A Sudden Change of Heart (9 page)

“Yes, I could do that, Philippe. I realize how important this is to you, and I think it’s important to Natasha as well. She
should
know her father.” Laura nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to Claire, but not until you’re settled in Paris and ready to participate in Natasha’s life.”

He smiled at her and his dark eyes lit up. “Thank you, Laura. Thank you very much.”

8
     

I
t seemed to Laura that the rest of the week in Paris flew by. Suddenly, before she knew it, Friday morning was upon her, and she was scurrying around doing last minute things.

By the time she finally arrived at the Bar des Théâtres across the street from the Plaza-Athénée, it was one-fifteen and she was late for her lunch date with Claire.

But Claire merely smiled as she began to apologize, and said mildly, “It doesn’t matter, I know what it’s like when you’re pushed for time. Come on, Laura darling, take off your coat and sit down.”

Laura did this, agreed to the glass of champagne Claire suggested, and then sat back. After taking a deep breath, she grinned and said, “Everything just piled in on me all of a sudden, but it was all good stuff! A lot of things came to fruition,
finally,
this morning.”

“So it’s been a successful trip?” Claire asked, raising an auburn brow.

“Very much so. Our Canadian client has committed to the Matisse and the Cézanne, and then this morning a private dealer I know came up with a Bonnard that’s simply beautiful. I’m sure the same Canadian client will buy
that too. And I think another client in New York is going to buy the Renoir … the countess’s Renoir.”

“That’s great! Hercule will be pleased, and so will the countess. Apparently she needs the money for repairs to the château in the Loire,” Claire said. “Although I’m not sure why she feels the need to maintain that place. Hercule says it’s enormous. She ought to sell it, in my opinion.”

“Hercule said something to
me
too … about it being in the family for hundreds of years, and there’s the countess’s son, who inherited the title and the lands. I’m sure the house is … well, part of them. It’s their heritage, his heritage, actually.”

“I guess so,” Claire agreed. She chuckled suddenly. “My mother used to say that a house is a thief. It steals all your money. Don’t ever forget that.”

“As if I could! When Grandma Megan gave me her house in Connecticut I was thrilled, until I realized that it’s a money pit. And that’s with Doug doing a lot of repairs and other things himself. You know how handy he is with tools.”

“Give the famous Doug my love. It was lovely to see him last weekend.”

“I will.” Laura took a sip of the champagne, which had just materialized, saying cheers as she did so. With a frown she then asked, “Why does everyone call him
the famous Doug
in that way?”

“I didn’t know everyone did; I thought it was only me,” Claire replied, looking at Laura curiously, her head on one side.

“Well, actually Philippe said the same thing the other day—” Laura stopped, wondering if she had made a faux pas by mentioning Philippe’s name.

“Philippe said,
give the famous Doug my love
when you saw him in the museum? Is that what you mean?” Claire murmured, her puzzlement reflected on her face.

“No, not that. He said,
how’s the famous Doug
? And what
I’m
getting at now is why you and he call Doug
famous?”

“I think I was the one who started it, because when you first met him you talked about him so much, raved about his looks and his brains and … his brawn.” Claire laughed as she finished. “You were so crazy about him, you made him seem like a movie star, and therefore famous. And he is so good-looking, the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome hero, right?”

Laura laughed with her old friend. She said, “I guess I was pretty bowled over at the time. He was the most gorgeous thing on two legs that I’d ever seen. Still is, really.”

“So, give him my love.”

“I will. And I know he reciprocates. You’ve always been his favorite.”

Claire looked pleased on hearing this, but she made no comment. Then she asked, “What do you want to eat? I think I’ll have the omelette
fines herbes,
and a green salad.”

“I’ll have the same, Claire, I’m not very hungry.”

Once Claire had ordered lunch for them, she confided, “It’s been wonderful having you here, Laura. I’m going to miss you, and so is Natasha. You’re the only person she has in this world, you know. After me, of course.”

“And her—” Laura began to cough, covered her mouth with her hand. Once she calmed herself, she added, “She has Hercule,” knowing how stupid it would be to say she has her father, which she had just been about to do.

“You started to say her father, didn’t you?” Claire said.

Laura felt herself flushing. After a moment, she nodded.

