Ortiz took a sip of coffee, then said, “Your call was quite—unexpected, Mr. Deitrich.”
“I can imagine,” Erik said dryly. “But since Mr. Cagney was quite adamant—”
Detective Ortiz lifted an eyebrow at Randall. “What about it, Randall?” From his tone, he was not amused. Probably he had thought he was finally done with the Daly case.
“Well—look at her! She’s brainwashed or something!”
Ortiz glanced over at me, one eyebrow slightly raised. Probably those steady dark eyes were contrasting my current casual appearance with the stylishly dressed woman who had been in his office only an hour or so ago, but he said only, “She looks fine to me.”
“I am not brainwashed,” I said. “Randall is upset that I’m with Mr. Deitrich—I understand that. But he’s convinced there’s no way I could possibly be here under my own free will.”
Erik interposed, “We tried to point out to Mr. Cagney that Christine returned here of her own volition—but he refused to believe that. He insisted that the police be brought in.”
Ortiz sighed, then took another sip of coffee. His blunt fingers looked especially large against the delicate Spode coffee cup. “Randall, I spoke with Miss Daly at length earlier this afternoon about her disappearance and her association with Mr. Deitrich. The Pasadena police department has concluded that no foul play was involved.”
“Then you’re wrong!”
A brief silence, during which Erik looked on with that same air of indifferent amusement and Ortiz remained sitting quite still; only a slight flaring of the nostrils indicated how irritated he really was.
When he spoke, however, it was with the same no-nonsense tone he had used previously. “You’re entitled to your opinion, Mr. Cagney. But your opinion does not give you the right to trespass on Mr. Deitrich’s property. He would be fully within his rights to press charges.”
Erik lifted a hand. “I’m sure that’s not necessary.”
Randall transferred his outraged glare to me. “Christine—you don’t have to stay here. Whatever he’s made you do—”
“He hasn’t made me do anything! Why can’t you get that through your head?”
“Maybe because I just don’t believe this half-assed story of yours about suddenly deciding to come stay here for a few weeks without telling anyone!”
And of course he was right…but I couldn’t say that. I had to stick with the story I’d given both him and Detective Ortiz. But I also somehow knew he would hate the truth even more than the lies I’d been telling. The last thing Randall would want to hear was that I had truly fallen in love with the man who had kidnapped me. I could still barely understand it myself. All I did know was that my feelings were true, and my own. I had fought this love for Erik Deitrich, and certainly had not been brainwashed into it.
“My goodness, Randall—I hope you’ve handled your other breakups better than this,” came Erik’s voice, almost too gentle to be mocking. Almost.
“Son of a bitch—” Randall began, and started to rise from the love seat, until Ortiz clamped his hand around his wrist and pulled him back down.
“That’s enough,” he said. “Do you want to add assault to trespassing?”
Apparently not, for Randall subsided, glaring at both Erik and me before he finally picked up his neglected coffee and took a sip, trying to appear calm. I was sure he could have cheerfully throttled the both of us at that point.
Ortiz seemed somewhat encouraged by his silence, as he said next, “If there’s nothing else—”
“I think that’s covered it nicely,” Erik replied. “Although Christine and I would both be grateful if you could make sure Mr. Cagney leaves with you.”
“No problem, Mr. Deitrich.” Detective Ortiz set his cup and saucer down on the coffee table and stood. “Randall?”
Looking cornered, Randall finally burst out, “If everything is so normal around here, why do you wear that mask? What sick fantasy are you forcing her to act out?”
I was certain at that point the explosion would finally come. Erik was silent for a moment, staring at Randall with the sort of disinterested disgust a man might display toward a particularly unique specimen of insect that had invaded his home. “Your manners are sadly lacking, Mr. Cagney,” he said at length.
At that Randall stood. Erik was the taller of the two by a few inches, but Randall was broader across the shoulders, more athletic in appearance. “Maybe they are, Mr. Deitrich,” he replied, “but that still doesn’t answer my question.”
