A sharp knife had cut half way through the rope. Erik remembered the times he brought down sets at the Garnier to make a point. However, this could injure or kill someone. It carried no indication of being a mere trick or joke to cause havoc. Who would do such a thing? He had no answers, and it gnawed at him like an irritating bug.
He climbed down and headed back toward his quarters. A door flung open before him, and he nearly ran into Darius carrying a replacement rope for the rigging. Erik grabbed him by the arm and stopped him in his tracks.
“Make sure you do a good job,” he growled.
“Yes, Master, I will. I promise,” he replied, scurrying off toward the stage.
Erik returned to his room. The night lay ahead with a performance of Faust to a sold-out crowd. Business had been steady, with patrons consistently returning nightly. He basked in success and profits.
Tonight he would attend the performance from his box in the shadows and check on the soprano’s progress. There were times he itched to reveal his identity and teach her to project her voice with more clarity.
Still antsy about the total lack of excellence in his domain, he swore that one day he would have every one of the staff obeying his orders to perfection. He had begun to toy with the idea of revealing himself to the cast and crew, but decided to wait a few more months due to the current state of affairs.
As the night progressed and the performance began, Erik anxiously waited for the crowd to dissipate and the tutoring session to begin. He arrived first, bringing the violin he had purchased for Désirée. He restlessly waited for her arrival. Erik needed something to take his mind of the disturbing news of the day, and this would do the trick. Richard had been instructed to bring her to the orchestra pit, as he had done before.
When Richard arrived, he said nothing, but his facial expression betrayed his thoughts. Erik, still on edge, threw Richard his own look of disdain in return. No doubt he questioned Erik’s wisdom in spending time alone with Désirée. Did he think he could not handle himself like a gentleman? Whatever the reason, he deduced Richard had been talking about the situation with Andrea behind his back.
“Thank you, Richard,” he curtly spoke, dismissing him with a scowl.
He watched Désirée descend the stairs. She approached him with a smile, and his nostrils immediately detected a subtle scent of lilac perfume. Her attire had changed, and she wore a prettier dress of finer fabric but still modest about the neckline. A slight tint of pink rouge accented her porcelain cheeks. He noticed she had pulled her hair back and tied it with a silk red ribbon, which cascaded down her back. No wonder Richard had raised a brow. Erik felt his own lift, as his eyes met her lips, fully plumped with pink lipstick.
He took note of each minuscule change in his student’s appearance with considerable amusement. Obviously, she attempted to gain his attention. Erik felt flattered but questioned her motives. He had formed the distinct impression she only wished to learn the violin and did not wish to learn about the man beneath the mask.
“Welcome, Désirée.” He finally spoke, taking a step closer. “Shall we begin? I wish to show you the various strings on the violin and help you with the placement of your fingers. Are you ready?”
“I have thought of it all day long,” she replied with a engaging smile. “And I have studied my books. I brought them so I could show you how proficient I’ve become in reading the musical notes.”
Erik reached for her booklets and placed them on a nearby chair. “Very good. I am pleased with your enthusiasm to learn.”
He drew a step closer to Désirée, and the strong aroma of lilac wafted up his nostrils. Erik detested the fragrance. If he had to breathe perfume during their lessons, he would tell her his preference.
“Rose,” he blurted out, sneering at the odor she wore. He looked directly into her eyes to make his next point. “If you insist on dousing yourself in fragrance before our lessons, I’d prefer to inhale the scent of rose rather than lilac.” There, he had told her his likes and dislikes, and he fully expected her to comply with his request in the future.
She stared at him wide-eyed in return, with a look of shock written across her painted face. Erik stopped, feeling a bit gruff, as he inhaled a deep breath. His eyes watered over the strong scent, but he managed to soften the tone of his voice.
“Forgive me for being so brash, Désirée, but I find certain aromas annoying; lilac is one of them.” He wondered if she knew the meaning of the flower when she dabbed the copious amounts on her body. “Are you trying to send me a message?” he pried, getting directly to the point.
