The Phantom Ascending |✔| [Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction]

Friends to Enemies

Christine

The castle was like a place out of some fairytale, full of interconnected corridors that seemed to lead into dusty, mysterious rooms if you steered off the right path. It reminded me of Erik's old home, even if the semblance was only temporary and would disappear once the castle was fully cleaned up, refurnished and renovated.

I followed the candlelit path back to the receiving room, where the guests were mingling, glasses of liquor in their hands, sweetly dishonest words in their mouths. It was like a miniature replica of Raoul's high society from which I was so happy to escape.

Bouvert and some other starkly dressed men talked business with Nadir, and Mrs. Bouvert stood aside, talking cheerfully with Mr. Garten. That left a handful of other ladies who gathered around the sofa, and a foreigner -- the other Persian. He neither drank nor spoke, instead just watching the scene with an amiable look on his face. I was curious about him, but as I wasn't sure which languages he spoke, I shyly joined the ladies instead, picking up a glass of champagne on my way.

They greeted me warmly, complimenting me to the point where I was embarrassed, and then for some time we talked about the concert. Nadir had apparently informed them that the elusive pianist was none other than the composer Erik Dessler himself, and now they were giddy with interest in this mysterious genius, as one of them put it.

Their coy admiration made me proud of Erik, and I felt proud that I knew him, the real him, while all they could do is play guess games.

"I am sure that Mr. Dessler is not that much of a hermit, my ladies," a voice cut in, "after all, he has made quite a close acquaintance with Miss Daae in Venice, as it would seem. I am only left wondering was it after or before you broke off your engagement to my friend."

It was Mrs. Bouvert, of course. She couldn't curb her resentment after all. She was a tall, thin woman, looking like a glamorous ballerina, but all the poise in her bearing and all the make-up on her face couldn't hide the malice in her expression. My heart began to beat wildly. I needed to contain this scene. Ironically, I tried to remember what Raoul's mother had taught me.

"Mrs. Bouvert," I greeted her calmly, calling her by her last name on purpose. "I am delighted to see you have cared for me enough to follow the gossip concerning me. I assure you that only some of them are true."

"Cared? Oh, you are mistaken, Christine. I read all the gossip!" she laughed, and the other ladies joined in, accepting the joke. I smiled tightly, looking for an excuse to leave. Mr. Garten was nowhere in sight, and I dreaded approaching anyone else. Why couldn't there be more guests?

"A friend of mine runs a concert hall in Paris, and he told me you refused all invitations to sing there, and now, in the aftermath of the Prussian war, when our ravaged capital could use all the entertainment it can get. Not very patriotic, are you?" Mrs. Bouvert spoke, apparently forgetting that the ladies around us were Swiss.

"I'm Swedish," I said simply.

"Indeed!" an older lady in our group cut it. "I had the honor of hearing your father perform once, Miss Daae, and he was as talented as you are," the lady said kindly, and I was thankful for her support and a tactical change of subject.

"Thank you."

Someone else then began to talk, and the conversation shifted. I was relieved to see that they did not appreciate Mrs. Bouvert's jabs, probably because from their point of view, I was the star of the evening, and she just an ill-tempered stranger.