‘Not true, of course. Industrial pizza, not a great cook . . . but it’s kind of you to say so. But why are you on your feet? You look as if you’re about to leave. That’s out of the question. I won’t let you give me the slip again.’

‘I’m not giving you the slip, Edgar. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but I’m spending my days with you, at the moment.’

‘Again, not true. You’re spending a lot of time nattering in the changing room . . . I’m joking. You know what I mean . . .’

A hesitation, a breath.

‘I’d like you to stay.’

He came over to me and gently put my coat and bag down on the sofa. His hand brushed mine, or was it no accident? I felt a shiver run through my body.

I stayed.

Edgar offered me a herbal tea. I retorted that I wasn’t an old lady yet, and that I’d rather he uncorked another bottle of wine. During the course of the evening, under the combined effect of the alcohol and the whispering, ‘so as not to wake Isa’, Edgar opened up. I didn’t ask anything. He was the one who talked, spontaneously, freely. Several times, I said he didn’t have to tell me anything, but he told me he wanted to. Needed to.

I learned their story. Heartbreakingly sad. As bleak as he and Isa were joyful.

3

Princes and Princesses

17

15 to 10 Days

In Vino Veritas

A few years ago, Isadora still had a mother. Edgar had met Madeleine when they were children. They had been madly in love.

*

In the 1980s, Edgar’s father worked in a bank and his mother was a dance teacher. She had a little school in Paradise Street, in Marseille. You couldn’t make it up. Dance was her whole life, which is why she chose the name Edgar for her son, after the Impressionist artist, Edgar Degas, who was famous for his beautiful ballerina paintings, prints of which adorned the walls of the school. Madeleine was one of her students. The best. The most beautiful, too. Madeleine dreamed of stardom, the Bolshoi, the Paris Opera. After his day at school or football training, Edgar always went to the dance school to wait for his mother. While doing his homework, his attention would wander, then he’d go and sit in a corner and watch the dance class, and draw. His mother was hugely proud of his talent. ‘My Edgar will become a famous artist too,’ she was forever saying.