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charleygirlTitle: The Garish Light of Day 48/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 3902
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Christine Daae
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Home Sweet Home.
A PHANTOM’S HOME
As the brougham moved away from the kerb Christine was fairly bouncing in her seat, her dark eyes shining with excitement. Erik couldn’t help but smile at the sight; she could have been a child again, up early on Christmas morning and desperate to see the gifts left for her by Pére Noel. She clung onto his hand, squeezing it between her two damp palms, peering out of the window at the streets and houses they passed as though she had never seen Paris before. Enchanted, he couldn’t help thinking that she had never looked lovelier, her face and curls burnished by the early evening sunlight; he realised that he wanted to see her like this always, thriving in the light, no matter how beautiful she had appeared in the glow of the candles in the darkness of his subterranean kingdom. Though he still found the world above ground objectionable and knew that whatever happened he would always be a natural creature of the night, Christine belonged amid the noise and bustle of everyday life, her open and friendly nature begging for interaction with the people around her. Erik would not stifle her by insisting that she remain down below in the stillness and the silence.
“I can’t believe you actually bought a house and didn’t tell me!” she exclaimed now, returning her attention to him as the driver took a left turn along the Boulevard de Courcelles. “How long have you been withholding information?”
“Only a few weeks. It was my intention to show the place to you once we began to plan the wedding,” Erik said. “Unfortunately events rather overtook me.”
“We’re heading towards the Bois,” Christine remarked, glancing out of the window again as they passed the Parc Monceau. “Is this house outside Paris?”
He nodded. “In Neuilly. I wanted somewhere secluded, and the suburbs seemed the best place. It was quite obvious from our short time at Antoinette’s that people living in apartments have very little patience with those who are of a musical inclination.”
“That is very true.” She giggled, recalling the disgruntled neighbour of the Girys’ and her broom. Then her mood changed abruptly as a thought occurred to her. “Is the house furnished?” she asked anxiously. “Will it need a lot of work? Do you have a bed – please tell me you have a bed, Erik, I cannot bear to think of you sleeping on the floor tonight.”
“Hush, my dear, everything has been taken care of.” He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Anything that has been missed we will organise together; you are to be mistress of this house, after all, and you will have the final say over its decoration.”
Christine was silent for a few minutes, content to lean her head upon his shoulder. “I’ve never had a house of my own,” she said eventually. “When Papa and I were travelling it was always rented accommodation, often not very nice or shared with others because that was all we could afford. In the last few years we stayed in tiny little flats just like the one I have now, but no matter how long we spent there they never felt like home. Nowhere ever did, not until you shared your house by the lake with me. How I loved that house.”
“I think you are going to miss it more than I will,” Erik murmured.
“You know that I will follow you anywhere, but yes, I will miss it,” Christine admitted, lifting her head to watch his reaction. She frowned slightly when she realised that his face was as expressionless as his mask. “I have never been anywhere like it; you created somewhere so intriguing, so beautiful... It was a mystery and I wanted to explore all of its secrets...” She trailed off. “It was never like that for you, was it?”
He sighed. “In truth, no, it was not. Originally it was no more than a bolt-hole, somewhere to lay my head after a long day on the construction site, but as I became more involved with the plans it grew as I added my own alterations to Garnier’s design. He never knew how many additional corridors and secret rooms there actually were within the walls. In later years it became my prison.”
Christine sat up again, interested eyes sparkling. “You still haven’t told me how you came to be involved with the construction of the Opera.”
“I suppose I haven’t.” Erik glanced out of the window; they were passing the church of St Ferdinand on the Avenue de Ternes. “In truth there is little to tell: Garnier and his colleagues were having trouble with the marshy land on which they intended to build. All experienced architects, they nevertheless had no idea what to do with the water they would have to pump away from the site or how to stop it returning. I solved that problem for them in exchange for a substantial fee and upon the condition that my name was not mentioned to anyone, and Lake Averne was born. It did not take long for Garnier to seek my assistance with other aspects of the plans, hence my opportunity to make a few subtle adjustments.”
