The Final Act (A Phantom of the Opera Phan Fic)

Chapter Eleven ~ In Which Things Appear in Place

Ella's POV

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It had been six months since I had escaped my husband's tyrannical hold and four months to date since Arthur and I had moved from that dingy little hotel room and into a proper one bedroom flat in one of Valence's nicer neighborhoods. Also, mind it, away from that pestering Opera House and away from that detestable trouble maker with the smooth voice and strapping figure...no. No more of that I had said. I always had to remind myself how silly I sounded. Although I was no where near him, I felt his voice still call to me at night sometimes. Those were the difficult nights. The ones not spent in good rest.

But enough of dwelling on those things. It was time to dwell on the now. And right now, I was busy waiting tables at a small cafe just two blocks down from Arthur and I's little home. While I worked away busily by day at the cafe, I spent semi-late nights typing up secretarial papers for a law firm around the next block. That paid rent while the waitress went half into foodstuffs and the other half into savings. Savings particularly for Mr. Worthington, who I still owed a pretty penny to.

I was determined to be no man's debtor. I would be my own woman, a woman marked by confidence and self-independence. I would work for no one but myself and my son. I rested in mind calmly at the thought of my son being watched by the kindly older woman who lived in the flat beside me. There was an ease in her, watching her hold Arthur in her lap was refreshing. Like a softer grandmother Arthur had never really had. It brought me more joy seeing that, more peace. But as I thought on those things, I also thought on Arthur's interactions with Erik.

The little one had been good to me, not asking about Erik more than he ought to. Every now and then, certainly he would ask. But I could not blame him for that, for the man had imprinted on my son. He had been a father to him for but a brief moment. Although I loathed the thought of it, there was something in that fatherly nature that also brought me happiness.

"Ella! Come on, sweetheart, the orders are going to get cold. Focus for me, please." My boss yelled at me from behind the kitchen window. I blinked a few times, realizing I had been in a daze again.

I quickly took up two hot plates, each a delicious looking soup. "Pardonnez-moi , monsieur." I moved with a certain grace toward the table, sitting down the soup bowls delicately and smiling. "Enjoy."

Another table caught my eye, another order to be taken. I moved around gracefully, almost in a waltz-like fashion. This was an environment I could get use to. Certainly it was busy and laborious, but it certainly outdid cleaning house for a tyrannical husband. The price of independence was nothing if it meant a feeling freer than a bird.

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Rhett's  POV

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Unsuccessful! Massively, utterly unsuccessful! That Maynor was killing my patience and the amount of finances I was willing to spend on that little toad of a wife. Six bloody months of nothing! Pathetic. This all was so pathetic and wasteful of her. For me to be chasing after her, that was truly childish. She expected me to chase at her heels, something I would not do.

No. I was a man of dignity, not one who allowed his wife to drag him through the mud for her own personal gain. An ignorant child. That is what Ella was and always would be. She was pathetic, I could not stress it enough.

I sat in my work office, drumming my fingers against the desktop. Papers surrounded me. Big economics and petty business affairs. My family held one of the most prestige winery in near all of France. It was fitting for our name, Brewer. At first, we found it well in the lager and ale companies, but my father wanted more notoriety. Something only the fine and high in life could attain. High end wine. Long vineyards and hot summer nights in Bordeaux; pretty girls and days on the coast not far from home. Living a life of purest bliss and luxury. Then, to move to Toulouse at the age of fifteen for some education, or so my father put it. I needed to "culture-up" and become a man. No more flirting or swooning pretty little babes in their dainty sea-side suits. No more play. Only books, classical music, deafening operettas I cared nothing about. Tying myself down to one woman, to raise a family. Understanding business and economics. Finances and grapes. Dreadful things.