Page 57 of Our Strange Duet

“No.”

“It’s just that…you’ve not come for lessons in so many days, and now that you’re here…I feel as though you’re still missing.”

He made a small sound, a clearing of the throat, a distracted cough. “Forgive me.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. I only…I worried I had.”

“Oh, Christine, no. No. I…Our time together set a fire beneath me. I’ve been working…composing…creating something new…something entirely different. I’m afraid it’s preoccupied me, even when I’m with you.” His voice was warm in the shell of my ear, as if he stood just at my back, ready to enfold me into his arms.

“I thought I might have disappointed you,” I confessed.

“You could never!”

“But…Serafimo…I know it’s nothing either of us wanted.”

“A most grievous sin you had nothing to do with,” he said darkly. “It’s those asinine fools who’ve taken over. They’ve proven themselves even more inept at running my theatre than Lefèvre ever was. But things will change. Soon. You’ll see.”

“They will?” My mind felt slow, as if my thoughts were being pulled out of warm and sticky molasses.

“When my opera is finished,” he’d promised. “When my work is done, everything will change.”

“Erik? Are you…are you the Opera Ghost?”

The silence which followed felt horrifically fraught.

“Why would you ask that? You know who I am.”

“I do…But…you just said ‘my theatre.’ And…couldn’t you be both? Angel and Ghost? It wouldn’t…it wouldn’t have to change anything between us, but…couldn’t you be…” I wanted to say just a man, but the phrase dried in my mouth.

His sigh was as sharp as a scythe. “Continue to practice. Your time is coming, and I’ll need you ready, Christine.”

Then he was gone, leaving me without another word, leaving me in the dressing room, feeling cold and so very much alone.

With a tired sigh, I dumped another round of cups and saucers into the sink, letting them disappear under the soapy water.

Finally, finally, finally, the company had been given a day off while the stagehands switched out the season’s productions onstage. All day long, they’d filled the wings with enormous pieces of scenery and props, adjusted lights, moved costumes in and out of dressing rooms, and prepared for the series of technical rehearsals which were scheduled to begin tomorrow.

I’d hoped I might spend my precious hours of unencumbered freedom with Raoul, but his schedule was cruelly packed with meetings too important to rearrange. He’d promised he would come by my apartment the moment they were done.

Eager for a quiet evening with him, I’d tackled the myriad of chores which always piled high while in rehearsals. I wanted to make my apartment feel cozy and inviting for him, and I spent the day dusting, straightening, and cleaning, dancing from one task to the next and lost in fantasies of how our time might play out.

Once the last of the dishes were washed and put away, I paced, looking over everything with a sharp, appraising eye. I knew I had no hope of impressing him with beautiful furnishings or elegantly styled décor, but I was pleased with the humble transformation.

At seven o’clock, there was a sharp rap on my door. I hurried over to let Raoul in, my best smile already upon my lips.

“Surprise!” shouted an unexpected chorus of voices.

I stepped back, indeed surprised by how many people had gathered on my front steps.

There was Meg, looking radiantly happy, with bright eyes and color high in her cheeks. She was joined by Jean-Luc and Frederick, as well as several other men dressed in silk-lapelled tailcoats and top hats.

In the middle of them all was Raoul. Though he was wearing the same style of dress as the others, his suit was of the finest wool and tailored to his frame by an expert hand.

“Christine!” He stepped forward to press a swift kiss on my cheek. “Are you ready to be whisked away?”

I looked to the rest of the group for clarification.

“We’re adventure-bound!” Frederick exclaimed, and took a quick nip from a previously hidden flask.