Chapter 10 – At the End of the Day

After removing his mask, Erik continues with his clothing, leaving a trail of shoes, stockings, his tie, jacket and waistcoat on the floor from the door to the four-poster. Allowing his undone trousers to puddle around his ankles, he kicks them aside before flopping down on the bed, arms thrown out to his sides. "Thank whatever powers that be for this day being over. Adele in the ground. Nadir settled. I cannot imagine what he is going through…or has been." Lifting himself onto his elbows, he asks, "Do you suppose Adele was always somewhat mad?"

"She was always just Mad-ame to me, to be perfectly honest," Christine replies, sitting down on her vanity bench to perform similar disrobing acts with her own black leather pumps, ankle length gray skirt and felt beret adorned only with a half veil making a small monochromatic pile on the floor next to her. "In Paris she was rather like a strict mother. Clothing and food needs taken care of, but a certain lack of affection. When I arrived here – despite being cordial and coming to terms with our reality, I always sensed some lingering resentment. Frankly, I am quite tired of thinking about her at the moment.

"Damnation!" The light wool jacket she chose to wear because it was the only article of clothing suitable for a funeral turned out to be too tight. "This used to fit – I wore it only months ago to Meg's funeral," she groans, standing up to continue her struggle to remove her arms from the sleeves. A final tug, relieves her of the garment off, tearing the seams in both shoulders in the process. A lackluster toss misses the hamper, leaving the offending garment to join Erik's haberdashery on the Aubusson carpet. "I should have riffled through Adele's closet – heaven knows it would have been easy enough to find a black coat there."

"Fashion seems to be trending toward a more casual look – I doubt you would have found anything suitable in her wardrobe – a small change here and there over the years, perhaps, but she always looked the same to me. I thought your outfit quite fetching regardless of the fashion." Erik says, rolling onto his side, head propped up on his hand. "You said yourself getting dressed every day was far more pleasurable without all the undergarments shifting your body in ways nature never intended. I am surprised you chose a garment that made you uncomfortable."

"It was black."

"I have always been rather fond of black…with embellishments."

Christine rolls her eyes. "Imagine if I showed up in one of your old capes."

"I just have the one now, but it might have fit better than the jacket you are so unhappy with."

"Ha. Ha. I must have gained weight," she grumbles. "We both know what that often means." Bending over she places her face in her hands and begins to sob.

Erik jumps up from the bed and crosses the room in short order, kneeling at her feet. "You are with child?"

Lifting her head to look at him, her tears already streaking her make-up, she says, "I do not know. Everything is awry with me. All my life I have been the same size and shape except when pregnant, but maybe it is just the sweets I have been craving."

"So the children are not the only ones eating your aunt's wonderful cakes?" he teases, taking a tissue from the box on her vanity to wipe her face.

"They are quite tasty…they remind me of my youth…my mother," she sniffs, taking the tissue to blow her nose. "And now Cook has the recipes and has taken to making them for the children's lunch treats."

"Just so you do not take to eating sugar cubes like our new housemate," Erik says.

"Do you think I am getting too large in the bottom?"

"I am rather fond of your bottom, whatever the size."

"So you do think I am not as trim as I once was – that I need to wear flowing capes to cover myself."

"That is not what I said," Erik says, not entirely certain what he said was wrong, but knowing Christine is unlikely to be pleased with anything he might answer. Whatever possessed him to bring up his cloaks of times past? "I think you are angry and I would rather you not turn whatever is bothering you onto me."

Squinting at him, she purses her lips. "Do you think I would do that?"

"There you see," he chuckles, rising to his feet, walking to the armoire to gather his burgundy brocade housecoat and slippers. "I feel like I am being tested. If I say no, you will wonder why I even suggested it. If I say yes, you will tell me you have never done so in the past and, again, wonder why I even suggested it."

"Hmm. That does make an odd sort of sense," she says, offering him a rueful smile. "Is red a color of mourning?"

"No – in fact, the Chinese regard red as a color one uses to contradict grieving. Black is traditional, but you could have worn white…or purple."

"That would seem odd to me – mourning is about black and gray - colorless," she says, nudging the pile of clothing at her feet. "Now that we are talking about it, Adele always seemed to be mourning something."

"Perhaps she was, although she did seem to adopt a touch of red now and again once she became involved with Nadir." After tying his sash and slipping on his house shoes, he pulls her lavender chenille robe from the armoire and holds it up for her. "Is this one all right?"

"Perfect, the other dressing gowns are prettier, but that one is comfy and I feel the need for comfy."

"So, do you have any idea what might be upsetting you? A garment not fitting properly would hardly be a bother in other times. Could it be Adele? Grieving her loss perhaps. I find myself angry with her myself. We had years of a controlled and controlling woman, but one we loved in our own way – then months of confusion and then, poof, she is gone. I cannot imagine life without her oddly enough."

"Anger might be too strong a word…disappointed. Everything just seems unresolved with her – unfinished. The same with Meg."

"Could this be part of the changes your body is going through?"

"A little, although I am becoming accustomed to being out of sorts – the heat arriving unannounced, the flutters in my chest, urges to cry over everything and nothing all tend to have a rhythm. Even though distressing, I am beginning to recognize what my auntie tells me is quite natural and will not last forever."

