Authors: Roberta Latow
Tom rarely spoke to Eden about his years covering the news. She gained the information more through his photographs as he assembled the book he was contracted to deliver, discovering searing displays of man’s inhumanity to man. She soon realised that though her husband was able detach himself from the emotional trauma of such sights as he had seen, he had done so from pure survival instinct or he would never have been able to stomach the job, be the photographer he was.
How much he’d suffered was made clear to Eden only in the night when he slept restlessly, broke out in a sweat of terror, or called out and wept. At those times she would wake him from his nightmares as quietly and calmly as possible so that he might sleep once more a dreamless sleep. They never talked about the horrors that disturbed him. Eden somehow knew he would one day find the right moment to share his distress and bring it out into the light. Until then it was enough that she knew he needed her, and he knew she would be there for him.
As the concerts drew closer Eden often thought about that time when she had allowed herself to become an invisible woman. She had never before realised how strong and courageous a person she was. How at the moment of the death of herself she would be able to fight against it. That Tom should have been the catalyst to drive her back into life and then become a part of that life was still a miracle to her and one she would never take for granted.
Eden’s happiness seemed boundless. She was grateful for every good thing happening to her but sometimes felt concern that it
might not last, that something dark and evil would look upon her and say, ‘Enough! You’ve had your share of greatness, of love. Why should it be you and not me?’
At moments like that Eden would remind herself that she was a positive, vibrant human being who had fallen into the pit of fear once and that was enough. She had lost herself, and found her way back. She would never let that happen to her again.
Two weeks before the concerts at Epidaurus approaches were made to Tom to photograph Saddam Hussein. The assignment was supposedly hush-hush, the interview to be conducted by Jason Wildeman. He was calling in a favour which put Tom on the spot. He did not see how he could refuse. The great portrait photographer Karsh would never have refused such a commission was all Eden had to say about the matter. Tom had covered the Gulf War and had been praised for his work by Hussein himself. He had no desire to be involved in anything in Iraq again, only to remain with Eden.
But it was a huge opportunity and eventually Eden herself suggested that he should go to Iraq and they would meet up several days before the concert. The house in Hydra was chosen as the rendezvous. Max would take care of everything. And so they parted for the first time since they had come together. Tom looked profoundly sad. Eden found it not so much sad as curious that he was not at her side. She made light of the matter, claiming she had much to do before the concert. They agreed not to speak every day since communication was never easy when Tom was out in the field.
For the first few days they did, however, speak to each other in spite of declaring they would not be dependent on phone calls. Then the calls stopped. Eden was not unduly concerned. She worked feverishly and was as critical as ever of her own performance. It was all going well, just as she expected it to. The usual anxieties over her interpretation, the excitement of returning to playing in public after so long a silence. It was all there, it was all happening.
Only at night alone in her bed while she was feeling a need for sexual fulfilment did she yearn for Tom. The nights reminded her
of how glorious sex was with the man one loves. She thought about how powerful a sexual drive they both had and how wondrous it was to be on the edge of desire all the time. There had been only one other person in her life who could match that excitement and that had been Garfield. She would not deny that, she just let it be.
There was always a fuss before a concert and the house was a busy, bustling place. Eden’s dresser always took too many clothes and shoes, always too many shoes. And there was always the make-up man and hairdresser on hand too making some sort of fuss. Eden took it all in her stride. Max listened to Laurent about the problems he’d had with his timetable removing all of that from Eden’s shoulders.
She was calm and playing like an angel. She was cool, without any anxiety about Tom. She knew he would not fail her. He would be there days before she played. It was Eden’s habit to move into a hotel before a performance. Max arranged that she should have her usual suite of rooms at Claridge’s. She dined in the hotel restaurant or in her rooms, removed from the mundane demands of life. Tom knew where she would be if he was able to get in touch with her.