Detective Ortiz and I were both silent, as if this final confrontation concerned those two men alone, and we could only provide mute witness to their conflict.
“Then perhaps this will.” And with that he raised his hands to lift the mask from his face.
Randall couldn’t take a step back without tripping over the loveseat, but the color drained from his face even as he whispered, “Jesus Christ...”
Even Ortiz looked shaken. He had probably seen a lot of horrors in his career, but I was sure none of them could compare to the ravaged right side of Erik’s face. And through it all Erik’s eyes glared at the both of them, daring them to say something further, to point, to jeer—to use any and all of the means by which he had always expected to world to deride him.
I watched their reactions and wondered why I had never felt the same way. Pity, perhaps, for all the pain he must have endured, but never revulsion, never disgust. Then I realized it was because I knew him in a way they never could, knew what made him laugh, which pieces of music he liked, even which side of the bed he preferred. And I knew then that I had to show them, prove to them that Erik and I were meant to be together, no matter what the world might think of us.
Rising, I turned toward Erik, then deliberately put one hand on the scarred side of his face. “I’m here,” I said, then brought my mouth up to his. I felt him go still at first in surprise, and then his arms tightened around me as I continued the kiss, our lips pressing against one another’s as the seconds ticked on. Compared to most of our previous embraces, the kiss was a very chaste one, but even so Randall was looking on in shock by the time Erik and I pulled apart, and Ortiz appeared distinctly uncomfortable.
“And that,” I said, “is why I’m here. Because I love him. Because he loves me. You don’t have to understand it—you don’t even have to accept it. But you have to leave us in peace. Can you give us that much at least?”
Even as Randall nodded dumbly, Erik raised the mask and carefully set it back in place. He said quietly, “Then I think we have nothing further to say to one another.”
Detective Ortiz seemed to gain some of his composure once Erik’s face was once again half-covered by the mask. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t disturb you again,” he said, then clapped Randall on the shoulder. “Come along, Mr. Cagney. It’s time we left them alone.”
Randall looked from Erik to me, still with that glazed look in his eyes, as if he could not begin to comprehend what he had just seen. But at least he followed Ortiz without comment, even as Erik and I trailed along behind, to make sure they found their way to the front door. Once we were all in the foyer, Erik opened the door, and they both walked out into the wet afternoon. Randall paused for just a second on the doorstep, ignoring the rain that beat down against his bare head. His eyes met mine, and he stared at me for a moment as if he had never seen me before. Then he turned and walked slowly to the car, even as Erik closed the door behind them.
Somehow I knew I would never see Randall Cagney again.
Christmas was almost upon us, and the house was decorated for the first time since Erik was a child.
“I never felt much of a need for Christmas, until now,” he told me, with unspoken meaning in his eyes.
If I had thought Erik would immediately enter the world, I was mistaken—he enjoyed the preparations for the holiday, but it was Ennis and I who brought long-unused ornaments down from the attic and who spent an obscene amount of money at Stat’s in Old Pasadena for
new ones. And it was Ennis who went with me to choose a tree of handsome enough proportions to decorate the second salon—the grand salon where Randall and I had had our last encounter was too fussy for me, but the second salon, with its dark wood paneling and magnificent fireplace, seemed the perfect home for the Noble fir Ennis and I selected.
It was a difficult decision, but after long deliberation I had decided to transfer to UCLA to finish out my senior year. “At least no one will know me there,” I said to Erik one evening as we lingered by the fire after dinner. “It will probably take me an extra semester, but at least I’ll be done.”
He had agreed, although the commute concerned him. I wasn’t looking forward to it, either, but at least now I didn’t have to worry about rushing back to Pasadena to get in enough hours at work. And Erik, being Erik, had presented me the next morning with the keys to a brand-new Jaguar convertible—to make the commute more bearable, he explained.
