conductors of the twentieth century. He had not been disappointed. Every year that passed was proving Max to have been right as Laurent stunned the concert halls and opera houses of the world with his genius.
Max watched him from the banquette where he sat. Still so young-looking at forty-five, and handsome, so virile yet sensitive in his looks and deeds. A little more arrogant, possibly, but that was no bad thing. A form of self-protection?
Laurent sat down opposite Max and was offered a glass of champagne by the waiter. He raised his glass and gave the toast: ‘Eden.’ He said no more but pressed his lips to the rim of the flute and drank.
The two men studied the menu and made their selections; afterwards Max ordered the wines from the sommelier. They were a grand white for the first course, a Montrachet, with a noble Pétrus afterwards to go with their beef.
‘You’re being very generous, Max. You are either terribly pleased to see me and this is a celebration or else you want a very great favour,’ quipped Laurent.
‘Both,’ Max answered him with a smile.
‘Now we have that out of the way, tell me, how is Eden?
‘She’s well. Better than she has been in a long time, in fact.’
‘She never married?’ asked Laurent.
‘No. And you haven’t, I know. Still too taken up with long-legged beauties, glamorous young things hopeful for an offer of a wedding band. Isn’t that the scenario?’
Laurent gave Max a knowing smile and answered teasingly, ‘I am an agent’s delight, Max. My work is my life, public and private. All the rest is just public relations. I have on occasion come across Garfield incidentally.’
‘He’s been out of Eden’s life for more than a decade.’
‘I loved her. You will never know what it cost me when she turned me down to run off with him. But why talk about that now?’
‘You still love her!’ said Max with genuine surprise in his voice.
‘I don’t think much about love or Eden. If you don’t mind, subject closed,’ Laurent replied.
‘I’m afraid it’s not,’ said Max ruefully.
They exchanged glances across the table that revealed more than either of them could possibly have wanted. They were two men in love with the same woman and most probably for thesame reasons, one who had ultimately rejected them. Brothers under the skin.
‘You’re here about Eden. I should have guessed.’
‘Laurent, I’m organising a comeback concert for her. She would like you and the Boston Symphony Orchestra to be a part of her first appearance in ten years.’
‘It’s a long time to be silent in the music world,’ was Laurent’s cautious reply.
‘And if I were to tell you she’s as good now as she was at her peak, would you have another answer for me?’
‘I would have to hear her myself to see if she is as good as you say. Then we might have something to talk about.’ Laurent quickly added, ‘I said
might
, Max. I make no promises, is that clear?’
Max sat back in his chair, more relaxed about this meeting than he had expected to be. Laurent Touvier, one of the brightest and most exciting of the present-day classical conductors, had not said no.
When Eden had suggested that she wanted to come back with Dvorak’s Cello Concerto, Richard Strauss’s ‘Don Quixote’ and Lalo’s Cello Concerto in D Minor, with Laurent conducting the Boston Symphony Orchestra and the venue the amphitheatre at Epidaurus, he had known that the most difficult thing would be getting Laurent to agree.
Max was all too aware how deeply hurt Laurent had been when Eden had refused to become his wife. The age difference of ten years had been her excuse. He was younger than her with a career still to establish. It was what he had not as yet experienced that was keeping them apart, she maintained. Then Garfield walked into their lives and swept Eden away from Laurent. The way Eden looked at Garfield, that passionate love that swelled between them, was something Laurent had wanted to
Max watched him from the banquette where he sat. Still so young-looking at forty-five, and handsome, so virile yet sensitive in his looks and deeds. A little more arrogant, possibly, but that was no bad thing. A form of self-protection?
Laurent sat down opposite Max and was offered a glass of champagne by the waiter. He raised his glass and gave the toast: ‘Eden.’ He said no more but pressed his lips to the rim of the flute and drank.
The two men studied the menu and made their selections; afterwards Max ordered the wines from the sommelier. They were a grand white for the first course, a Montrachet, with a noble Pétrus afterwards to go with their beef.
‘You’re being very generous, Max. You are either terribly pleased to see me and this is a celebration or else you want a very great favour,’ quipped Laurent.
‘Both,’ Max answered him with a smile.
‘Now we have that out of the way, tell me, how is Eden?
‘She’s well. Better than she has been in a long time, in fact.’
‘She never married?’ asked Laurent.
‘No. And you haven’t, I know. Still too taken up with long-legged beauties, glamorous young things hopeful for an offer of a wedding band. Isn’t that the scenario?’
Laurent gave Max a knowing smile and answered teasingly, ‘I am an agent’s delight, Max. My work is my life, public and private. All the rest is just public relations. I have on occasion come across Garfield incidentally.’
‘He’s been out of Eden’s life for more than a decade.’
‘I loved her. You will never know what it cost me when she turned me down to run off with him. But why talk about that now?’
‘You still love her!’ said Max with genuine surprise in his voice.
‘I don’t think much about love or Eden. If you don’t mind, subject closed,’ Laurent replied.
‘I’m afraid it’s not,’ said Max ruefully.
They exchanged glances across the table that revealed more than either of them could possibly have wanted. They were two men in love with the same woman and most probably for thesame reasons, one who had ultimately rejected them. Brothers under the skin.
‘You’re here about Eden. I should have guessed.’
‘Laurent, I’m organising a comeback concert for her. She would like you and the Boston Symphony Orchestra to be a part of her first appearance in ten years.’
‘It’s a long time to be silent in the music world,’ was Laurent’s cautious reply.
‘And if I were to tell you she’s as good now as she was at her peak, would you have another answer for me?’
‘I would have to hear her myself to see if she is as good as you say. Then we might have something to talk about.’ Laurent quickly added, ‘I said
might
, Max. I make no promises, is that clear?’
Max sat back in his chair, more relaxed about this meeting than he had expected to be. Laurent Touvier, one of the brightest and most exciting of the present-day classical conductors, had not said no.
When Eden had suggested that she wanted to come back with Dvorak’s Cello Concerto, Richard Strauss’s ‘Don Quixote’ and Lalo’s Cello Concerto in D Minor, with Laurent conducting the Boston Symphony Orchestra and the venue the amphitheatre at Epidaurus, he had known that the most difficult thing would be getting Laurent to agree.
Max was all too aware how deeply hurt Laurent had been when Eden had refused to become his wife. The age difference of ten years had been her excuse. He was younger than her with a career still to establish. It was what he had not as yet experienced that was keeping them apart, she maintained. Then Garfield walked into their lives and swept Eden away from Laurent. The way Eden looked at Garfield, that passionate love that swelled between them, was something Laurent had wanted to
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