A Sudden Change of Heart a Sudden Change of Heart

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “Claire, please don’t talk like that. You know there’s no question about it. I promise you I will look after Natasha as long as she needs me, all of her life, in fact. She’ll be like my own child.”

  “It’s settled, then?” Claire pinned her green eyes on her friend.

  “It’s settled,” Laura answered, her voice strong.

  Claire smiled for the first time in days.

  Part Three

  Summer 1997

  20

  Work, which had always been a pleasure for Laura, now became her salvation. It helped her to keep worry and concern for Claire at bay. And she was so busy and on the move, she did not have a single moment to dwell on problems she knew she could not solve. And that was the way she wanted it.

  “I’ve just got to keep going, I can’t stop,” she kept telling Alison, who was constantly advising her to slow down. “This is my way of dealing with Claire’s cancer and my divorce from Doug. If I stop for breath, I’ll become hysterical and I’ll fall apart,” she explained.

  Wisely, her partner left her alone after this last conversation; Alison managed to refrain from making any further comments, even when Laura appeared to be overly stressed and worn out.

  During the months of April and May, Laura made four trips to London to see Maximilian West, whose art collection she was editing, refining, and organizing. Each time she returned to New York, she flew back via Paris, so that she could stop off for a day or two to be with Claire and Natasha.

  Claire was in the middle of high-dose chemotherapy treatments and trying to keep up a brave front; Laura never stopped praying that the treatments would work and that the cancer would go into remission.

  The sojourns in Paris, short as they were, enabled Laura to spend cherished time with Claire and with Natasha as well. Every visit filled Laura with amazement, and her admiration of the fourteen-year-old girl grew. Natasha was handling the heartbreaking situation of her mother’s deadly illness in the most extraordinary way; she had become a tower of strength for her mother, and a loving and caring companion, always there for her night and day. But the thing that startled Laura the most was Natasha’s practicality. She had developed a very down-to-earth way of taking charge and dealing with matters.

  “In fact, I’ll even go so far as to say she is extremely businesslike,” Laura said to Doug one evening in early June. He had come to New York on business, had phoned her at her office and asked her to have dinner with him before he left for Los Angeles. They made their date for his last night in New York.

  Now, as they had supper at Felidia, their favorite Italian restaurant, Laura was telling him about Natasha and singing her praises.

  “Businesslike is a curious word to use,” Doug remarked, peering at Laura across the table. “I’m not sure I know exactly what you mean, especially when you’re applying it to a teenager.”

  “She’s got her feet on the ground, Doug, and she is very practical. Efficient. I find it quite remarkable. She takes care of everything, the bills, Claire’s banking, all of the paperwork, and she pays the housekeeper, gives her instructions.” Laura smiled. “She’s like a little mother, organizing their lives. Mind you, she’s always been mature, as you know, much older than her years. I guess that comes from being with adults a lot of the time, and being an only child. Claire brought her up to be self-sufficient and independent, of course, and it shows.”

  “What’s Claire—” Doug broke off abruptly, looked carefully at Laura, and when he went on, his voice was warm and loving. “What are Claire’s chances of getting better, Laura?”

  “Not good, I’m afraid,” Laura responded, her expression suddenly turning sad. There was the faintest hint of resignation in her voice as she added, “I pray she’ll go into remission, but we just don’t know yet.”

  Doug could not fail to miss her tone, and he put his hand on top of Laura’s, wanting to comfort her, as he said, “I’m sorry, so sorry she’s ill like this. You two have always been so close. I know how worried you are.”

  “Yes, I am, but I’m also very proud of Claire, Doug. You would be too if you could see her. She’s the bravest person I’ve ever known, and she’s just remarkable the way she’s handling the treatments. They’re very harsh, extremely strong, and there are so many unpleasant side effects.”

  “They’re horrendous, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Claire has suffered a lot with nausea and vomiting, and she’s lost all of her hair.”

  “Oh, no, not her beautiful red hair! It was her pride and joy. She always loved it when I called her Red.”

