A Sudden Change of Heart (28 page)

Jumping up, Philippe met her halfway, enveloping her in his arms, hugging his daughter to him. Natasha clung
to
her father, her face buried in his shoulder.

He loves her very much, Laura thought. And what’s
more, she loves him. Laura suddenly asked herself why she had ever thought otherwise, and she had the answer to that immediately. How alike these two were in appearance. There was no doubt at all whose daughter she was. They were both tall, lean, athletic-looking; Natasha had long legs like Philippe. And the shape of their faces was the same, as was the slant of their eyes. Natasha’s were golden-amber; Philippe’s were dark and full of compassion in his angular face.

Laura was seeing him differently. I’m seeing him as he really is today, she thought, not the way he was when he was young and tempestuous. But we were all different then. I’ve changed. Claire’s changed. And so has Doug. People grow and evolve, and if they’re lucky, they acquire positive, worthwhile characteristics. I hope I have. I know Philippe has, I can tell. He’s become a whole person and his own man. And Natasha knows him, and knows him well.

As father and daughter drew apart, Natasha exclaimed, “We went to the Ashman’s stand, and the man had fresh lobster. So it’s lobster salad for lunch. Mom loves lobster!”

“Yes, she does, and I’m glad you’ve found something to tempt her.” Glancing at Philippe, Laura went on. “Perhaps we ought to go upstairs, so you can spend a little time with Claire.”

“I’d like that,” Philippe replied.

P
hilippe sat holding Claire’s hand, his heart aching for her. He knew how much she was suffering, the kind of pain she was in, and there was nothing he could do for her. Except assuage her worry about their daughter. He
must reassure her that he would not interfere with the arrangement she had made with Laura, and that he would be there to give his support. As would his mother.

Philippe Lavillard had realized when he walked into Claire’s bedroom that Claire and his mother had made their peace. Why does understanding always come too late? he wondered to himself. Why does it always have to be a catastrophic event that brings people together? If there had been this healing long ago, his child’s life would have been very different; all of their lives would have been better.

Claire lay against the pillows, staring at him. He was still the best-looking man she had ever met, the famous Doug included. Lean, tough, with a body as hard as a rock, that was Philippe Lavillard. Eighteen years ago she had fallen madly in love with him, it had been a
coup de foudre,
and deep down inside she had never stopped loving him. Very simply, they had been unable to live together … because of her terrible secret, her history of abuse, and because of his own troubled background as the only child of a Holocaust survivor. The dice were loaded against us right from the start, she thought. We didn’t have a chance.

Tough, determined, and ambitious, that was the essential man her ex-husband was, but he was also warm, loving, tender, and a man of immense compassion. She understood that now.
Too late. Too late for me now,
she thought, but not for someone else. He’s ready finally for someone else, for another wife. All these years he’s waited … yes, perhaps now it’s time for him.

Claire said, “I’m sorry it didn’t work for us, Philippe.
I’m sorry I caused you such pain—” She broke off; her eyes filled with tears.

“Hush, Claire,” he said very gently. “It was nobody’s fault, not yours, not mine, it was … circumstances. And we were too young.” He smiled at her. “We’d be better off if we met today.”

She nodded. “Except that I’m of no use to you anymore.”

“Hush,” he whispered, lifted her hand to his mouth. He kissed it, and continued. “You’ve done a remarkable job with Natasha. She’s a great kid, Claire. I love her, she’s my only child, and I’ve always loved her. You thought I didn’t care, but I did. I do.”

“I know. And I was wrong to keep you and her apart. I’m sorry for that, Philippe.”

“No recriminations, Claire. We were both at fault in our different ways.”

“You’ll keep an eye on Laura for me, won’t you? Be there for her if she needs support? She’s strong and resourceful, but even so …”

“You don’t have to worry about Natasha and Laura. I’ll be there for them, I promise you, Claire.”

“Rosa and I … we’ve made our peace.”

“I could tell. I saw it written all over her face only a moment or two ago.”

“Can I ask you something?

“Go ahead.”