“But surely, the Opera was under construction when you were in the gypsy fair,” she pointed out, frowning again. “How did you - ”
“True, but it was a long, drawn-out business as such projects always are. I found the building works a useful place to hide at night, and it was while I was skulking around in the hope of obtaining work as a labourer that I heard of the difficulties. And of course the whole thing came to a halt during the Siege and the Commune; then no one was bothered about me and the underground realm I was quietly excavating, though I did have to be careful not to run into the Communards who had decided to use the place as a holding area for some of those who did not share their views.” Erik shuddered. He had heard the cries of those being beaten and tortured in the cellars and was not now proud of the fact that he had shut his ears to the suffering of his fellow men, but back then none of those fellow men would have given a damn about a freak condemned to live in a hole in the ground so why should he have spared them a thought? “By the time the Populaire came to open in ’74 I had a whole labyrinth at my disposal and no one else knew about it. Even the existence of the lake, which in fact balances out the weights for the scenery and stage mechanisms, was only a rumour, and it remains so to this day.”
“Much to your advantage.”
“Of course. I deliberately... dissuaded the curious from venturing too far into the cellars. Contrary to the tales spread by our friend the late Monsieur Buquet, the snares were only meant to deter, never to kill. Had he not been continually snooping around he would never have encountered them at all. After a while, when my movements about the building prompted some of the ballet rats at the time to begin bleating about a ghost, I started to cultivate the ‘Phantom’,” Erik said. “At first it was more for my own amusement than anything else, but around the time Antoinette and I met it was becoming clear that the management had no idea what they were doing and so, with her assistance, my role became a little more active than I initially intended.”
“Just as well that it did,” Christine mused, looking up at him and smiling. “Had you not felt the need to give the managers the benefit of your ‘guidance’, we might never have met.”
“That is a situation it pains me to contemplate.”
She snuggled against his shoulder. “Let’s not, then. Let’s think about the future instead.”
________________________________________
The brougham came to a halt at the end of an elegant avenue. Though the houses were of modest size they were, to Erik’s critical eye, well-designed and well-built with the aspiring bourgeoisie in mind; the rooms were of pleasing dimensions, the ceilings high but not too high, and the windows generously proportioned to let in plenty of light. At the front were four steps up to the main door, a railed ‘area’ with staircase leading down to the kitchen and scullery allowing access for servants and tradesmen, while at the rear the lawn of a private garden swept down towards the Seine. As soon as Erik had seen the place, he knew that it was exactly what he had been looking for; though he had initially wanted to wait and show it to Christine, other interest made it imperative that he move quickly so as not to lose it and a (not inconsiderable) deposit had secured the house for them. It would have been almost impossible to find anywhere beyond a royal palace that was so completely different to his home below the Opera.
Christine’s eyes were wide as he handed her out of the carriage and she ran her gaze over the building before her. Watching her reaction and waiting for her to speak, Erik almost found himself holding his breath, wondering what she was thinking. Was it too big, too expensive, too far out of Paris? Never having had one before, would she want to take on the added work of a garden, and would she miss the lights and liveliness of the city? Perhaps it was too close to the river, and she was worrying about the possibility of flooding if the level of the water rose... a thousand objections that had not sprung to mind until now began to make themselves known. About to promise that he would find somewhere else, somewhere more suited to their requirements, he opened his mouth only to be beaten to it by Christine, who turned to him with a beaming smile.
“Oh, Erik, it’s perfect,” she said breathlessly, moving towards the front steps and tugging on his hand. Stopping when he did not accompany her, she turned to face him, brow furrowed in a confused frown. “What’s the matter? Can I not see inside?”
It took a moment for him to register exactly what she had said. “You like it?” he asked, feeling stupid. “You really like it? You’re not just humouring me?”
Christine shook her head. “Oh, you silly, silly man. Of course I’m not humouring you.” She stood on tiptoe so that she could kiss him; the cab driver cleared his throat and looked away, which made her blush and giggle. “It’s beautiful,” she told Erik seriously, pulling back so that she could look him in the eye. “Honestly. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Relief flooded through him, releasing the tension he had barely registered; Erik thought he might melt into a puddle on the pavement. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
Again she tugged on his hand, and this time he walked with her to the door. “Come on. Show me the rest of our home.”
________________________________________
“This is a glorious room,” Christine remarked, trailing her hand along the glossy, polished cherry-wood of the grand piano that dominated the space Erik mentally designated the ‘music room’ on his initial visit. The late afternoon sun streamed through the voile curtains that covered the large window, the view rolling down to the river beyond. So naturally that she apparently belonged there, Christine took up her usual position in the bend of the piano, resting her head on one hand and regarding her fiancé as he sat down on the stool, fingers wandering idly up and down the keys. “Think of the music we can create here!”