The days passed by pleasantly and with a great many interviews and photo shoots. The Surabaya was of special interest. Everyone wanted to know the history of the Stradivarius. Until recently Eden had rarely told the romantic story of the later years of the cello. Then a reporter from the
Times
asked her, ‘There is so much mystery surrounding the Surabaya, why are you so reluctant to talk about it?’
Eden answered, ‘Until it was given to me, I felt I had no right to talk about it. There is no real mystery, though. It holds no secrets. It has been through a great deal, survived two world wars. Because of it a family survived the holocaust. A Nazi SS man ran a house to house search for it and out of frustration murdered innocent people because the instrument eluded him. All that is history and well documented.
‘There’s romance in its story too because a German Jew called Albrecht Stein, a maker of fine pianos, one of those who thought
of himself first as a German and second as a Jew, believed in his country and that Nazism could not survive and waited too late to leave Germany. By the time he was allowed to leave it was with nothing but the Stradivarius, and only then because he bribed his way out.
‘The Stein family pooled all their money to buy the cello. They were a cultured lot and knew their investment was safe if they could get it to the West. At that time Japan had not bombed Pearl Harbour. The only passage the Stein family could get was to Malaysia where a cousin ran a rubber plantation and would take them in. The cello was taken as collateral against loans and so it remained for years in a cupboard in Surabaya. The Malaysian banker had a young wife who wanted to play the instrument. She had a passion for its sound and he could deny her nothing. Until Japan bombed Pearl Harbour and the Japanese occupied Malaysia, Mr Stein taught her the cello. They always referred to it as the Surabaya. It was hidden by the Malay banker until the end of the war when it was brought to the West and sold here.’
‘What happened to the Stein family?’
‘Tragically they all died in internment camps or working as forced labour in Japan.’
‘And the young wife?’ asked another reporter.
‘She was a fine cellist until her death only a few years ago.’
‘The Malay banker?’
‘The money for which he sold the Surabaya helped to put the country’s economy back on track after the war.’
‘And now it’s yours,’ commented a young female reporter from a glossy magazine.
‘Yes, now it’s mine,’ answered Eden and stood up to leave the room.
She was dining alone in the restaurant that evening. Max was dealing with final arrangements. Eden had become thoughtful, having told the story of the Surabaya, and wanted not to be alone but to have the buzz of people around her. However, she was quite shocked to find someone she knew standing over her. It took her several seconds to get herself under control.
It was Dante. Of course, he would know her pattern. Where she would be, when she would be there. Hadn’t he seen it enough when she had been with Garfield?
‘Go away, Dante,’ she told him.
‘Please, I know how much you dislike me but hear me out. I have come on behalf of Garfield. He’s desperate, he needs you. He is still hopelessly in love with you. Just five minutes of your time. Please let me sit down and talk to you?’
The pain that Dante had caused Eden! It was as sharp in her memory as ever it had been. She wanted never to speak to him again but she also hated to have a scene in the restaurant that might be picked up by the news media. She was certain that if she did not give him some time he would indeed cause a scene. Dante was a brilliant drama queen. That was mostly the way he got everything he wanted.
‘Five minutes then, Dante. Not a minute more.’ And she indicated that he could take a chair.
The hovering waiters held one out for Dante and asked politely if he was dining with Miss Sidd.
‘No,’ she quickly answered for him.
‘I will have only coffee and see the dessert trolley,’ announced Dante.
So typical of him. Give him an inch and he took a mile. ‘Was that necessary, Dante? I don’t believe you will be served and have eaten your dessert and talked to me about Garfield in just five minutes.’
‘You’ve become hard, Eden. I think I liked you better when you were in love with Garfield. So soft and malleable.’
‘Time is ticking by, Dante,’ she told him as she pushed away her plate. She had lost her appetite.
The dessert trolley arrived at the table. A place was set for Dante. He took his time in choosing one of the delectable confections, the waiters poured the coffee and Dante flirted with the young boys. Then quite suddenly they were gone and he and Eden were alone.
‘I estimate that you have one minute left to say what you have to say. So get on with it, Dante.’
