Chapter Text
Raoul Chagny
I’d not long been back in the country, having worked abroad for some years - first in Taiwan and then latterly in Dubai. In some ways it was a relief to be back in the UK, but also… rather an anti-climax, truth be told. I had a few months till my new contract started in London; so I went to stay with my brother while I sorted out a permanent place to live. The delightful commuter-belt area where Phillip had settled was charming, but I was anxious for some distraction.
Phillip was good enough to suggest joining him as a member of the local Operatic Society - our parents had been very interested in the arts and had passed on their love of classical music to us. Joining a few clubs and societies seemed a good way to mix a bit and get to know some of the locals. That was where I first met her - Christine.
She was serving refreshments at the summer meet and greet event - Phillip had dragged me along to meet the committee with the idea I would attend some of the concerts with him. She caught my eye immediately. What can I say? I’ve always had a penchant for voluptuous blondes, and she was stunning. The other women there were easy to categorise: bored, well manicured wives attached to their husbands’ arms or gossiping in groups; the over-done, over fifties singles who cruised the event sniffing for fresh prey and finally the younger, duller, music buffs. Christine stood out by a mile. Her smile was like a beam of sunshine. I managed only a brief introduction before being whisked away to talk to someone else - but I was determined to find out more.
Later, I asked Phillip about her. He was thoughtful for a moment - his bearded face suddenly boyish again when he suspected my reason for asking.
“Oh, you mean Mrs Destler! Trust you to notice her . Yes, she is certainly a good looking woman…”
I must have pulled a face, because he chuckled. “And very definitely married. Her husband doesn’t come to many of the shindigs though. They’re a strange couple. Not sure what she sees in him, to be honest... He’s an odd fellow. French. He attends the concerts with her, but avoids the social events - not a very friendly chap, in my experience. He has something… wrong with him, I think. Always wears a mask.”
I pondered all this information. Perhaps Phillip knew me well enough to recognise my expression, or guess my thoughts, because he suddenly looked serious.
“Don’t go getting any ideas, Raoul. She's a lovely woman but honestly- don’t get involved. Not everything she says rings true - she told Ralph she had worked on the eighth floor of Harrods, then told Arthur she was related to the Russian Monarchy. Just seems a little unusual. And as for the husband… I get an odd feeling about him. I can’t put my finger on it but I would not like to mess with Erik Destler.”
“Why? What does he do for a living? Is he some kind of ex-military meat-head?” I could just imagine the type. Phillip shook his head with a grin.
“To my knowledge he’s a hairdresser. Runs his own salon and a photography studio on the side, but -”
I snorted, cutting across him impatiently, “Your hairdresser’s wife is quite safe, Phillip. Those days are in my past. I was just curious, that’s all.”
But of course, everything he had said just piqued my interest further.
The next time I saw her was quite by chance at a regatta event. An old pal of mine from my Cambridge days was a keen rower and had invited me along when he heard I was back in Blighty. It was a popular event and there was quite a crowd, the weather was blustery but fine, and there was a very British sense of optimism in the air, brought about by the specks of blue visible between the clouds - perhaps it would turn out nice?
I spotted her immediately - her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her golden curls bouncing in the breeze. She looked lovely in tight jeans that accentuated her curves, a fitted white blouse and a navy blazer. Around her neck she wore a gauzy scarf in pillar box red, that matched the colour of her lips and her high heels.
She was talking to some old buffers and I could see she was bored - her smile was stretched and did not reach her eyes, and she was tapping her hand against her thigh. I had just decided to be chivalrous and step in when luck seemed to take a hand - a gust of wind caught her scarf and she lost hold of it - it sailed up into the air and I was able to dash off in pursuit, rescuing it from the edge of the riverbank to the good humoured laughter and applause of the crowd.
When I presented it to her she squealed with delight, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, you really are my knight in shining armour today!” she exclaimed. “Rescuing my scarf and my sanity all in one!” She rolled her eyes with a smile towards the two retreating old fellows, and I was more than happy to take over their position by her side. When I think back to that afternoon, she was funny and bright and seemed to come to life when I paid her attention. This was the kind of woman I had longed to meet - someone who was as interesting to talk to as she was beautiful to look at. It seemed dreadfully unfortunate that she was married.
I offered to get her a drink and headed off towards the bar. When I glanced back I almost jumped to see a dark figure was suddenly standing in my place, looming over her. As I stared, she seemed to cower in towards him, he appeared to be talking to her, grabbing her arm, gesticulating sharply. The man was tall and gaunt. Was this her husband? I had a feeling that it was. Where on earth had he been all afternoon? If she was my wife I would never leave her side.
