Page 29 of Angel's Kiss
“Waiting for you, of course! I’ve been looking for you for days,” he answered, catching his breath as he met her. Even with tears staining her cheeks and her hair in the plainest of styles, she was as beautiful as ever. “I was so put out when I heard you weren’t at rehearsals, but they said I could wait here.”
“For me?” Christine echoed, staring at him like he was speaking another language.
“And I’m glad I did. You seem distressed. What’s happened?” Raoul wished it was appropriate to embrace the way they had as children, clutched together in dark attics and stables telling ghost stories.
“I-I’ve been—” she swallowed, new tears forming in her eyes. “I’ve been dismissed. The managers found out about Papa and—” She heaved a sob, her composure breaking.
“That’s absurd! You’re the greatest singer they’ve ever had! They can’t dismiss you!”
Christine looked at him with the most desperate and lonely of expressions and – propriety be damned – Raoul would not let it stand. He pulled Christine into his arms, hugging her close. She nearly collapsed into him, her own arms wrapped so fiercely around him he almost couldn’t breathe. He didn’t care that people on the other side of theRue Gluckwere staring. He was holding his beloved at last! It was wonderful.
Too soon Christine pulled away, her face flushed as she dabbed at her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m always falling apart when we meet.” Christine looked over her shoulder at the Opera. “Would you walk with me?”
“Of course.” Raoul fell into step with Christine down theRue Aubertoward theRue Scribe. He could not help but grin at her as they walked.
“I must confess I am glad fate keeps putting you in my path, old friend,” she smiled back.
“Old friend?” Raoul echoed with a chuckle. “I hope to be more than that, my darling Christine. Have I not made my intentions clear?”
“You have,” Christine just about sighed. “You wish to be my suitor. Or are, I guess. I wish I knew better what that meant.”
Raoul laughed again. She had always possessed such a strange way of saying things or looking at the world. “What do you mean? Surely you must have many suitors already.” It was half a joke and half an attempt to suss out his competition. “Though I do promise to outmatch all of them.”
“Do you?” Christine asked back. “Tell me then: what would you do to win me? What feats would you attempt to court me and win my heart?”
It was Raoul who found himself blushing now. “Well, I would call on you in your parlor, of course, if it was proper,” he stammered, and Christine looked interested. “We could dine together. And I would take you on outings if you’d allow it.”
“What kind of outings?”
“Perhaps to a museum. Or a walk in the park, or a garden. Maybe even a boat ride in...” Raoul was not prepared for Christine to laugh at that, in a strange, sad way that made him feel excluded from some private joke. “Don’t make fun. I am new at this too.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I found it funny that perhaps I have had a suitor without knowing.”
“Like I said, I’ll do better than him, in every way,” Raoul declared. Christine raised her eyebrows high. “I’ll prove it, right now. Let’s find some hot food and we’ll plan how to get you back on the stage where you belong. I can help. Or Philippe can. If it’s that awful Zambesi woman—”
“I can handle her myself,” Christine sighed. “I have an appointment on theBoulevard Haussmannto hopefully do just that, but until then, I would be happy to share a meal with you. You can finally tell me what these last few years have been like for you. I want to know everything.”
Raoul grinned at her, his heart leaping again. “And I want to tell you. Nothing would make me happier.”
––––––––
There seemed a cloudover the Opera, Shaya noted, despite the bright sun outside. Everyone was in a mood, glowering at their feet or each other and barely noticing him as he wandered the halls. He knew the place well (as well as any of the 1,500 employees at least) but he still had to think about where he was going and how to get there. For Erik, he assumed, it was second nature, as it had been in the palaces the monster had haunted when they first met. Erik had brought darkness on the brightest days to those places too.
Shaya tended to walk slowly as he made his rounds. It was the best way to happen on a conversation or assignation that could provide him with a new clue. His goal today was to verify the health and wellbeing of Christine Daaé, who had been missing since he had last seen her. But he was more than happy to pick up more along the way.
“What a farce,” a male voice with a slight accent declared from around the corner. Shaya paused. Perfect. “That bitch thinks she can just run rehearsal now!”
“Someone has to, with Gabriel and Mercier misplacing their spines,” another man replied in a much lower tone. “Carlotta gets to do anything she wants with Richard and Bosarge under her thumb.”
“Including making us sing the whole opera out of order so she can leave early to do who-knows-what?! I have a bigger role than her and you don’t see me complaining!”
It was Carlos Fontana, the tenor who sang Faust, Shaya realized. That meant his companion had to be Robert Rameau, the bass who took such relish in the part of Méphistophélès.
“That’s because you’re as afraid of her as they are,” Rameau said.
“And you aren’t?” Fontana huffed.
“No, I’m not,” Rameau replied. “I’ll be having words with Armand about this.” Did he mean Moncharmin?