The piano had been ordered before beds or chairs, and it was a precision instrument as one would expect from Boisselot, Fils and Co. Erik had toyed with the idea of importing a Steinway from Germany, but eventually discarded the notion as extravagant. He teased out the opening bars of Mein Herr Marquis from Die Fledermaus and Christine lifted her voice for a few heavenly lines, the acoustics as perfect as he had imagined.
“It will be a beautiful replacement for your library under the theatre,” she said. “I cannot wait to begin our lessons.”
Erik closed the piano lid and got to his feet. “I regret that you will have to wait until we are married, my dear.”
Christine’s face fell. “But why? Circumstances have not changed - ”
“Unfortunately, with a new location they have. I am sorry, Christine,” he said quickly, hurrying to take her hands in his. “Even though we are we engaged, once I move in I still cannot risk your reputation by allowing you to come unaccompanied to my home. If we had a chaperone...”
“Madame Giry could come with me!” she cried, but Erik shook his head.
“Antoinette cannot be here for every lesson, and I do most certainly not intend to invite her to live with me. No,” he added, when she began to protest, “I am adamant upon this point, much as I wish it could be otherwise.”
“But my tuition! How will we - ”
“We will use one of the practise rooms at the Opera. There are plenty to choose from, after all, and at last we are able to be open about my role as your tutor.” Erik smiled. “I know it is not as... romantic, but it will only be until the wedding. After that we may do as we please.”
Christine sighed. “How I hate social convention sometimes.”
“As do I. But since you dragged me out of the cellars we have little choice but to abide by its dictates.” She gave a very unladylike snort and Erik laughed. “Come along, my little rebel,” he said, drawing her towards the door. “Do you want to see upstairs?”
________________________________________
Christine continued to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over the rest of the house, dragging Erik from room to room, throwing open the windows, exclaiming in delight at the few items of furniture he had picked and bouncing lightly on the bed to test the mattress. Seeing her there in the master bedroom, as she discussed decoration and colour schemes, quite suddenly made him realise that this would be their room, their bed, in which they would sleep together once married. It was all he could do not to shake his head in disbelief and pinch himself, convinced he must be dreaming; the idea that someone else might actually want to share his bed, his life, was one which for so long had been so completely ludicrous that he found it difficult to countenance even now. Christine moved about, talking of rugs and curtains and “Oh, don’t you think that pretty little what-not I saw the last time Meg and I went shopping would look perfect in that corner?”, and Erik could do no more than watch her with what he was convinced must be a moonstruck expression on his face.
He barely even noticed that she had left the room until he heard her calling his name. Hurrying out onto the landing he discovered her in the small room at the back of the house, the one which at present remained unfurnished, waiting for its function to be decided. Christine was fairly glowing, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside.
“Whatever is the matter?” he asked anxiously, concerned that the heat of the July day might be having a delayed effect upon her. “Do you need a drink? A glass of water perhaps, or - ”
She shook her head. “I’m fine, really.”
“Then what - ?”
“Take a look at this room and tell me what you see,” she said, adding when he raised a sceptical eyebrow, “Humour me. Please.”
“Very well, if you insist.” Erik sighed and made a show of looking carefully around him. “I can see a small, empty room which has plenty of air and light and a pleasing view.”
“Is that all?” Christine asked.
He shrugged. “What more is there to say? I suppose it might make a nice little sewing room or studio if you were that way inclined, but as you are not - ”
“Don’t you think it would make a delightful nursery?” She rubbed his arm and he felt himself tense up all over. “We could paint it a soothing colour, and have the cradle by the window where the sun can warm it, and a rocking chair... Erik, are you all right?”
“I... did you just say ‘nursery’?” His throat was tightening, too, and he felt the beginnings of panic; it was all he could do not to rip his arm from her grasp and run down the stairs as fast as he could. “As in a nursery... for children?”
Christine laughed lightly. “Well, I didn’t mean we should use it for plants. Erik, what is the matter?” She peered up at him, and he realised he was shaking. His head was spinning; he felt his vision start to go grey around the edges. “Are you ill? Do you want me to call the doctor? Maybe you did too much today, you should rest - ”
Erik did his best to clear away the lump in his throat, but when he spoke his voice still emerged slightly strangled. “Christine, are you saying that you wish to have children... with me?”
