think he would appreciate that. And what's more..." Her gaze lowered again to her intertwined fingers, resting on the tabletop. "Well, I wouldn't like to receive any special treatment. Especially when I still don't exactly feel ready for the weight of such big roles." Her throat moved as she swallowed, and as she spoke again her voice was just a little louder than a whisper.
"I can't deny that I had some sort of misunderstanding with my teacher that upset me, but... well, I don't think it's something you could help me with." Her clasped palms curled a little tighter around each other. "Besides, I have promised him that I would keep his identity a secret, so please don't go around asking about him. I think it would be probably the best if I just handled it on my own." She glanced back up at him and, though her plea had not convinced him fully, he could only accept it with a slight frown.
He did not fancy the fact that a man he knew nothing about was spending so much time with her, not to mention upsetting her, but he could not deny that the mysterious teacher certainly worked wonders with her vocal abilities. He had been grateful for the support Christine had found in the ballet mistress and her daughter when he couldn't have been with her, so maybe he should just appreciate this man's involvement too?
Raoul exhaled and straightened in his chair. His eyes rested on his friend again, and his expression softened.
"I'll do as you wish, Christine," he conceded, "but in return I would like you to know one thing." Her attention focused on him, and he smiled warmly. "Though we haven't seen each other for so long, I still consider you my friend, so if you ever need my help, just say the word." His gaze met hers and the mixture of emotions he found there in response was all the reward he needed. She might have no longer been that thirteen-year-old girl he had last seen, just as he no longer was that sixteen-year-old boy, but some things hadn't changed.
His smile widened and then stretched into a mischievous grin as an idea occurred to him.
"And speaking about help, I suppose you don't need any extra references to know my outstanding competence in the subject of a friendly rescue, do you?" Raoul raised his eyebrow, glancing sidelong at the soprano, and then puffed his chest slightly. "After all, you received a sample of my grand heroism on the very first day of our acquaintance. When I, at the age of just ten years, courageously rescued your red scarf from the treacherous depths of the rough sea..." His hand curled dramatically in the air at the end of his grandiloquent declamation, and the corners of Christine's mouth twitched in a barely suppressed chuckle.
"As far as I remember, it was already two days after the storm and the water barely reached your trousers," she pointed out politely, her features relaxing fully for the first time since the beginning of their meeting. "Besides, you certainly didn't look too heroic when your old governess scolded your soaked self, pulling your ear." A tiny yet honest smile played on her lips and, though almost two weeks had passed since the beginning of autumn, the man felt a warmth of summer sun flooding him.
Trying to hide his own grin, Raoul pulled a fake sulking expression.
"For an actress, your storytelling suffers from a terrible lack of dramatism, my lady," he complained. "Therefore, if anyone asks, I'm still going to stick to my version of this story. Besides, I feel obliged to remind you that you yourself didn't look much better when you put that wet and bedraggled scarf back on." His meaningful glance earned him another smile.
Christine raised her hands up in a gesture of playful surrender. "Well, I can't deny that," she admitted. "We both almost looked like some sea creatures from the legends."
Raoul beamed in response.
"Even better! I bet we looked even more legendary than the Korrigans we always wanted to see. Especially after that epic battle of throwing seaweed at each other." Despite the fact that he had made sure they had that section of cafe only for themselves, he added the last comment in a conspiratorial tone, and to his utter joy Christine huffed a muffled laugh.
Still grinning, they looked at each other and the last remains of tension finally left the atmosphere. For a short while they just sat in the comfortable silence, and then Christine spoke again.
"You know, sometimes I really miss that summer and the others we spent together in Perros-Guirec. Everything was somehow easier when we were just kids..." There was a hint of sadness in her voice that made Raoul's chest ache. He considered for a moment before replying.
"I have always been a man focused on the present and future rather than the past, but I think I understand what you mean, Christine." His gaze moved to meet hers, a pinch of seriousness replacing his amusement. "I certainly think fondly of those days too, but at the same time I enjoy the present. Especially since as adults we are given some choices we didn't have as the kids," he finished softly.
For a moment Christine stared at him as if something he had said surprised her, and then she looked away again. Her fingers idly twisted a dark curl.
"Raoul?"
"Yes?"
She shifted slightly. "Please, don't get me wrong, but... well, I was wondering what reasons brought you back to Paris." She lowered her head, but Raoul did not miss the way her cheeks coloured.
"I mean," she said, "your father surely wants you to take over his business, so in fact you didn't have to look for an apprenticeship after you graduated from your studies. Apart from the land, your family owns the steelworks in England, along with a few mines, and also has some shares in a trading company, so surely there would have been plenty to do for you at home. And you certainly didn't have to return to France, so..." She took a deep breath and then finally glanced back up at him. "Why did you actually come back?"
Her beautiful brown eyes met his, and he no longer doubted what was hiding behind that question. A strange lightness filled his chest, and he couldn't stop his mouth from curling into a smile.