‘I made a mistake tearing you away from Garfield. For that I am sorry. I confess, I was jealous of the love he had for you. You simply did not understand the bond there is between Garfield and myself and you excluded me from your life with him, a grave mistake on your part. But we won’t go into all that. Garfield is in love with you, he wants back what you once had together. I am here pleading his case because I am sure that this time round we can all reach a better understanding.
‘You are still in love with him! No one falls out of a love as strong as the one you had for each other. Admit it, you still love Garfield. If you could have that love back again you would grab it with both hands.’ The unctuous smile on Dante’s lips as he spoke the truths that Eden did not want to hear seared into her heart.
‘Why didn’t he come himself, so we could at last resolve this great love he walked out on?’ she asked.
Eden noted Dante’s smug expression. She rose from her chair, suggesting, ‘If all that you said is true, then tell him he must come and plead his own case. He will find me in Hydra in two days’ time.’ Then without another word she walked away from her table and her unwelcome guest.
Eden could not get Garfield out of her mind. It had been the most exciting, the deepest, love she had ever had. She had succumbed to a gigolo’s charm and fallen in love with Garfield, the love affair of a lifetime. She wanted to be thinking of Tom but Garfield’s was a stronger presence and she knew she had to be with him one more time or wonder for the remainder of her life.
Where was Tom? She followed her schedule. Hopefully he would be in Hydra by the time she arrived there.
But he was not.
In Athens, through the Peloponnese, on the islands of Hydra, Spetses, Poros, every bed was reserved for the return of Eden Sidd playing at Epidaurus. It was the musical sensation of the decade. Max had promoted it with such style, all the music-loving world wanted to be there. It did wonders for Greece. That she had chosen Epidaurus from everywhere else available to her was certainly a coup for the country.
In a party of three Eden and two of Max’s assistants flew from
London to Athens where Max met Eden and her two cellos. She had never let them out of her sight. There was a photo-shoot as she boarded the helicopter that would take her to Hydra. She smiled, she cooed at the press and realised that she had been wrong to have given up playing in public. This reception quite overwhelmed her. In truth, as she had forgotten herself, she had come to believe her admirers had too. Eden felt quite humble now, knowing she would never again disappoint her public.
The helicopter landed high up on Hydra, away from the port, which was unusual but arranged so that Eden could walk down to her house and not have to face the islanders who would be overwhelmingly hospitable and want an immediate celebration.
Her first question should have been, ‘Has Tom arrived?’ It was not, some instinct telling her he hadn’t but that it didn’t matter. He would be there when he would be there. She walked down the hill to her house, her cellos balanced on either side of a donkey.
When she entered the courtyard of her house she could hear voices, a man’s voice speaking very bad Greek and a woman’s, her housekeeper. Her heart skipped several beats and then she saw him, Garfield, looking more handsome than ever. She felt a rush of excitement. He saw her and abandoned the housekeeper to walk towards Eden. He touched her hair with his fingers, kissed her cheek, oozing that special sensuality that she was incapable of ignoring. Max entered the courtyard behind her and was instantly aghast at finding Garfield there.
Before he could utter a word Eden said, ‘Max, I am very tired, I will see you in the morning unless it is something urgent?’
He was thrown by the presence of Garfield. The tone of Eden’s voice, the look in her eyes, he well knew what they meant. She could not resist Garfield. The man was the devil incarnate. He had eaten into her soul, her will dissolved before his. Max left them together and could only think what bad luck it was that Tom was not there.
Eden wanted Garfield. She had always wanted Garfield. He had something sexual that she found irresistible. She could come by the mere touch of his hand upon her breast; a gentle kiss from him could make her weep with emotion. He had a smug expression
on his face. She could imagine him saying to himself, ‘I’ve got you! You’ll come with me without my even having to touch you. But I will because I know that’s what you want.’ She felt the warmth that accompanies orgasm, the passion that knows no bounds. It felt delicious and exciting. And then she was reminded of his weakness and selfishness, the evil manipulation he was capable of, and all her sensual feelings for him died one more time and forever.