“Of course! Who else would I want to have them with?” Her little hand pressed against the unmasked side of his forehead, her features creased in worry. “I think you need to sit down.”
He didn’t resist when she led him back downstairs and pushed him into the big wing-back armchair, so like the one in his house by the lake, which stood on one side of the empty fireplace, allowing her to fuss as the thought that had been consuming him since the word ‘nursery’ was mentioned whirled around his head. Children! His beautiful Christine wanted to have children! She actually wanted to bear the fruit of his tainted seed! With a groan he buried his face in his hands, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
“Oh, my poor darling,” Christine murmured, stroking his shoulder. “I should never have let you return to work; it was obviously too much for you too soon.”
“It’s not that.” Erik’s voice was muffled by his hands so he removed them and continued, “Christine, did you really mean it?”
“Mean what? Erik, you’re worrying me. I’m going to send the driver for Doctor Lambert.” She stood up but he caught hold of her wrist. “Erik?”
“You said that you wanted to have...” He swallowed. “You said that you wanted to have children. With me.”
“Well, yes. That’s perfectly natural, isn’t it, to want to start a family with my husband?” Christine asked, frowning at him.
“Natural? Yes, I suppose so. But what would you do if they looked...” Erik’s fingers stole towards his mask, loosening the ties until it fell into his lap. He raised his head to look at her. “Would you still want them if they looked like this?”
He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when he turned his bare face to hers, whether he thought that she might suddenly deny the wish she had voiced only moments before, or that, despite the many times she had assured him that his appearance didn’t matter, somewhere deep inside he was still waiting for the moment when she screamed and ran from him as she had done so many months ago, finally seeing him for what he was. But to his surprise Christine did none of those things. Her expression hardened, her mouth set in a determined line and she leaned in to kiss him on his malformed cheek.
“I will love them no matter what they look like,” she said quietly, resting her smooth forehead against the twisted skin of his. “I will love them because they will be a product of our love for one another. We will cherish and protect them and they will grow up knowing that there is no reason to be scared or alone just because they might be different. We will care for them as my father cared for me and as your parents should have done for you. We will do all this because they will be ours, yours and mine, and because they will always have a maman and a papa who will show them that no matter what other people might see on the outside, they are the most beautiful creatures in the world.”
“I never even thought... never even dreamed...” Erik whispered. “Even in my wildest moments I never imagined that anyone would want... that anyone would want to... with me...”
Christine smiled, and kissed the end of his nose. “Well, I’m here now and you don’t have to dream any more.”
“There are many times when I think I still am,” he confessed.
“So do I. But we’re not.” She ran a gentle finger down the marred side of his face and, leaning over so far that she was almost sitting on his lap, kissed him properly with slow and tender sweetness. Erik tried to contain the moan that broke from him and his thoughts flew to the big, empty bed upstairs. It would be so easy to gather her up in his arms and carry her there, laying her down amidst the pristine sheets... Christine apparently divined the direction his mind had taken as she pulled away, shaking her head. “Not yet,” she said, her voice huskier than normal, a pink tinge to her cheeks. “You are still not recovered, and there will be plenty of time for that once we are married.”
“We could get married tomorrow,” Erik said, startling himself as much as her with his impulsiveness. “I could get a special license; all we need is two witnesses and a registrar - ”
Laughing, Christine silenced him with a finger to his lips. “And what would our friends think if we did?”
He shrugged, and said around her finger, “We would need Antoinette and Meg as witnesses. And you already have a dress - ”
“Darling, I would indeed marry you tomorrow, or even tonight, if it were practical, but I have rehearsal and you have a new opera to direct. Besides, I have promised Meg that she can be my bridesmaid, and what do you think Teddy will say if we don’t invite her?” Christine asked.
“Nothing if you don’t tell her.”
“Erik!” She swatted him on the arm and stood up. “I think it’s time we stopped keeping that poor driver waiting and started unpacking your things. Theodora will be bringing Bruno soon; he will love having the run of that garden.”
Erik got to his feet, picking up the shawl she had discarded on the sofa when they arrived and draping it around her shoulders. “If he ends up in the river I can assure you that I will not be the one fishing him out.”
“And what if one of our children fell in? Would you fish them out?” Christine enquired.
