A Sudden Change of Heart (22 page)

22
     

I
t was Megan who opened the front door of her apartment to admit Laura, who stared at her in surprise and asked, “Where’s Lily?” as she walked into the foyer and hugged her grandmother.

“It’s her day off,” Megan replied, and then with a sweet smile she added, “That’s why I’m going to take you out to dinner.”

“Oh,” Laura said, sounding surprised, eyeing her grandmother curiously. “But you told me Lily was making my favorite dinner.”

“That’s true, I did, but no fish cakes and parsley sauce tonight for you, darling girl.” Giving Laura the benefit of another sweet smile, Megan walked slowly into the sitting room, remarking, “Now, let’s have a sherry before we go. It’s a bit early to leave.”

“All right,” Laura answered, and followed her through the sitting room and into the adjoining library, asking herself why she was feeling suddenly suspicious of Megan. Her grandmother was quite dressed up tonight, wearing a black silk shantung dress and jacket, a three-strand pearl necklace, and pearl earrings. But in actuality this did not really signify anything special; Megan Morgan Valiant was always beautifully turned out whenever she sallied forth to
fulfill her social obligations. Like that other nonagenarian Brooke Astor, she was well known in New York for her style and chic.

After filling two glasses with dry sherry, Laura carried them over to her grandmother, handed her one, and sat down on the sofa next to her. “Cheers, Gran,” Laura murmured, touching her crystal glass to Megan’s.

“Cheers, darling girl.” Megan glanced at Laura as she spoke, and then followed her granddaughter’s gaze, which was resting on a painting, “Ah, yes, the Childe Hassam. I gave it to you for your birthday, but you never took it. Do you want it?”

“Oh, yes, I do, Gran, and thank you again, it was so generous of you to give it to me. It’s a lovely gift, but I can’t take it down until I find something for you to hang in its place. You can’t have a blank spot on the wall over the other sofa.”

“Oh, don’t worry your head about it, anything will do, a print of some kind.”

“I’ll find a beautiful lithograph for you, Gran. I know the kind of thing you like. By the way, I should have the appraisal for you next week. Jason’s put a specific figure on each individual painting, so you can sell one, or all of them, whichever you prefer. Or you don’t have to sell any at all. It’s up to you.”

“I’ll think about it, and thank you for getting him to come over. Such a nice young man.” She peered at Laura. “Is he married?”

“No, he’s not, Grandma Megan, and don’t try to be a matchmaker, I’m not interested in him.”

“More’s the pity,” Megan said, and went on. “By the
by, what’s happened to your mother? You haven’t mentioned her in ages.”

“Oh, she’s still in the islands. Painting away.”

“Murals,
I’ve no doubt. Maggie’s such a fine artist, she should be painting pictures, not walls.”

“She needs the money, Grandma.”

“I know. Your father didn’t leave her a great deal. Talking of leaving things … do you want that portrait of me over the mantelpiece? I have left it to you in my will, you know.”

“I’d love it, Grandma, thank you. But for the time being I’d like to hang on to the living thing, the flesh-and-blood you.”

“Oh, I’m not planning to go yet, child. But later, when I’m dead, if you don’t want the painting, you can always give it to the thrift shop.”

“Megan Valiant, I’d never do anything so awful!”

Megan smiled and muttered, “I don’t know anybody else who’d want it but you.” Then she asked, “How’s Doug? What’s happening with the divorce? You haven’t said anything about him or it lately.”

“Doug’s fine, I spoke to him yesterday. The divorce will be through anytime. And as far as his work’s concerned, he’s doing well at the law firm in L.A. He’s found an apartment he likes in Century City and he’s thinking of buying it. I guess he’s enjoying his new life.”

“Well, I certainly hope so, considering that he divorced you to get it!”

“It wasn’t quite like that, Gran.”

Ignoring Laura’s comment, Megan announced, “I think we’d better be going to dinner. I don’t want to be late.”

“Shall I phone for a radio cab?”

