THE GHOST IS GONE

(where did Erik go during those six long months between the incident of the chandelier and the
appearance of Red Death at the Masquerade?)

She had denied him and betrayed him.

So she loved that silly, feckless boy, did she? Very well, so be it! Her Angel of Music would go now and leave them.

He would simply disappear from her life … would no longer be there to teach her and guide that wondrous talent of hers. Without his innate musicality to direct that talent and shape that exquisite voice, she too would be denied as she had denied him. His absence from her life would prove a timely reminder of all she had learned and how she had grown in musical stature under the benevolent wing of her teacher and Angel.

Childish tit-for-tat maybe, but he had been so dreadfully hurt by the manner in which her naïve confessions had been relayed to the Vicomte. How could she profess to be frightened of him when he had never laid a finger upon her … would die rather than cause her pain?

Oh Christine, Christine, why have you betrayed me? ... you are breaking my heart ... you do not want me here, it seems, and so I shall leave you … but you will miss me … your friend, your Phantom … you'll see ...

He would spirit himself away, far away where no one would find him. He would travel north and cross the sea, putting distance and time between himself and his love. Perhaps the majestic highlands of Scotland would provide peace and quiet, and the tranquil hills give solace to his troubled heart.

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And so the Phantom of the Opera disappeared from the Paris Opera House, leaving those behind rejoicing and believing he had left them for good.

Except perhaps Christine ...

Oh Erik, please forgive me, please ... my endless longings echo in this whisper ... I was weak ... so stupidly craven and wrong to do what I did. Please forgive me and come back to me, my Angel of Music ...

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In the serene beauty of Scotland, his raging spirit calmed by the hills and lakes, Erik completed his opera ~ Don Juan Triumphant.

It was time to move on again, and so he travelled south into England, where his artist's eye was enchanted and beguiled by the green countryside and little villages. He visited Stratford-on-Avon and discovered the true beauty of the language of Shakespeare. Then on further south until eventually, he arrived in London.

Here, his striking, black-cloaked figure was seen on many occasions in and around the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. The ladies were bewitched and intrigued by this mysterious stranger, but were held back by their more wary menfolk, who sensed … Danger! Yet he would often buy a posy of violets from a shy little flower girl who feared him not at all.

Erik explored London at his leisure, being treated with courtesy and respect as people glanced with friendly interest at his masked features, but no more than that. He attended operas, the ballet and several playhouses and theatres. The museums, the galleries of great arts and the historic buildings attracted him like a magnet where he spent many hours visiting them.

The building to which he was most drawn was a theatre in The Haymarket, called Her Majesty's Theatre. He would often stand across the road from this theatre and admire the structure. Certainly, it was not on the magnificent scale of his domain in Paris, but it was indeed a very beautiful building. On the night he attended a performance of Donizetti's Lucrezia Borgia, many glances of interest were thrown at the fascinating masked visage from the theatregoers thronging Her Majesty's Theatre, and the ladies secretly yearned to caress that face, look into the glowing dark eyes behind the mask, and know his voice.

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The Phantom loved London and would like to have stayed far longer, but his heart was aching for Christine. Besides, it was time to go home and show those ungrateful wretches at the Paris Opera that his operatic masterpiece would surpass anything ever staged there before. Yes, he would return to his domain and demand the salary owed him. He would show them who was master there!

And Christine … dare he think of Christine … his love, the meaning of his life? Would she be there waiting, longing for the return of her Angel of Music, or had the Vicomte persuaded her to forget her strange tutor?

The need to know became all-consuming and so he booked a passage on the next boat from Dover to Calais. On arrival in France he hired a horse to carry him to Paris. The animal - a big, powerful bay - covered the miles with ease, seeming to sense his rider's urgency to reach their destination with all speed.

Erik rode through the night, stopping only to rest his mount and to drink from cool clear streams. As he journeyed on towards the Opera House, the image of Christine drew him close and ever closer.

The image held a shy smile of welcome, and hope began to flood into his heart.

Christine … I love you.