He pretended to ponder the question. With mock horror she pushed him out of the front door.
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 3902
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Christine Daae
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Home Sweet Home.
As the brougham moved away from the kerb Christine was fairly bouncing in her seat, her dark eyes shining with excitement. Erik couldn’t help but smile at the sight; she could have been a child again, up early on Christmas morning and desperate to see the gifts left for her by Pére Noel. She clung onto his hand, squeezing it between her two damp palms, peering out of the window at the streets and houses they passed as though she had never seen Paris before. Enchanted, he couldn’t help thinking that she had never looked lovelier, her face and curls burnished by the early evening sunlight; he realised that he wanted to see her like this always, thriving in the light, no matter how beautiful she had appeared in the glow of the candles in the darkness of his subterranean kingdom. Though he still found the world above ground objectionable and knew that whatever happened he would always be a natural creature of the night, Christine belonged amid the noise and bustle of everyday life, her open and friendly nature begging for interaction with the people around her. Erik would not stifle her by insisting that she remain down below in the stillness and the silence.
“I can’t believe you actually bought a house and didn’t tell me!” she exclaimed now, returning her attention to him as the driver took a left turn along the Boulevard de Courcelles. “How long have you been withholding information?”
“Only a few weeks. It was my intention to show the place to you once we began to plan the wedding,” Erik said. “Unfortunately events rather overtook me.”
“We’re heading towards the Bois,” Christine remarked, glancing out of the window again as they passed the Parc Monceau. “Is this house outside Paris?”
He nodded. “In Neuilly. I wanted somewhere secluded, and the suburbs seemed the best place. It was quite obvious from our short time at Antoinette’s that people living in apartments have very little patience with those who are of a musical inclination.”
“That is very true.” She giggled, recalling the disgruntled neighbour of the Girys’ and her broom. Then her mood changed abruptly as a thought occurred to her. “Is the house furnished?” she asked anxiously. “Will it need a lot of work? Do you have a bed – please tell me you have a bed, Erik, I cannot bear to think of you sleeping on the floor tonight.”
“Hush, my dear, everything has been taken care of.” He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Anything that has been missed we will organise together; you are to be mistress of this house, after all, and you will have the final say over its decoration.”
Christine was silent for a few minutes, content to lean her head upon his shoulder. “I’ve never had a house of my own,” she said eventually. “When Papa and I were travelling it was always rented accommodation, often not very nice or shared with others because that was all we could afford. In the last few years we stayed in tiny little flats just like the one I have now, but no matter how long we spent there they never felt like home. Nowhere ever did, not until you shared your house by the lake with me. How I loved that house.”
“I think you are going to miss it more than I will,” Erik murmured.
“You know that I will follow you anywhere, but yes, I will miss it,” Christine admitted, lifting her head to watch his reaction. She frowned slightly when she realised that his face was as expressionless as his mask. “I have never been anywhere like it; you created somewhere so intriguing, so beautiful... It was a mystery and I wanted to explore all of its secrets...” She trailed off. “It was never like that for you, was it?”
He sighed. “In truth, no, it was not. Originally it was no more than a bolt-hole, somewhere to lay my head after a long day on the construction site, but as I became more involved with the plans it grew as I added my own alterations to Garnier’s design. He never knew how many additional corridors and secret rooms there actually were within the walls. In later years it became my prison.”
Christine sat up again, interested eyes sparkling. “You still haven’t told me how you came to be involved with the construction of the Opera.”
“I suppose I haven’t.” Erik glanced out of the window; they were passing the church of St Ferdinand on the Avenue de Ternes. “In truth there is little to tell: Garnier and his colleagues were having trouble with the marshy land on which they intended to build. All experienced architects, they nevertheless had no idea what to do with the water they would have to pump away from the site or how to stop it returning. I solved that problem for them in exchange for a substantial fee and upon the condition that my name was not mentioned to anyone, and Lake Averne was born. It did not take long for Garnier to seek my assistance with other aspects of the plans, hence my opportunity to make a few subtle adjustments.”
