Phantom of the Opera Happy New Year

**Author's Note:**

The idea for this little story came to me at the weekend, demanding to be written.

I had wanted to write something about Allegra's first Christmas but sadly it didn't happen, so here's her first New Year instead.

All the best for 2014!

* * *

**HAPPY NEW YEAR**

Erik checked his watch and tsked in annoyance as he discovered it was barely five minutes later than the last time he'd looked.

Midnight, and the possibility of escape, seemed ever further away; watching the couples on the dance floor, and the guests who had gravitated together in congenial groups, champagne glasses in hand, made him shrink ever further into his shadowy corner, reluctant to join the party atmosphere. Though his small talk had improved over the months he still found the idea of chatting idly with strangers quite repugnant; what was conversation for if not to exchange important opinions or have meaningful discussions? He had no desire to hear about the latest fashions or be regaled with the escapades of other people's children, and found it very difficult to stop a visibly bored expression creeping over his face; cornered by one titled lady, whose identity he had immediately forgotten, he could feel his eyes glazing over as she wittered away about her eldest daughter who was supposedly a prodigy on the piano and whose voice, though apparently already quite heavenly, would benefit from some professional instruction. When he refused to take the bait she actually came out and demanded that he take her child on as a student even though Erik had never made any suggestion that private tuition was something he would be willing to offer; he had almost unleashed his increasingly-short temper upon her when his wife thankfully came to the rescue, giving the noblewoman an apologetic smile and tactfully reclaiming his company with the excuse that the Marquis de Borges was asking for him. Christine knew that the Opera Populaire's current patron was the only member of the Parisian elite with whom Erik would pass willingly the time of day; though rather frivolous and fond of high living, the marquis had a genuine love of, and interest in, music, and the two men had shared many a pleasant conversation comparing the merits of various past and contemporary composers, de Borges making some excellent suggestions regarding the expansion of the Populaire's repertoire.

"If I see you check that watch once more I shall confiscate it," Christine whispered in Erik's ear as he slipped the offending timepiece back into his waistcoat pocket. Unlike that of every other man in the room the waistcoat itself was of black shot silk with jet buttons and marked its wearer out as one who defied convention; Erik had deliberately kept it after his marriage, a relic of the days when he had never even expected to enter the presence of a woman, much less speak to one.

"Time is crawling by," he grumbled, and she slid her arm through his, briefly resting her head on his shoulder. "I've had quite enough of all this ridiculous frivolity; why don't we just slip away and go upstairs?"

Christine tried to muffle her giggles in his jacket sleeve. "That would look rather particular; what will everyone think?"

"That I would like to spend New Year alone with my wife? I didn't mean it _that_ way," Erik added, rolling his eyes and fighting the smile that tugged inexorably at his mouth. He looked down at her, at the curve of her white neck and the tantalising expanse of skin revealed by the low neckline of her evening gown, and felt his blood start to race, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip. "Although, I do admit that I would rather like to - "

"Not with Allegra in the room," she told him, lightly pressing her fingers to his lips. "Restrain yourself, dear husband. There will be time enough for that later."

Taking hold of her hand he removed it and kissed her palm. "I warn you, my angel, I may not be able to wait that long."

"I don't believe it; married over a year and still sneaking away into dark corners!" a voice announced behind them and they turned together, jumping like a pair of naughty children, to see Theodora Merriman, her petite figure swathed in emerald satin which accentuated her tiny waist and made her glorious chestnut hair blaze, standing there with gloved hands on her hips and a huge smile on her face. "Honestly, you two are disgraceful!"

Erik raised his eyebrow. "I was led to believe that this kind of thing was precisely what dark corners at parties were for," he said, and Teddy laughed.

"I can imagine exactly who told you that. He's tried to get me in enough of 'em over the years," she replied, glancing over to the refreshment table, where the familiar figure of James Patterson-Smythe, his moustache impeccably waxed and a brandy glass in his hand, stood talking with a man Erik vaguely recognised as a theatrical agent who occasionally came to speak with the managers of the Opera. Sensing he was being watched, Jimmy raised his glass in salute and winked.

"Why have you never married him, Teddy?" Christine asked, curious. "You know he would have you in a heartbeat."

"Oh, I do, honey, but I prefer my independence. And Jimmy wouldn't know what to do if I actually said yes," Teddy told her with a grin. "Now, I think I know why the two of you are hiding over here: our dear maestro is bored, am I right? His lofty mind is reserved for greater things than wondering when the weather will change and how much Philippe de Chagny paid for Sorelli's new hat."