“No, I ordered a car for the evening. From the limousine service.”

“Oh.” Laura frowned. “Where is it that we’re going, Gran? What restaurant?”

“It’s a surprise.” Putting the empty sherry glass down on the antique side table, Megan stood up. “I’ll just get my handbag, and then we can leave.”

Laura nodded, watched her grandmother walk out of the library, so erect, so elegant, a miracle of a woman, really. And she couldn’t help wondering what she had up her sleeve. Something was afoot, Laura was quite certain of that.

Rising herself, she walked over to the bay window and stood looking out at the view of the East River. It was a beautiful evening in the middle of June; there were several boats on the river, sailing down toward the end of Manhattan Island. What a pretty sight they were, a hint of the summer months ahead.

“I’m ready, Laura,” Megan called from the foyer, and Laura swung around and hurried through the sitting room.

As they went down in the elevator, Laura looked at Megan and said, “Come on, Gran, out with it. Where are we going?”

“I told you before, it’s a surprise.”

Laura sighed. “All right, it’s a surprise, but I’m not sure I trust you. There’s a certain look about you tonight, one I can’t quite fathom. It’s a look that tells me you know something I don’t,”

“Good Lord, my girl, I certainly hope I
do
know more than you. I’m three times your age, and I’ve been around the block a few times more than you have.”

Laura laughed, and held her elbow as they went through the lobby to the car waiting outside. Laura had never seen the driver before, but her grandmother seemed to know him.

“Good evening, Peter,” Megan said, adding, “This is my granddaughter, Miss Laura Valiant.”

“Evening, ma’am,” the driver said, inclining his head politely; he helped her grandmother into the town car solicitously.

Laura decided not to ask any more questions; she sat back against the seat, glancing out of the window, only half listening to her grandmother, who was talking to Peter about his family, asking how they were. But she did notice they were heading uptown on First Avenue, and was somewhat surprised when the driver turned on East Fifty-seventh Street and then continued up York Avenue. She couldn’t imagine where they were heading. As they drove on toward the east eighties and East End Avenue, Laura began to suspect they were going to someone’s apartment.

Laura’s heart sank as a sudden thought struck her. She hoped her grandmother wasn’t trying to fix her up, to be a matchmaker again, as she had several weeks ago. God forbid, Laura thought.

T
he town car finally came to a standstill in front of one of the grand old prewar buildings on East End Avenue near East Eighty-sixth Street. Peter, the driver, parked, helped Megan out of the car, and then Laura took hold of her arm and escorted her into the building.

As they entered the lobby, Laura asked curiously, “So, whom are we going to have dinner with, Grandma?”

“Rosa Lavillard.”

For a moment Laura was speechless, then she exclaimed, “Why have you done this, Gran? I can’t have dinner with her.”

“Why not?”

“Claire wouldn’t like it, and you know I can’t upset her right now, she’s fighting for her life.”

Megan nodded, her face grave. “I realize that, and she’s very courageous. But how is she going to know you’ve had dinner here unless you tell her?”

“I’ll know, and it’ll make me feel I’m being disloyal.”

“I know all about your integrity, Laura dear, but this
is
just a dinner, you know. Now, don’t let us stand here in the lobby, making a spectacle of ourselves.”

“Gran, I really don’t—”

“Laura,” Megan interrupted in a stern voice, “please be sensible and just listen to me for a moment. You may well be bringing up Natasha, and very soon. Actually, I’d say it’s more likely, and you’re going to need help, whatever you might think. Rosa’s help, and, yes, perhaps even Philippe’s. After all, I won’t be much use to you even if I’m still around. You’re a divorced woman on your own, and you’re going to need a support system.”

“But Rosa Lavillard … oh, Gran, I don’t know….”

“I do. She’s a very decent woman, kind, warmhearted, and her great wish is to get to know her granddaughter. You adore Claire, and so do I, but I’m afraid Claire has given you the wrong impression of Rosa. She’s not the enemy, you know. Come along, we’re late.” So saying,
Megan walked on toward the elevator, her head held high, her step firm.

