A Sudden Change of Heart (4 page)

C
laire had always felt exceptionally comfortable with Hercule Junot, and there was a great sense of ease in their relationship. And so she did not think twice about drifting along with her thoughts as his car eased its way through the early evening traffic, heading in the direction of the avenue Montaigne.

She considered the older man to be her dearest friend in Paris, and they never stood on ceremony with each other. To Claire, the silence between them was perfectly normal, acceptable; she never felt the pressing need to talk to him, to entertain him. And she knew he felt exactly the same way about her.

She was thinking about Laura; she was looking forward to having dinner with her that night. Laura was the only family she had except for Natasha. Her parents were dead; Aunt Fleur was dead; her husband was ostensibly dead, since they were long divorced. Momentarily, his face danced before her eyes, but she pushed it away. She did
not want to think about him now; it would spoil her evening.

On their walk from the museum, she and Laura had planned the weekend. It was going to be fun. Natasha was as excited as she was about Laura’s unexpected sojourn in Paris, and without Doug in tow for a change. Not that she minded Doug, he was all right. But having Laura to themselves was a very special bonus.

“Is there something troubling you, Claire?” Hercule asked, cutting into her thoughts.

Turning to look at him, Claire exclaimed, “No, of course not, Hercule! Why do you think there is?”

“You’ve been very quiet on our drive across Paris,” he remarked, touching her arm. “And I have to confess to you, I was most forcibly struck by your appearance this afternoon. You’ve lost weight, Claire. You’re like a … a waif.”

“No, wafer thin!” she shot back, laughing, pleased with her play on words. “Remember what the Duchess of Windsor said: You can never be too rich or too thin.”

“But
you
are
too
thin.”

“I’ll confess, Hercule, I’ve been on a diet. I want to be slender and chic for your New Year’s Eve party.”

“You are a lovely young woman; all this dieting is not necessary. Starving, starving, starving, and all for a size four dress.
Mon Dieu,
you could slip through the eye of a needle.”

“It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God,” she murmured, smiling at him, grasping one of his hands. “I first heard those lines from the Bible in that old
Tyrone Power movie with Gene Tierney, Anne Baxter, and Clifton Webb.”

“The Razor’s Edge,”
he said. “How could I forget it? Ever. I have seen it a hundred times with you.”

“Not quite a hundred,” she laughed. “But we’re getting there, and I’m fine, Hercule, really I am. Actually, I’m as fit as a fiddle. A bit overworked, that’s all. But, listen, I want to talk to you about the Renoir. If it’s not been sold, Laura might well be interested. For one of her clients. I know she has her heart set on a Matisse and a Bonnard if she can find them, but why not a Renoir as well? She has several big collectors as clients.”

“I know she does, and that is an excellent idea, Claire. I have a feeling that the painting is still hanging in my friend’s house. I am sure she would have told me if she had sold it.” He gave her the benefit of a wide smile and nodded his head, looking pleased. “I shall tell the countess there is the possibility of a sale.”

3
     

“I
t’s going to be like old times this weekend,” Laura said. “The way it was when I was studying at the Sorbonne, and you’d just arrived here with a husband and a baby. We really had a ball in those days, didn’t we?”

Claire laughed. “Yes, we did. And some baby she is today! Fourteen going on forty, taller than both of us and into makeup, clothes, and boys. You’ll get a shock when you see her, Laura. She’s really sprung up in the last couple of months.”

Laura nodded, settled back against the chair, and took a sip of her champagne.

The two women were sitting in Laura’s room at the hotel, lingering over their drinks before dinner. In the half hour they had spent greeting each other effusively and discussing the Renoir, the weather had turned nasty. By the time they had been ready to go to Benoît, one of their favorite bistros, it was snowing hard and, according to the doorman, an icy wind had blown up. And so they had agreed it would be much wiser to stay at the hotel and have room service.

“What do you feel like eating?” Laura now asked, picking up the menu on the coffee table. “I’m going to have
anything
with their
pommes frites.
They make the
best, as you well know.” She grinned. “If I eat too many meals here, I’m going to start putting on weight. I just can’t resist them.”

“I know what you mean. I’m going to have grilled sole —and
pommes frites
too.”

“That’s what I’ll have. Want anything first, Claire?”

“Just a green salad. Hercule thinks I look like a waif, far too thin. What do you think? I don’t, do I?”

“You’re a bit thinner than you usually are, but you look great, Claire, honestly, and very chic. I love you in deep purple. It sets off your red hair.”

“Thanks. I must admit, I have been dieting a bit more strenuously to fit into my dress for Hercule’s New Year’s Eve party.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “He gave me a bit of a lecture on the way from the studio. About my weight, I mean.”

“He fusses about you, I know that. But then, he loves you.”

Claire stared at her and raised a brow. “Like a father, yes, I realize that.”

“Not like a father,
no.
Like a lover, or, rather, a potential lover, potential husband.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Claire exclaimed, looking askance. “Hercule and me. Don’t be so silly.”

