Chapter 39
***
A very tall, blond man.
For a brief moment, Christine mistook him for the crown prince.
Unlike the crown prince, this man had delicate features. He lowered his gaze and glanced at the cover of the book in his hand. The sunlight streaming in from the window behind him enveloped him like a soft cardigan, and he smiled and looked back at her.
"Here."
"......Thank you."
Christine took what the man handed her without thinking and thanked him a beat late. As she looked at the cover of the script, his gaze lingered on her face a little longer than usual, and she instinctively raised her hand to her veil.
"Is there anything else you're looking for? Berlin's Mephistopheles is over here."
The tone of his voice, which came through the gentle piano melody as if he didn't know Christine, who was busy reading a gossip column, was extremely kind.
She thought Sasha was the only one working at the store, but there was another employee. Christine thought to herself as she replied.
"No, I don't. I guess you’re new here."
“I’m a customer."
He replied, pushing up his glasses perched on the tip of his nose.
"Oh, I'm sorry."
Christine blushed at her thoughtlessness. Not wearing a coat in the middle of winter was enough to cause misunderstanding.
"There's no need for you to apologize, ma'am. It's clear that there was something wrong with my attire. And it's true that I was watching the store for the owner."
He had a kind appearance, with eyes that curved like a crescent moon and a wide, open mouth.
The man rolled up the sleeves of his light brown sweater. He also neatly buttoned the collar of the shirt he was wearing underneath. After combing his messy hair a few times, he smoothed out the front of his sweater and began walking down the aisle between the bookshelves. He looked like a clerk guiding a customer to the cash register.
"Are you a student at the Royal Conservatory of Music?"
"No."
"You're an opera singer, then."
Opera singer. Such a grand word seemed to fit only those who had formally studied opera. Christine was just...
"I didn't major in opera, but I do sing at the theater."
"I see."
The man standing in front of the cash register nodded. His gaze fell on the scriptbook Christine was holding.
A work even majors find challenging.
Mephistopheles was performed exclusively in German. How grand an opera it must be for a non-major to sing without proper training.
He’d probably mock her. But it didn’t matter.
“I didn’t major in music either, but I love composing.”
As if trying to change the awkward atmosphere, the man spoke in a charming, deep voice.
“I only asked because you chose a piece from the Royal Opera House audition. I apologize if I hurt your feelings.”
The man smiled apologetically.
“I can see why you might have misunderstood.”
“Of course.”
As Christine paid, the man awkwardly placed the script into a brown envelope and continued speaking.
“The moment I heard your voice, I was certain.”
“….”
“You have an incredibly beautiful voice. The aria you sing must be wonderful. So, I acted on my misconception with confidence.”
He was a gentlemanly man with a kind expression and tone of voice. This contrasted with his rough cotton shirt and worn sweater.
“Which song do you like best? Mephistopheles.”
He asked as he handed her the thick envelope.
“Song of the Moonlight!”
The two answered at the same time.
The man smiled warmly, as if he had met a fellow countryman in a foreign land. His bright blue eyes sparkled like glass.
"I like that song the best too. It's a masterpiece, isn't it? You could call it the flower of Mephistopheles. It beautifully expresses the two sides of love, how cruel it can be."
“The lyrics are also very beautiful.”
Christine agreed in a bright voice.
It was when she was led by her mother’s hand into the Gounod Opera Company. Overwhelmed by the aria echoing all the way to the central lobby, she walked into the grand theater as if spellbound. In the midst of the dazzling lights and majestic stage, a woman radiating charisma.
Mephistopheles was the first opera Christine had ever seen, and the Moonlight Song was the piece that instantly captivated the young Christine.
She loved the aria, enchanted by the melody, without even understanding the meaning of the German lyrics.
“…..”
“Oscar. Please call me Oscar.”
"Ah, yes. Mr. Oscar. What kind of music do you compose?"
The man, who had slightly raised the corners of his mouth, walked over to the table by the window where the phonograph was placed instead of answering. He skillfully took down the record that had finished playing and put on a new one.
Through the hazy glass, the piano melody flowed gently in the murky light.
It was a song with a slow, lyrical introduction, as if walking under the moonlight illuminating a spring night promenade. The melody was as soft and beautiful as the man's golden hair.
"It's my first record. What do you think?"
The man's fingers, long and delicate, brushed away the golden hair that occasionally fell across his forehead. Like a pianist gliding across the white keys.
"Is the title 'Spring Night Walk'?"
The man took a few steps toward Christine. Standing with his back to the window, his eyes were a deeper shade of blue.
"Moonlight."
His soft voice touched Christine's cheek.
***
The agenda was easily passed.
The faces of the old aristocrats who had reluctantly cast their votes for fear of displeasing the royal family were a rare sight.
Tomorrow, most of the aristocrats would probably feel the same way.
That's how radical the opening of the Royal Opera House was.
Arthur still couldn't understand why Christine Peildon had made such a request, but he couldn't understand why he was so preoccupied with the reason, so he lit a cigarette and smiled wryly.
Although the qualification restrictions had been abolished as the woman had requested, passing the lead role audition was a separate issue.
Even if that happened, would she be able to stand on stage?
Unfortunately, unless she was extremely lucky, it seemed highly unlikely that Christine Peildon would be able to cross the threshold of the Royal Opera House.
The eyes of the senior nobles, filled with resentment, were not very friendly.
Why the Royal Opera House, given all these problems?
Before long, the carriage carrying the Crown Prince entered Greenwood Park Avenue. As expected on a weekend, the main road was very congested, and the navy blue carriage pulled by four horses continued its tedious journey.
Arthur stared blankly out the window, exhaling cigarette smoke.
It was a season with short days, and the sky was already slowly turning crimson. As he lamented the passing of the day, he observed the bustling crowd beneath the park's massive Christmas tree, people skating across the frozen lake, and the slow-moving Ferris wheel above them.
Arthur's gaze, which had been observing the lively scene, was suddenly blocked by a bright red balloon. A small girl standing at the cotton candy stand held the cotton candy in both hands, and at the same time, the bright red balloon rose into the air.
Arthur's pupils dilated for a moment as he absentmindedly followed the balloon floating into the sunset-colored sky.
His gaze, deep as the sea, spotted a woman among the bustling crowd. She wore a familiar black veil hat and a worn, shabby coat. She had dark gray gloves and plain leather shoes.
It was Christine Peildon.
And standing in front of her was a tall man.
Arthur exhaled a long stream of cigarette smoke like a sigh.
The man's face was hidden by his deeply pulled-down hat, but the woman stood out clearly even from a distance.
The man said something, and she smiled brightly.
It was not the fake smile she had flashed at Arthur at the Heiser House, but a smile he had never seen before, as bright as a spring day.
At that moment, while he was engaged in a meaningless argument with the old aristocrats for the sake of that woman, Christine Peildon was smiling and flirting in front of the man.
"Shut up, Samuel. There are more than a few who have slept with Christine. Someday, the spring breeze will blow for me too."
First Duke Deimos, then Count Gounod, and now another man.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
She bowed her head shyly in an extremely intimate distance, then raised it again, and when the man looking down at her said something else, she smiled beautifully at him with a flushed face. Then the man stepped closer and personally lowered the woman's veil.
The carriage moved forward as if its identity had been revealed.
The two people, who had been displaying their affection in the middle of the busy street, soon disappeared from view. Arthur closed his eyes tightly behind the blue cigarette smoke.
The woman's laughter seemed to drift in on the breeze.
That voice was clearly his to own.
Christine Peildon seemed unaware of this.
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