When he woke the next morning, she had already gone to the market to buy and cook eggs and ham along with croissants from the bakery.
She sat in his room and ate breakfast with him as she caught him up on everything she'd done.
"I looked through your files in your office," she said. "You had four projects you were working on? Andre already knows, of course, and I contacted the other three names in the files. Two had phone numbers, and I sent a telegram to the third. I hope you don't mind."
She didn't tell him that she'd contacted the Vienna opera house, too, thanking them for the opportunity but telling them a family emergency had occurred and she would not be performing with them after all. She'd brought her luggage and trunks into the entryway of Erik's house and had left them there. She had spent the night on the couch, sleeping fitfully, too concerned over whether Erik might need something in the middle of the night. She was up before the sunrise, nervously tidying around the house.
It hurt to think of never getting to go to Vienna, but the only thing that would hurt more was to think of Erik all by himself with no one to help him. She wouldn't have even had the opportunity had it not been for him. It was heartbreaking, but it was her choice, and she had made it, and she didn't regret it.
Erik was conflicted on how to feel about her contacting his contractors and telling them he would not be available while he recovered. He desperately needed his rest, and to be able to heal, there was no question about that. He was in no condition to work in any capacity. And yet—
I don't mind, but I am concerned about finances.
He had no money left in the bank, at least not any that would last past the end of the month—less, even now that he needed medicine.
"Oh, don't even worry," Christine assured him. "I have everything under control. I did quite well for myself in Brussels. Let me take care of the money, Erik. It's really the least I can do."
How can you afford that?
She smiled and shrugged.
"We were studying, yes, but we put on shows now and then and we were compensated for it."
He narrowed his eyes, not seeing how the money from a few shows could fund a two reason household for an indeterminate amount of time.
"And some of us would sing at cafes on the weekends," she added.
Had it been any other person but her maestro, she would have taken offense to the expression on his face.
"I mean, you know, I was just singing," she hastened to clarify. "Justsinging, Erik. I didn't, ah, make as much money assome of the girlsin the cafe, but I certainly made enough that neither of us have to worry for a while."
He recovered from his shock and tried to write something on the pad, but he couldn't find the right words, the pencil hesitating over the paper.
That's finally wrote.
She frowned at the two little words.
"Yes," she said. "I know it's okay. Thank you for your approval, though, I wasn't exactly looking for it."
He had the good manners to blush. Even if she had been doing something else to earn her money in Brussels, that was her own business. He had no claim to her, not after their divorce, and it was her life, and she would—should—live it as she saw fit in her own eyes. It had just been a surprise, considering she hadn't told him about thecafesin her letters, probably because she knew the implications it would hold.
Are you sure you want to spend your money on me?
"I can't think of a more worthy cause," she said seriously. "And like I said, don't you worry about money, not now. Let me worry for the both of us. You've worried enough."
He closed his eyes and leaned back on the pillows, resting his aching body. It seemed such a novel idea, that he need not worry over something. There had never been anyone to take care of anything in the past besides himself.
She took his empty plate to the kitchen and began to wash the dishes, cleaning the kitchen after the mess of making breakfast. She'd take the laundry to get washed afterwards, then she was going to the market to replenish the tea supply and to see about what she could find for dinner. It was a long day ahead of her, but it was for him, and that made it all worthwhile.
It was at the market that she remembered that she wasn't shopping for a household of two—it was a household of three. Erik's cat needed food too. She purchased a fresh fish just for Ayesha and hoped it would endear her to the animal.
Her errands done for the day, she returned to his home and set about her work there. She spied Ayesha staring at her from under the couch and decided that she was probably hungry. She took the fish from the ice box and sliced it up, placing the slices in a small bowl. From the corner of her eye she could see the cat standing in the kitchen doorway, swishing her tail.
Chrisitne walked over to her and placed the bowl on the ground, scooting it with her foot towards the cat. Ayesha squinted her eyes and flattened her ears against her head, raising a paw and swatting at Christine's legs.
"Ow!" Christine said, scandalized. "I'm feeding you!"
Ayesha hissed loud and long and Chirstine flounced around her, giving her a dirty look as she left her to eat the fish alone.
The horrible creature otherwise occupied, Christine took the opportunity to move back into her old room which was currently taken over by said creature. Christine pulled her luggage inside her former abode and gave the slightly off-smelling tray of sand a sidelong glance, realizing with dismay that the task of cleaning this now fell to her. She shook out the sheets on the bed, deciding they looked clean enough if one ignored the cat hair.
After settling her things in her room, she made dinner for her and Erik, made certain he took his medicine on time, and once he was asleep she cleaned the kitchen. It was late when she was finally done, and she looked forward to nothing more than sinking into bed and getting a good night's sleep.
It was, unfortunately, not to be.
She fell asleep quickly and just as quickly she fell into a dream.
She was at an opera house she'd never been at before, and somehow she knew it was Vienna. It was her turn on stage but her costume was all wrong and though she was surrounded by costume dressers and stage hands and they were all fussing over her, no one seemed to be helping with what she actually needed.
"Are you having fun yet, Lotte?" A voice asked her, and she turned around to see Raoul standing there, dressed like a prince.
"No!" She said, her voice too shrill to her own ears. "No, this isn't right! None of it!"
A scream was heard from the audience and it brought tears to her eyes.
"It's not right! It's not supposed to be like this!" She cried.
"Come along, Lotte," Raoul urged, grabbing her hand and pulling her backwards, pulling her towards the blackness of the stage wings, and somehow she knew that if she let herself be covered by that darkness, she would never escape into the light again.
"I don't want to! I want to stay here!" She pleaded with Raoul, trying to pull her hand away from him, but he was too strong.
"Do you think what you want matters?" He laughed, his grip tightening. "You don't belong up there."
"Raoul, stop, you're hurting me!" Christine struggled to pull her hand from his grasp, but his fingers dug in sharp.
"Don't you deserve it?" He laughed, and the darkness was beginning to creep in over her and she began to cry. She could feel herself go cold like she had when she'd fallen in the river, her body shot through with the pain of the impact of the carriage that ran her down, but worst of all was the sharp pain in her hand, pulsing, unrelenting—
She woke with a gasp. She wasn't underwater, she was in her old bed in Erik's house—and Erik's nasty cat was biting her hand.
Christine jerked her hand out of Ayesha's mouth, glaring at her and rubbing at the sharp little tooth marks indented in her red skin. Ayesha stared back at her, licking her lips in a sinister manner. Christine grabbed the edge of the blanket and shook it hard, whipping it, and Ayesha jumped off the bed at the disturbance.
Christine sighed and closed her eyes, rubbing at her temples. The nightmare still lingered too close to the surface, and she couldn't get the hateful look on Raoul's face out of her mind. She took a deep breath, trying calm her nerves—
She opened her eyes, wrinkling her nose at the sudden and pervasive scent of ammonia in the room. She looked to the corner of the room, and sure enough, Ayesha was squatting in the tray of sand, still staring at Christine.
Christine scowled at her in return. Ayesha began to claw violently at the sand, kicking it out of the tray and across the floor. Christine cringed and jumped out of bed, not wanting to smell the room—and its contents—any longer.
She wrapped her dressing gown around herself and headed for the couch, knowing it would be less comfortable but hoping that at least there she wouldn't be bitten.