“What do you mean?” She appeared insulted over his implication.
“The fragrance, the lilac flower, its meaning,” he sputtered, flustered over the conversation.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she smugly replied.
“The first emotions of love,” he drawled, half-intoxicated by the smell. “It’s not something I think you should be wearing while in my presence. Dispense with the fragrance in the future,” he commanded. His voice trailed off with an icy tone.
“And rose?” she spat back, glaring into his dark eyes. “What is it about the meaning and scent of a rose that you find more appealing, might I ask?”
Erik gawked in surprise as she shoved both hands on her hips to posture her annoyance. He frowned in exasperation.
“Because a rose, my dear, can come in a variety of colors, meaning anything from a lover’s passion, to admiration, affection, friendship, and purity. A rose is a flower filled with both beauty and thorns. Its creation is for one purpose—to remind you that love is a fragrant experience, but it can also prick you until you bleed.”
He scowled at her, feeling pierced by the memories of the past and Christine. Erik turned his gaze from Désirée, while his thoughts from the past threatened to unleash the painful passions he kept reigned within his heart. A moment later, he looked at her still standing in front of him, wearing her scent of first emotions. Erik wondered if she had dabbed it on her fair skin ignorant of its hidden meaning, or if she purposely wished to convey some childish crush on her part.
“Go,” he commanded, stepping closer to her in a menacing fashion. “Leave me and wash that disgusting odor from your body and return.”
“You cannot be serious!” she screeched, clearly aghast over his suggestion. “How can a mere fragrance push you into such turmoil?”
Erik lost his temper and pushed over a nearby music, spewing the papers across the floor. “Get out! If you wish lessons, I shall teach you, but do not assume that our relationship shall go any further. Do you understand?”
“Are you mad?”
She stepped closer, pushing him to the brink. Her eyes glared back at him. Erik realized she refused to back down. His tantrum had failed to dissuade her intent, so he decided to put an end to whatever foolish emotions she entertained. He bowed his head, took his fingers, and slid them underneath the corner of his mask. With one quick jerk, he removed the covering and wig and bore his gruesome ugliness before Désirée. He brandished his bare face a few inches from hers so she could see every detail of his deformity.
“Now, tell me about the first emotions of love, my dearest. Do you find me attractive and still wish to convey your childish musings?”
His deep voice mocked her intentions. Erik’s heart turned cold. He realized his action would end their lessons forever, and the usual reaction of screams and terror would soon fill his ears.
Instead, as his gaze bore into her blue pools, he witnessed no reaction. Her eyes did not blink. She did not flinch from his movements or show an ounce of horror over what she beheld. No shrieks of fear filled his ears. Désirée’s beautiful features veiled her feelings completely.
Erik felt naked and defeated in her presence. He had wielded his repulsiveness to repel her intentions and failed. Instead, an eerie silence permeated the air. Her countenance remained blank, unmoved, and unresponsive.
“Well?” he demanded,
breaking the silence. “Does your perfume still speak of the first emotions of love?”
“You do not frighten me,” she countered indifferently, staring at his deformity with little interest. “Monsieur, you are not the ugliest human I have seen in my life.”
Erik noticed her blue eyes darken like a stormy sea. An odd sense of shame flowed through his veins over his inability to frighten her as he hoped. He stood confused and befuddled over the woman before him. Then finally, she responded to his request.
“If you wish not to be reminded that another could perhaps have emotions for you, Monsieur,” she stated coldly, “then I shall do as you say. I will wash and return to proceed with our lessons.”
Désirée took hold of her skirt and lifted it from the floor as she spun quickly around. Erik felt the air move about him when she departed up the stairway and out of his sight. For a few moments, he stood unaware that his jaw had dropped open. He grasped his mask and hairpiece tightly in the palm of his hand. When the shock subsided, he covered his face and the few strands of course sparse hair upon scalp.