"I really don't know how you guessed." Christine grimaced, glancing up at her husband. "He hides it so well!"

"You know I am not one for social gatherings, Christine," Erik reminded her, and she sighed, nodding. "I am quite happy to spend time with my friends, but here I feel as though I am on display, like an animal in a zoo. People only speak to me so that they can either stare at my mask or try and steamroller me into taking on their beloved child as a pupil. If I chose to accept all of the students your guests have tried to foist upon me this evening, Theodora, I could open an academy!"

Christine's hand slipped into his and he squeezed it tightly. "Yes, yes, I'm sorry; I shouldn't have nagged you into coming," she said. "As soon as midnight strikes we'll steal away quietly, I promise."

"Thank you." He raised their clasped hands to his lips. "Those words have made me the happiest man alive."

"Not too long to wait now," Teddy remarked, smiling fondly as though she was pleased to see that nearly eighteen months of marriage had not dampened their love for one another. She glanced at the grandfather clock in the hall, just visible through the open doorway of the ballroom; Erik looked too and was relieved to see that the hands were ticking past a quarter to twelve. "I think that - "

She was cut off when Christine, with that sixth sense that seemed to belong to mothers everywhere, turned her eyes to the ceiling. "Oh dear, I think Allegra is crying. I'd better go to her."

"No, you stay here and chat; I will go," Erik said quickly, grasping at the lifeline being flung in his direction with both hands despite the fact that he knew it would be impossible for Christine to hear the baby over the sound of the orchestra playing a waltz and fifty people all talking at once.

"She can't be hungry; I fed her not half an hour ago," she told him, and he smiled, dropping a kiss on top of her head. "Really, Erik, I don't mind - "

"And neither do I," he assured her. "You were the one who wanted to come to the party; stay and enjoy it while I find out what it is our demanding daughter wants this time."

"Don't argue with him, Christine," he heard Theodora saying as he made his way with what was probably indecent haste into the corridor, "He looks happier about going to attend to his little princess than he has about anything else this evening!"

* * *

While it was true that it had been Christine's idea to accept the invitation to Teddy's New Year party, Erik had always known that refusing the Prima Donna would never have been easy. Theodora was not one to take no for an answer, and Jimmy had weighed in, pointing out that Erik would have needed to come into Paris anyway to speak with Messieurs Marigny and Fontaine about the new production of _Otello_ that the Populaire was to stage and to add his weight, along with Madame Giry and Monsieur Reyer, to the discussions over the new season that would begin in October. The managers were still trying to convince Christine to return but so far she had resisted, quite happy in her relatively new role of wife and mother; Erik missed her presence in the theatre, but the fact that she was there waiting for him each evening when he came home to Neuilly more than made up for those few hours he was without her by his side.

Reluctantly, then, he had agreed to attend, but found himself regretting the decision less than half an hour after he stepped into the ballroom. As it was one of Teddy's gatherings the guest list was eclectic; those from the upper echelons of society rubbed shoulders with the demi-monde and well-known faces from the theatrical world. Erik should have been able to hold his head high amongst them, a successful composer in his own right as well as chorus master of the Opera Populaire whose influence was increasing daily, but despite all that he still felt awkward, an outsider, unable to indulge in inconsequential chit-chat and inwardly convinced that everyone in the room was looking at him. Within his own home, or the walls of the Opera, which over the years had become much the same thing, he was confident, capable, safe in the knowledge that he was lord of all he surveyed. Here, however, he was a fish out of water and he knew it; Paris society, despite its passing interest in him, had no desire to offer acceptance and he did not crave such a concession. He had always existed outside of society and was quite happy to remain there.

Climbing the stairs quickly, grateful for long legs that allowed him to take them two at a time, he almost bumped into Martha Speedwell on the landing; Teddy's old nurse cum companion had obviously been drawn by Allegra's bawling and looked surprised to see him there, taking a step back as though she believed he might suddenly lunge for her throat. Erik knew that Martha was not particularly well-disposed towards him after the boorish way he had behaved in her presence while recovering in the house some months before, but the woman had rather brought it upon herself with her comments regarding his appearance and mental capacity that she had evidently thought he could not hear. Though there had been an apology of sorts, instigated of course by Theodora, Erik still did not feel very charitable where Martha was concerned and he certainly did not want the outspoken American tending to his daughter.

