The Phantom of Valletta

by Vicki Hopkins

  Richard took a large gulp of alcohol. Erik noticed his hand shake, surprised that he acted so nervous in his presence. He felt a bit pained the man feared him so much, but he probably thought he had killed the derelict stagehand. Arguing Erik’s innocence made no difference. Richard would never believe him anyway.

  “Yes, you are quite right. I was tired of the Ghost and have settled in Venice. I’m the assistant manager of La Fenice.”

  “And your salary, Richard, do you find it adequate?”

  Mercier raised his brow at the odd question. Erik sensed his confusion, so he decided to move things along. He rose to his feet and walked over to his desk, dipped the quill in the inkwell, and wrote a figure on a piece of paper. Folding it in half, he approached Mercier and handed him the note.

  “Open it.” Erik appeared smugly confident, fully anticipating Richard’s favorable response. “This is what I will pay you if you come to work for me.”

  Mercier’s fingers fiddled tensely with the edge of the paper. He flipped it open and read the figure. “You…you cannot be serious,” he questioned, with a gaping mouth.

  Richard’s wide-eyed astonishment amused Erik. “Quite serious. I need you. Frankly, I respect you. I know that sounds odd coming from someone who gave you so much hell. Nevertheless, I believe we could have a rather decent working relationship now that you have met me in person. As you can see, I’m no apparition. I’m not a lunatic, as some suspect. I’m a musician and architect with a passion for excellence in the theater.”

  Erik took a sip and then sat back down in the chair. “I’ve purchased the Valletta opera house. This building you are now visiting belongs to me, but as you can see, it lays mostly in ruin and needs to be rebuilt.” Erik sipped his cognac and then continued speaking with frankness.

  “As you are already aware, I don’t necessarily prefer to have a public life. I prefer one of solitude. However, to run an opera house on such a grand scale as this, I will need a reliable manager. I’m looking for an assistant, one whom I intend to pay handsomely to do my bidding. I believe, Richard, you are that man.” Erik nodded toward the note still in Mercier’s shaking hand. “As you can see, I’ll pay you well for your services, if you agree to come and work for me and raise this house from ashes to glory.”

  Erik took another sip and let his words sink into his guest’s obvious spinning head. Mercier appeared interested, but the poor man looked as if he were too terrified to answer.

  “If I promise not to strangle anyone, will you agree?”

  Mercier lifted his head and laughed nervously. “For some reason, I don’t think you’ll keep your promise.” He paused. “However, at the price you’re offering, I’m more than willing to turn a blind eye.”

  A sly grin curled the corner of Erik’s lips. “You are a wise man indeed, Richard. Welcome to my opera house.”

  The two men spent the next hour behind closed doors coming to an understanding on many levels. Mercier asked questions about Erik’s past life that he wanted answered. Erik responded to those he felt comfortable revealing, while keeping silent on others that he did not wish to discuss.

  They decided that Richard would relocate as soon as possible from Venice to Valletta. His position would be that of general manager and the main publicity figure and contact for the Royal Opera House. Erik Dante would stay in the shadows, anonymously directing all affairs, including the reconstruction, hiring of staff, auditions, and productions. Erik decided to forgo a ballet corps, which seemed more relevant to Parisian patrons than the Maltese.

  Erik felt pleased with Richard Mercier. He hoped the man would eventually become a close friend and remained confident that he could trust him implicitly. He proved to be a fitting choice in both character and stature and would hold his own in the public eye.

  Above all, Erik hoped Richard’s love for Andrea remained. Overall, his plan proved to be a superb mix of manipulation and control. Erik felt smug to have thought of it in his devious way. He knew for the sake of Andrea, he would keep his loyalties intact. In the process, he might be the merry matchmaker once again and bring them back together.

  When they finished their discussions, Erik stood to his feet and offered his hand once again. In a gesture of confidence, he reached out his other hand and placed it on Richard’s shoulder.