“Why did you never get married again?”

“I never found anybody I loved enough to marry.”

“Oh.” Claire sighed. There was a moment or two of silence before Claire said, “It’s funny, but everything is so clear to me now that I’m dying. What a ridiculous time to
find the answers I’ve been seeking all my life. When they’re of no use to me.”

Philippe, listening to her attentively and watching her very closely, realized that she was growing tired; there was a strained look on her face, a sudden weariness about her. “Are you in a lot of pain, Claire?”

“No. Well, a little, but the medication helps a bit. I think I’d like to rest for a while.”

Philippe rose, bent over her, and kissed her brow. “I’ll see you later.”

“Philippe?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you want to see me today?”

“I wanted to reassure you, to tell you that you don’t have to worry about Natasha. Not in any way.”

She smiled at him and closed her eyes.

Philippe moved a strand of hair away from her face and quietly left the room. He ran downstairs in search of Laura.

Laura was waiting for Philippe in the solarium. The moment he strode into the room she knew before he said anything that Claire was waning. She could read it on his face.

“She’s not good, is she?”

Philippe shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I think she’s very weak, exhausted. Although she’s trying to keep up a front for everyone. And she certainly can’t get up for lunch, I wouldn’t really like her to do that. But I doubt that she wants anything to eat. I know Natasha’s making her lobster salad, but—” He cut himself off sharply and walked over to the window, stood gazing out at the summer garden for a moment or two. Finally, he turned
around and looked directly at Laura. He said gently, “Perhaps it’s best if you both go up and see her, sit with her.”

Laura nodded. Suddenly her throat was tight and she found it hard to speak for a moment. Gripping the chair back, she steadied herself and stared at Philippe, still unable to say a word.

Philippe said again, “Go upstairs, Laura. I’ll send Natasha to you.”

Laura did as he said, hurrying up the stairs, pushing down the feeling of panic that was rising inside. Her heart felt tight in her chest, almost constricted. She went into the blue-and-white bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her. Gliding over to the bed, she sat down in the chair next to it.

Her eyes rested on Claire, her dearest friend, her sister under the skin. Laura knew it was over. Claire had put up a courageous fight, but the intense battle was finally drawing to its close. Soon she would be at peace.

There was a slight noise and Laura glanced over her shoulder, saw Natasha coming into the room. The girl’s face was as white as bleached bone, stark against her red hair, and her freckles stood out like dark blotches. She crept up to Laura’s chair, knelt down next to her.

“Mom’s dying,” she whispered, looking up at Laura, the tears spilling out of her eyes. “Dad didn’t say that, but I could tell from his face.”

Laura nodded, put her arms around Natasha, drew her closer to her knee. “Yes, she is,” she whispered. “And it’s so hard for us to bear. But her pain’s been excruciating lately. Soon … soon she’ll have relief.”

“I know,” Natasha whispered back, and wiped her fingertips across her streaming eyes.

Claire moved slightly and said, “Are you there … Laura? Nattie?” She tried to reach for them but her hand fell away, fell against the comforter.

Laura took hold of it, clasped it, and slipped down onto the floor, knelt by the side of the bed next to Natasha.

“Mom,” Natasha said, stifling a sob. “We’re here, Mom.”

“I’m glad I came back to Rhondda Fach, Laura. It’s the only place I’ve been happy,” Claire murmured, and opened her eyes.

“I know that, Claire, and
I’m
glad you came back too,” Laura answered softly.

“What would my life have been like without
you,
Laura?” Claire sighed, looked at her very intently, and then at Natasha. Her eyes were suddenly very green, greener than they’d ever been. Claire smiled at them both … it was a valedictory smile and it was full of radiance. “Take care of each other,” she said. “For me.”

“Always, darling, always,” Laura answered, tears streaming down her face.

Natasha clambered onto the bed and put her arms around her mother.

Claire lifted her face to her daughter, and smiled that radiant smile once again. “You’re the best part of me, the very best part,” she said.

“Mom, I love you,” Natasha cried, her tears falling onto Claire’s face.

