Let us have no pretense, monsieur. I bore no love for you in those days, and I’m certain the feeling was mutual. So you must forgive me when I speak frankly of my reactions to your behavior. Besides, if I may be so bold, I do not think you are the same man you were when you approached me in the backstage corridor years ago. After everything that happened, how could you be?
* * * * * * * * * *
The thirty-six hours following the gala were some of the most strenuous moments of my life. About the only mercy I was given was a lack of uncomfortable questions. Christine’s disappearance didn’t cause too great a stir, for two reasons: there were sadly very few people who paid attention to her comings and goings, and those who did notice believed nothing more sinister than the usual liaisons that stage girls are notorious for. Meg, on the other hand, was in a horrible state, and could barely eat or sleep for worry. And when I admonished her to care for herself, she rounded on me for my apparent apathy.
"How can you be so calm?" she cried, her eyes filled with disgusted shock. "Christine could be in terrible danger, and you go on without caring—"
"You think I don’t worry?" I whispered sharply. "Do you really believe I don’t pray constantly for her safe return, that I am not kept awake by thoughts of what may have become of her?"
"Mama, I’m sorry," she said, the anger running from her countenance. "I did not realize…it’s just, you seemed so disinterested…"
"I maintain that façade because I must," I explained. "If I were to panic openly, it would only heighten the distress of you and the other girls. But that does not mean I do not fear. Outward actions can deceive, Meg, the same as outward appearances. You must never be too quick to judge. I’m more affected by this than you know." Indeed, whatever my daughter suffered I endured it double, for I feared not only for Christine, but for Erik as well. My mind had conjured numerous outcomes for that encounter, and most of them were not pleasant. And those that were seemed to distress me even more…
Such were the thoughts that occupied me from the evening of the gala to the morning of the second day afterward, when I unlocked the door to my office to find the two subjects of my meditations standing in the center of the room.
They were facing each other, perhaps half a foot apart, in the nucleus of a powerful energy that seemed to consume every inch of space in the small chamber. Their eyes were locked together in a deep, personal communion that made me keenly conscious of my intrusion. Pardon my candor, but if I had arrived to find them naked and entwined, I would not have trespassed on a more intimate moment. So intense was their silent exchange that neither noticed my presence until I cleared my throat distinctly.
Erik looked at me, his eyes sad and strangely weary. In a quiet, controlled voice he said, "Madame, will you see to it that Mlle. Daaé arrives safely at her home?" I nodded, and he turned to take Christine’s hand, his fingers touching her own as carefully as if she were made of spun glass. "Remember what I have said," he whispered to her, before placing her hand in my own solemnly.
Christine was examining me with a puzzled stare, revelation and confusion fighting for dominance. As I led her into the hallway I realized I’d never seen her wear that blue dress before, and wondered how Erik had acquired it for her—God knows, I certainly didn’t provide it! "Meg is at the café across the street. Wait for me there," I directed. A flicker of resentment came across her face, but she consented and left me without further word.
When I returned to the office I found Erik leaning against my desk, his shoulders bowed like the limbs of a tree in a mighty wind. For half a moment he looked very old and fragile, weighed with an unseen burden…and then his back straightened and his familiar aura of strength eclipsed that brief flash of infirmity, and it was impossible to say it had ever existed. "Well?" he said shortly, his eyes almost daring me to pose the questions racing through my mind.
I had more sense than that. "I didn’t say anything," I replied. "And I am not about to waste my breath pressing you information you are determined not to give me." Besides, I had already concluded that any disclosure on what happened between Erik and Christine would come from the latter.
He was silent for a time, pacing the room like a caged tiger. When he spoke, it was not what I expected. "What do you know of the Vicomte de Chagny?"
My heart sank. "Very little. I’ve met him only twice, and briefly."
"And?" There was something feverish in his manner, a mixture of torment and determination that frightened me more than any other passion he had manifested.
Now was not the time for artful or delicate words. "He is decent enough, I suppose, but he is a very rash and obtuse youth, the sort who is under the delusion that he is like the ancient gods, eternally young and immune to death. I found him rather bothersome." Those were my words, monsieur, and I’m determined to be honest.
If my opinion gave any comfort, he didn’t show it. "They knew each other as children," he muttered bitterly and half to himself. "Did you know that?"
I didn’t need to ask who he meant by "they," and the well of fear was boiling and overflowing inside me. "I did not, and I must say I am surprised. Their social backgrounds are so dissimilar I cannot imagine how they would have made an acquaintance." I approached him carefully, as one would a wounded and frightened animal. "Christine once told me she had very few childhood friends, so it only stands to reason that she would rejoice in a reunion with one of them. But I don’t see a reason to attach any great significance to that. People change; nobody is the same person they were at thirteen."
"Fourteen," he replied absently. "They were fourteen…perhaps you are right…" But I could see he was not convinced. Another long silence passed before he spoke again. "I’m afraid I have been…rather distracted of late. Has anything of great significance occurred?"
"Only what might be expected. Reyer was ecstatic with Christine’s performance at the gala, and André had an understudy contract drawn up for her before the curtain fell. I’ve informed Natasha that she’ll be taking Christine’s place in the line permanently. Carlotta’s reaction was very predictable, I’m afraid. I have it on good authority that several innocent porcelain figurines suffered her wrath, and that the tantrum was audible for a block in all directions. Signor Piangi was beside himself with worry—he was afraid she’d do permanent damage to her voice."
"Wouldn’t that be a shame," he commented dryly. "But the Opera continues to run as scheduled?"
"Of course. As you know, we’re preparing to run Il Muto for Friday’s performance."
"Albrizzio," he nodded. "Not the most intelligent opus in the world, to be certain, but appealing nonetheless…Although I must say, I’ve yet to see proper justice done to the Countess. It’s long been my opinion that the role should be played by a younger woman, one with a natural charm and grace…"
There was no mistaking the insinuation. "And is the management aware of your…convictions?" I asked.
"They will be." He trailed one hand across my desk, and a black-edged letter appeared in its wake. "I depend upon you to make certain they understand the advantages of heeding my council."
"I shall do my best," I said, taking the note and tucking it into my bodice. "I think Carlotta will be displeased with your casting, however."
"Perhaps," he admitted. "But I hope to mitigate her disapproval by offering her a significant role." Below the mask, his lips curled up in devilish humor.
"Good heaven, you don’t mean—" He nodded and I repressed a snort of shocked mirth. "She’ll be furious!"
"I don’t see why. It’s something of a compliment, actually—after all, he is the youngest character in the piece."
"You do realize this means the rest of us will have to suffer the horror of seeing that woman in trousers?" I reminded him.
"We all must make sacrifices." But although his tone was light, I detected a shadow of misery behind the words.
"I hope MM. Firmin and André see it that way."
"They will, Madame," he said softly. "One way or another, they will."
And I had known him far too long to question the meaning of that statement.
Go on to Chapter 18
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