“I thought perhaps the Mercedes wasn’t to your taste,” he said, and I just had to laugh, still somewhat bemused by the way he threw money around without even thinking twice about it.
Now the Jag sat in lordly splendor next to Erik’s S-Class, with Jerome’s Range Rover putting in fewer and fewer appearances. Of course Erik still required Jerome’s services from time to time, and as far as I knew his payroll status never changed, but certainly he spent more time these days at his condo overlooking the Paseo Colorado than in his flat over the garage.
Now there remained only one last thing for me to do. I hovered in the foyer, waiting for the buzzer to let me know someone was waiting at the front gate. Eventually it did sound, more than ten minutes after I had expected it to. Well, some things never changed.
I tapped in the pass code to open the gates and then walked out on the front steps, lifting my hand to shield my eyes against the bright afternoon sunlight. Today was one of those rare December days of amazing beauty—we were between storms, and the sky was a deep calm blue broken up by large creamy clouds, the air cool against my face even as the sun caught my hair and warmed me. Then I saw Meg’s bright yellow Mini come up the curving driveway, and I raised my hand in greeting.
The car stopped right in front of the door with a small spray of gravel, and then Meg got out, still outrageously gorgeous in a scarlet sweater with a fur collar and slim jeans. She trotted up the front steps in her high-heeled boots, then gave me a quick hug as if she’d only seen me yesterday.
“Well, you look fabulous!” she exclaimed.
“So do you,” I said truthfully, because I’d never seen Meg look anything except drop-dead gorgeous.
“Oh, well,” she said, waving a hand. “Okay, I am dying to see the inside of this place. Vanderbilts, eat your heart out!”
So I led her inside and let her exclaim over the antiques and the fireplaces and the general size of the place. Truly, she didn’t seem at all upset with me—neither had she when I first contacted her, but Meg had always been good at being publicly polite when she had to. I hadn’t been able to stop worrying about what she would say once we were alone together, but apparently all my fretting had been for nothing.
When we were finally seated in the small salon that overlooked the loggia—where Erik and I had first ventured out into the sunlight together, so many days ago—I finally found the courage to ask, “So what exactly did Randall tell you?”
“Oh, please.” She shook her head and then took a sip of the espresso Ennis had brought for her. “God, I’d kill to live in a house where someone made espresso like that for me every day. Anyway—Randall was just flipping out. Who knew Mr. Mild-Mannered Accompanist had such a crazy streak? I told him he was acting crazy and that he needed to settle down. Then he started talking about how you were living with some freak who had brainwashed you into staying with him, and that’s when I told him to put down the crack pipe. He got all pissed off, and so I hung up on him.”
Good for you, I thought, but said nothing, instead sipping at my own café au lait.
“So then I called Detective Ortiz to get the straight scoop, since Randall had said he’d met with you and Erik as well, and he told me what was really going on.” She cocked her head, her favorite gold chandelier earrings sweeping at the fur collar. “But he did tell me that Erik was, well—”
“Disfigured?” I supplied. “Deformed?” I met her dark eyes squarely. “Well, he is.”
“And you don’t care,” she said, finishing the thought. “Well, good for you. Beauty fades, anyway.”
At that I couldn’t help laughing, and after a moment she joined in.
“Seriously,” she said, “if he’s right for you, no one else should care except you, right?”
And that was all I would get from her. No recriminations over my disappearance, no anger. I was happy, and so she was happy. If Randall wanted to agonize over the situation, that was his problem, but Meg was ready to move on.
“Meg, you may be the sanest person I’ve ever met in my life.” I said.
“Ha—tell my mother that. She’s convinced I’m completely loca. But whatever.” The dark eyes glinted at me behind the black eyeliner and mascara. “So do I get to meet him?”
“Of course. I told him you were coming.” And the announcement had met with surprisingly little resistance; Erik had only said he was glad I felt comfortable having a friend come to the house, and that of course he’d be happy to meet her.
