The Phantom of Valletta

by Vicki Hopkins

  All three arrived together. Erik watched from on stage as they came down the center aisle. He could see their faces admire the decorated interior of brilliant red velvet cushioned seats and golden boxed alcoves papered in dark red. The completed interior easily accommodated 1,100 patrons, with the ability to hold another 200 standing. A large chandelier hung in the center, similar to the one Erik had brought down in Paris.

  He watched his cohorts examine the beauty within and gloated with pride while he stood center stage. Erik waved his hand across the expanse before him and asked for their final opinions.

  “Now what do you think of Valletta’s Royal Opera House?” A heavy red brocade velvet curtain hung behind him, decorated in a grandiose golden design.

  Andrea stood wide-eyed, clearly overwhelmed. “Erik, I have no words to describe what I feel!” His friend freely showed her enthusiasm. “You’ve done a magnificent job. I never thought…”

  “Never thought what?” He looked at her with amusement. “That I could rebuild something so beautiful out of ashes?”

  Erik took a step forward until he reached the edge of the stage and raised both arms into the air, as if he were embracing his creation. A guttural laugh escaped his throat, echoing throughout the auditorium. He had conquered his demons and proved his enemies wrong. He had risen from the ashes to a new life. The dream of owning and operating an establishment had finally arrived.

  “No longer am I destined to be at the whim of owners and managers, eh, Richard?” Erik looked at him, clearly relieved. “At last this is mine! I own every inch! Nothing shall take it from my hand. Nothing!”

  Erik’s voice rose in challenge to Madame Sybelle’s foolish warning over the peeved spirits that lived underneath. “This house shall stand for eternity in witness that Erik Dante, the Phantom of Valletta, reigns!”

  He glanced at Richard and Andrea, whose faces looked as if they were watching a lunatic on stage. Perhaps he did, but he knew in his soul he had come to a place of dominion in his life, and it felt damn good. He would succeed and continue in its glory until his dying day.

  He heard Andrea clear her throat, bringing him back to lucid thoughts. “You’ve done well, Erik. Very well.” She turned to Richard, whose face looked white as a ghost, and Erik snickered.

  “You have anything to say, Richard Mercier?” Erik poked him to get a response. “I promise not to bring the chandelier down upon the audience. Will that help?”

  He watched as the man gulped, glanced over at Andrea for a quick assurance, before expressing his thoughts. “Andrea is right,” he conceded. “You’ve done well.”

  “And Darius, cat got your tongue?”

  “No…no, Master,” he stuttered, clearly flustered. “You have done magnificently.”

  Erik took in a deep breath and raised his head to the large crystal chandelier. He remembered the moment of his insanity, the screams of the audience, the victims that had been hurt by madness on his part. Silently, he swore he would never destroy what he loved again—not like before.

  “A toast then,” he announced, as he popped the cork off the champagne bottle and watched it fly across the stage floor. “Come up with me here, and let us hail our accomplishments.”

  Erik poured the glasses and handed one to each of his friends. His heart raced in his chest as he expressed his joy and raised his glass.

  “To our glorious future and success!” Each glass came together, the crystal ringing in unison.

  “To our success,” they all repeated. Everyone smiled and took a sip.

  * * *

  Finally, opening night arrived. A full house of nobility, government officials, high society, and even army and naval officers were in attendance. The Governor participated in a ribbon cutting ceremony, and by 8:30 p.m., the curtain pulled back, and the performance of Faust began.

  Erik had instructed the maestro, director, cast, and crew to push everyone to their limits until absolute perfection had been achieved on stage. It paid off. When the final curtain fell, the patrons jumped to their feet in thunderous applause, while shouting accolades of, “Bravo.”

