| Stepping into the dining room late in the evening, Charles wasn't entirely surprised to see that Allyriane had chosen not to attend supper. Isabelle, her mother, however, was already sitting in a brilliant dress of emerald green silk, her hair pulled back into a French twist. There was little conversation going on as Charles began to seat himself, but how could Isabelle and Raoul carry on a very civil conversation when there was a shadow of a man sitting between them? Looking across from him, Charles managed to smile gently to his sister, who nodded simply in return. "What are we having tonight?" He asked aloud, attempting to break the silence. No one said anything in reply, but continued nibbling at their meals. Finally, Charles looked directly to his future mother-in-law. "Is Lyre all right, Madame?" "She'll be just fine, Charles." Isabella said quickly, as though attempting to reassure him of the fact. "She told me she wasn't very hungry. She's been reading all day and her eyes are tired, so she decided to remain upstairs and rest them. I was going to bring her up a plate after supper." Charles stood swiftly. "I'll bring one up to her right now, and join her." He stated. "That is, if you do not mind, Madame. I assure you I'm -" "I trust you, Charles." Isabelle interrupted, her eyes softening with tender affection. "Go ahead up if you wish. I'm sure she would enjoy the company. She's been shut up in that room all day." Charles Swiftly had a plate made for Allyriane, and he headed out of the room, having not even looked at his father the entire time. Raoul had done no better, keeping his eyes stubbornly glued to his plate until his son was out of the room. Katherine watched what happened around her without comment, but she took in every little piece of information that words and actions gave her, and she attempted to put the puzzle together that would explain this anger and hatred. With Charles barely speaking to her at the moment, she felt quite lost. @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}-- - The knock on the door made Allyriane jump slightly. She'd been completely absorbed in one of the chapters of the strange little novel, having already read it six times in that half hour. It terrified her to think of the insane man with so many talents. The most terrifying idea was 'what if'. The impossible 'what if' that suggested the same insane man was her father. For the sake of Raoul's point of view, she could imagine exactly how her father would move, and the tone of his voice, the sound of him, for each dialogue which featured the character of 'Erik'. Even not believing a word of the novel, she could find it easy to be frightened of that character. When the knock occurred just as she read "And the roaring began again, louder than before. And the Viscount fired," which startled her badly. "Who is it?" She called, calming her breathing, and the pitter-patter of her thundering heart. "It's Charles, Lyre." His voice came through soft and gentle. "May I please come in? I've brought you up some supper." Sighing, she put the book aside, and went to open the door to her room. Charles stood in a soft blue evening garb, one plate in each hand, the silver utensils X-ed on the center of each plate to keep them from tumbling to the floor. Although she'd claimed not to be hungry to her mother, the very smell of the food made her stomach grumble, and she stood back to allow him in. They said nothing for a long moment, until he'd settled their meals down on the sitting room table, and noticed the book sitting on the arm of a wing-backed chair. "How is it?" He asked as she knelt on the floor beside him, and began cutting up the ham on her plate. Allyriane sighed, shaking her head and immediately put her fork down. There went her appetite. "It's the most absurd thing I've ever heard in my entire life." She stated. "Charles, you have to forgive me, but if your father is insisting that mine is this creature . . . this . . . I couldn't stay in here another night." "I can hardly blame you." Charles swallowed a mouthful of baked potato, and eyed her a long time. "If you want to go, I'll understand perfectly well, Lyre. I . . .I'll leave with you. He's just as unbearable to be near to me. I still love him. He's my father. Still . . . He's being stubborn, and hateful, and terrible." She laughed quietly, shaking her head again. "You stay here with your sister." She objected gently. "When I leave with my mother, we'll be going directly back to Boston. We can continue to keep in touch. In the meantime, perhaps we can attempt to make our fathers see reason, and make it so they can actually stand in the same room without starting a brawl." "Do you think that's ever going to happen again?" Charles snorted derisively. "I hope so. I'd like to have them there when we. . ." "When we marry." Charles finished for her, reaching up and taking one of her hands gently. "When you go, I want you to bring the book and show it to your father. Ask him questions. However insane my father seems, there must be at least some tiny grain of truth to the story. I don't believe it to any real extent, but I think something must have happened . . ." She said nothing, and turned to begin eating, forcing down each swallow of food. They spent the rest of that hour in quiet companionship, sharing no conversation or looks. It was unbearable to both of them, yet neither really knew what to say. This would have happened eventually. Perhaps it was best it was happening now. @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- @--}--- "What? That can't be! Papa, how could that have happened?" Marguerite was so stunned; she could scarcely even stop to realize her words had been more harsh than sympathetic. "That monster! How is she? Is she going to be all right?" Erik said nothing for a long moment. He merely sat in his wing-backed chair, facing the piano and bay window in his apartment. Fleur and Marguerite both had tears standing in their eyes, and he was trying to blink back his. She hadn't meant to sound harsh, yet he still blamed himself for everything, and this had only made it even worse. A few badly chosen words had broken open his wounds. "Papa? Will Lyre be all right?" He simply stared for another second, before turning to look back at them. "I'm certain she'll be just fine." He assured them. "She's staying in New York with her mother for a few more days. You see . . . she's engaged." "Engaged?" Marguerite's gasp of excitement was enough for both her and Fleur. "Mon Dieu! That's wonderful? Who is her betrothed? Oh! That's a silly question! As though we'd know anyone from America!" Erik smirked a little bit. "Raoul and Christine de Chagney's son, Charles." He announced. "Do you remember them? I sang with Christine in the Opera." "Oh! Of course!" Marguerite grinned. "How wonderful! How on Earth did you manage to bump into one another in this place?" "They go to the same school." Erik explained simply. His eyes fixated themselves on Fleur's hands as she began speaking to him in a flurry of motion. He would often shake his head or nod, as anything she asked him needed to be answered. Finally, he reached out to take her hands and make them still. "You're asking far too much for one day, Cherie! I can't answer everything. You'll have to wait and ask Lyre that. She knows a bit more about the boy than I do." "To imagine that Lyre is in love." Marguerite sighed, shaking her head, as Erik sat back in his chair once more. "Look at us, Fleur. We're two old spinsters, and Lyre is going to be married. I can't believe that her heart managed to be stolen away from you, Papa, to any degree. Mine still hasn't!" Erik laughed for a long moment, standing to reach out and kiss her forehead for that compliment. It was true that she still had fierce remnants of a crush on him, but this was very flattering. |