Claire went on quickly. “But she doesn’t have him, you see. She never had him. He’s never been a good father to her. Nor was he a good husband, for that matter. His work and his women invariably came first. He was extremely independent, and did what he wanted. And very selfishly so. He was neglectful of me, and of Natasha.”

Suddenly they were right in the middle of something Laura had not intended, had, in fact, wanted to avoid at all cost. She wondered how to respond, was afraid of upsetting Claire by saying the wrong thing. And so she said nothing at all.

Suddenly, Claire leaned across the table, staring into Laura’s troubled face. “I’m so sorry about last Saturday night. I wish it hadn’t happened. It was ugly and unnecessary. But Philippe shouldn’t have arrived like that,
unannounced.
He knows it upsets me when he does. Somehow he always manages to create problems.”

“I know how hurt and angry you’ve been, and still are, Claire,” Laura acknowledged in a sympathetic voice. “But I do wish you could put all that on one side, turn away from it. Philippe is no longer a part of your life, except for seeing Natasha from time to time. It’s so …
enervating
to hang on to anger the way you do, darling.”

Claire sighed. “I wish I
could
turn away, Laura, but I can’t forget all the terrible things he did to me. I suppose I’m bitter.”

The waiter arrived with their food, which saved Laura the trouble of replying. She was greatly relieved, since she did not know how to answer Claire. At least, not in a way
that would please her friend. Laura was aware that to harbor bitterness was deadly: It only bred more pain and hurt in the long run. However, getting Claire to accept this was another matter altogether. Even to attempt it would be a futile exercise on her part.

Deeming it wiser, Laura still did not respond; she picked up her fork and began eating the salad, then took a forkful of omelette.

They ate in silence for a while. It was Claire who eventually broke it, when she said, “It’s funny, I’m very ambivalent about Philippe in certain ways. I want him to see Natasha, to be a father to her, and yet another part of me wishes he would just stay away from Paris altogether, never attempt to see her. That way we would all know where we stand. Perhaps I should say that to him. What do you think?”

“Is he still here?” Laura asked quietly.

“I don’t know. He never reveals much to Natasha when he sees her. What did he say to you when you ran into him at the museum?”

“Just that he was passing through, en route to Atlanta to see the head of the Centers for Disease Control.”

Claire nodded. “That figures. First and foremost, always the great scientist.”

Laura wanted to remind Claire that Philippe Lavillard had done some remarkable work and made some extraordinary discoveries in his field, but she decided to hold her tongue. Instead, she said, “Listen, Claire, I’ve been thinking about something for the last few days, and I want to pass it by you now. How about coming to New York for Christmas? Or, rather, to Connecticut. You and Natasha, and even Hercule, if he’d enjoy it. We’d have a wonderful
time—” She paused and laughed, added, “It would be like old times, you know. Mom’s coming up, and she’s going to bring Grandma Megan. And Doug’s friend Robin Knox is bringing his fiancée, Karen. There’ll be a houseful, and it’ll be warm and happy and fun. What do you say?”

Claire’s face lit up, and Laura could see that she loved the idea. But then Claire shook her head. “I just can’t get away right now, and anyway, I promised Hercule I would host his New Year’s Eve party with him.”

“But you could go back in time for that. It’s only the thirteenth of December today.”

“Friday the thirteenth,” Claire cut in, and grimaced.

“Oh, I know, so what!” Laura exclaimed dismissively, and hurried on. “If you came next weekend, that’s Saturday the twenty-first, or Sunday the twenty-second, you could easily stay for a week, even eight days, and then fly back for Hercule’s party on the thirty-first. Oh,
do
try, Claire! Just think how much Natasha would love it. And I would too. All of us would.”

“I’ll think about it,” Claire said, and took a mouthful of salad. “There is something
I
wanted to ask
you,
Laura.” Claire hesitated before saying, “Could Natasha and I come and stay in the country with you in the summer? I never really know what to do with her then, they have such long school holidays in France. Hercule usually takes us to Brittany to stay with him there, but normally we go for only a couple of weeks. What do you think?”

“It’s a fabulous idea! And of course you can come. But I don’t want you to substitute the summer for Christmas. Promise you’ll try your damnedest, and that you’ll ask Hercule?”