  Erik watched from Box 5 with enormous pride. All the sweat, money, and time had paid off. Life had reached a point of personal perfection, and for the first time in his life, he sensed an ounce of true joy. It felt strange to experience such a genuine moment of happiness, which touched him to the core. Uncharacteristic tears welled in Erik’s eyes while he watched the cast receive multiple curtain calls. After the last of the attendees left, Andrea, Richard, and Darius shared his enthusiasm.

  “Wonderful, Erik!” Richard exclaimed. “It came off quite well, and already sales for future performances are booked solid. You have a hit, my friend!” He grabbed Erik’s hand and gave it a hearty shake with a pat on his shoulder.

  Andrea stood and cried like a baby. “Well, I can see you are, pleased. Happy you came now?”

  “Oh, Erik, I’m so proud of you. Would you mind terribly if I gave you a hug?”

  Erik cringed at her request to be embraced. On the other hand, he couldn’t deny his old friend, especially since she had risked her life to accompany him to Malta.

  “Of course,” he replied, awkwardly opening arms. Andrea quickly gave him a squeeze and released him, no doubt aware of how uncomfortable he felt over the act. He grimaced through the moment, and then quickly stepped backward after she had finished her display of affection.

  After a sleepless night of excitement, Erik arrived for breakfast and grabbed the morning newspaper before anyone else had the opportunity to read the reviews. In no time, he had turned the pages until he reached the arts section, where his eyes quickly grabbed the words off the page.

  “Brilliant, excellent, bravo!”

  A genuine smile of relief spread across Erik’s face. “Listen to this, Andrea and Richard.”

  Last night’s gala reopening of the Royal Opera House of Valletta proved to be the highlight of the year. With the building fully restored to more beauty and glory than the original design, the audience was enthralled over the excellent performance of Faust, which resulted in multiple curtain calls. Though the current owner continues to remain shrouded in mystery, one must give the man credit for the superb job in restoring the arts in all their glory to the residents of this historic city. Whoever you are, we salute you!

  “I told you!” He rested the paper in his lap. “We’re the talk of the island and soon to be the talk of southern Europe. Mark my words!”

  “It’s so exciting,” squealed Andrea. “Don’t you think, Richard?”

  “Yes, indeed. We will soon be the talk of all of Europe.”

  Erik could not contain his excitement. However, being the talk of Europe could bring unwanted attention. He wondered if Christine would hear, or if the authorities would discover his whereabouts. He refused to worry about it. For now, he would glory in his success and push his anxious thoughts aside. The moment to enjoy life had arrived.

  Chapter Nine

  Erik entered the auditorium and strode down the center aisle. Things were going extremely well. The weeks passed with overwhelming success and sold-out performances.

  Each night after the show, Erik celebrated his achievement. He walked through the auditorium and made his private inspection, while reflecting upon the performance. The housekeeping staff had already cleaned the floors, picked up the debris, and returned everything to pristine order both on and off stage. If Erik discovered one discarded program during his rounds, he would make sure the staff heard about it the next morning.

  Everything appeared to be tidy and in its place, as he surveyed the seats and boxes. The chandelier hung dark, but a few gaslights near the stage burned, adding enough illumination in the theatre. As he strolled toward the front, he spotted a lingering light in the orchestra pit that caught his attention. Erik heard shuffling noises and movement and quickly halted his step. He listened intently, trying to ascertain if one of the musicians had perhaps lingered behind for some odd reason. Cautiou
s and not wishing discovery, he stood motionless, waiting to hear further sounds before proceeding closer.

  Suddenly, a recognizable pluck of a violin string met his ear, randomly flicked by a human’s finger. The plucks continued, with no semblance of tune, accompanied by the soft giggle of a female voice.

  Irate that someone dared to toy with an instrument meant for sounds of perfection, he angrily strode forward until he peered over the edge of the pit. There before him, with her back to his burning gaze, stood a petite golden-haired young woman fingering the instrument as if it were a mere plaything.