“But surely, the Opera was under construction when you were in the gypsy fair,” she pointed out, frowning again. “How did you - ”
“True, but it was a long, drawn-out business as such projects always are. I found the building works a useful place to hide at night, and it was while I was skulking around in the hope of obtaining work as a labourer that I heard of the difficulties. And of course the whole thing came to a halt during the Siege and the Commune; then no one was bothered about me and the underground realm I was quietly excavating, though I did have to be careful not to run into the Communards who had decided to use the place as a holding area for some of those who did not share their views.” Erik shuddered. He had heard the cries of those being beaten and tortured in the cellars and was not now proud of the fact that he had shut his ears to the suffering of his fellow men, but back then none of those fellow men would have given a damn about a freak condemned to live in a hole in the ground so why should he have spared them a thought? “By the time the Populaire came to open in ’74 I had a whole labyrinth at my disposal and no one else knew about it. Even the existence of the lake, which in fact balances out the weights for the scenery and stage mechanisms, was only a rumour, and it remains so to this day.”
“Much to your advantage.”
“Of course. I deliberately... dissuaded the curious from venturing too far into the cellars. Contrary to the tales spread by our friend the late Monsieur Buquet, the snares were only meant to deter, never to kill. Had he not been continually snooping around he would never have encountered them at all. After a while, when my movements about the building prompted some of the ballet rats at the time to begin bleating about a ghost, I started to cultivate the ‘Phantom’,” Erik said. “At first it was more for my own amusement than anything else, but around the time Antoinette and I met it was becoming clear that the management had no idea what they were doing and so, with her assistance, my role became a little more active than I initially intended.”
“Just as well that it did,” Christine mused, looking up at him and smiling. “Had you not felt the need to give the managers the benefit of your ‘guidance’, we might never have met.”
“That is a situation it pains me to contemplate.”
She snuggled against his shoulder. “Let’s not, then. Let’s think about the future instead.”
________________________________________
The brougham came to a halt at the end of an elegant avenue. Though the houses were of modest size they were, to Erik’s critical eye, well-designed and well-built with the aspiring bourgeoisie in mind; the rooms were of pleasing dimensions, the ceilings high but not too high, and the windows generously proportioned to let in plenty of light. At the front were four steps up to the main door, a railed ‘area’ with staircase leading down to the kitchen and scullery allowing access for servants and tradesmen, while at the rear the lawn of a private garden swept down towards the Seine. As soon as Erik had seen the place, he knew that it was exactly what he had been looking for; though he had initially wanted to wait and show it to Christine, other interest made it imperative that he move quickly so as not to lose it and a (not inconsiderable) deposit had secured the house for them. It would have been almost impossible to find anywhere beyond a royal palace that was so completely different to his home below the Opera.
Christine’s eyes were wide as he handed her out of the carriage and she ran her gaze over the building before her. Watching her reaction and waiting for her to speak, Erik almost found himself holding his breath, wondering what she was thinking. Was it too big, too expensive, too far out of Paris? Never having had one before, would she want to take on the added work of a garden, and would she miss the lights and liveliness of the city? Perhaps it was too close to the river, and she was worrying about the possibility of flooding if the level of the water rose... a thousand objections that had not sprung to mind until now began to make themselves known. About to promise that he would find somewhere else, somewhere more suited to their requirements, he opened his mouth only to be beaten to it by Christine, who turned to him with a beaming smile.
“Oh, Erik, it’s perfect,” she said breathlessly, moving towards the front steps and tugging on his hand. Stopping when he did not accompany her, she turned to face him, brow furrowed in a confused frown. “What’s the matter? Can I not see inside?”
It took a moment for him to register exactly what she had said. “You like it?” he asked, feeling stupid. “You really like it? You’re not just humouring me?”
Christine shook her head. “Oh, you silly, silly man. Of course I’m not humouring you.” She stood on tiptoe so that she could kiss him; the cab driver cleared his throat and looked away, which made her blush and giggle. “It’s beautiful,” she told Erik seriously, pulling back so that she could look him in the eye. “Honestly. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Relief flooded through him, releasing the tension he had barely registered; Erik thought he might melt into a puddle on the pavement. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
Again she tugged on his hand, and this time he walked with her to the door. “Come on. Show me the rest of our home.”
________________________________________
“This is a glorious room,” Christine remarked, trailing her hand along the glossy, polished cherry-wood of the grand piano that dominated the space Erik mentally designated the ‘music room’ on his initial visit. The late afternoon sun streamed through the voile curtains that covered the large window, the view rolling down to the river beyond. So naturally that she apparently belonged there, Christine took up her usual position in the bend of the piano, resting her head on one hand and regarding her fiancé as he sat down on the stool, fingers wandering idly up and down the keys. “Think of the music we can create here!”