  “I trust you, Mercier, to run the show with my guidance, and I know that you are no fool to cross me.” Erik’s eyes spoke of the consequences.

  “Then I shall earn your trust,” Richard replied, convincing his employer.

  Erik smiled and then began his game of chess. “And, by the way, Richard, an old friend accompanied me from Paris to Valletta,” he added nonchalantly. “I believe you two are acquainted.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Andrea.”

  Richard’s eyes sparkled, even though he withheld a smile. It answered Erik’s curiosity.

  “I’m glad to hear of it,” he replied awkwardly. “It will be good to see her again.”

  Their handshake ended, and Richard Mercier left to return to Venice with the understanding that he would be back in two weeks. Erik’s next order of business would be to break the news to Andrea.

  * * *

  “You’ll never guess who I saw this morning,” Erik announced with a sneaky grin on his face.

  Andrea lifted a cup of tea to her lips and peered over the rim of her cup, wondering what plan he brewed this time. “And who would that be?”

  “Richard Mercier.”

  Her face went blank, and Erik had to look closely at Andrea’s chest to make sure she still breathed. Her teacup shook in her hand. Slowly, she lowered it to the saucer. Erik enjoyed her reaction, amused over how many times the china cup clanked until it finally rested in the rimmed circle.

  “Erik, how did you find him?”

  “Oh, come on, Andrea. It’s me; the mastermind. Did you didn’t think I’d let him wander off to retirement without keeping tabs on him?” He felt offended over Andrea’s question. She knew he could do anything. Why did she doubt his abilities?

  “You wound my ego,” he moaned. He fiddled with morning newspaper in his hand and shook it once to flip it open. “Look here,” he said, “an article about the Royal Opera House.” Erik ignored her sniveling in the background and cleared his throat before reading the notice aloud.

  “It has been rumored that the Royal Opera House has been recently purchased by a mysterious investor—”

  “Put the damn newspaper down and talk to me!” she interrupted.

  Erik lifted his eyes in her direction and looked at her red nose. “I think you need a handkerchief.” He pulled one out from his inside vest pocket and passed it across the table. “Wipe your nose, and then we’ll talk.”

  Andrea grabbed it, and flipped it open, looking quite happy to soil his white linen with her tears. She blew her nose loudly. When she had finished, she demanded answers.

  “What are you doing, Erik? Tell me what you’re up to!”

  “No good. I’m up to no good.”

  He continued reading, enjoying the torment he gave his old friend, when she grabbed the newspaper from his hand and flung it across the room, sending the sheets flying. Erik moaned.

  “All right. It’s obvious you want answers,” he relented. Her tears stopped, and her eyes glared at him.

  “I’ve hired Richard to be my front man, Andrea. He’s presently employed an assistant manager at Le Fenice in Venice making a pittance of a salary. I offered him a large sum, which he probably thinks I owe him after all I extorted out of his pocket throughout the years.”

  “What do you mean a front man?”

  “I don’t wish to be known,” he said emphatically with a sour expression. “With him in the public eye, I can hide and direct things anonymously. This is my preference, despite your insipid nagging.” Erik picked up his cup of tea, took a sip, and pensively thought of all the ways he could use Richard.

  “He will do everything. He’ll host the masquerade, overs
ee the reconstruction, hire the staff, and take my directions throughout each step without complaint.”

  “You could have chosen someone else,” Andrea told him in a low tone laced with emotion.

  “I could have. However, whatever drove you two apart is not my concern. Resolve your issues with him or be miserable. Frankly, I don’t care one way or the other when it comes to matters of love. It’s all a pain in the ass.” Erik knew he sounded cold, but women and their emotional states irritated the hell out of him. He never understood the creatures and probably never would.

  “You drove us apart!”

  She flung her words at him like sharp knives. It wasn’t often Andrea dared to shout, but apparently this one time he would take note.