  Twang, twang. The sounds reverberated again, and another giggle ensued. His unbridled displeasure over her actions caused him to fling his words at her without a second thought.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, sounding like an angry bear about to claw its victim. He boldly stepped into full vision, daring to show his masked face to the intruder to make a point. “The violin is not yours, Mademoiselle, and I insist you cease from handling the instrument with such disrespect this instant!”

  A startled gasp escaped the woman’s lips, and she quickly turned around to face her accuser. Instantly, her hand came to her mouth to restrain a scream of fear, which managed to escape her lungs anyway. Her wide-eyed expression met his, and Erik’s dark eyes glared in return.

  Ignoring the steps down to the orchestra pit, Erik walked to the rim and jumped in front of her, landing with a loud thud, as his booted soles hit the floor. He straightened his back and looked down upon the young woman with disdain. She quivered like a scolded child. In reaction to his hasty arrival, she stepped backward into a stand, knocking it to the floor. Sheet music spewed about landing at Erik’s feet, which pushed his irritation level to new heights.

  “Have you nothing to say for yourself?” The woman looked petrified. Her complexion paled to a white porcelain hue.

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” she stuttered, her voice trembling. “I…I was just looking at the violin.”

  “Who are you?” Erik snarled.

  The woman lowered her gaze from his piercing eyes and stared at the floor as she responded. “Désirée Martin,” she answered, her French accent giving away her origin. “I’m a housekeeper here, Monsieur.”

  Erik narrowed his dark eyes pondering her answer. He found a strange familiarity to her countenance and quickly noted her youthful beauty. “I’ve seen you before, have I not?” He stepped closer to examine her face.

  “I don’t know, Monsieur. I have worked here for a few months now. Perhaps you have seen me around and about doing my duties.”

  “Do you know who I am?” Erik towered above her tiny frame in a show of superiority.

  “Oui, Monsieur, you are…you must be the mysterious owner everyone talks about.” She hesitated and swallowed hard before asking. “Are you?”

  He stood eyeing the golden-haired woman from the top of her head to the hem of her garment. A brilliant deduction on her part, he thought, perhaps his masked appearance led her to that conclusion. He pondered whether to confirm her suspicions.

  She looked curiously at his face, which bothered the hell out of him. “If you wish to know what’s underneath, I can only say it’s nothing a lady should see, so stop staring at it.”

  Désirée pulled her eyes away and glanced at the violin.

  “Why are you here fiddling with the instruments? If you wish to keep your job, I suggest you cease handling what you know nothing about.”

  He walked over behind her and bent down, lifting the fallen music stand and returning it to its rightful place. Afterward, he gathered the sheet music from the floor and reverently put each one in its proper order for the score.

  “I’m curious.” Her slight boldness piqued Erik’s interest. “I’ve always wished I could learn to play the violin. That’s why I plucked the strings.”

  “Play?” Erik picked up the violin she had handled and brushed the wooden surface beneath the palm of his hand, as if to remove her finger stains. He caressed it like a lover underneath his square chin. “You mean like this?” He picked up the bow and began to slide it across the strings in one melodious tune.

  As he always did, he closed his eyes to commune with the violin. He caressed it as if it were a delicate woman, showing his obsessive passion as he played. His fingers pressed the strings, picking notes and making music that filled the empty auditorium with glorious sounds of rapture. For minutes, Erik lost himself in the music, oblivious to the audience that stood dumbfounded before him. Finally, he stopped and glanced at Désirée, surprised to her eyes filled with tears. Her reaction stunned him.

  “How beautiful, Monsieur.” She wiped the moisture with the palm of her hands. “I only wish…”

  “Wish what?”

  “That I could learn to play.”

  Erik chuckled under his breath at the absurdity of her wish. A woman play, he thought to himself. She must have sensed his thoughts for she quickly spat her defense.

  “What? Do you think that it is impossible for a woman to possess talent?” Her voice challenged him as she daringly postured her stance.

  “If you know so much, name me one famous female violinist,” he challenged her in return. Erik watched as the insolent young woman assertively responded with a name.

