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
Douglas 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 o
f 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.”
In 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.
Doug dropped the books and magazines onto a nearby red-checked chair and went and sat next to her on the sofa. Putting his arms around her, he pulled her closer to him, brought his lips to hers, kissing her gently at first. And then, as she responded and stroked his face, the kisses became more forceful. They clung to each other, their passion accelerating. Doug now kissed her more fervently than ever, his tongue seeking hers in a moment of profound intimacy. It seemed to them both that they were melting into each other.
A Sudden Change of Heart Page 10