  “I know she did. But Natasha and Hercule went out and bought her a wig, a fabulous auburn wig. It’s short and curly, made of real hair. It suits her too. In fact, it’s hard to tell it’s a wig. They got it at the best place in Paris, a theatrical hair company that actresses use. Claire makes such a big effort, she’s trying to lead as normal a life as she can.”

  “She’s not working at the magazine, is she?” Doug asked.

  “Sort of. The owner has given her a leave of absence, but she does go in when she feels she can make it through the day, or even half a day. She gives instructions and directions from home, and she edits at home. And the staff come for meetings at the apartment. The owner wants her back full-time as soon as she’s feeling better, but in the meantime he’s being very understanding. And he’s still paying her salary, thank God.”

  “How’s Hercule bearing up?” Doug eyed her over the glass of red wine he was holding.

  “Oh, God, Doug, don’t ask. He was devastated at first. He loves her, as you know. Then again, his wife, Veronica, died of cancer. Lymphoma, I believe. He was truly wiped out when Claire told him. And then he got angry with himself. He’d spotted something odd about Claire in December, and, as I told you at the time, he suspected she was ill. How right he was. Hercule was so mad at himself for not doing something, pushing her to see a doctor in December, and I know how he feels. I was angry that I hadn’t done that either. Got her to a doctor, I mean, since he’d confided his worries in me. He’s being the most wonderful friend to Claire. Caring, loving, and generous. He can’t do enough for her, and it’s been a comfort to me knowing he’s around.”

  “He’s a good person. A good guy. And what about Philippe? Has she; told him how ill she is yet?”

  “Yes, she has. I talked Claire into it, with Natasha’s help. He has a right to know, and we persuaded her to call him in Atlanta. It was last month actually. In May. I was staying in Paris with them for a long weekend.”

  “What was Philippe doing in Atlanta? Visiting the Centers for Disease Control again?” Doug’s expression was quizzical.

  “No, he’s actually working there now. Since the end of April. The reason he flew over to see the head of the Centers last December was apparently for an interview. He’s now got a very big position with the Centers.”

  “That’s a far cry from being a virologist in Zaire,” Doug remarked, and a dark brow lifted.

  “It is, yes. But being in Atlanta is a relief to him, I think. That’s what he conveyed to me over the phone anyway. He’d apparently grown very weary. He said he was burnt out.”

  “I can understand that. But what about the guardianship? Does he know you’ve become Natasha’s legal guardian, Laura?”

  “Oh, yes. Again, I insisted that Claire tell him. It’s only right that he knows, and Grandma Megan was on our backs about it anyway. After all, he is Natasha’s father.”

  “How did he take it?” Doug probed.

  “Very well really. Look, I wasn’t face-to-face with him … he was on the phone. But he sounded all right. He seemed understanding. He said a girl of Natasha’s age needs a woman around. And naturally Claire told him he could see Natasha whenever he wants.”

  “I’m glad she did that….” Doug took another sip of the red wine, then put the glass down and leaned over the table. “Listen to me, Laura, this is one hell of a responsibility you’ve taken on. If Claire … if Claire doesn’t ma
ke it through this, then you’re going to be bringing up a teenager. Not the easiest task in the world, especially in this day and age.”

  “I know. But I can do it. I just know I can, Doug. And she’s a good girl.”

  “If it happens, it’ll change your life.”

  “A lot of things change lives, Doug darling. That’s the way life is.” Laura gave him a pointed look. “Like divorce. That changes lives. It’s certainly changed mine.”

  He took her hand in his. “I’m sorry, Laura, so sorry we didn’t make it.”

  “I know you are. So am I.”

  “I worry about you and about this situation, should it develop.”

  “Don’t, Doug. I’ll be okay, really I will. Even if I have to bring up Natasha, I’ll be okay. I’ll make it, Doug.”

  “Yes, you will.” He gave her an appraising look and continued. “You’re very strong and courageous, I’ve always admired your strength. There aren’t many like you, you know.”