There was no response.

Natasha cradled her mother in her arms, and Laura knelt by the side of the bed, clinging to Claire’s hand. Neither of them could bear to leave her, and they sat with her for a long time.

It was Laura who finally released her grip on Claire’s fingers. Letting go of her hand, she stood up and bent over her, kissed her cheek.

And then she let herself out of the room and went downstairs to tell the others that Claire was free at last.

28
     

M
egan sat studying Natasha, thinking how lovely she looked tonight, rather grown-up in the hand-embroidered burgundy silk dress Laura had just bought for her in London. Her flowing auburn hair cascaded around her face, accentuated its delicacy, and her large golden-amber eyes seemed more soulful than ever. She’ll be sixteen this year, Megan thought, yet she seems much older in so many ways. But perhaps that’s not a bad thing.

“You’re staring at me, Grandma Megan. Don’t you like this dress after all?” Natasha asked.

“I do indeed, and the only reason I was staring is because you look very fetching tonight, really lovely, darling girl.”

Natasha beamed at her. “Thank you. I love my dress, it’s cool, sort of medieval.”

Rosa came bustling in from the kitchen at that moment, carrying a large platter, exclaiming, “I hope it’s all right, I hope I didn’t overcook this,” and set the platter down on the sideboard. Picking up a spoon and fork, she began to put pieces of meat and vegetables on a plate and then took it to Megan.

“Thank you,” Megan said, and went on. “I don’t think you can overcook pot roast, can you, Rosa? Anyway,
you’re such a good cook, nothing ever spoils in your hands.”

Rosa laughed. “We can all have a bad day in the kitchen.”

“I agree with Grandma Megan,” Natasha said, glancing up at Rosa as she came to the table with her plate. “Thanks, Gran Rosa. And you’re the best cook in the world except for Mom. She was the greatest.”

“Start eating, Nattie, before it gets cold,” Rosa said, and went to serve herself.

It was the first day of May, and Megan and Natasha were having their usual Friday dinner at Rosa Lavillard’s apartment on East End Avenue.

Whenever she could, Laura joined them, but tonight she had gone to an art exhibition at Hélène Ravenel’s gallery on Madison Avenue. And she was dining with Hélène after the show. “I’ll come and pick you up at Gran Rosa’s, so wait for me there,” Laura had told Natasha that morning as the girl had been leaving for school. She had added, “And you can wear your new dress if you want.” Natasha had hugged her, said, “Have a wonderful day,” before hurrying out of the front door.

Claire had been dead for almost a year now. Everyone had made a tremendous effort to help Natasha through this difficult period of grief and mourning. And because of the sympathy, understanding, and love she had received from Laura, Megan, and Rosa, Natasha had managed to cope better than she had expected. She missed her mother and she thought of her every day, but she was mature enough to understand that she had to get on with her own life without dwelling too much on the past.

It was Laura she turned to mostly when she had a
problem, and her father whether he was in New York or Atlanta. Philippe came to visit her frequently, staying with Rosa at her apartment, and they had had some wonderful weekends together. Sometimes they were alone, but often Laura was with them, and they always managed to have a lot of fun when they were all together.

Natasha thought of this now, thought of Laura and her father and their growing friendship, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “My father’s stupid, and so is Laura.”

Megan was so startled, she put down her knife and fork and looked across at Natasha, frowning. “Is that what they’re teaching you at Chapin? To be disrespectful? And about your father, no less, who bends over backward to please you. And Laura, who devotes all her free time to you?”

“Megan’s right,” Rosa clucked, shaking her head, her expression reproving. “Why do you speak like this?”

“I wasn’t being disrespectful, Grandmas,” Natasha said, looking from Rosa to Megan. “I was only trying to say what I think, which is what Laura’s always telling me to do.”

“So, tell us why they’re stupid,” Rosa said. “Don’t keep us in the dark.”

“Perhaps stupid is the wrong word to use. They’re being silly….” She let her sentence fade away, wondering if she should continue.

