She goes and packs. Every piece of clothing is a peg holding her to her past. And she is scared to leave it behind. That silly boy and his insane plan to cut loose from Alex! She has never even dreamt to live on love alone! Where has she put Dunaev’s telephone number? But of course, in her sequined evening purse! She takes it out, brings it to her shortsighted eyes and asks him to send her an emergency car.
“Magda, what are you doing? Haven’t we decided you won’t take anything that reminds you of Alex! Shall I come up and help you with your packing?”
“Don’t you ever dare, Eli! You’d just get in my way. I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”
She has an idea, hopefully a good one. She coats her lips with a thick layer of lipstick and calls Eli to come and carry her luggage to the car. She pounces on him and smears the lipstick all over his face in a fiery embrace. Pushing him off, she breaks into a fit of laughter.
“You look like a clown! Poor you to have fallen on such a passionate girl like me! Go and have a thorough wash before appearing with me in public.”
She runs out the very moment he disappears into the bathroom and jumps into the waiting car leaving behind her luggage, not to mention Eli!
The Ferrari speeds along the coastal road towards the Cap d’Antibes. At last she finds time to look at the driver,
“Mr. Dunaev! Boris! Is that really you?”
“Have you expected someone else, Magda?”
The car leaps forward like a nervous thoroughbred driving her forth, if not into the sunset than into some future, a happy one?