  “Regina Strinassachi, for one!”

  “Huh!” He shook his head in disgust. “An anomaly, I assure you, in the world of proficient musicians.” Surprised she could even name one, he turned away, frustrated over his inability to dissuade her wish.

  “If one has the desire,” she added, “one should at least be given the opportunity to find out if talent lies within. Would you deny every woman that quest?”

  Erik turned around and latched onto her bold eyes. The flash of memories regarding his former days of tutoring and the satisfaction of sharing his knowledge of music to another human being tugged at his hardened core. With the restoration finally complete, he needed something beyond everyday management to carry his interest between productions. Perhaps it stared him in the face—an insolent woman, who possessed the audacity to think she could learn to play a violin.

  Carefully, he laid the violin down on the musician’s chair, making a mental note to reprimand the man for leaving his instrument out of its case. His eyes lifted to Désirée, who remained defiant before him.

  “Very well,” he relented. “I need some amusement in my life. I will teach you.” His lip curled at the slyness of his offer.

  “Amusement? You think it will be amusing, do you?” She swung away from him in a huff and headed toward the stairs that led directly out of the pit.

  “Well,” he responded, clearly irritated by her feisty behavior. “Do you wish to learn or not?”

  She stopped abruptly and turned around to look at him. She stood firm and spirited in her response.

  “Yes, I do,” she replied emphatically with a clear and steady voice.

  Erik stepped closer. He peered down into her eyes, which he noticed were the color of a deep blue ocean. They were oddly attractive and mesmerizing.

  “I will teach you, Mademoiselle, but you will say nothing about our meeting. The majority of the staff here knows nothing about Monsieur Dante, the owner, nor have they observed my presence. I prefer to keep it that way.” A brush against her body, a darker gaze to make a point, and Erik continued. “Do we understand each other?”

  She nodded in return, her face ashen from his closeness. “We can begin tomorrow evening after the show. Report to Monsieur Mercier’s office at 10 p.m., and he will escort you to me.”

  Erik motioned to Désirée, with his outstretched hand, to climb the stairs. She quickly obeyed. “I suggest you now leave these instruments alone and return to your quarters. It’s late.”

  Her feet scurried down the aisle and out the door with nothing further being said. He wondered about her background, surprised at meeting another French woman in Malta. In any event, he felt amused with his newly acquired hobby.
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  * * *

  “Désirée Martin,” Erik announced, throwing his newspaper down on the morning table and walking up behind Andrea before sitting down. “What do you know about her?”

  His actions startled Andrea, and she dropped her fork on her plate with a clang. “Would you stop sneaking up on me like that!” she barked. “Damn it, Erik, you startled me.”

  Without a word, he sat down, poured himself a cup of black coffee from the carafe, and insisted on a response. “Who is she?”

  Andrea grabbed hold of her napkin, dabbed her lips, and took her time answering his inquiry for the sheer pleasure of making him wait. Eventually, she laid down the napkin alongside her plate, and her eyes rose to meet his impatient gaze. She chuckled under her breath when she realized she had irritated him by her behavior. It felt odd to experience a sense of control in Erik’s presence.

  “She’s from Paris and used to work here at the Royal Opera House before it went up in flames.”

  “But she’s French,” he noted, pointing out the disparity.

  “Yes, her family is French. They came here to Malta during Napoleon’s occupation. From what I understand, they are all dead. She came begging for work and a place to live, so I felt pity on the poor girl and gave her a job.” Andrea wondered about the inquiry, after watching Erik’s reaction to the information. “Why do you ask?”

  “I found her last evening after the performance in the orchestra pit fiddling with one of the violins, which I found most irritating. I spoke of my displeasure and warned her to stop toying with the instruments.”

  “You warned her? You mean you revealed who you were?” Andrea gawked at him astonished that Erik had crossed that line with anyone on the staff.