"You have been talking about your mother with her, then?" Erik hands her the robe, then walks to the small round table next to the bay window overlooking the garden. "Should I plug in the hotplate…make some tea?"

Christine nods. "She was such a warm and loving woman. I can understand why my Pappa grieved so."

"But?" he asks, carrying the tea kettle to the bathroom.

"I feel he robbed me of a life where I might have had someone like her raising me instead of…"

"A life on the road?"

"And Adele being the closest thing to a mother figure I had…late as that might have…still."

"I am glad you have good memories of your mother – however brief your time together."

"This must all be terribly boring for you – I seem to be dwelling on what might have been, instead of my life…our life," she calls out so he can hear her. "A life that would not exist had my Pappa not taken me with him."

"You never bore me and I do see the dilemma." Returning to the bedroom, he sets the kettle to heat and spoons tea leaves from a painted tin into a vented ball before placing it in a crockery teapot.

"When Adele took Meg's life, I could not fathom her actions."

Erik begins picking up their discarded clothing from the floor as she finishes her toilette, taking them to the armoire. "No one could. Judging from her mental state, neither did she."

Christine intercepts him, removing the offending jacket to examine the damage. "I suspect Margaret can mend this. It might fit her – she is in need of some adult clothing, or she could make something quite lovely from this, the fabric is rich and practically brand new. I have so many dresses she might have fun working with – for herself and the other girls."

"Actually the clothing on the floor reminds me of some of our earlier days…" the suggestion of a leer curves his oddly shaped lips, his eyebrow crooked.

"We are so grown up now – hanging everything up, nice and tidy before becoming raucous and loving."

"Is that a suggestion?"

"Loving, perhaps. Raucous, I think not," she giggles, covering her mouth. For the first time during the long day, her face brightens with a natural glow, the make-up now removed.

"Too many people in the house. Too much time attending others."

"Where did the time go?"

"Seven children – eight for you." His task completed, he returns to the table, sits down and pours the hot water into the teapot.

"Emilie and I spoke a bit about the lost babies." Christine follows him and sits on his lap, resting against his chest.

"Indeed?"

"I was trying to explain how deeply Adele was grieving Meg's death."

"Even knowing how she died?"

"I said nothing about that – just that losing a child is losing a part of yourself."

"Do you think she understood?"

"In her own way, I suppose," Christine offers a gentle laugh. "She said she did not realize I loved her because you were the one always taking care of her."

"I was obsessed," he agrees. "Do you think I ruined her? Can loving someone so much ruin them?"

"No," Christine responds – her tone adamant. "I tend to believe we are put in situations to figure our life – all with different talents, personalities."

"I suppose that explains how different she is from Gustave…or Joshie for that matter. Angelique has not one ounce of mean-spiritedness about her – even at three."

"Well maybe that jinn will be a good influence on her," Christine chuckles before her tone becomes serious again. "I did not tell her that you were unable to watch Gustave grow from a baby – just that you were so thrilled to have a beautiful baby girl. That I had lost a boy and another girl between Gustave's and her birth."

They sit silent for a moment.

"I do not believe I ever told you – her birth was as if our marriage was finally being blessed…accepted as real and true." Erik kisses her on the forehead, pulling her close to him. "I hated that my desires hurt you so."

"You tend to forget I wanted you as well…perhaps there was some guilt over Raoul, but I never blamed you in any way for the loss of the babies."

"Telling our children about our past is something I do not welcome," he groans.

"Do children ever really know who their parents are…or were?"

"In our case, there is a book – oddly written and fabricated to some extent, yet…"

"If anyone was to find out in that way, it would be Emilie."

Erik sighs deeply. "Do we have to think about this now?"

"No, I suppose not, but she is quite the clever girl and has quite charmed Nadir – who knows what he might say simply being a good uncle?"

"Ah, Nadir, yes," Erik sighs. "Have you noticed how he charms everyone? Adele married him…our anti-social daughter appears to be enthralled as well. I think he is our resident jinn – a good jinn – not a mischief maker."

"And you are his greatest admirer, so, yes, I would say we might want to have a conversation with him."

Throwing his head back, Erik shakes his head. "No more tonight. My brain is ready to burst."

Taking advantage of his new position, Christine adjusts herself on his lap to nibble on his exposed neck. "Shall we have our tea? It has certainly brewed long enough."

"Mmm. That is quite nice." Shifting his body, he turns his head to meet her lips with his own, murmuring, "Tea? What tea? Your kiss is more preferable. I suggest we retire to the bed."

"Sleep or play?" she asks, wiggling her hips against him.

"Oh, well, play…most definitely. I was not aware…unless…you seemed so blue…"

"Play, of course. Your anatomy seems to be better aware of the intentions of my now larger bottom than your brain."

His face flushes, "I am not sure that my physical desires always served you very well. Perhaps my more recent, um, inabilities are retribution."

"Posh. I suspect your body is just responding to age as mine is." Offering one last kiss before getting to her feet, holding her hand out to him, she says, "As for your desires…I did not understand at first, but, trust me, my darling man, you served me very well then and continue to do so now."

"I worry."

"That is one thing you never have to worry about…or my love," she says, leading him to the bed.

"Good to know. Good to know."