Hurrying back with the drinks I had hoped to be introduced to her mysterious partner, but by the time I got to her through the crowds, he had gone and she was talking to someone else. She seemed subdued, somewhat cooler towards me. As I went to take her leave, she grabbed my arm and whispered,
“Thank you for saving my scarf. He gets very jealous - my husband.”
I looked at her, her eyes seemed to plead for understanding - for my help, perhaps. I nodded, and vowed to myself that I would see her again - just to ensure everything was OK. At the back of my mind, I could not shake the niggling feeling that something was not right, that there was some dark, hidden secret in her life.
Strangely, I was desperate to meet him face to face, to form my own impression of the man, who I already disliked intensely. I did not like the way he had grabbed her. The way she had seemed cowed by him. She was clearly much younger - closer to my age, I thought. Was it a marriage of convenience? Was she trapped in an unhappy relationship with no way to escape? Perhaps I had too much time on my hands, for I found myself thinking about her far more than was healthy.
From then on I made sure to talk to her whenever I saw her at events - she was always friendly and dare I say it - flirty, we seemed to strike up an easy familiarity that I was only too happy to encourage. I liked her. She was delightful, and so different from her dour, brooding husband. Whenever we met, I was able to make her laugh, bring out her smile. I only ever saw Erik Destler from a distance. They just seemed so ill suited - you only had to look at him to see that.
It must have been a few months later. The Operatic Society had joined up with some local charities to hold a Gala evening at Westacre Manor, a local stately home which was often hired out as a venue for big events. I was looking forward to seeing Christine as I could only imagine what a delight she would look, all dolled up to the nines, and I wasn’t disappointed. I wasn’t the only person to notice her when she arrived, either. Plenty of gentlemen took the opportunity to admire her when she made her entrance, draped on the arm of her husband. He was an impressive figure, despite his insistence on wearing a face mask. My brother had mentioned some kind of issue - I wondered what he hid beneath it? I could not help but feel Christine deserved better than this strange, unfriendly fellow. What must her life be like behind closed doors?
She truly was the best looking woman there. She was wearing an elegant, black evening dress, perfectly cut to accentuate her ample features. Her long golden hair was arranged in some kind of artfully messy bun with tendrils escaping; as she moved, her neckline sparkled with what were - I had no doubt - diamonds. She was breathtaking.
I’m not a vain man but I know how to present myself well. I knew I was especially dashing in my Saville Row Tuxedo - I earned decent money and I liked to look good - the Tux fit to perfection. When later, during the speeches, she caught my eye and smiled I could tell she liked what she saw. As soon as we were free to mingle I made a beeline for her.
“Ah! My brave knight!” She laughed delightedly as I approached, “How lovely to see you again. These events are usually rather dull. My husband is not terribly keen on socialising so I am rather left to my own devices…”
I was pleased to step in to keep her company. She was thrilled to hear all about my experiences in Dubai, expressing her own sorrow she had never got to travel more widely.
“I imagine I’d be rather out of place in a place like that, though,” she sighed wistfully.
I was only too happy to put her straight. “Nonsense! You would fit in perfectly there. I’m sure you would love it! Dubai is such an interesting place - if you know the right people, that is.”
She giggled and raised an eyebrow. “Which, you do, of course?”
“Most certainly! If we were there now, I could get us in all the most exclusive night spots, and arrange invites for the most spectacular dinners and events. There’s nowhere like it. Knocks all this -“ I gestured around me, “into a cocked hat, I’m afraid!”
“However will you cope in this dull backwater?” she teased, “us locals will have to work very hard to keep you entertained, won’t we?”
We talked for some time, I felt there was a real spark between us. I amused her with stories of some of the wilder things I had got up to during my travels, I admit I was showing off a little but she seemed to enjoy it. After a while I noticed her glancing off, over my shoulder, and I got the sense we were being watched. I turned behind me and sure enough, a dark figure was staring at us from across the room, glowering. “Is that your husband?” I asked, and she nodded. “He doesn’t seem very friendly - Why doesn’t he come over?” She smiled awkwardly. “Does he not approve of you talking to other men?” I tried to be jovial, but she winced.
“Something like that… you must excuse me, I should get back to him.”
I suddenly felt bold. “You know, I don’t think I’ve been introduced yet. Would you do the honours?” She looked surprised at first but quickly smiled.
