“You haven’t shaved for a week. You don’t exactly look your best.”

It was incredible how much space Haisam filled in the Panhard. He seemed very relaxed, oblivious to the miracle he’d brought about.

“What on earth did you say to them to make them change their minds? How do you do these things?”

My noble Egyptian just sighed as though I was bugging him. He wasn’t going to give anything away.

“Frankly, you’re a champion. That’s all I can say.”

Behind us, Lucky Luke was pedalling at top speed, leaning into the bends. Head down, with knitted brows, he wasn’t going to be left behind.

When we arrived, the first candidates had already performed, but luckily Marie was in the second half of the programme, so we still had a bit of time. We left her in a room where she could focus her mind and warm her fingers up.

“Victor, don’t forget to come back in five minutes: I need my page-turner!”

“In the state I’m in? I look like a wild boar.”

“Be here in five minutes. Stark naked for all I care!” she said, before disappearing into the rehearsal room.

We all looked at each other, stunned. That wasn’t her usual turn of phrase. Maybe it was something to do with Lucky Luke’s pills.

“You see,” said Dad, “you should have shaved. You have to do things your own way and this is the result!”

The audience for the first half were just leaving. A steward ushered us into the hall. Haisam looked a bit sad. He took a step backwards.

“Aren’t you coming to watch?” I asked.

“Bravo, my little maestro,” was his only reply.

And then he started to head off towards the exit.

I caught up with him and grabbed hold of his checked shirt.

“You can’t leave like this! Not today!”

“I have to! Today … it’s the Sabbath.”

“You’re beginning to be a right pain with this Sabbath and its variable dimensions! Look, you’ve been in a car, you’ve been out all afternoon and, for all I know, this evening you’ll be eating sausages in front of the TV.”

“Exactly. There’s no need to make it worse. You know that Reshevsky refused to play chess on Saturdays? Throughout his thirty-year career he always insisted that none of his games should be scheduled on the Sabbath.”

“Don’t give me any nonsense about your Reshevsky and his quirks. That was up to him! If he wanted to twiddle his thumbs every Saturday, fine! I’m talking about you, Haisam. And you, do you really want to leave?”

He seemed embarrassed. I think it was the first and only time I said something to make him question his conscience.

“Want to leave? No, it’s not that. Actually, I’d really like to stay. I can’t tell you how much I’d like to!”