A Sudden Change of Heart a Sudden Change of Heart

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  The two women had not remained in the garden for very long once Claire had broken her distressing news to Laura. After wiping each other’s tears and calming each other as best they could, they had made their way back to the house and settled themselves in the solarium. The moment Claire had complained of feeling ill, of the general achiness in her bones, Laura had immediately hurried off to the kitchen; a short while later she returned with the Tylenol and the mugs of tea.

  Now Laura asked somewhat tentatively, “Do you feel like talking yet?”

  “Yes, it’s fine now, Laura, ask me anything you want.”

  “I was wondering how you discovered it? Did you find a lump in your breast?”

  Claire shook her head. “No. It was under my arm, and I found it only last week.” Claire grimaced. “The strange thing is, I had a very small lump under the same arm last month, but it went away. I thought it was caused by clogged pores, you know, from using the wrong antiperspirant. I didn’t give it a second thought, especially since it disappeared almost overnight.”

  “And when it came back a few weeks later, you immediately went to Memorial Sloan-Kettering,” Laura stated.

  “No, I didn’t, I first called my friend Nancy Brinker. You remember her, don’t you, Laura? That lovely Texan you met with me in Paris a couple of years ago.”

  Laura nodded. “Of course I remember Nancy. We had lunch at the Ritz Hotel together. Her sister Susan Komen died of breast cancer, and she started a foundation to help fight the disease.”

  “That’s right, the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. Nancy invented Race for the Cure, and she’s raised millions and millions in a variety of different ways. Anyway, since she is the one person I know who has a mountain of knowledge in her head and at her fingertips, I phoned her in Dallas within minutes of finding the lump under my arm again. It was Nancy who made arrangements for me to go to Memorial Sloan-Kettering.”

  “And they did tests immediately?”

  “Oh, yes, a lot of them. The doctor was very thorough. When he discovered the lump was hard and did not move, he tried to put a needle into it, to aspirate it. You see, he thought it might be a cyst. When that didn’t work, he sent me for a whole series of other tests.” Suddenly, abruptly, Claire stopped; she shook her head. “You don’t need to hear all this, it’s very depressing.”

  “I do, Claire! I want to know everything. That way I will understand, and I will be able to help you, help you to get through this.”

  Claire took a deep breath and plunged on. “When he couldn’t aspirate the lump, the doctor sent me for a high-definition mammogram and a sonogram. These were followed by a needle biopsy, bone scans, blood tests, and liver scans. The day after these tests had been completed, I was diagnosed—” Claire came to a halt before finishing. “I was diagnosed as having highly aggressive metastatic breast cancer. I’m what they call a Stage 4 patient.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That I have a very small chance of surviving. A five percent chance, actually.”

  “Claire …” Laura was further stunned, and she found it impossible to say another word. Her throat tightened, and she could feel the tears gathering behind her eyes. But in the face of Claire’s enormous courage, she took steely control of herself. She said quickly, “But many women do survive breast cancer.”

  “That’s true, yes, and I’m going to be having very aggressive treatment, but there’s no guarantee it will work. The outcome may not be good.”

  “Does the doctor want you to have a mastectomy?”

  “No. Chemotherapy. The doctors at Sloan-Kettering wanted me to stay in New York, to have several courses of high-dose chemo, but I’m going back to Paris next week, as planned. I can have the same treatments at the American Hospital there. And, look, I can’t stay here, Laura, I have to get back to Paris because of Natasha, and anyway, there’s my job at the magazine.”

  “But perhaps it would be better if you stayed in New York, had your treatment at Sloan-Kettering. There’s plenty of room at my apartment, and anyway, there’s this house. You could stay here if you want, it’s only a couple of hours to New York. We could send for Natasha. She could go to school in Manhattan and come here on weekends. Or she could go to school up here.”

  Claire shook her head. “I have to go back, but thank you, Laura, thank you for being so supportive.”

  “Please think about it though. About coming back to New York. Permanently.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  “Do you … have any other pain, Claire?”

  “No, just the general achiness I’ve told you about, like you feel when you have flu. My bones ache.”

  “Didn’t they give you anything for that?”

  “Only Tylenol.”

  Both women now fell silent, fell down into their own thoughts.

  Claire wondered whether or not to continue, to tell Laura how very bad her condition really was, much worse than she had indicated thus far. And then she instantly decided against it. She had said enough for the moment. She did not want to burden Laura any further. Later, before she returned to France, she would confide the rest of it.

  For her part, Laura’s thoughts were focused on the future. Her main priority was how to help Claire get through this. She stubbornly clung to the hope that chemotherapy would arrest the cancer. Alison’s older sister, Diane, had battled it through and won; her cancer had been chemically destroyed and so she was living proof that it worked, wasn’t she? Laura shivered despite the warmth in the solarium. Only now was the shock beginning to recede, and even so only very slightly; the surprise, the unexpectedness of Claire’s news, and the enormity of it had stunned her, left her feeling helpless and undone. But she knew she must be strong and brave if she was to be of help.

  Finally Claire broke the silence when she murmured, “Obviously, I haven’t said anything to Natasha yet, not over the phone. I need to be there with her when I tell her, so that I can reassure her, give her comfort.”