“All right, I’ll see what I can do, and of course I’ll
extend your invitation to him.” She shook her head. “It’s just that I have so much work,” she finished worriedly.

“I understand, I’m sort of snowed under myself. Even though I’m supposed to go to Palm Beach to see a client’s house, to recommend the kind of art she should use, I don’t think I’ll make it before Christmas,” Laura explained. “I’ll have to go in January.”

“I supposed Grandma Megan still has that pretty little cottage on Island Drive in Palm Beach?”

Laura nodded. “Mom likes to spend time there in January and February. She says she paints well at Bedelia Cottage. But Grandma doesn’t go there anymore, she hasn’t been for years. Don’t ask me why. Personally, I think the warm weather would do her good.”

“Yes, it would. But you know what she’s like. Nobody can tell Grandma Megan what to do.”

Laura smiled, thinking of her grandmother. “She’s just wonderful, that’s all I know.”

They fell into a discussion about Megan Valiant, whom they both loved, and who had been such a force in their lives when they were young. Then they reminisced about their girlhood spent together in New York and at the house in Connecticut, and they remembered those days with love and warmth and a great deal of nostalgia.

They were quite loath to say good-bye to each other, so closely bonded were they, and so they drank another cup of coffee, wanting to be together for as long as possible. Finally, it was Claire who brought their farewell lunch to an end, pointing out that she must return to her office.

The two women walked across the avenue Montaigne and stood in front of the hotel for a few more moments, still talking, clinging to each other verbally. And then they
were doing that physically as they hugged and said their good-byes.

“Please try for Christmas,” Laura said, squeezing Claire’s arm.

“I will, Laura, I promise,” Claire answered, and then she smiled a bit wanly and hurried off down the street without looking back.

I really will miss her terribly, Laura thought, staring after Claire’s retreating figure. Turning, she went into the hotel and took the elevator up to her room. It was time to pack and conclude the remainder of her business.

9
     

D
ouglas Casson was well pleased with his handiwork. He had swept the leaves into the center of the terrace, and all he had to do now was shovel them into the wheelbarrow. He had just begun to do this, when a sudden, gusting wind began to blow. The leaves ended up swirling around his feet. He cursed mildly under his breath, accepting that his sweeping had been in vain. And then he chuckled to himself, threw down the shovel, and went and sat on the wall.

Oh, what the hell, he muttered, I can’t compete with the wind. He would have to deal with the leaves later. And what did they matter anyway? Not at all.

He continued to sit on the low wall that encircled the terrace, for a moment enjoying the winter sunshine and fresh air. It was a cold day, bracing, but the sky was very blue, and although there was no warmth in the sun, it enhanced the day.

Douglas didn’t sit long on the drystone wall. Very quickly he was beginning to feel the cold through his quilted down jacket, and he stood up, put the shovel in the wheelbarrow, and trundled it over to the garden shed.

Within minutes he was back in the house, standing in front of the fire in the great hall, warming himself. The
weather was deceptive. From the windows the bright sparkling day beckoned beguilingly, but once outside, the raw cold bit into the bones. It was a freezing day, as Laura had warned earlier. Not a day to be outside very long, she had said.

He should have listened to her; she was always right about the weather in Connecticut. After all, she had grown up in this old colonial house in Kent, spending, many weekends here with her grandparents, as well as Christmas, Easter, and summer vacations.

Dumped on Megan and Owen, he thought now, while her parents went off, doing their own thing. He had never seen a couple as engrossed with each other as her mother and father had been. It seemed to him that they hardly knew that Laura and Dylan existed, although when he had once said that to Laura she had pooh-poohed this idea. “Dad was always there for us when we needed him. Admittedly, he was more involved with us than Mom, but she loved us as much as he did.”

Douglas had never been really sure about that. He thought that Margaret Valiant was a self-involved and selfish woman, although he had never dared to voice this opinion to Laura. She always defended her mother, whatever he said. But then, that was human nature, wasn’t it? A child could criticize its parents and family, but God forbid if a stranger did. Holy hell usually broke loose.

But he knew he was correct in his assessment of Laura’s mother. Her painting and her husband had been the only things of any real consequence and importance to her. Not that he had been around when Laura was growing up, but Maggie had practically told him that herself once in a
of sorts. He was aware that she regretted it later; he saw the regret reflected in her dark, soulful eyes.