How could he have not realised it from the very beginning? If he hadn't known better, he could almost think he was losing his charm!
The man with an effort suppressed his grin.
"Well," he started slowly, "that's an easy question. I simply wanted to see my home country once more, and what's more..." Raoul paused and then leaned forwards to look straight at his childhood friend and sweetheart, smiling broadly, "I have promised a certain someone we would see each other again, haven't I?"
Despite the early hour, the sun shone quite brightly for the first days of October, seeping through the large, glazed loggia doors of the Grand Foyer and flooding it with pleasant light, contrasting with the dimmed gas jets of the Palais Garnier's other parts. Standing right by the glass surface, Meg glanced over the sun-bathed Place de l'Opera.
It was still fairly early, and the city was still far from later clutter, but it was already coming to life with the first passers-by. The sweepers had finished their job about half an hour ago, and the milkman, calling loudly at the end of the street, was about to fulfil his duty in this sector too. The flower girl and the scrawny newsboy, who they sometimes supported with some treats from the kitchen, gathered together next to the two women selling the fruits from the wicker baskets, chatting. The small shops' owners were slowly starting their daily routine, and the scattered lower and higher class members hurriedly passed by – either walking on foot or riding in the carriages. A coal wagon rolled by and vanished from the view. A moment later the two figures left the café on the opposite side of the street, and Meg's eyes instinctively picked out the fair shawl her mother had made from Christine and the hat with burgundy ribbon and two light brown feathers her friend had bought during their last escapade to the reasonably-priced milliner.
The ballerina shifted slightly, leaning closer to the glazed door.
Spying on her best friend was not exactly her intent, but she could not stop herself from following the duo with her gaze. The young viscount gesticulated vigorously, walking at a friendly but respectful distance from the soprano, and, though Meg could not fully see Christine's expression, somehow she had no doubt she was smiling. The pair directed their steps towards – as she assumed – the Tuileries Gardens, presumably planning to take advantage of the good weather. And a moment later they vanished from her view.
A tiny smile crept on Meg's face, and a fraction of the tension embedded in her chest loosened a little. She had not planned to watch her friend during her meeting. Not being able to fully overcome the restlessness that had been filling her recently, she had simply decided to take a short stroll through the yet empty opera house. And somehow, after seeing Christine off in the morning, her legs had brought her right here. It was good, though, to see that Christine was enjoying herself, forgetting about the problems at least for a short while.
Meg sighed, and then closed her eyes for a short moment, trying to simply enjoy the feeling of the warm rays on her skin. If only they could chase away the shadows that seemed to fall on her family…
Another sigh escaped her lips, and her thoughts went back to that fateful night, six days ago.
Just as her mother had said, Christine had returned back to their room safely just after midnight, but the state of her well-being had been the more questionable matter – one glance at her pale and tear-marked face was enough to realise that.
Between the muffled sobs, her friend had told her the whole story in brief: the mysterious teacher who turned out to be someone entirely different than she had expected – the wrathful Phantom of the Opera bursting into fearsome fury when she had accidentally knocked off his mask. Yet at the same she firmly refused to give any more details and decidedly rejected all her suggestions about reporting the whole incident to the police or at least to the managers.
Meg exhaled loudly.
She wished to help somehow, but what actually could she do? Especially when the only other person who seemed to have any knowledge in this matter kept her mouth shut and stubbornly pretended that no strange incident had taken place.
She winced slightly, remembering how her mother had ignored all her questions.
There was something really weird going on, and she had no idea how to proceed. After all, what did she actually know about the Opera Ghost? Until now, she had believed that he was merely the previous manager playing on old theatre superstitions. Now, the awareness that someone was really lurking in the darkness of the opera sent shivers down her spine.
Despite herself, Meg shuddered slightly.
She knew that a part of Christine still wanted to trust the man who gave her her voice and support after her father's death, but in spite of that she couldn't get rid of that unsettling feeling in her stomach. And Christine clearly felt it too – it was hard not to notice how much quieter she had become in the past couple of days and how she had started to avoid being alone or getting near to the basement levels of the theatre. It almost surprised Meg that nobody else seemed to see that something was off.
Sure, for the first evening and morning there had been plenty of talk about the mysterious disappearance of a young singer, but the managers had easily accepted her mother's – and then also Christine's – explanation about being urgently summoned by her tutor. And so everyone soon lost interest in the subject, assuming that the whole incident was only an attempt to draw more attention to herself. After all, there had been times when Carlotta disappeared, only to return with a list of demands for a manager who was now ready to negotiate.
Not being able to do anything more, Meg had just concentrated on cheering her friend up and, at the same time, keeping an eye on her. Unfortunately the former turned out to be a bit harder than the latter. So when she had heard about their new patron's invitation, she had happily welcomed that idea and encouraged Christine to go even more enthusiastically than she normally would.
