Spanish Angel (Phantom of the Opera)

Chapter 18

Chapter 18:

"A letter for Madame Christine, Monsieur." The footman laid the envelope down on the Comte's desk. "From Paris."

"Thank you." He frowned, picking up the letter. Since when did his wife have communications with people in Paris? She had made it very clear, repeatedly so, that she had no contacts left in that awful city. As he skimmed over the various marking on the back of the letter, the name confused him.

Who from Paris didn't know he had married Christine?

Besides, what was up with that spidery handwriting?

Deciding the only one who held the answers to his many questions, Raoul left his study, letter clutched tightly on in one hand, and hurried towards the sun room where he found his lovely bride, napping in the sun.

Pausing for a moment, he watched the light beams play across her relaxed face, rosy with health. Their choice of holiday locations had proven a wise one. The locals had informed them that they hadn't ever seen a warmer winter or lovelier weather just before Christmas. Nothing could have been better for Christine.

"Darling." He called her name quietly as he approached her chair and knelt beside her sleeping face. "Darling." Leaning forward a little, he brushed his lips against her forehead and lightly stroked her cheek, pulling away to be met with contented blue eyes.

"Raoul..." Her sleepy voice greeted him kindly as she slowly stretched beneath the blankets. "What is it? Is something wrong?" She asked, peering at the letter he held in his hand. "Who's that from?"

"I don't know, Christine. There is no sender. And it's addressed to you, under your maiden name." Blond eyebrows knitted together as she plucked the paper from his hand and skimmed over handwriting, her hands beginning to shake.

"No..." She whispered quietly before ripping open the letter and skimming through the contents. "No...No!" She exclaimed before dropping the letter. "No! He's dead!"

"What is it, Christine?" Raoul demanded as he scooped up the paper and read the red inked words. "Him." He snarled, crumpling the letter in his hands and tossing aside the message. "Don't fret, Christine. I won't let him hurt you. I'll send the police after him and we'll stay here in safety." He leaned forward to kiss her only to have her turn away, in shock.

"No! You mustn't do that! Don't send the police after him, I beg you!" Large tears rolled down her cheeks. "Give me the letter." Confused by his wife's insane response, he picked up the crumbled paper and smoothed it out, handing it to her.

She read through once more and continued to cry.

"We must get ready to go to Paris."

"No!" Raoul nearly shouted. "We won't go back to the city! Especially not with him alive."

"No, Raoul, you don't understand, he promised. He promised he wouldn't pursue me. He loves me but he promises to avoid me. Don't you see, we'll be safe. And, I'll get to sing." Raoul shook his head and gripped his wife's hands firmly within his own.

"No, you can't do that. I don't trust him. He tried to kill me and nearly forced you to marry him. You can't trust the promises of a madman. Besides, it isn't proper for a Comtesse to sing on stage. Even if she has been an Opera Diva." The frightened excitement that had risen in Christine's face fell away.

"I...can't sing?"

Raoul shook his head.

"No. I'm sorry. You could sing for small parties. I don't want your lovely voice to go to waste. But, I'm afraid you can't go back to the stage." Hot tears continued to course down her cheeks before she sniffed, attempting to calm herself.