He wondered what it was like to love someone in this way. He never had. Of course he loved Laura, but not to the exclusion of all else in his life.

The small knot of worry he had lived with for a long time suddenly seemed to expand, grow larger. Unexpectedly, he felt queasy. Yet again, Doug realized that he was enormously ill at ease with himself, and that he had been on and off for the longest time. It was a feeling that never went away, and it had begun to worry him.

He walked over to a wing chair and sat clown heavily, then leaned his head against the dark red velvet and closed his eyes.

His marriage was in trouble.

He knew it and had known it for a long time now. But he wasn’t sure if Laura was aware they had problems. He didn’t know how to tell her, had not the slightest idea how to even broach the subject.

The problems had nothing to do with their inability to produce a child together. This did not even worry him much anymore. Rather, it had to do with
them,
with their relationship, and their future together. Of late they had spent a lot of time apart, traveling because of their careers. And were they not growing apart? Emotionally and physically.
He
believed they were, but he was quite certain Laura had no conception of this. None at all. Not because she wasn’t smart, she was one of the savviest people he knew. But because he was different now; he had changed.

“Doug, can you come and help me?”

Laura’s voice echoed down from the staircase at the far
end of the great hall, and he snapped open his eyes and instantly jumped up.

“Of course, what do you want me to do?” he asked.

“I need you to get a window shade back into its notches, or whatever they’re called. It’s slipped out and fallen down.”

“Be right there, sweetie.”

Laura watched him walking toward her, thinking how well he looked this morning, very young in his cream fisherman’s knit sweater and dark blue corduroys. The time spent outside had brought a rosiness to his cheeks, which enhanced his boyish good looks. Black hair, green eyes, six foot two, and all athletic muscle. Tall, dark, and handsome, as Claire had said in Paris just over a week ago. There was no doubt about it, Doug was an exceptionally attractive man, and he looked much younger than his thirty-three years. More like twenty-five, she decided as he strode down the hall purposefully.

“Sorry to disturb you when you were relaxing,” she said as he bounded up the stairs two at a time. “But I must get everything finished before Robin and Karen arrive later this afternoon.”

“No problem, I was only whiling away the time, and getting warm after my abortive efforts with the leaves.” He smiled lopsidedly and explained. “They’re hard to handle when there’s a strong wind.” He leaned against the banister at the top of the stairs.

Laura laughed, her blue eyes crinkling up at the corners. “The leaves can wait.”

“I know. Anyway, isn’t it time I started throwing some lunch together while you do your bit of last-minute decorating for Christmas? Your mother and Grandma Megan
will be here tomorrow, and before you know it, you’ll have your hands full.”

“I’ll be finished today. And don’t make anything complicated for lunch, Doug. A sandwich is all I’m interested in.”

“That’s good enough for me too, but how about a cup of soup? Chicken noodle from a packet, courtesy of the Knorr kitchen?”

“Sounds delicious,” she said, and hurried down the long corridor to one of the four guest rooms situated at the far end.

“It’s at this window,” Laura said, entering the yellow room with its four-poster, colorful antique quilt, and framed flower-prints hanging on the sunny walls.

It took Doug only a few minutes to roll the shade properly, and then slot it back into the notches on the reveals on either side of the window. “There you go, all done! Now, what else can I fix for you?”

“Nothing. We’re in pretty good shape here. But I would like you to decide which room you want Robin and Karen to stay in.”

“Who’s sleeping in here?” he asked, glancing around. He had always liked this particular room because it was so cheerful, full of bright yellows and pinks.

“I’d thought of giving it to Mom, but if you want, I can put them in here.”

“No, no, let your mother have it. I suppose you’re giving your grandmother her old room, as usual.”

“It’s hers for as long as she lives, you know that. Listen, she slept in it for almost sixty years, so I’m sure she’d feel disoriented anywhere else.”

“I agree.”

Laura walked out of the yellow bedroom and said over her shoulder, “I had thought of putting Robin and Karen in the blue-and-white room, it’s so crisp and fresh. But they could have the little suite upstairs under the eaves. What do you think?”