Meg smiled slightly to herself again. It was perhaps a bit strange, but she had developed a certain sympathy for the young viscount from the first moment she had seen him. Somewhere deep inside she was sure that, just as she would, he would do everything he could to protect Christine. And, what was more, it looked like the company of the witty and self-confident Raoul de Chagny was just what her best friend needed.
A quiet grunt sounded just behind her, pulling her for her reverie and making her turn around.
"Meg Giry, could you kindly explain to me what you are doing here?" Her mother's narrowed eyes bored into her with their usual strictness. "The morning classes for the youngest of dancers are about to start. And being late certainly isn't a good way to show these girls proper discipline."
"I'm sorry, Maman. After all these recent events I really needed a walk, and I must have lost track of time." Straightening the folds of her training dress, Meg stepped away from the balcony door. The ballet mistress's expression softened a little.
"I can understand that, Meg, but, as I've already said, there aren't any reasons for you to trouble your mind with worries." Madame Giry glanced at her in a more tender way, and then sighed deeply.
"I would appreciate it if you restricted your wanders, though. We might be allowed to live here, but it doesn't mean we should roam around all the empty sections whenever we please. I know it's a slightly different case, but do I have to remind you about the Incident?" One of the dance instructor's narrow eyebrows rose a fraction, and against her will Meg felt her cheeks turning red.
"It was six years ago, Maman! And I was just too shocked to move out of sight in time!" Her quiet protest seemed to have no effect on the unyielding ballet teacher, and Meg gave in and followed her from the room. "Besides, if La Carlotta and Monsieur Piangi hadn't wanted to be seen, they should have chosen a better place for kissing and calling each other sweet names than the main hall..." she added in a hushed mutter, and Madame Giry's lips twitched slightly.
"Perhaps. Nevertheless, I would prefer it if you didn't try to inherit your father's inclinations to get involved in strange situations."
Meg smiled softly. "He really had a talent for that, hadn't he?" Warmth tinged her tone, and in response her mother's expression softened.
"He certainly had. Though, looking back, I probably should be grateful that the stagehands accidentally locked us up in the prop room that day, when he had first been summoned for some repairs at the Salle le Peletier. We might have never gotten to know each other otherwise..." A shadow of a both amused and longing smile flashed across her face before Antoinette Giry called her countenance back to order.
"Anyway, we should go, Meg. I have never been late for my classes and I do not intend to start such an awful habit." With that statement the older Giry gently put a palm on Meg's arm and steered her into the direction of the classrooms, officially beginning another usual day at the Opera Garnier.
And as the two of them plunged into the still dim corridors, passing by the first yawning members of the cleaning and maintenance staff, Meg thought that maybe, after all, everything would simply turn out fine on its own.
Only why did a part of her still feel as if it was all a silence before another storm?
Swallowing hard, Christine rose from her place on the bench at the back of the chapel. Her lips mouthed a hushed "I will be right back", answering Meg's questioning glance, and then she left the room, plunging among the shadows. The rhythmic sound of soft, fading voices followed after her. She felt a bit bad using the excuse of taking part in the evening prayer as a cover for her real intentions, but she could not bring herself to come down here on her own.
It was a long day – starting with the early meeting with Raoul before their working hours and ending with another exhausting rehearsal with Carlotta – but deep inside she was almost grateful for that; if she hadn't been so tired she might have started to ponder everything anew, and she couldn't let herself do that. She had made her decision, and the fact that she now also had Raoul beside her added strength to her resolve and peace to her mind. Yet despite that she still couldn't fully calm the nervousness filling her.
With slightly shaking fingers, Christine produced a letter from the pocket of her skirt and then found the right section on the wall, pressing it to move it aside and reveal a small hidden space.
Her heart moved up to her throat as her gaze rested on the bone-white envelope waiting for her there, and she had to remind herself that nothing could change her decision. She had already found a short note with a general apology tucked under the lamp on her dressing table in the changing room she still kept as Carlotta's understudy. But though she partially appreciated that gesture, it could not rewrite the situation nor erase what had happened.
The image of the Phantom's fearsome face creased in fury once again flashed under her eyelids, and Christine shuddered.
Some tiny voice at the back of her head had been telling her that so far her tutor had only offered her help and support, but she could no longer find the ability to fully trust it. Her throat constricted at the thought of how the Opera Ghost might react to her decision, but she had no other choice, had she?
Not opening nor even glancing again at the letter she had received, Christine hid the item in her pocket, replacing it with her own message. Then, she closed the hiding place and hurriedly returned to the safe circle of other people and the dim light of the gas jets.
Escaping from the darkness was the only thing she wished for right now.
Author's notes:
1) Korrigans – fairies or dwarf-like spirits in Breton folklore. They were mentioned in Leroux's book: during the summer they spent together as kids, Christine and Raoul used to go around and ask everybody about old legends – the stories about Korrigans were one of them.
2) Perros-Guirec – a seaside resort in north-western France. According to Leroux's book it was where Christine and Raoul met (when he "rescued" her red scarf) and spent summer together.
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