Megan’s faded blue eyes rested thoughtfully on Natasha, and then she glanced quickly at Rosa. The two older women exchanged knowing looks, and Megan said, “Come along, out with it, child. What is this all about? What are you getting at?”

“Well, they’re in love with each other. I know they are,” Natasha confided, her tone suddenly conspiratorial.

“That’s wonderful!” Rosa exclaimed, beaming.

“I’m inclined to agree with that sentiment,” Megan interjected with a huge smile.

“It
would
be wonderful if they told each other,” Natasha exclaimed. “But they don’t. They just go bumbling along, bumbling around each other, looking sort of … glazed when we’re all together. Dazed, is a better word. Don’t you see, my father’s being—” Natasha shook her head impatiently. “There’s only one word for it, Grandmas. He’s being
stupid.
So is Laura. She should tell him how she feels. After all, a woman can do that today, you know.”

Rosa bit back a smile and said, “Perhaps it’s not quite the way you think, 3Nattie. Are you sure they’re in love?”

“I’m positive, and so is my friend Katie. We
know.”

“I’m sure you do, in view of your vast experience in these matters of the heart,” Megan said pithily.

Natasha giggled.

“I think I would have noticed something,” Rosa said, looking suddenly thoughtful. “But I haven’t, I really haven’t.”

“Neither have I,” Megan said.

“Perhaps the situation will clarify itself once Philippe is living in New York,” Rosa murmured, thinking out loud. “I’m so glad he’s accepted the research fellowship at Columbia University. That’s going to be good for him, and for you, Natasha, having your father in New York at last.”

“And it’ll be good for Laura,” Natasha said, and began to giggle again.

“You say you know they’re in love, but
how
do you
know? I mean, what have they actually done to make you believe this, Natasha?” Megan pressed.

“I’ve seen the looks my father gives Laura when she doesn’t know he’s looking at her. And the way she gazes at him when he’s off doing something—like helping me in the kitchen at Rhondda Fach. And they’re always laughing at the same things, and if he pays her a compliment, she goes all red and looks confused.” Again Natasha glanced from Megan to Rosa, and said firmly, “Grandmas, you’ve just got to believe me, my father is in love with Laura, and she’s in love with him.”

The two women exchanged pointed looks again, and it was Rosa who said, “You want this to happen, don’t you, Natasha?”

The girl nodded, smiling, and her eyes gleamed with happiness. “Yes, I do, I do. I want them to get married and the three of us can live together.”

Rosa said, “But maybe you’re imagining it, Nattie, because you want it to happen so badly.”

“No, no, Gran Rosa, honestly I’m not imagining anything. My friend Katie’s seen it too. I just wish he’d kiss her. I’ve thought he was going to do it when we were in the country. But he didn’t. I think Laura thought he might, too, because she looked disappointed.”

“And when was this?” Megan asked. “I’ve been at Rhondda Fach every time you’ve been up there.”

“Yes, but it was when we were outside down by the river,” Natasha explained. “They were walking ahead, and Katie and I were trailing behind. And they stood looking out across the river, and then they turned to each other, and they were staring. And Katie grabbed my arm, and she said he’s going to do it, but he didn’t.”

Megan glanced away, hiding a smile. She finally looked directly at Natasha and asked, “What are we going to do about this? Do you have any ideas?”

“No.” Natasha shook her head. “Don’t you, Grandma Megan?”

“Not exactly,” Megan answered.

“What about you, Gran Rosa?”

Rosa pursed her lips. “I can’t think of anything, not offhand. I mean what can
we
do … we can’t very well interfere, they’re both adults.”

Suddenly, Natasha exclaimed, “We’ve got to put them in the right situation together! That’s it. And I think I’ve got it … the perfect situation.”

“And what is that?” Rosa asked.

“It’s Laura’s birthday later this month. We can have a little dinner for her and invite Dad, and somehow it’s going to happen, I just know it is.”

Megan nodded. “Giving a birthday dinner for Laura is quite a good idea, Natasha, I wish I’d thought of it myself. So, let’s start making plans.”