  “We constantly argued over my loyalty to you. He only paid you and did your bidding because I begged him to do so. Do you know how hard it was for the two of us during those days, do you? You were so obsessed…”

  “Enough!” Now she had hit a nerve. His eyes narrowed, and his amused expression faded into one of darkness. Erik stood to his feet, picked the paper up from the floor, and replaced each sheet in its place perfectly, as if it just came off the newsstand. He set it upon a nearby table.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have architectural plans to look over.”

  Her boldness grew by the hour. Once afraid of his mere shadow, she would do as he told her, deliver his messages, and never talk back. She knew better. Now, however, since he had taken her to Malta and they had formed a deeper relationship, she began to test their boundaries. Those boundaries were not to be crossed. At times, Erik struggled to suppress the rage within that he wished to display in response to her words. He would never hurt her physically, but his anger needed release. He found that storming off out of her presence became his only response to cope with her female emotions.

  He left the room and slammed the door to make a point. Upon arriving at his private quarters, he went inside, locked the paneled door, and headed straight toward his desk. He unrolled the architectural sketches with considerable care. For a fleeting second, a sense of madness flowed through his veins. It seemed as if an eternity had passed since an opportunity to construct had presented itself. He had arrived to a new playground of creativity.

  The exterior structure stood strong, but the interior auditorium and outlining hallways were a mess. The intense heat of the fire had calcified the stonework, and only the finest of masons would do for restoration. He decided to hire the original sculptor who had worked on the initial construction.

  Erik began to draw to scale new corridors and secret hallways, carefully laying out a labyrinth behind the walls. Unfortunately, it would be work that he and Darius would need to perform alone in order to keep their existence a secret. Months of construction stretched out before him, but in the end, his domain would be secure.

  He smiled as he planned his own Box 5, which would grant him secret entrance and exit to come and go as he willed. With Richard in place to play the social persona, he could remain the Opera Ghost as long as it pleased him; a part he played well.

  Of course, the Ghost wouldn’t need to use his former methods of menacing control over its owners and idiotic managers. Now that he possessed his own opera house, and he would enjoy every second of overseeing its daily operations. The crew, cast, and employees would be hand-picked and approved by him. The productions would come as he ordered and staged. He would return to composing and pen another opera.

  As he thought of finding a soprano whose voice would fill his ears, Erik fell into a brooding mood of dark memories. He wondered if Christine performed in Sweden and hoped she continued to pursue her career in his absence. Erik missed her angelic voice, which he had toned to perfection. Would she always be thankful that he had taught her how to sing? The thought shrouded Erik like a cloak of sadness, and he poured himself a large glass of cognac to take the edge off the pain.

  Chapter Six

  Erik smoothed the sleeves of his black velvet tuxedo. A long red opera scarf draped around his neck and hung down the front of his white ruffled shirt. Tonight he would wear a black mask that would cover both sides of his face, both the good and the bad. His disguise would not raise speculation, and he would blend in like the rest of the crowd.

  He shoved his hand into a black glove and then adjusted the fingers one by one until they were tight, doing the same with the other hand. One last gulp of a glass of cognac for fortitude and Erik exited his quarters, walking down the long hall. Darius stood at the end waiting for him.

  “Everything is ready, I trust?”

  “Yes, Master, everything is ready. Carriages are arriving now. Monsieur Mercier is at the entrance greeting the attendees.”

  “Very well, then. Make one quick walk through of the auditorium. Make sure the servers have their trays filled with champagne flutes, tell the orchestra to start, and check with the caterer to make sure the buffet tables are stocked and ready.”

  Darius bowed in acknowledgement and left his side. Andrea exited her quarters and strode down the hall to catch up with her escort. She dressed in an outrageously bright green gown with peacock feathers bobbing as she walked. She looked more like a bird than his right-hand confidant, but it brought pleasure to Erik to see her well-groomed for once.

  “You look fabulous, Andrea. In fact, I might dare to add, very pretty. Shall we mingle and eavesdrop?”

  “Well, a flattering remark from the Phantom himself! I’m speechless,” she teased, with a broad smile on her face.