  She smiled at him. “Thanks for those kind words, but I think there are a lot of strong women in this world, women who are brave and dependable, loyal and indomitable. Take Grandma Megan, she’s indomitable, not to mention unbeatable.”

  “That she is. But you’re still something of an original. I spotted that about you right away. In the very beginning.”

  “I know. You told me that. Anyway, Claire wants Natasha to be part of a family, well, part of the Valiant family.”

  Doug stared at her and a look of disbelief crossed his face. “But there’s only you, Laura.”

  She stared back at him without responding, lifted her coffee cup, and took a long swallow. Then she sat back in the chair; her bright-blue gaze was unwavering. “No, there’s my mother and Grandma Megan and Dylan. Not to mention my two aunts, Rhianon and Cara.”

  Doug shook his head in wonderment. “Dylan’s in London working for Time magazine and wrestling with all of his women. And responsibility is hardly his strong suit. Your mother, never a very reliable family member, is off painting murals in exotic places. Your two aunts you never see, since they’re both decrepit and reclusive. And your grandmother’s about to be ninety-three. There is only you, Laura.”

  “But I don’t feel that way, I don’t feel alone. I just don’t, Doug.”

  Doug shook his head, sighed. “Listen, I love you and I’m there for you always, if you need me. But let’s not forget I’m now living in Los Angeles. It’s not as if I’ll be around much to help you bring up Natasha.”

  “But perhaps I won’t have to do that either. I’m hoping I won’t. I’m rooting for Claire … rooting for her to beat this.”

  It was two weeks later that Laura found herself having a very similar conversation with Philippe Lavillard. Since she thought nothing of working on weekends, she had gone to the office on a Saturday afternoon to sift through the European art catalogues stacked on her desk.

  She was halfway through the pile when the shrilling of the phone startled her. Reaching for it, she said, “Art Acquisitions.”

  “That is you, isn’t it, Laura? It’s Philippe Lavillard here.”

  “Oh, hello,” she exclaimed, surprised for a moment to hear his voice.

  “I’m in New York,” he explained, and as usual got straight to the point. “I wondered if you could spare a few minutes to see me? I realize you must be working, so I hope I’m not an intrusion.”

  There was no hesitation in her voice as she said, “No, no, it’s okay. Come on over to the office.” After giving him the address, she hung up, went on reading one of the art catalogues.

  Ten minutes later she was opening the door to Philippe. “Hello,” she said, and stepped to one side to let him enter the small reception area.

  “Hello, Laura,” he answered, following her through into her office. “Thanks for seeing me at such short notice.”

  She nodded, indicated a chair. “Please sit down.” She walked around the desk and lowered herself into her chair, asked, “Are you in New York for the weekend?”

  “Just today. Well, actually I’ll be here this evening, I’m going back to Atlanta tomorrow. I had a business lunch today with a colleague. I wasn’t sure how long it would take, that’s why I didn’t call you before now.”

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I guess you want to talk to me about Claire and Natasha.”

  He nodded. “Mostly Natasha.”

  Laura stiffened, staring at him. “What about her?”

  “I think certain things need to be said.” Leaning back in the chair, he crossed his long legs, looking thoughtful.

  Regarding him carefully, wondering what he had on his mind, Laura couldn’t help thinking that he seemed comfortable, at ease with himself, and with her. She relaxed a little, and sat back herself, waiting for him to continue.

  “You and I have only spoken on the phone since … Claire … became ill, and I wanted to make a few things clear. Face-to-face, Laura.”

  “What things?” she asked, wary again, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  “I want you to know that I won’t give you any trouble about the guardianship—if Claire doesn’t make it, that is.”

  “I’m praying she goes into remission.”

  “So am I. But she is a Stage 4 patient, and that doesn’t bode well for her. As a doctor, I have to face reality, Laura. Anyway, to continue, Natasha is at that age when she needs a woman in her life. I know you love her, and that you will do the right thing by her. I trust you, Laura, but I felt I had to say that to you. Also, my life is at sixes and sevens at the moment. I’m not really settled in Atlanta, and I don’t know where my work is going to take me in the future.”