Laura had no alternative but to follow her grandmother. They rode up in silence to the sixth floor, and a few seconds later they were standing outside Rosa’s apartment. It was she who opened the door to them.

“Good evening, Megan … Miss Valiant,” Rosa said, and opening the door wider, she added, “Please come in.”

“I’m sorry we’re a little late, my fault,” Megan murmured, walking into the foyer and offering her hand to Rosa.

“Good evening, Mrs. Lavillard,” Laura said, also shaking the woman’s hand.

“Please call me Rosa. I prefer it.”

“And I prefer to be called Laura.”

Rosa led them into a spacious living room overlooking East End Avenue and the East River. Its high-flung ceiling, many windows, and fireplace gave the room a traditional feeling, as did all of the furnishings that had been used. Laura, glancing around quickly as she followed Rosa and her grandmother, noticed that the antiques were mostly French. It was a lovely room, decorated primarily in white and light pastel colors. Handsome porcelain lamps with white silk shades, a glass-fronted china cabinet filled with antique porcelain, and two French gilt mirrors denoted fine taste. The overall look, she decided, was definitely old Europe. There were some interesting lithographs on the walls, as well as several good paintings.

“What would you like?” Rosa asked, glancing at them and then at the tray of drinks on a dark mahogany chest.

“Sherry, please, Rosa,” Megan said.

“The same, thank you.” Laura went and sat down in a
chair next to the large cream sofa on which her grandmother was now seated comfortably, relaxing against a pile of needlepoint cushions.

A moment later Rosa gave them each a dry sherry and joined Megan on the sofa. After murmuring a toast, Megan started to recommend a play she had just seen, and it soon became apparent to Laura that the two women had been seeing each other recently, and perhaps even frequently. There was a familiarity between them, a certain ease, the kind of rapport that springs up between women who like each other and have become friends.

When there was a lapse in their conversation, Laura jumped in, saying, “Have you been seeing a lot of each other lately?” She directed her question at Rosa.

“A little. Megan and I have certain things in common, especially the theater.” Rosa pushed herself up off the sofa. “Excuse me a moment …” She hurried off in the direction of the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, “I must check on something in the oven.”

“Keeping secrets from me, eh, Gran?” Laura whispered, leaning closer to Megan when they were alone.

Megan gave her granddaughter a long look through her perceptive, faded blue eyes and merely smiled.

Laura knew better than to press Megan or say anything else, but she realized that the two women were fond of each other. And she was quite certain it was her grandmother who had made the first move, who had contacted Rosa after all these years. It was just the sort of thing Megan would do.

Laura got up and walked across the room, stood looking at an oil painting that hung on a wall between two
windows. “What a charming Marie Laurencin,” she said to Megan.

“Yes, it is,” Rosa answered as she walked back into the living room. “I bought it many, many years ago in Paris, and I’ve always loved it.”

Turning around, Laura looked at her and said, “You prefer Renoir though.”

“Ah, yes, but Renoir I cannot afford. Only the prints of his work. Now, if you will come to the dining room, dinner is ready.”

T
he dining room had been decorated in different shades of blue, running from the pale blue of a summer sky to the aquamarine and turquoise of a tropical sea. Laura felt as though she were surrounded by the waters of a Caribbean island, submerged in seawater so clear you could see below the surface of the waves.

The effect was unique, magical, and after Rosa had hurried away to bring the first course, Laura mentioned it to her grandmother.

Megan nodded in agreement. “Yes, I know what you mean. It
is
like being in the sea. Perhaps that’s because the ceiling is mirrored and the colors on the walls flow up into it, then flow down. They reflect in the glass top of the table.”

Laura had been looking at the Renoir prints gracing the far wall, and she had not noticed the mirror work in the room. Immediately, she glanced up at the ceiling and nodded. “The mirror is reflecting all the different blues … what a clever device it is, Gran.”