The piano had been ordered before beds or chairs, and it was a precision instrument as one would expect from Boisselot, Fils and Co. Erik had toyed with the idea of importing a Steinway from Germany, but eventually discarded the notion as extravagant. He teased out the opening bars of Mein Herr Marquis from Die Fledermaus and Christine lifted her voice for a few heavenly lines, the acoustics as perfect as he had imagined.
“It will be a beautiful replacement for your library under the theatre,” she said. “I cannot wait to begin our lessons.”
Erik closed the piano lid and got to his feet. “I regret that you will have to wait until we are married, my dear.”
Christine’s face fell. “But why? Circumstances have not changed - ”
“Unfortunately, with a new location they have. I am sorry, Christine,” he said quickly, hurrying to take her hands in his. “Even though we are we engaged, once I move in I still cannot risk your reputation by allowing you to come unaccompanied to my home. If we had a chaperone...”
“Madame Giry could come with me!” she cried, but Erik shook his head.
“Antoinette cannot be here for every lesson, and I do most certainly not intend to invite her to live with me. No,” he added, when she began to protest, “I am adamant upon this point, much as I wish it could be otherwise.”
“But my tuition! How will we - ”
“We will use one of the practise rooms at the Opera. There are plenty to choose from, after all, and at last we are able to be open about my role as your tutor.” Erik smiled. “I know it is not as... romantic, but it will only be until the wedding. After that we may do as we please.”
Christine sighed. “How I hate social convention sometimes.”
“As do I. But since you dragged me out of the cellars we have little choice but to abide by its dictates.” She gave a very unladylike snort and Erik laughed. “Come along, my little rebel,” he said, drawing her towards the door. “Do you want to see upstairs?”
________________________________________
Christine continued to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over the rest of the house, dragging Erik from room to room, throwing open the windows, exclaiming in delight at the few items of furniture he had picked and bouncing lightly on the bed to test the mattress. Seeing her there in the master bedroom, as she discussed decoration and colour schemes, quite suddenly made him realise that this would be their room, their bed, in which they would sleep together once married. It was all he could do not to shake his head in disbelief and pinch himself, convinced he must be dreaming; the idea that someone else might actually want to share his bed, his life, was one which for so long had been so completely ludicrous that he found it difficult to countenance even now. Christine moved about, talking of rugs and curtains and “Oh, don’t you think that pretty little what-not I saw the last time Meg and I went shopping would look perfect in that corner?”, and Erik could do no more than watch her with what he was convinced must be a moonstruck expression on his face.
He barely even noticed that she had left the room until he heard her calling his name. Hurrying out onto the landing he discovered her in the small room at the back of the house, the one which at present remained unfurnished, waiting for its function to be decided. Christine was fairly glowing, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside.
“Whatever is the matter?” he asked anxiously, concerned that the heat of the July day might be having a delayed effect upon her. “Do you need a drink? A glass of water perhaps, or - ”
She shook her head. “I’m fine, really.”
“Then what - ?”
“Take a look at this room and tell me what you see,” she said, adding when he raised a sceptical eyebrow, “Humour me. Please.”
“Very well, if you insist.” Erik sighed and made a show of looking carefully around him. “I can see a small, empty room which has plenty of air and light and a pleasing view.”
“Is that all?” Christine asked.
He shrugged. “What more is there to say? I suppose it might make a nice little sewing room or studio if you were that way inclined, but as you are not - ”
“Don’t you think it would make a delightful nursery?” She rubbed his arm and he felt himself tense up all over. “We could paint it a soothing colour, and have the cradle by the window where the sun can warm it, and a rocking chair... Erik, are you all right?”
“I... did you just say ‘nursery’?” His throat was tightening, too, and he felt the beginnings of panic; it was all he could do not to rip his arm from her grasp and run down the stairs as fast as he could. “As in a nursery... for children?”
Christine laughed lightly. “Well, I didn’t mean we should use it for plants. Erik, what is the matter?” She peered up at him, and he realised he was shaking. His head was spinning; he felt his vision start to go grey around the edges. “Are you ill? Do you want me to call the doctor? Maybe you did too much today, you should rest - ”
Erik did his best to clear away the lump in his throat, but when he spoke his voice still emerged slightly strangled. “Christine, are you saying that you wish to have children... with me?”