  “Yes, I agree that’s best,” Laura replied, thinking how devastating this was going to be for Natasha. Then before she could stop herself, she asked, “What about Philippe? When are you going to tell him that you’re sick?”

  “I’m not. At least, not for the moment”

  Laura simply nodded, although she wondered about Claire’s answer. After a moment’s thought, she asked quietly, “May I tell Grandma Megan? I think she ought to know.”

  Hesitating, looking uncertain, Claire bit her lip, shook her head. “It might be too much of a shock to her, too upsetting, don’t you think?”

  “She’s pretty tough, you know that. And she’s bound to guess something’s wrong just from the expression on my face. Concern and worry are difficult to hide, Claire.”

  “Then you should tell her, yes, I agree that it’s better that she knows.”

  Later, when she was back in her own room, Laura gave vent to her feelings. She sat down on the sofa near the window and wept inconsolably for Claire. Her own shock and heartache were enormous, so she could hazard a guess how Claire must be feeling. She also knew how much suffering her friend was facing, and so much so she found it unbearable to contemplate. Her heart squeezed and squeezed at the thought of it. On the other hand, she knew she would have to come to grips with her own emotions in order to help Claire. Already Laura was experiencing a terrible sense of loss; deep within herself she realized that Claire might not win this battle. As she had said herself, there were no guarantees the treatment would work.

  Her thoughts swung to Hercule. How right he had been in December. He had noticed something wrong in Claire she had not seen; and neither had Claire, for that matter. He had told Laura that when he looked at Claire in the photographic studio at one moment, her face had been like a death mask. At the time she had shuddered. Now she wished she had hauled Claire off to a doctor. Laura sighed and wiped her eyes, and took herself firmly in hand. Weeping wasn’t going to get her anywhere, or Claire either. She must be a rock, full
of strength, as Claire needed her to be.

  My best friend, my dearest friend, Laura thought, and I’m going to lose her. It didn’t seem possible that one day she would not be here, that they would not live out their lives together, grow old together, as they had always said they would. Although they lived in different countries, they had remained as close as they were when they were girls, sisters under the skin.

  Taking a few deep breaths, Laura rose and went into the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her tear-stained face, brushed her hair, put on a touch of lipstick, then sprayed herself with scent.

  A few minutes later she made her way down the corridor, heading in the direction of Grandma Megan’s room.

  Laura paused when she came to the end of the corridor and stood looking out the huge Palladian window, her eyes trained toward the distant hills. They rose up in a magnificent sweep to touch the sky, its color fading now in the late afternoon light, a crystalline light that seemed to emanate from behind the hills, rimming them with silver. Such beauty in this world, she thought. And such pain and heartbreak. Laura felt that icy chill settle over her again, and involuntarily she shivered.

  Turning, she tapped on her grandmother’s door, and then put her ear against it, listening. She was about to tap again, when Megan called, “Come in, Fenice.”

  “It’s me, Gran,” Laura said as she opened the door and walked inside. “Do you need Fenice for something?”

  “No, darling girl, I don’t. But she said she’d bring me up The New York Times. I never finished reading it this morning,” Megan answered, and leaned back on the pillows.

  “I’ll go and get it for you in a moment. Fenice has probably forgotten, or she may be preparing afternoon tea. You know what a production she makes of it when you’re here.”

  “That’s true.” Megan peered at Laura and then patted the edge of the bed. “You look as if you’ve come to tell me something serious, Laura, or something important.”

  “How do you know that, Grandma?”

  “I can tell. That expression. You look as if you’ve lost a five-dollar bill and found a quarter. You’re troubled, Laura. Yes, very concerned about something. Come along, tell me. It can’t be all that bad.”

  “I’m afraid it is,” Laura said, sitting down on the bed, taking hold of Megan’s wrinkled old hand mottled with liver spots.

  Her grandmother stared at her, the faded blue eyes narrowing perceptively. “Give it to me straight. That’s the only way to break bad news.”

  “It’s going to be a shock. I want you to be prepared.”

  “I’m used to shocks, Laura, I’ve had them all of my life, and somehow I’ve managed to survive. Come along, get it out.”

  “It’s Claire, Grandma Megan. She’s very ill, she has breast cancer. She doesn’t think she’ll make it through the fall.”

  Megan gasped, her face draining, and then she fell back against the pillows and snapped her eyes shut, almost convulsively. When she opened them a moment later they were pooled with tears. “Oh, my God, that poor child! And she’s so young, only thirty-six.”

  Laura nodded. “It’s heartbreaking, Gran.”

  “Tell me everything,” Megan instructed tensely, fixing her eyes on Laura.

  Once she had finished giving her grandmother all the pertinent details of Claire’s illness, Laura said, “I tried to get her to move back to New York, but she won’t. Apparently she can have the chemotherapy treatment in Paris. At the American Hospital there.”

  “I’ve heard it’s a good hospital,” Megan murmured, and frowned. “But I agree with you, I think it would be far better if she came home. She doesn’t really have anyone in Paris, does she?”