"Oh, Mr Claudin, you startled me!" Martha exclaimed, one hand fluttering to her bosom. "I was just going to see what was bothering little Miss Ally - "

"Her name is Allegra and I will see to her, thank you, Mademoiselle Speedwell," Erik said coldly. "I am sorry that you were disturbed."

"It's no trouble, really. She's such a diverting little bundle," the older woman replied with a smile that swiftly faded when it was met with a stony expression. Her lips pursed and her gaze roamed over Erik as though she couldn't quite believe that a 'diverting little bundle' could have a peculiar masked man with an unpredictable temper as her father; Erik just waited, eyebrow arched and one hand on the bedroom doorknob. "Well," Martha said at last, "I'll leave you to it then. I take it that everything is going well downstairs?"

"As well as any gathering of disparate people fuelled with copious amounts of alcohol can," Erik told her, and with a muttered prayer for all their souls Martha scuttled away.

Allegra was still screaming when he entered the room, thankfully not the pink and white forest of frills and rococo flourishes in which he had spent nearly a month last year recuperating. The bassinet was by the window, and he could see even in the dim light from the moon outside two pudgy fists waving in the air; the noise had woken the ever-faithful Bruno, who had been sleeping on the rug nearby with one ear open for any sign of distress from his diminutive mistress, and the spaniel came trotting towards Erik as he crossed the room, whining in concern. Erik bent to scratch the dog behind the ears and turned his attention to the white bundle in the bassinet that was his daughter.

"Shhh, now," he whispered, picking her up and settling her into the crook of his arm. "Whatever is all this fuss for, eh?"

Allegra, red-faced and angry, drew in a breath to begin another round of ear-splitting wails, her feet kicking against Erik's chest. Rocking her gently he began to hum, wordlessly weaving a tune he had been toying with on the piano for the last few days as an addition to the repertoire of lullabies with which he had charmed her over the last six months. Though she initially resisted, screwing up her tiny features with the effort of crying even harder, it was not long before her father's voice had its usual effect and she began to quiet, sobs gradually fading into hiccups. Erik continued his performance, singing her own name back to her and tickling her toes to make her laugh. Soon it seemed she had forgotten that she had ever been upset in the first place and was quite happy to suck her thumb and enjoy her own private concert.

"I think you got me all the way up here under false pretences, young lady," Erik told her softly, sitting down in the armchair beside the crib. The moonlight caught his daughter's eyes as she looked up at him wonderingly; her free hand batted at his mask and almost without thinking he removed it, setting the porcelain down on the table at his elbow. "You weren't crying because you were distressed, were you? I think you were annoyed that we weren't giving you enough attention."

In reply, Allegra gurgled and slapped the distorted flesh of his right cheek.

"Actually, though, my darling, I think you did me a favour," he confided. "I know I don't belong down there, amongst all of those silly, vain, pretentious people; they don't want me and I don't want them, but that doesn't matter, you see, because I have you and your mother and that's what's important. I still can't believe that we're all here, together, and that I have somehow had a hand in creating something as perfect as you."

Gently he stroked the end of her button nose and she grabbed hold of his finger, smiling and dribbling around her thumb. It was incredible how strong her grip was; Erik almost found himself wincing as her little fist tightened around his flesh.

"Truth be told," he said, "I can't stop thinking of the last time I attended a New Year's party. It was a grand masquerade ball at the Opera, and I was madly in love with your mother but she didn't want me; she was engaged to your Uncle Raoul. I felt betrayed, and I just couldn't see that frightening her wasn't the way to win her affections, so I went there, dressed in a ridiculous costume, intending to scare them all. And I did, my angel, I did. I thought it would make me feel better, make me feel more alive, glad that I had terrorised those I believed to be so far beneath me they were nothing but ants to be crushed under my heel, but it didn't. As I sat alone afterwards there was a hollow ache in my soul, and I knew that I had done wrong." Shaking his head he saw again in his mind's eye the brightly-dressed revellers in their dominos, half-masks and foolish fancy dress scatter before him as he walked down the grand escalier of the Populaire. He fitted in no better with those idiots dancing in Teddy's ballroom below than he had, dressed ludicrously as Red Death, amongst the guests at the Opera; how many of them had been there that night? Hearing again the gasps and screams, the percussion of ladies' shoes on the marble as they hurried to get away from him, the soft whisper of his velvet cloak as it trailed behind him down the stairs, he saw Christine, staring up at him in horror, the Vicomte's ring on a chain about her neck. She had looked achingly beautiful in her pink and blue tulle, a crown of silver stars nestling in her dark curls, but he had been concerned with nothing but his own selfish desire for revenge and as she cowered from him he reached out and ripped the ring from her throat.