“Of course. Follow me.” We made our way through the crowds and he watched us, his eyes glittering above the ridiculous mask. His gaze never left her, I realised, till we were both stood before him. There was an awkward silence as he regarded me with a distinctly unimpressed air, before Christine spoke up and introduced us.
“Darling, may I introduce Raoul Chagny - Phillip’s brother.” I held out my hand and after a moment’s hesitation - just long enough to make a point - he took my hand and shook it firmly but briefly. I noticed the strength in his fingers and the odd coolness of his skin. “This is my husband, Erik Destler. Erik, Raoul has been telling me all about his travels.”
His eyes locked on mine and held my gaze, his intense stare most unnerving. “Indeed? How pleasant to meet you, Mr Chagny.” he intoned, his words polite but somehow I had a sense he was mocking me. “Do forgive me but I’m afraid I must deprive you of my wife’s charming company. Enjoy your evening.” He inclined his head in a curt nod, and extended his arm towards Christine as he turned away from me. She glanced back over her shoulder as they moved off.
“It was nice talking to you, I’m sure I will see you later.” She stepped closer within her husband’s outstretched arm which was quickly wrapped possessively around her. Perhaps I was mistaken, but I thought… there was a certain look in her eye when she looked at me - something in her tone that made me wonder… made me hope...
What a creep! I thought, as I watched them disappear into the crowds. He treated her as if he owned her.
The rest of the evening seemed to lose its sparkle. I ended up at the bar for a while, then Phillip introduced me to a selection of important local figures and a couple of pretty singles and I did my best to be charming and erudite, though my mind was on Christine. Had they gone home already?
I was bored and decided to nip outside for a cheeky smoke. There were a few people dotted about on the terrace but mostly it was pretty quiet outside, it was quite nice to stand outside the windows and look back in, to observe the goings on without being part of it. I savoured the pleasing noise and smell of my faithful zippo lighter as I struck it and lit my cigarette. Taking a long drag, I exhaled slowly as I watched the couples on the dance floor. Perhaps the Scotch had made me maudlin but I felt a sudden pang of loneliness. So many people - so many, happy people…
When I saw them dancing I was surprised - I hadn’t expected to see them here still. He danced well for a man of his height - unexpectedly graceful, though I couldn't help but notice the way his hands moved across Christine’s back, stroking her bare skin, the way he whispered in her ear... was it loving? Or was he just making a show of his ownership? The music changed and the dancers seemed to be swapping partners - something he seemed loathe to do...
Suddenly, a cough to my left made me jump. I had been so lost in my thoughts I’d failed to notice one of Phil’s friends, an older, portly fellow called Henry, had come and stood next to me.
“Got a light, old chap?” he enquired hopefully, and I was only too happy to offer my zippo to light his cigar, and then I lit a second cigarette for myself. Henry nodded in the direction I had been looking so intently, at the objects of my attention.
“ The Destlers .” he said, in a tone that suggested he was answering a question that had not been asked. “A funny pair, those two. Odd ducks .” He puffed away on his cigar and then nudged my arm. “But - they’re good to have around, you know… she's done wonders for the membership. All the young chaps like her! All you have to do is put her on the sign up stall. She gets a lot more new fellows signed up than old Bernard used to manage, I can tell you...” He wheezed with laughter at this, and I smiled politely, then sensed an opportunity.
“What’s he like? Erik Destler? He seems rather.. Difficult? And the mask - is it some kind of facial injury? I just… he doesn't seem like the type she would go for…”
Henry smiled indulgently. “He’s wealthy - and French!" He nudged me again, with an over-exaggerated wink. " That’s always attractive to women, isn't it? Ha! A chap can look like the back end of a bus but as long as he’s got money - or a french accent - he’ll find a wife! " He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Whatever it is under that mask of his, she doesn't seem to mind. Mark my words - those two are close . Don’t think otherwise. She’s a fine looking filly - I see you looking at her but I warn you - look but don't touch, young man!” He wagged a finger in my face and then wheezed with laughter again, in between puffs of his cigar. I was staring at the two of them on the dance floor again, watching the way she seemed to melt into him, his giant frame a black hole, absorbing all her light. There was something... unwholesome about him.
Henry was chuntering on about something - the fireworks show I think, then he thanked me for the use of my lighter and went back inside, leaving me to my thoughts.
The live band were very good. As the dancers paused to applaud the end of a song I saw Destler draw Christine off of the dancefloor and they headed towards one of the other opened doors further down the terrace. I stubbed out my cigarette and unseen, headed towards them, slipping behind one of the large ornamental bushes, curious to know what they were doing. I was intrigued. Perhaps he might take off the mask if he was a smoker?