“I’m not being silly. I’ve always known he has … well … a thing about you, Claire. It’s written all over his face. Even Doug has mentioned it to me, and more than once.”

“So I’m the last to know, huh?” Claire shook her head vehemently. “I love him as a person. He’s been wonderful to me always, my best friend in Paris … but I’m not interested in him …
romantically.”

“Because he’s too old, you mean?” Laura probed.

“No, age doesn’t matter, and in any case, he’s much younger than a lot of people I know in their thirties, even though he’s seventy-six. I’m just not interested in men anymore. I’ve told you that for years now. Shall we order dinner?”

“Yes, let’s, and I’m going to have another champagne. What about you? Another martini?”

“God, no! I’ll be drunk. One’s enough for me.”

Laura went to the phone, dialed room service, and gave their order. Then she went on carefully. “Look, just because you had one bad experience doesn’t mean you’ve got to close up shop, close your heart to another man. Okay, so you’re not interested in Hercule, but maybe there’s somebody else out there who’s just right for you, Claire, if only you’d give yourself half a chance—”

“No!” Claire cried softly but emphatically. “I’m not interested. Marriage is a battlefield, and I have the scars to prove it. I won the war by getting off the battlefield, and I’ve no intention of putting myself in the line of fire ever again.” She laughed hollowly. “Being in harm’s way is being no place … no place at all.”

“Marriage doesn’t have to be a battlefield,” Laura argued. “Mine isn’t.”

“You’ve been luckier than most, Laura. You met Doug and fell in love, and somehow, for you, it all went smoothly. No arguments and fights, no big differences of opinion. The two of you perfectly in sync, leading nice, orderly, happy lives together.”

“You make it sound awfully dull!” Laura exclaimed. “Doug’s not all that easy to live with, and you know he isn’t. He’s persnickety, a perfectionist, and he can be very
opinionated. And he’s a nag! God, he never stops nagging about my having a baby—” Laura broke off and pursed her lips, shook her head. “That sounds disloyal,” she finished lamely, looking chagrined. She sat back hard against the sofa.

“I know he nags you about having a child, but it could be his fault you don’t get pregnant. Why does he blame you?”

“I don’t know, but he does. At least, that’s the way it seems to me. We’ve both been tested again, and there’s nothing wrong with either of us, seemingly. But pregnant I’m not.”

“Do you
want
a baby?” Claire asked, looking at Laura intently.

“Yes, I do, I’ve always wanted a child. But I’m only thirty-one, so there’s time. It’s not as if I’m ancient, on my last legs.”

“Perhaps Doug’s just too uptight about this, Laura,” Claire suggested quietly, her face reflective. “That often happens. A couple don’t make a baby, and they get overanxious, and that works against them.”

“I’m not overanxious.”

“No, but perhaps Doug is, darling.”

“Maybe he is. He’s certainly high strung these days.”

“He’s going to have to learn to relax.”

Laura laughed. “Tell that to the marines.
Relax.
My God, he’s a bundle of nerves, and always on the go, rushing hither and yon, as Grandma Megan says. She told me recently that Doug doesn’t stay still long enough to make a baby.”

Claire burst out laughing. “Good old Grandma Megan!
I must admit, I do miss her pithiness, and her forthrightness. She comes out with some marvelous lines.”

“She told me the other day that her great age gives her license to say anything she wants. And to anybody too.”

“Old people are a bit like that. I guess they get to the stage where they don’t care anymore. And their bluntness can be amusing.” She punched Laura’s arm lightly. “Hey, do you remember what we used to say when we were growing up? That when we were old ladies and had finished with men and all that nonsense, we’d live together on the French Riviera and sit on the beach wearing large picture hats and caftans, having our toenails painted purple by beautiful young gigolos.”

Laura nodded, her face lighting up. “Sure I do; we were a fanciful pair in those days.”

“We might still do it, you know,” Claire said, grinning. “When we’re old enough.” She took a sip of her gin martini and said, “I can’t wait for you to see Natasha. I told you, she’s sprouted lately, and since you saw her in the summer her face has changed. She’s sleeker-looking, has lost some of the baby fat, and it helps. She’s just become very, very pretty.”

“Like mother like daughter.”

Claire merely smiled. “She’s a very special child, Laura, even though she’s mine and I shouldn’t say it. Nonetheless, she
is
special, sort of … well,
magical.”

“You may have lived on a battlefield, but you got something out of it after all, didn’t you now?”

“Yes, I certainly did. Natasha has made it all worthwhile … the spoils of war are veritable spoils indeed. She’s a jewel, and I love her dearly.” Claire’s voice changed, became extremely tender as she continued. “I
don’t know what it’s all about, this world we live in, this life of mine, but whatever it’s about, my child has given my life whatever meaning it has. And she’s the best part of me. I thank God every day that I had her, and that I have her with me. She’s very caring of me in a funny sort of way. Sometimes she behaves like the mother, treats me as if I’m the child.”

