Chapter One
Christine let the fire lure her. Its warmth was liquid. It spread through every part of her, as she stood naked on the rug.
She smelt of lavender. Christine always liked fragranced water. She felt someone touch her.
Her husband, Erik, was pure stealth. He knew how to sneak up behind you.
Sometimes even she didn't know he was around. Once, he'd born the nickname Phantom of the Opera. He still knew how to play phantom!
Christine felt him rub her back. Erik dried her as she stood there, feeling radiant.
"You need a rest from all that," he said in his warm, purring voice.
"A rest from what?"
"Well in the bath," he said, smirking, "you really were quite active. I couldn't keep up with you."
Christine giggled. "There were a few things I wanted to savour."
He walked her to the chair. The sunlight snuck underneath the blind, illuminating them gently. "Are you quite dry?" he asked.
"Uncomfortably so."
"Not good enough. I must wet you again."
Erik laid her on their pale pink armchair. "Do you feel happy?"
"Well, yes. But I could feel happier."
"Do you mind if I make you squirm? Just a little bit?"
He then opened his mouth. And opened her legs, too. And then, his tongue delved into her most feminine part.
The world around her just disappeared. Christine lived for his caress. She was hardly even conscious of her squealing. Or of her frenzied pushing against him.
The waves of pleasure crested higher and higher. She thought she would die. Or at least, faint. And she certainly got wet. As his tongue worked at her, she gushed crazily.
Afterwards she was insensate. Everything got slower. She just wanted to dream, and linger in her pleasure for as long as possible.
She was vaguely aware of him. Stroking her skin, softly. As if he still couldn't believe she was his.
He wrapped her in their plush blanket. Then he carried her to the bed, as if she was very delicate.
"So you have to go now?" she asked, regretfully.
"Yes, I do. Shouldn't be gone too long. But I really must go to the other side of the city. These errands can't be put off any longer."
Christine sighed.
"I don't like the weather."
"It's nothing. I've travelled in worse than this." He smiled. "I'll be back for afternoon tea. Now you be a good girl. You will make me some chocolate biscuits, won't you?"
"Yes, I will."
Christine kissed him. She then watched as he went and stood by the fire.
He was pulling on his underpants. She rather wished he wasn't dressing his supple, limber form. She would like to look at it for a bit longer!
She watched as he covered everything, gradually, with his elegant garb.
Then came the very last piece of his outfit. He picked it up from the bedside table.
It was a face. Because his own face wasn't considered fit for society.
It just took two seconds. He clicked it into place. It adhered, without him needing visible straps to tie round the back. It was a masterful face.
He had sculpted it himself. And it represented everything he wanted to be. Beautiful, handsome, upstanding… a fine member of society.
Christine thought it was a damn shame he had to wear that mask. But she thought he'd done a good job of it.
It was hard to tell it wasn't his real face. And indeed, any stranger would think it was.
"So, I'll see you about two." His lips brushed her in parting. Only now, they were lips made of galvanized copper.
"Take care, Erik."
"Of course I will. You know Caesar is a good driver. He won't let me come to any harm."
He swaggered out. Ever since he had fashioned this mask, he was rather pleased with himself. He had other masks, but it was the best one yet.
Christine heard the door click. Now, she was alone.
There was plenty to catch up on. Now that Christine didn't have to work, she helped the poor. She crocheted clothes for them. And warm blankets, and cuddly toys for their children. It was something she enjoyed much more than dancing.
She remembered her days as a ballet rat with fondness. But also with resignation.
The Paris Opera House had been a cutthroat place. It was competitive. It was tough. A lot of the poor girls who'd worked there had fallen by the wayside.
Christine, of course, had enjoyed a career advance. For a brief moment she'd shone brightly as a diva. But her then-fiancé, Raoul, had changed all that.
She'd first met Raoul in childhood. When she was a rising star, he'd suddenly come back into her life. Blonde, bronzed and noble-blooded, he was hard to resist.
In time, they'd become engaged. Then she'd had to give up her career. She'd moved into a grand home, in preparation for her marriage to Raoul, the Comte de Chagny. And then, Christine's life had changed forever.
She flinched as she remembered the horrid events. She had spoken to Alain Dury, Raoul's dear friend, at a party. Dury had sweet-talked her. He had casually walked her into an empty room.
There, he had bound and gagged her. And then… he had taken advantage of her.
Raoul had been enraged. He never listened to her protestations. According to him, it could not possibly be his friend. He insisted her singing teacher, Erik, was the culprit.
He had pushed her to have an abortion. That had cut right through her soul. She had realized, by then, their relationship could not be salvaged.
But she did still have a champion. He was, in a way, an unlikely saviour. But also the most obvious person.
