It was to be a star-spangled production and he was ready for it. All the French opera world was anticipating its exploding volcano special effects and the extensive use of ballet dancers in a long and difficult opera that was rarely performed. One more rehearsal would have been more advantageous to Laurent than running off to Egypt to confront Eden. And why do it anyway? He tried to rationalise his decision: because she needed him, because if she was still as great a cellist as she had been he wanted no other conductor to share her return. It belonged to him. The truth was that there had never been and would never be anyone in his life like Eden Sidd. He was still in love with her. Laurent had never had the chance to confront Eden and hopefully reach a closure that would set him free from her at last. He fantasised that she would look old and have lost her sensuality, that easy charm she had always exerted over men. That the golden charisma of Eden Sidd would have turned to dross. Yet here he was on a chartered twelve-seater Gulf Stream, jetting across Italy towards the coast of Egypt courtesy of Magdi Sharif’s generosity.