“You should tell him it’s all because of me,” she whispered as we approached the music room. “If I hadn’t convinced you to put on more lipstick at that Halloween party, he might never have looked at you twice.”
“Your mother’s right,” I said fondly, realizing then how much I had missed her. “You really are loca.”
Then we were outside the music room, and once again Erik was playing Claire de Lune. I could tell by Meg’s sudden silence, and the dreamy look in her eyes, how impressed she was by his virtuosity. By tacit consent we both waited outside until he was finished, and then I entered, saying, “Erik, here’s Meg. She really wanted to meet you.”
Meg took the mask in stride, as I knew she would. She simply approached Erik at the piano and extended her hand. “Hi, Erik. It’s really great getting to meet you at last.”
“It was very good of you to come,” he said with that grave charm I loved so much. “I know Christine has missed you very much.”
“Well, next time don’t let her disappear on me like that!” Meg responded, and for a second I was afraid Erik would be offended, since he hadn’t any experience with Meg’s airy irreverence.
But instead he simply smiled and said, “Well, you and I will both have to make sure that never happens again. Would you like to stay for dinner?”
“Absolutely!” she said, and then suddenly all three of us began chatting about music, about my decision to attend UCLA, about the upcoming holidays—anything but how I had come to live here, or what had happened to Randall Cagney.
Once again I blessed Meg for her easy rapport with people, her ability to sail through any social situation with aplomb. And I loved her even more because she obviously liked Erik very much, and approved of the two of us together. I could only hope that the rest of the world would see it that way as well.
Later that evening, after Meg had left, and Erik and I sat in companionable silence by the fire in the second salon, he turned to me and said, “Meg’s a very charming girl. I hope she comes to visit often.”
“Well, you two definitely make up the mutual admiration society, because she likes you very much. She asked if you had a brother.”
At that he laughed. “God—I’d hate to inflict two of me on the world.”
I reached out and touched his hand. “I’m glad there’s only one of you, because I’m selfish and want you all to myself.”
His eyes were almost the color of amber in the firelight. “I must be selfish as well, because I want you all to myself, too.” Then I saw a glint of his eyes as he added, “Except for the times when I must
share you with the opera aficionados of the world, of course.”
I smiled then, thinking of the road ahead. There would be disappointments, no doubt—even the most successful singers met with their share of setbacks and roadblocks. But at least I would be able to go through it with Erik at my side.
“Christine?” Erik’s voice was very quiet.
I pulled my thoughts back from the hazy future to look over at him. Since we were alone together, he had removed the mask, but the right side of his face was in shadow, and for a moment I could see him as he should have been. In his hand he held a small box.
My heart began to pound. I had known this was coming; it had been an unspoken agreement between the two of us almost from the very moment we had been intimate. But now that the time had come, I found myself trembling, waiting to hear his next words.
Once again I was as thrilled by the beauty of his voice as I had been the first time I ever heard him speak. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “You have brought so much to my life—so much light, so much love. You looked past the scars to the man inside. You forgave me when I couldn’t forgive myself. Some part of me still thinks I have no right to ask you this—but I will.” He paused, and I could see him take a ragged breath. “Christine, will you marry me?”
“Of course I will,” I said, blinking back the tears that had started to my eyes as I listened to his words. “I want to share my life with you. I want your face to be the first thing I see in the morning, and the last thing I see when I lie down at night.”
And then I was in his arms as he kissed me, holding me so close it was difficult to draw breath. But I didn’t care—I pressed myself against him, feeling the strength of his body, taking in the warm scent of his skin, the marvelous sensation of his lips on mine. After a few moments we pulled apart, and then he smiled at me.
“You haven’t even seen the ring,” he said, retrieving the ring box from the hearth rug where he had dropped it.
“I got a little distracted,” I replied, with a shaky laugh.
No Return: A Contemporary Phantom Tale Page 33