Erik. Her true love. Murderer. In the opinion of many, a raving lunatic.
She had met him years ago. A genius, marred by a tragic deformity. He had had a very difficult journey through life. But he was the most talented man one could ever meet.
Erik had never had the chance to be normal. When he had met her, he had begun to entertain the thought that maybe he could be. He had cherished the hope she would marry him.
Of course, he'd had a strong competitor. When Raoul had proposed to spirit her away, Erik had beaten him to it. But at the time, Christine had thought she loved Raoul more.
And so Erik had given in. He'd wanted her to be happy. But now, Christine wondered how she could ever have preferred Raoul.
The way she'd loved him had been pure and straightforward. Her love for Erik, though, had so many aspects. It pointed at what she could become. It was bigger than she was.
As the terrible events unfolded, she so yearned for him. Finally he'd come to her once again.
She remembered that night like yesterday. The scent of flowers. The bustle of the treacherous crowd inside. And, with an easy, confident step, Dury joining her.
It was on a little porch. Christine had gone there to be alone. To clear her head, and think what on earth she might do about her miserable life, while the party raged at that posh chateau.
Erik had stood in the shadows. When Dury had attempted to defile her a second time, Erik had fixed things. He'd killed Dury with one flick of his lasso.
That had lightened Christine's heart immensely. She had been so thankful that he'd taken that risk for her. Shortly thereafter, footmen had swarmed onto the porch. Erik had been caught red-handed.
And she was accused of being an accessory to his crime. It seemed they were done for.
They were flung, together, into a dim holding cell at the police station. And Christine had realized she loved Erik, and had all along. Why had she left her deformed music teacher for that prim aristocrat? Now she was stricken and helpless, Raoul showed who he really was.
Her and Erik had escaped. They'd fled on a stolen horse, and taken off across the waters. They'd made many pleasant memories on a ship bound for Canada.
When their ship was struck by lighting, Christine thought Erik was gone. He had pushed her onto a lifeboat. But being a man in third class, he had missed out.
She had seen him take a massive leap into the sea. Christine had thought he'd drown. But when she'd reached the shore, he had turned up.
He'd been in a devastating condition. In a little guest house in St Malo, she'd nursed him back to health. That was also where they first made love.
Within two days they'd been back on the water. They made new friends on the island of Jersey. And it was there, in a beautiful church in St Aubin, that they got married.
Shortly thereafter they'd journeyed to England. That had gone without a hitch. So here they were, finally, in this cosy pocket of London.
They were happier than they had ever been. Partly from this beautiful home in leafy Sydenham. And from their considerable wealth. But more than anything, from having the most wonderful friends.
Christine took up position in the lounge. The winter sun illuminated the chaise, and the piece of creamy wool she was working on. She was likely to have this quilt finished in a week.
The day lengthened. Christine felt a little frazzled.
It was cold and miserable. Erik couldn't be having the most pleasant outing. He'd said he'd be home by two. But the clock struck six, and there was no sign of him.
Snow had been forecast for the evening. Presently it came, drifting menacingly. Christine started to fret. Where on earth was he?
Christine went and sat in the kitchen. Not all affluent people did this. She was not supposed to lounge about there, hobnobbing with the servants. She made her own rules, though.
"I know," said Janice, her housekeeper. "They're ridiculously late, and should be home!"
Janice had cause to be worried. Her husband, Caesar, was with Erik. He was the dependable driver and servant. Surely, they couldn't have come to grief?
Next to her sat her daughter Fae. Fae had Caesar's dramatic dark hair and rosy cheeks. Janice was pleasantly plain, with wispy brown hair tucked into her cap, and a weathered, kindly face. Both were twisting their fingers.
Christine groaned. "You know what my husband's like," she said bitterly. "Always thinks he's godlike when it comes to enduring the weather. And almost any other hardship."
Janice hazarded a smile. "Well, maybe he is."
"He always pushes himself too far," said Christine, frustrated.
It was true. Erik had endured years locked in a cage as a freakshow exhibit. He'd been a starving, cold vagabond. He had taken on immense challenges.
But what was he to do if his carriage crashed? Or was set upon by footpads? Or if he broke his leg while walking in the snow?
No matter what he thought, he was human!
Erik had always thought he was different. It had seemed his fate to be a weird, warped freak. And so, he'd thought he may as well own it.
But Christine had other ideas. Yes, Erik looked strange. He had his own personal demons. But since they were married she'd realized something. It caused her great relief. Erik was really no different to anyone else.
She tapped her fingers. Where was that man?
Their dinner was getting cold. Her spine prickled with unease.
All sorts of dreadful possibilities went through her mind.