  “I never thought you would create problems,” Laura responded, leaning forward slightly. “I realize how much you care about Natasha, how much you love her, and I would like to reassure you that you will always have as much access to her as you want. After all, you are her father, and she loves you. She’s made that very clear to me.

  “Thanks for saying that, Laura,” he said, smiling faintly. “I like the idea of Nattie being in New York, of continuing her education here. After all, she is an American.”

  “Yes,” Laura replied, thinking that he made it all sound like a foregone conclusion. But then, as he had just said, he was a doctor and he was not blinded by hope; he looked at the facts and made a judgment. Clearing her throat, Laura continued. “If I end up taking care of Natasha, I’d like you to be involved in every part of her life, and especially her education.”

  “I would be, and that brings me to another, point. Money. I would take care of her financially. I wouldn’t want her upbringing to be a burden to you. And all take care of the cost of her education as well. I hope all that goes without saying.”

  “Yes, anyway, you more or less indicated that when we spoke on the phone.”

  “I also want you to feel you can phone me whenever you need to, Laura, if there’s anything to discuss about Natasha and her well-being.”

  She nodded. “I think we understand each other, Philippe. But I’m glad we’ve had a chance to talk face-to-face, as you said. How’s your mother? I suppose you’re staying with her?”

  “She’s good, and, yes, I am at her apartment. How’s Doug?”

  Laura stared at him, wondering how to answer this question. She suddenly felt awkward, and she wasn’t sure why. She said, “He and I, well, actually, we’ve separated, Philippe. We’re getting a divorce.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry” was all he could think of to say, taken by surprise as he was. What a fool Doug Casson must be, to let a fabulous woman like Laura Valiant go. He had always thought her to be exceptional, so intelligent yet a compassionate woman with an understanding heart. Deep down it had always troubled him that she appeared to dislike him, when he had felt just the opposite. But then, he knew she had been influenced by Claire’s turbulent emotional view of him.

  As he continued to regard Laura steadily across her desk, Philippe was struck again by the vividness of her eyes. She
was a beautiful woman.

  Before he could stop himself, he said, “Are you going to be working here much longer, Laura?” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost four o’clock. Do you feel like having a cup of tea?”

  For a second Laura hesitated, and then she said, “All right, why not? I’d like that, Philippe.” I might as well be cordial with him, she thought as she stood up. After all, Natasha is going to be a common bond between us.

  21

  Laura was used to being kept waiting by tycoons, and Norman Grant was no exception to this rule.

  She sat in the grandiose, cold-looking reception area of his humongous offices on Fifth Avenue, wondering why he had allowed the architect to use so much white marble. It was the most unflattering material, unless it was gracing a villa in a hot climate, and it made the reception area look like a mausoleum. Or a giant-sized toilet, perhaps.

  As she idly flipped through a beauty magazine, she wondered how long she would have to wait this time. On the last occasion she had been there, it had taken Grant almost half an hour to admit her into his presence.

  Glancing away from the blond receptionist, who sat at a glass-and-steel desk facing her, Laura smiled to herself. The only one who never kept her waiting for longer than a few minutes was Maximilian West. But then, he was quite different from all the other businessmen she dealt with. He was unique, and a gentleman.

  Glancing at her watch, Laura saw that she had been sitting on this sofa for half an hour now. Under different circumstances she would have risen and departed without wasting another moment of her valuable time. But she could not do that today. Keep your cool, she told herself. You’ve got to win this. And today’s your last chance to pull it off, to succeed.

  As she placed the magazine on the coffee table in front of her, Norman Grant’s secretary finally came to fetch her. There was no apology, greeting, or smile of recognition, and she had been there twice. The grim-faced woman simply said, “He’ll see you now,” and led the way down the corridor to his suite of private offices situated at the end.