So off I flew to Basel to put up the first Swiss production of The Phantom of the Opera. We were put up in a hotel, La Plaza, which, although fairly luxurious, had no experience of guests who stayed longer than 48 hours. This gap in their education proved fatal for them on a number of occasions, but for the time being, everything was OK: the cast, composed of Swiss, Americans, Brits and Germans, was extremely good, the music director a very able man, easy to work with and backed up by an American music staff with a lot of experience under its belt. I'd explore the town on my own, then some of us would take day trips out together, to Ribeauvillé, Freiburg (where my father went to university) and, eventually, further afield to the Alps proper, but other things were afoot in the city itself. Bizarrely, my feelings for SM began to cool almost as soon as I'd left Hamburg, something I couldn't fathom at all. It didn't have anything to do with the women in Switzerland; I got no more special attention there as I did anywhere else. We spoke on the phone and arranged for her to come down. She sensed something was up, but I decided to wait and see how I felt when I saw her before leaping to any conclusions. I picked her up from the station and her mistrust was palpable. Not surprising, really, and I couldn't blame her one iota. We made love, we laughed, we joked but there was something awry. Maybe it was the fact I'd decided to go to London and this was a tacit admission that the passionate period was over; I'd deposited my years of pent-up frustration into her and was now ready to move on. I hated feeling less for her but didn't know how to rectify the situation. Was our age difference suddenly assuming an importance it hadn't, before? SM was, admittedly, nine years older than I, but you'd never have guessed, and I looked young for my age even then. Anyhow, she travelled back to Hamburg with everything up in the air but it was clear to us both that the writing was on the wall. I still had a packed case to pick up from her flat, so it was imperative to remain on at least civil terms. I hadn't forced her to move house, emigrate, leave her job or anything like that, so ultimately any split would just entail healing emotional wounds, wounds which were, it has to be said, pretty deep, such was the intensity of our relationship.
One evening, after rehearsal, a group of us went up to my room and partied. One lady, LB, stayed a little longer than the rest and, after wild 'petting' we ended up in bed. I woke at around 8am with the two beds completely pushed apart, bedding all over the room and no sign of my mate. We caught up later and I found out I'd fallen asleep on the job. This needed to be rectified, not such an easy task I can assure you. Still, we ended up making love on a bench by the river. LB was married and anything we did was to remain sctrictly between us. I don't know to this day if she ever told her husband or not. Anyhow, a little later I found out that the harpist in the orchestra, LG, thought I was rather nice and wanted to get to know me a little better. She spoke only French so I had to dust off what I'd learned in school, and sharpish. Her uncle was a world-famous film director, truly a household name. I never managed to meet any of the family, but our gentle relationship played out my remaining two weeks in Switzerland before heading over to England. L had been in touch from London and smelt a rat one day whilost we were on the phone; LG had knocked on the door whilst we were talking and I'd let her in without making a sound, a pretty stupid move if ever there was one. I should have shown enough presence of mind to greet her as one would a member of staff who has come round to check the mini bar or some such. Still, I didn't and was well rumbled by my still-spouse, as I was to find out later in London.
LG's feelings for me didn't last, contrary to mine for her. We'd had a lovely day out in Geneva where she was teaching and a romantic trip back in the dining car of the Swiss train, accompanied by a plate of parma ham and some red wine. Her last words to me were "Don't forget me", though she pretty much did me, shacking up with a Canadian double-bass player almost as soon as I'd left the country. I understand she's still single to this day, a strange situation indeed, considering her talent and beauty. I had a couple of days back in Basel in early December, 1995, ostensibly to se how the show was shaping up but, in reality, to see LG, who, of course, didn't want to see me. It was a horrible few days, particularly as Les Mis was shaping up to be a political nightmare, so there was no enjoyment about any aspect of being in the Palace Theatre, Shaftesbury Avenue in those days.
I went to see SM when I got back to Hamburg. Needless to say, the meeting was short and unpleasant. She gave me my case, saying if I ever found out what had caused an about-face in my feelings, then I should let her know. I drove home to Bahrenfeld, packed what was left of my belongings and drove off to Hamburg's ferry terminal. My furniture was already in storage and waiting for the nod to be delivered somewhere in London, my brother and sister-in-law expecting me sometime the following afternoon in their house in East London. After eight years, the German experience was about to end. There'd been pretty much everything packed into that time: I started out as a single, greenhorn pianist who'd never conducted in his life and was leaving quasi-married, quasi-adulterer, headhunted by the biggest musical theatre company in the world to be musical director of their flagship production. In terms of moving on in life it had been eight years at 100mph, and that was not going to change...
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