  “There’s Hercule.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Such a lovely man, and I’m sure he’ll try to help her the best way he can, but she has us here. After all, we’re the only family Claire’s really ever had.”

  “I’ll try to persuade her, Gran.”

  “Yes, do that, darling. I suppose she’s going to tell Philippe Lavillard. And Rosa.”

  “I don’t think so. At least, she said she can’t, not yet.”

  “But she must tell them!” Megan exclaimed. “They have to know because of Natasha. Perhaps you should tell them.”

  “Gran! Don’t be silly. I can’t do that, go against Claire’s wishes. Anyway, it’s like playing God with someone else’s life. She has to tell Philippe herself.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” Pushing herself up, making motions to get out of bed, Megan went on. “Is Claire going to come down to tea?”

  “I think so. We agreed I should tell you about her illness first. Do you want me to help you out of bed, Grandma?”

  “Yes, for once I do need your help, child.”

  “How did she take it?” Claire asked, staring across the room at Laura. She was on the bed, lying on top of it under the down comforter.

  “With her usual stoicism,” Laura answered, and smiled faintly. “Gran’s like an old battleship, I suppose. She’s used to knocks and shocks and traumatic bumps, but she manages to stay on a relatively even keel. Naturally, she was upset, and she’s very, very concerned about you, Claire. And for you. She agrees with me … she thinks you ought to come home. To be with your family, that’s the way she put it.”

  Claire was touched, and her eyes filled with tears. She passed her hand over them, blinked several times, and said, “Oh, Laura, it’s such a blessing having you and Grandma Megan. So comforting, reassuring. But for the moment I think I’ll go back and see how it goes in Paris.”

  “Okay, but don’t forget, you promised to think about moving back home. Listen, Gran wanted to know about Philippe, I mean when you’ll be telling him about your illness.”

  “I don’t know … I told you that.” Claire threw off the comforter and got out of bed; she went and sat in front of the fire, staring into the flames. After a moment, she looked up and said, “Come and sit with me for a minute. I want to talk to you about something else.”

  Laura did as Claire requested; she took the other chair near the fire and asked, “What is it? You sound more anxious than ever, Claire.”

  “It’s true, I am very anxious, Laura. About Natasha. About her future. She’ll be fifteen in the summer, that’s so young actually, even though she is grown-up in such a lot of ways.” Claire brought her gaze to Laura’s and asked, “When I die, will you take Natasha for me? Will you look after my daughter for me? Until she’s a bit older.”

  Laura was momentarily startled, and she stared back at Claire, then exclaimed, “Of course I will. You know I love Natasha.”

  “She’s a good girl, Laura, she won’t be any trouble to you, I promise …” Claire was unable to say another word. She blinked a bit and cleared her throat and looked away for a moment or two.

  Laura, who was also moved, swallowed hard, took hold of Claire’s hand and squeezed it. Then she went and knelt in front of Claire, gently turned her face so that they were looking at each other. “Did you think I would refuse?”

  “No, not you, my true-blue Laura.” Claire let out a small sigh. “It’s hard … knowing I’m not going to be around for her … I won’t see her growing up, graduating, getting married … I’ll never see my grandchildren—” Her voice broke.

  “Oh, Claire darling, please don’t give in. We must fight this. I told you, so many women do make it through cancer.”

  “I won’t.” Claire’s voice quavered and once again she had to pause, endeavoring to steady herself. After a moment’s respite, and a few deep breaths, she was able to say, “The cancer has metastasized through the lymph nodes under my arm. I’ve got twenty-three positive lymph nodes. It’s metastasized to my bones, gone through my skeletal structure. It’ll spread to my liver soon … I told you, Laura, I won’t live to see the leaves turn here at the farm….” Now facing the reality of her illness, the tears spilled unchecked from Claire’s eyes, slid down her cheeks.

  Shocked and despairing, and frightened for her dearest f
riend, Laura also began to weep.

  Claire reached out her arms to Laura, and, just as they had in the garden, they clung to each other, trying to give comfort, the one to the other. They stayed like this for a long time, weeping quietly, and it was then that Laura accepted finally that Claire was doomed.

  Eventually she went and found a box of tissues in the bathroom; she dried her eyes and her face, and took the box out to Claire, who had remained seated by the fire.

  After a while, Claire managed to regain her composure, and she said, “Sit with me again for a second, Laura, won’t you, please?”

  Laura nodded and dropped into the chair. “Now tell me what else is on your mind, darling.”

  “Next week, when we get back to New York, can we go and see your lawyer, or a lawyer, and draw up the papers that will make you Natasha’s legal guardian?”

  “If that’s what you want, yes, of course.”

  “I do want it.”

  “But what about her father?”

  “He’s never been a father to her, and he won’t want her. Trust me on that.”

  “But wouldn’t you need his permission to make me her legal guardian?”

  “No. I have sole custody of Natasha, and his visits are at my discretion. In any case, he wouldn’t put up a fight. That’s not his way. And how could he manage to look after a daughter in Zaire, when he’s in quarantine part of the time? And then there are his women. Natasha would cramp his style.”

  Laura was silent.

  Claire went on. “You will take care of her for me, won’t you, Laura? It will be an uneasy grave I lie in if you don’t.”