He looked at the stairs where she left and suddenly felt remorse that he would no longer smell the scent of lilac on her skin.
Chapter Fifteen
Désirée’s heavy footsteps thundered down the hall to the bath chamber, driving down the terror and hurt she had endured in Erik’s presence. She had merely dabbed herself with her favorite lilac perfume, with no thought he’d read into it otherwise. Erik’s perplexing reaction led to an emotional outburst that frightened her to death.
She discovered through her foolishness that she had begun to feel something for him; perhaps it had been the first emotions of love. Unsure and afraid to pursue the thought further, she ran to the water basin and poured cold water into the bowl. Quickly, she unbuttoned the top of her dress from the neck down to her bodice and shoved a wet washcloth down the front of her cleavage to remove the scent. Frantically, she rubbed the remnants from behind her ears, wrists, and every place she had dabbed, and then sniffed to make sure every ounce of the fragrance had been diluted.
Désirée’s hands shook, and her heart pounded. Her legs felt weak. She had not anticipated his brash reaction of pulling off his mask and wig bearing everything underneath. Inwardly, she had howled in horror. Outwardly, she stood her ground, cold and determined not to react to the revelation of anguish upon his face. He had attempted to push her to revulsion, but failed.
Yes, it had been awful to look upon, but she had seen worse. It appeared that only one side of his face had formed while in his mother’s womb. The other consisted of gaping holes and protruding facial bones where smooth flesh should have grown. It looked as if nature had molded one side of his face, but had forgotten about the other. The skin appeared thin and ghostly white, sickly in appearance and odor. His bare scalp continued the malformation with grotesque gouges.
In spite of his deformity, she knew of his temper and of the rumors that he strangled and killed, as well. Nevertheless, no one had told her of his genius, drive, and capacity to play music that poured the balm of Gilead into her soul. It seemed as if the eyes of humans only saw the hideous exterior, which had relegated him to a life of rejection.
His ranting and raving regarding the rose fragrance revealed that his heart still bled. His hand clutched tightly to the thorny stem of the past. The pain remained, and because of this, Désirée knew any plans for a future would be an uphill battle. He would not be an easy man to win over, but she hoped with time and patience, she would succeed in capturing his affections.
The last button slipped through the eyelet and closed the gap. She had donned the perfume long before putting on her dress, so the material held no residue of lilac in the fabric. Désirée owned no other fragrances. Lilac had always been her favorite. She would make the sacrifice. Upon her return, his keen nostrils would not smell anything on her body.
Désirée closed the door behind her and slowly made her way back to the orchestra pit. When she arrived, she found Erik pensively pacing the small enclosure acting like a caged tiger. For a moment, she pondered Erik’s appearance with his mask and hairpiece perfectly replaced. He appeared dark and foreboding on one side, but the other exhibited a distinct handsomeness she admired. She wondered if he even realized that part of his countenance looked pleasing to the human eye. By his obvious brooding scowl, he had never considered the possibility.
“I’ve washed, and no fragrance remains,” she announced, standing at the top of the stairs gaining his attention. “May we continue?” Erik turned around. His facial features softened.
“Yes, of course,” he replied, walking toward her and offering his hand as she climbed down the few stairs to the pit. Désirée felt the coldness of his flesh and quickly dropped his hand when she reached the bottom. He remained quiet and brooding. Erik picked up the violin and handed it to her.
“Hold it while I show you the strings and the various placements of your fingers to produce the notes.”
“I’m sorry,” she told him, feeling the need to explain herself before they continued. His eyes rose to hers, and she witnessed his shame and embarrassment peering back in return. Désirée wondered if he thought she now perceived him differently, but she did not.
“I will refrain from making any insinuations on my part through fragrance, words, or actions, Monsieur Dante. I’m merely here to learn the violin.”
Erik said nothing. Suddenly, his demeanor changed. He looked at her coldly, which caused a deep sense of frustration. Did he wish her not to feel anything?