"It still amazes me that your mother was willing to forgive me, forget everything that happened," he admitted to Allegra. "In her place I doubt if I would have been so magnanimous. But that is where your mother and I differ, my darling: she has the greater heart. She was able to reach out to me and help me find my way back to the light when I had been living in darkness for so long... Sometimes – and I will tell only you of this because I know I can rely upon your discretion, little one -sometimes I get a little scared, and I dream that all of this is no more than an illusion, that every happiness I have experienced since your mother accepted me has vanished like smoke, and I will wake up alone in my dungeon below the Opera, in the darkness and the cold. When I open my eyes to see my Christine sleeping peacefully beside me for a few moments the dream seems more real than that which I can see and touch. I do not wish to go back there, but sometimes, in a little, frightened place deep within, I think it is where I belong."

Allegra heaved a sigh and closed her eyes, and Erik smiled.

"I see I'm boring you, my angel. You're too young to understand, of course, and I hope to God you never do because it would kill me were you ever to suffer as I have done, but I give thanks every day to whatever it was, God or fate, that brought your mother and I together. I find it incredible that we are about to see in another new year; am I so wrong to want to share that moment with the two of you instead of those insignificant strangers downstairs? You are what matters to me, not the price of La Sorelli's hat, which was seventy-two francs in case you were wondering. The Comte de Chagny has more money than sense."

At precisely the same moment the clock on the mantelpiece began to strike the hour, the refrain swiftly taken up by timepieces all over Paris as the church bells from Notre Dame to St Denis started to ring with almost reckless abandon, a hand landed on his shoulder. Erik didn't jump; he had known she was there, hearing the door open quietly a few moments before, the soft brush of her skirts upon the parquet as she approached. "And there was I thinking you weren't listening to that particular conversation," Christine said, embracing him from behind and resting her perfect cheek against his mangled one.

"I always listen, my dear," Erik assured her. "Old habits die hard, after all. Have you become weary of the celebrations?"

"Mmm. I was missing my two favourite people." He could feel her smiling, her cheek plumping next to his; turning her head slightly she kissed his temple. "I can think of no one else with whom I want to see in the New Year."

"That is a terribly unfashionable view."

"Then I am a terribly unfashionable person." Christine leaned over his shoulder, wiggling her fingers towards Allegra until she tickled her giggling daughter under the chin. The chimes of midnight came to an end, and there was a moment of hush, a pause in the cacophony of the bells, before with a high-pitched whistle and a flash of light an explosion spilt the sky, a brilliant waterfall of red sparks falling over the house. It was followed by a series of equally loud bangs, by showers of blue and green and gold and purple and Christine stared up at them, clapping her hands in delight. "Oh, look! How beautiful!"

Getting to his feet Erik carried Allegra over to the window, flinging the glass wide open; for a moment he was concerned that the noise might scare her but to his surprise she made no fuss, watching the fireworks with wide-eyed wonder. Christine linked her arm through his, and when he glanced down at her the face he loved so much was lit with happiness.

"Did you ever go up to the roof to watch the fireworks at the end of the masquerade balls?" she asked. "Meg and I once climbed all the way to Apollo's lyre; it felt as though were on top of the world."

"I did, once or twice. The two of you were extremely reckless that year; one slip and you might have attracted attention for all the wrong reasons. The pavement in the Place de l'Opera is extremely unforgiving."

Christine pretended to pout. "Were you there keeping an eye on us, Monsieur le Phantom?"

"Of course. If either one of you had come to any harm, my life would not have been worth living." Erik chuckled. "You know how terrifying Annie can be."

"I don't believe you were scared of her for a moment," she said, laughing. Falling silent for a moment, she laid her head on his shoulder and freeing his arm from her slackened grasp he slipped it around her waist, drawing her close, their bodies resting together with easy familiarity. Christine sighed, but there was no melancholy in the sound. "Can we stay like this forever? I don't think I want this night to end."

"Well, my angel, I once was a magician. Perhaps I can cast a spell..."

"I think I'd like that," Christine murmured, and together they stood there, the little family who had come through so much against the odds, their eyes on the dazzling splashes of colour that set the midnight sky ablaze as they wondered what the new year might bring.

What new surprises lay in store?


End file.