“The suite upstairs! It’s cozy, charming, and Robin’s going to love it. It has a French feeling to it, and he likes anything French, he’s quite the Francophile. Let’s go up and have a look.”

Together they climbed the narrow, twisting staircase that led to the top of the house. Doug wandered through the set of three rooms, which were actually the old attics. There was a bedroom, a tiny sitting room, a small den/dressing room, and a bathroom. Laura had decorated the suite in red and white, using a toile de Jouy in these colors on the walls throughout, and a matching fabric for the headboard. A red-and-white-checked fabric appeared on several armchairs, and there was a big red velvet sofa that matched the bright red carpet.

“Yes, Robin will definitely like this,” Doug said, scanning everything. “So will Karen,” he thought to add. “Also, they’ve got privacy up here.”

“Are they definitely staying through Christmas Day?” Laura asked.

Doug nodded. “Yes. Robin’s taken a few days off from the bank, and Karen’s closed the shop until January. It makes a nice break for them both.”

“I’ll bring some books up,” Laura said as they went downstairs. “And the latest magazines along with a bowl of fruit.”

“Let’s do it after lunch,” Doug suggested. “I’ll help you finish up once we’ve eaten.”

I
n the end, lunch became a long, rather drawn-out affair, since Doug decided to make something more substantial than a packet of soup and canned tuna fish sandwiches. Instead, he prepared eggs Benedict with extra toasted English muffins and Canadian bacon, followed by one of his specialities, caramelized grapefruit and vanilla ice cream.

“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” he asked at the end of lunch, clinking his glass of white wine to Laura’s.

“Hardly, it was delicious. You can cook for me anytime,” she said, her bright blue eyes dancing as she peered at him over the rim of the glass.

“That’s what I’ve always done, or so it seems to me,” he shot back, laughing with her. It was an old story, a family joke really, the fact that she couldn’t cook at all and he loved nothing better than to hover over the stove in the big country kitchen.

“I suppose we ought to go upstairs and put the finishing touches to the little suite under the eaves,” Laura murmured, lifting her glass to her mouth again.

“I’ll help you, but we might as well finish this wine, there’s only a drop left. A shame to waste Pouilly-Fumé,” Doug said, topping up both of their glasses. “That’s a dead soldier,” he added as he picked up the empty wine bottle and carried it over to the recycling bin.

Returning to the kitchen table, where they were eating, he went on. “I guess we’re going to be ten for Christmas dinner after all, Laura. My parents now say they’d like to come, and Malcolm and Gloria Mason finally accepted the invitation. Yesterday. I forgot to tell you.”

“Oh, good, it’ll be fun, and I know the Masons like
Robin and Karen.” Swallowing the last of her wine, Laura now pushed back her chair and stood. “I suppose you’ll do your fabulous goose with all the trimmings, and I’ll help you the best I can. But we’ll plan the menu later, shall we?”

“Plenty of time,” he replied. “We don’t have to do the marketing until early next week.”

Crossing the kitchen, Laura began taking things out of the cupboard, arranging them on a large wooden tray. After putting glasses, small plates, napkins, dessert knives, and forks on it, she reached for pieces of fruit in a big wooden bowl on the table, filled a glass dish with apples, bananas, and grapes. “This should do it, don’t you think?” She eyed Doug, who nodded his agreement.

He, too, now rose; he told her, “I’ll go to my den and get a few magazines and some of the books you picked up last week. Do you want me to carry that tray up for you? Or can you manage?”

“I’m fine, darling.” Laura hoisted the wooden tray as she spoke. “We can take the bottled water later.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Doug announced before heading in the direction of his den.

Laura was a little out of breath when she reached the suite under the eaves, and after placing the tray on top of a chest of drawers, she flopped down on the large red sofa, endeavoring to catch her breath.

A moment later Doug came in with his pile of magazines and best-selling books. He burst out laughing when he saw Laura leaning back against the sofa, her breathing still labored.

“It was a long climb,” she gasped by way of explanation. “Three flights. They winded me a bit.”

He smiled at her, shaking his head. And quite suddenly he was captivated by the way she looked at that moment. The last remnants of the afternoon sun were washing over her high cheekbones and delicately articulated face; she was bathed in a crystalline light. What a truly beautiful woman she was, his wife. He wanted her; he wanted to make love to her.