“I’ve always thought she was an old soul,” Laura murmured, and then ventured softly, “Does her father ever see her?”

“No.” Claire shook her head and grimaced. “Well, not very often. She doesn’t care anymore. She used to, of course, but she’s adjusted now.” A small sigh escaped, and Claire added, “But I can’t fault him on the money. His checks come every month, and he’s never missed a payment.”

“I always thought he loved her,” Laura murmured, and stopped abruptly when she saw Claire’s expression.

“Mmmm.” Claire twisted her martini glass by its delicate stem, the reflective look in place in her green eyes again. She gazed into her drink.

Laura decided not to say anything else about Natasha’s father and his feelings for their child. It had always been a sore subject with Claire.

A moment later, the room service waiter materialized at the door. Laura went to let him in, and clearing her throat lightly, remarked, “Here’s our dinner, Claire. Oh, should I order some wine?”

Nodding, Claire said, “I’ll have a glass of white wine with the fish, that’ll be nice, Laura, thanks. Why don’t you get a small carafe of the house white; it’s good. We don’t need a whole bottle.”

After ordering the wine, Laura sat down at the table and turned her attention to the salad. The two friends ate in silence for a moment or two, until Laura said, “Did Hercule give you any idea about the price of his friend’s Renoir? Or, rather, what she wanted?”

“No, he didn’t, and to be truthful, I’m not sure that he even knows.”

“It won’t be cheap,” Laura muttered, raising her eyes from her plate, staring at Claire. “A Renoir is a Renoir is a Renoir, to paraphrase Gertrude Stein.”

“Well put. Listen, Hercule could be a good source for you. Many of his clients are art collectors, and they might well have something they want to sell. That’s of interest to you, I mean, such as a Matisse or a Bonnard. You said your client craves these two artists.”

“That’s right, and I have another who always says he’d give his right arm for a Gauguin, at least that’s the way he put it to me.”

“Well, you know Hercule’s the great expert on Gauguin, so if there’s anything knocking around, he’d know. We should talk to him about it. Over the weekend. I’ll invite him to dinner one night.”

“I like Hercule, and I enjoy talking to him about art. About anything, for that matter. He’s very interesting.”

“Great, I’ll ask him to come to dinner on Saturday.” Claire put her fork down and leaned back. “I forgot to tell you, I saw Dylan a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, and how is my baby brother?” Laura asked, sounding surprised.

“Recalcitrant, as usual, even a bit contentious, to be honest. He took me to dinner at Espadon. He was staying at the Ritz, and he seemed hell-bent and determined to
pick a fight with one of the waiters. I felt a bit uncomfortable at first, but then he finally calmed down after I’d kicked him on the shin under the table
and
punched his arm. I hate it when he picks on people who can’t answer back.”

“What a pity he hasn’t outgrown that nasty little habit yet. Anyway, how’s he doing?
Really.
Mom constantly says he’s behaving himself at last, and that things are working out for him, but he’s always managed to pull the wool over
her
eyes, as you know.”

“I think he
is
doing well, Laura, as surprising as that might sound to you. In a funny way, living in England has … what’s the phrase I’m looking for? It’s settled him down, yes, that’s it, and it’s sorted him out. I think he’s come into his own. He says he loves working on
Time,
and I believe him.”

“That’s good to hear. But I bet his personal life’s a mess.”

Claire grinned. “He says it’s a full-blown calamity, and I’m using his words. He told me his girlfriend Minerva has split, and he’s worried that she might be pregnant and is depriving him of his child. And his former girlfriend Nina is stalking him, he insists. He’s just met a new young woman, Inga, a Swede, and he was thinking of having her move in with him. Oh, and he’s bought a farm in Wales.”

“Par for the course, all this,” Laura said, and she couldn’t help laughing. “We were right, you and I, when we gave up on Dylan years ago. He’s just a bad boy, as Gran’s forever announcing. And you
know
the way he feels about
us.
He resents us and our friendship, yours and mine. He’s never forgiven us for sending him away when he was a little boy, cutting him out of our fun and games.
Don’t forget that, and his tantrums. He’s all mixed up, that brother of mine.”

“Aren’t we all?” Claire eyed Laura carefully.

“I guess so. The Valiants are probably as dysfunctional as any other family.”

“Better not let Grandma Megan hear you say that, or she’ll have—”

“My guts for garters, to quote dear old Gran,” Laura said.

“I’m glad you let me be part of it though.”

Laura gazed at Claire, her bright blue eyes quizzical. “What do you mean?”

“Part of that dysfunctional, crazy, wonderful family of yours. Without the Valiants I might have turned out to be quite different.”

“Sane, for one thing.”

“No, ordinary and dull.”

“You ordinary and dull, never! You were born special, Claire, take my word for it. And I’m glad you were part of it,
are
part of it, part of us. You’ve brought a lot of wonderful stuff to the Valiants. And to me especially.”