I watched as Erik led Christine down into a little sheltered arbour just in front of the terrace. Moving quietly, I positioned myself near enough to listen in. I could just make them out in the shadows.
He lunged towards her and grasped her tightly and I heard her gasp. “You know damn well what you are doing - flirting with them because you can. I think you know as well as I do that your actions cannot go unpunished… isn't that right my dear? Surely - that was what you wanted all along - you vixen!” His words were spoken softly but with such vehemence it made me shudder. The brute! So he was that type, I thought, grimly.
“Darling - I tried to get away but it's so difficult... “ I heard low murmurings but could not make out the words until - “-wait till we get home - or is it really so...oh!”
I heard her gasp and whimper. As he pulled her even closer, it looked as if he was kissing her, or nuzzling her neck - or was he simply threatening her again? It was hard to tell. She made another gasping noise - I imagined his hand on her throat, or twisting her wrist. Bloody French swine! Should I intervene? Or would making a scene only make it worse for her? While I was contemplating what to do she spoke again.
“Let me go, my sweet - please! I can make it up to you - later? I - I promise!”
He grunted and whispered something to her that again I could not catch, but it made her gasp again followed by a nervous giggle.
“Erik - I need to get back - I promised I would speak to the Colonel’s wife and I don’t want them to come looking for us out here...”
He let out a hiss of annoyance and swore under his breath. “Imbeciles and fops, the lot of them. Go. But remember - I will be watching you. And when we get home…” his voice dropped low and dripped with menace, “I’m going to put you across my knee and give you a bloody good spanking, you dirty, filthy little hussy.”
Dear god! I truly hated this vile man!
I heard the rapid clatter of Christine’s heels on the stone as she made her way back towards the ballroom, and watched as he slowly followed, as if nothing had happened! As if he had not made disgusting threats of violence against his poor wife! I knew I needed to find an opportunity to speak to her alone.
I scoured the place looking for Christine, knowing I needed to do something to ensure that her beast of a husband did not harm a hair on her head. Finally I found her, she was in the entrance lobby, and had just said goodbye to an elderly couple. A fireworks display was due to take place and most of the guests were milling away from the lobby and main ballroom, back out towards the terrace. I tried to approach her but when she saw me she smiled awkwardly and made as if to go.
“Oh, Christine - I wanted to see if you were… you seemed a little… is everything OK?” I didn’t really know what to say, or how to express what I knew. I did not want to embarrass her - I wanted to help. She flashed a look at me - impatience? Annoyance? Desperation?
“I’m fine - thank you, but I do need to go. My husband is waiting outside. He doesn't like these events much - he’s anxious to get home. Perhaps I’ll see you at the next wine and cheese night…”
“Does he hit you?”
I blurted the words out desperately, and the wide-eyed expression on her face was enough -
“What? I - I don’t know what you mean…”
But she knew I knew. The colour had risen in her cheeks. Christine grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear.
“It's private … just - you can't mention this to anyone!” She stared at me with a fierce expression, I could see the hurt there. She was a proud woman and I had stupidly exposed her shame.
“I don’t mean to pry - I just want to help!” I replied, trying to make her understand - she could trust me, that my clumsy words were an attempt to reach out to her. “It’s not right for him to do that to you!”
“What on earth do you think you are saying? We’ve spoken at a few events and now… you are trying to get involved in my personal life! You’ve been drinking. Leave me alone.” she hissed at me, her eyes flashing. I had truly hit a nerve, the poor woman.
“I want to protect you.” I repeated, resolutely.
She glared at me. “Don’t be silly. You can’t. Now please - I need to go. My husband is waiting.”
The way she said that - the emphasis on ‘my husband’ - it seemed clear to me that she was scared of him. Before I could protest or say any more, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the building.
I was conflicted. She was clearly in trouble - but what should I do? I needed to think. I needed courage. Maybe Dutch courage… I headed back to the bar.
As I drank, I mulled over the problem before me. What should I do? Was I right to get involved? Did she even want my help? The glasses of scotch seemed to soften the barriers and obstacles in my mind. Suddenly it became obvious. I needed to rescue her! I could not stand by and let that abusive madman hurt her - husband or not!
Knocking back one final scotch for the road, I pulled out my phone and called a cab. By the time it arrived I had googled my destination, from the few details I knew about Christine and her mysterious husband.
“Driver? Take me to the Salon Garnier.”