“Of course! Who else would I want to have them with?” Her little hand pressed against the unmasked side of his forehead, her features creased in worry. “I think you need to sit down.”
He didn’t resist when she led him back downstairs and pushed him into the big wing-back armchair, so like the one in his house by the lake, which stood on one side of the empty fireplace, allowing her to fuss as the thought that had been consuming him since the word ‘nursery’ was mentioned whirled around his head. Children! His beautiful Christine wanted to have children! She actually wanted to bear the fruit of his tainted seed! With a groan he buried his face in his hands, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
“Oh, my poor darling,” Christine murmured, stroking his shoulder. “I should never have let you return to work; it was obviously too much for you too soon.”
“It’s not that.” Erik’s voice was muffled by his hands so he removed them and continued, “Christine, did you really mean it?”
“Mean what? Erik, you’re worrying me. I’m going to send the driver for Doctor Lambert.” She stood up but he caught hold of her wrist. “Erik?”
“You said that you wanted to have...” He swallowed. “You said that you wanted to have children. With me.”
“Well, yes. That’s perfectly natural, isn’t it, to want to start a family with my husband?” Christine asked, frowning at him.
“Natural? Yes, I suppose so. But what would you do if they looked...” Erik’s fingers stole towards his mask, loosening the ties until it fell into his lap. He raised his head to look at her. “Would you still want them if they looked like this?”
He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when he turned his bare face to hers, whether he thought that she might suddenly deny the wish she had voiced only moments before, or that, despite the many times she had assured him that his appearance didn’t matter, somewhere deep inside he was still waiting for the moment when she screamed and ran from him as she had done so many months ago, finally seeing him for what he was. But to his surprise Christine did none of those things. Her expression hardened, her mouth set in a determined line and she leaned in to kiss him on his malformed cheek.
“I will love them no matter what they look like,” she said quietly, resting her smooth forehead against the twisted skin of his. “I will love them because they will be a product of our love for one another. We will cherish and protect them and they will grow up knowing that there is no reason to be scared or alone just because they might be different. We will care for them as my father cared for me and as your parents should have done for you. We will do all this because they will be ours, yours and mine, and because they will always have a maman and a papa who will show them that no matter what other people might see on the outside, they are the most beautiful creatures in the world.”
“I never even thought... never even dreamed...” Erik whispered. “Even in my wildest moments I never imagined that anyone would want... that anyone would want to... with me...”
Christine smiled, and kissed the end of his nose. “Well, I’m here now and you don’t have to dream any more.”
“There are many times when I think I still am,” he confessed.
“So do I. But we’re not.” She ran a gentle finger down the marred side of his face and, leaning over so far that she was almost sitting on his lap, kissed him properly with slow and tender sweetness. Erik tried to contain the moan that broke from him and his thoughts flew to the big, empty bed upstairs. It would be so easy to gather her up in his arms and carry her there, laying her down amidst the pristine sheets... Christine apparently divined the direction his mind had taken as she pulled away, shaking her head. “Not yet,” she said, her voice huskier than normal, a pink tinge to her cheeks. “You are still not recovered, and there will be plenty of time for that once we are married.”
“We could get married tomorrow,” Erik said, startling himself as much as her with his impulsiveness. “I could get a special license; all we need is two witnesses and a registrar - ”
Laughing, Christine silenced him with a finger to his lips. “And what would our friends think if we did?”
He shrugged, and said around her finger, “We would need Antoinette and Meg as witnesses. And you already have a dress - ”
“Darling, I would indeed marry you tomorrow, or even tonight, if it were practical, but I have rehearsal and you have a new opera to direct. Besides, I have promised Meg that she can be my bridesmaid, and what do you think Teddy will say if we don’t invite her?” Christine asked.
“Nothing if you don’t tell her.”
“Erik!” She swatted him on the arm and stood up. “I think it’s time we stopped keeping that poor driver waiting and started unpacking your things. Theodora will be bringing Bruno soon; he will love having the run of that garden.”
Erik got to his feet, picking up the shawl she had discarded on the sofa when they arrived and draping it around her shoulders. “If he ends up in the river I can assure you that I will not be the one fishing him out.”
“And what if one of our children fell in? Would you fish them out?” Christine enquired.
He pretended to ponder the question. With mock horror she pushed him out of the front door.