Was it just a bogged carriage? Or had her husband finally met his fate?
Christine rose. It wasn't much good to sit about like this. She went to the vestibule, and peeked out the front door.
All that met her was a freezing draft of air. It was hard to see anything. The blanket of snow was very dominant, and the sky was dark.
She walked through the parlour. Here the fire had been stoked in hope for his return. Sadly, she found her way back to the kitchen.
"No sign?" whispered Janice.
"Still no sign."
"Have some coffee. Please don't worry, they'll make it through. They're clever."
Christine sighed. For a while, she played cards with her servants. However, everyone was restless.
"I can't stand this," she said, after a while. "I'll have to look."
She wandered back up to her bedroom. It gave the best vantage point of the street. She stood in her usual haven.
This room, decorated in cream and pastel green, was where they'd done such delightful things. Would they ever do so again?
She prayed for him. To once again savour his scent. To hold him in her arms.
It would shatter her if he became a memory. She remembered that terrible time at Raoul's home. When she was longing to, once again, be in touch with her true self.
She only could be, of course, if Erik was there. Then, and only then, could she could feel an awareness of who she really was.
At that time she had thought she would never get him back. Well, she prayed she would not lose him again. If it was forever she could not endure it at all. She'd have no choice. She'd have to go with him.
She and Erik were not meant to be separated. And Christine had vowed they wouldn't be. They would travel together through life. Through death. That was the way it must be.
The snow was even thicker than before. She looked mournfully at Janice and Fae, who had come to the door. "Oh, Christ."
It was eight. The streetlamps were winking gently. Now that it was dark, she was beginning to fear.
"They're clever. You're right," she said positively.
"My papa will get the master home safely," said Fae, loyally. "Oh, Mistress, you needn't worry."
"I know," said Christine softly. But she didn't feel it.
She traced shapes on the window pane. Christine told her servants to get some rest. Then, she just stared outside.
After they left, Christine comforted herself. She was so alone. The world was silent and beautiful.
She started having shattering thoughts. Was he now in a terrible accident because he needed to pay for his sins?
Christine honestly thought God had forgiven him.
Erik had well paid for his sins, anyway. Even before he had committed them, he had once said wryly.
Christine's heart twisted. Maybe he was gone. In some morgue. Erik and Ceasar, gone into the hereafter.
The candles flickered gently. Christine wanted to talk to Janice and Fae. But no. She would keep her tears to herself for now.
Suddenly, there was a noise.
Christine looked desolately into the driving snow. Was it just the wind, again? Or just a neighbour? Too many times, when hearing the night noises, her heart had leapt. Too many times she'd been foiled.
Then, there it was. Really. Their carriage. Underneath the window, making slow progress.
Christine's heart lurched. Her hand went to her mouth. Urgently she rushed down the stairs.
Her servants were still up. Young Fae was lying in front of the fire, a pillow under her head. Janice was sitting at the table, clutching a cup of laced coffee.
"They're here," Christine whispered.
The three of them poured out onto the front step. The carriage was moving into the driveway.
Christine held her breath. The cold was frightening, and she was only in her robe and nightdress. But that didn't stop her.
She strode through the garden. The snow was slushy, and the horses were exhausted. Before the gate it finally stopped.
Fae broke loose. Christine watched as a figure jumped down. "Dad!" Fae yelled, as Caesar's features caught the moonlight.
Caesar restrained the horses. He greeted Fae as he opened the gate. Christine pressed closer. All she wanted was to get to that carriage. Was Erik in there or not?
Finally, she saw the door open.
And that was her husband. Swathed in his majestic top hat and snowy coat. And a scarf she had knitted him, too.
She watched anxiously. Were any parts of him broken? Was he injured?
As he let himself down, it was not with his usual flourish. His foot tentatively felt for the ground. He seemed bone-weary.
Finally he stood upright. The snow engulfed his boots by a few inches. Christine hurried down the sodden path to reach him.
Her feet sloshed in that damn, new-fallen snow. It was hard. But finally she reached the dark figure, whose arms were already reaching out to grasp her.
"Erik!" she moaned.
Her cheek smacked against his high chest. She pressed into his slender, angular physique. He was still slim and elegant… but not wasted like he used to be. Her cooking had put paid to that.
"Christine…" his caressing voice whispered. He was as cold as an icicle. Instinctively, she flung her arms round him.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "You're freezing to death. Inside, Erik, inside…"
"I'm sorry, darling," he whispered. "That dratted storm made travel impossible for hours. So we're a little late… and rather cold."
"I'll warm you. I know how to."
"Yes, you do." He sighed happily, and squeezed her tight. "I can't wait."
Mmm so how does she get him nice and warm? Read on for the next instalment!