“Your finger placement, on the stem and strings, at various places are the notes. I’ve sketched this for you,” he pulled out a folded piece of paper from his upper vest pocket. “You can learn the placements.”
Désirée took the piece of paper and sighed as she thought of more studying that lay ahead. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
Erik reached over and took the slip of paper from her. “You may take this with you later,” he explained, laying it on a nearby music stand. “Now, place the violin in the position that I showed you before.”
At least the tone of his voice had tempered, while she tried to do as he instructed. She failed terribly, struggling to hold the violin. Quickly, his long fingers reached forward and adjusted her grip.
“Wrap your fingers about the stem,” he coached, “and feel the strings beneath your fingertips.”
The wire felt coarse and stiff, as she pressed upon it with her fingertips.
“You’ll get used to it,” Erik explained, obviously seeing a flash of discomfort upon her face. “Let’s review point by point the finger placement for the notes.”
Erik began his instruction. She tried desperately not to react to his touch, but still the overwhelming feeling of power flowed through her veins at every glance of his flesh across her own. Désirée attempted to pay attention, but the tedious lesson dragged on for what seemed like an eternity. The emotions of the evening had fatigued her, but when he had finished, she required one more thing.
“Will you do me a favor before I leave?” She lifted her eyes, pleading. “Play for me.” Erik eyed the violin in her hand, hesitating at her request. “Please,” she begged. “Please, it touches my soul when you play.”
Without another word, Erik took the instrument, placed it under his chin, and then spoke the same instructions as before. “Close your eyes.”
Désirée did, and soon her ears filled with melodious strains of music. He chose a different piece, filled with sadness and painful longing. The melody swelled and lowered as if it were a gentle breeze sweeping over her soul. Again, she found herself transported to another place and time through the anointed tones.
Erik finished, and she opened her eyes to see his hand extended with a handkerchief between his fingers and a warm smile upon his face. His eyes pierced her soul, as if he knew everything she felt inside—the pain, anguish, and heartache. Embarrassed by his gaze, she grabbed the linen, dabbed her tears, and handed it ba
ck.
“I should be going,” she declared flustered, standing to her feet, and turning toward the stairway.
“Take this.” He held out the violin and bow. “Take it with you, and practice the placement of your fingers.”
Désirée looked at the instrument, the wood still warm from his touch. She took it to her chest and hugged it as if it were his strong body.
“I can find my way back alone,” she told him, not wishing for an escort. Before he could protest, her feet swiftly carried her out of the orchestra pit, down the aisle, and out the door. Tears streamed down her face while her heart raged a battle of good and evil beneath the surface.
* * *
Left standing alone, Erik bent down and picked up the stand he had shoved over earlier in anger. He felt numb from the past hour they had shared; numb from baring his flesh to destroy her fanciful feelings and from the reaction she had failed to give in return.
Once again, his handkerchief had been filled with her tears. Erik hesitated to bring the linen to his cheek, afraid of the response it would elicit from his soul. His student had succeeded in stirring emotions he did not wish to acknowledge. He always thought any passions in his life belonged eternally to Christine. She held the key to his heart. How could he even think of another? Désirée had skillfully breached his defenses.
After returning to his quarters, he headed straight for a glass of cognac. At first, he had no desire to prowl the streets of Valletta in the dark. Instead, he sat upon his divan, raised his feet up on the table before him, and drank in an attempt to relax. When he closed his eyes, he smelled lilacs, remembered the softness of her skin, and gazed into her blue oceans that took him to a place of harmony.
He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped the burning liquid, letting it course down his throat slowly so he could feel the pain. Obviously, Désirée Martin wanted more than just violin lessons. What did she see in him—a proficient violinist that brought tears to her eyes? How could she regard him with any affection? If Erik dared to feed upon such possibilities, there would be no telling what path his ravenous heart would lead him down.
The Phantom of Valletta Page 12