  “I want you to go shopping,” he told her, offering her arm in escort. “You need to buy yourself some fancy dresses. I’ll give you the money.”

  “That’s terribly polite of you. Are you trying to prep me for Richard’s eye?” she accused him teasingly.

  “I have no response,” he replied in an uncommitted tone. “I’m merely a ghost, wandering the halls, minding my own business.”

  After Richard Mercier had arrived, Darius escorted him to his living quarters next to Andrea. She scolded Erik for an hour behind closed doors over his motives. He merely listened with delight.

  Erik had been privy to their secret affair in Paris. Andrea and Richard were once a couple, carefully hiding their secret romance from the cast and crew. Erik, however, saw and heard everything. Nothing escaped his notice as he wandered through his secret corridors. He would eavesdrop on their times together, which brought him an odd sense of enjoyment. He intended to do the same when the Royal Opera House filled with new live-in cast and crewmembers. They would all be under his scrutiny, which satisfied Erik’s need for control.

  Tonight, his attention would rest upon Richard’s performance. Afterward, Erik would wander through the crowd unnoticed, picking up tidbits of conversations here and there to ascertain the attendees’ willingness to contribute.

  Of course, Andrea wished he would reveal himself and be a normal man. She felt disappointed in his decision to remain a spectral shade and remained heaven-bent on his redemption. He, on the other hand, remained hell-bent on his solitude. Nothing would persuade him otherwise, as he did not wish to take the risk of being discovered.

  They arrived inside the rectangular foyer filled with glowing candelabras that cast a golden hue on the bare stone walls. Bouquets of roses decorated the entranceway, greeting the guests with a stifling floral aroma that Erik found soothing. He grabbed two flutes of champagne passing by on a tray held by one of the servers and handed one to Andrea.

  Erik stood tall and confident with nothing to hide in his appearance, though he struggled at the thought of throngs of humans surrounding his body the entire evening. However, to secure his future, he would grin and bear it. Alcohol would help.

  He stood by Andrea, sipping champagne, while he watched Richard greet the guests. His tall stature and broad shoulders enhanced his charisma, along with his salt and pepper hair that gave him an air of maturity. Richard’s long sideburns met his upturned mustache, which Erik thought he should have shaved long
ago. It made him look older than his years.

  Feeling teasingly wicked, Erik leaned into Andrea and whispered in her ear. “Tell me. Does his mustache tickle when you kiss him?”

  Andrea shot him an evil look and elbowed him in his side. “Erik, how can you ask such a thing?”

  He snickered. “Fine, I’ll drop the subject.” His eyes twinkled from the candles in the room.

  Erik felt confident. Things were going as planned. One by one, aristocrats and government officials entered the foyer. When Darius, dressed in a dashing uniform, introduced the most influential arrival at the door, Erik took note.

  “The Honorable Governor of Malta, Sir Henry Roberts, and his wife Lady Roberts.”

  “Welcome, your esteemed Excellency,” Richard warmly greeted. He bowed to honor the dignitary and his wife.

  “Signore, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the Governor replied.

  Erik examined the official, dressed in his finery, wearing a sash across his breast with medals dangling everywhere to declare his importance. Apparently, he appeared too proud to partake in the festivities of wearing a masquerade costume. His arrogance caused Erik’s eyes to narrow, and he shifted them to his wife, glaring at her outrageous gown and tall wig reminiscent of Marie Antoinette. Erik smirked, wondering how far her head would roll if she lost it in a guillotine.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Richard replied, giving another short bow. “Thank you for attending our masquerade this evening. I hope you enjoy it.”

  Well done, Richard, you’re playing the part splendidly, Erik thought to himself with amusement, while sipping his flute of champagne.

  He leaned into Andrea’s ear and whispered, “So what do you think of your Richard now, Andrea? Quite the man of the hour, I would say.”

  Andrea shot him an annoying glare, causing a sly smile to curl in amusement. He parted his lips to retort back with another smart remark, but hesitated when the cackling voice of the Governor’s wife caught his ear.