.

Revenir

2020 Riene

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He had seen them arrive, of course he had, a private carriage, the man handing her down, tall and straight in a long black coat and hat, sporting brown whiskers now, the children—he assumed they were their children—emerging breathlessly, staring up at the imposing edifice before them, two boys in suits, a tall and willowy girl with hair like sunshine, a very proper young man who grabbed the younger boys' arms and restrained their impulsive dash, and then her. His breath caught painfully and he raised a hand then dropped it, clutching at the sudden ache in his chest.

Steady now, no time for a heart malaise. Through the dull roaring in his ears he watched them ascend the steps and disappear from view.

It was she...her...Christine. The dark blue gown that set off her coloring, the dainty shoe peeping from beneath the hem, a hat cocked to the side and up-swept curls, furs around her shoulders and a reticule dangling from one gloved hand. Christine. He rubbed his bony chest, fingers pressing against the ache. Here, after all these years.

One night's performance, as part of her European tour. He would use his new name, buy his old box for just one night, to hear the girl with the golden voice. His voice, the voice he had trained.

And what a performance. No longer a girl, but a woman, cheeks and bosom full and rounded, her voice filling the auditorium, filling his soul, the pure-rose color high on her face, flushed with success and blue eyes sparkling. He thought perhaps that she had glanced into the shadows and opulent velvet, at gilded carving and tasseled swags, but she would see only darkness where once terror reigned. In the wings the man did look his way, frowning, but saw nothing, for there was nothing to see.

He let the curtain fall back with a twist of wrist and sank on his seat, smiling and toying with the idea of a visit to congratulate her. They would not meet, no, he had promised. But perhaps a rose, for old time's sake, tied with a black ribbon, to join the thunderous adulation?

In the end he chose to slip away, cherishing the memories, thankful for a prayer answered, to have seen her again before death took its claim.

And making his way slowly down into the darkness, his fingers closed on the gate...and felt the velvet caress of crimson petals.

Thanks for reading, and please comment. :)

~R