“I did love him a lot.”
“As he loved you, Claire. However, you were both volatile, just as Pierre and I were, and volatile marriages don’t auger well for the future. Not usually. Somehow mine lasted. But your stormy relationship was something else that troubled me. Going back to the beginning of your courtship, I realize that I wasn’t nice to you, merely civil and nothing more. I should have known better, as a mature woman. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt.”
“I guess my marriage to Philippe wasn’t meant to be. But at least the most glorious child came out of our union. A truly wondrous gift she’s been, my darling Natasha.” Claire’s green eyes shone brightly.
“From what everyone tells me, she’s very special, unique really,” Rosa murmured. “And she’s a beautiful young woman. She looks older than her age in some ways.”
“They all do these days. You haven’t seen much of her, or spent much time with her, but that’s partly because you live in New York, Rosa, and she’s lived in Paris most of her life. I’m … I’m so sorry you don’t properly know your only grandchild.”
Rosa inclined her head, but she didn’t respond, simply leaned back in the chair and endeavored to relax a little. She had wanted this meeting, but she had also been apprehensive about it.
“Natasha’s going to be living with Laura in the city, going to the Chapin School,” Claire volunteered.
“That’s near me!” Rosa exclaimed, unable to conceal her sudden excitement.
“I know. What I was going to say is that I want the two of you to get to know each other. It’s about time too. I’ve told Laura she must arrange it in the fall.”
“I would love to spend time with her, Claire, and with you too. I want to repair the damage. Do you think there’s a chance we can be friends?”
When Claire didn’t reply, Rosa continued. “I apologize to you, Claire, and with all my heart. I did a terrible thing all those years ago, and I’ve regretted it for the longest time. Can you see it in your heart to forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive. We were all wrong in our different ways.” Claire closed her eyes for a moment, settled against the pillows. A second or two later she opened them and looked at Rosa intently. She said, “What did you mean when you said you thought I wouldn’t understand Philippe’s problems?”
“He is the child of a Holocaust survivor, as you know, Claire.” Rosa paused, shook her head as if reproving herself, and went on. “That was another stupid thing on my part, I should have told you about my life during the war. Since you didn’t know much, it was virtually impossible for you to understand anything about me. Anyway, Philippe, like many similar children, has had a hard time coming to grips with what happened to me and to my family when I was a child. He thought he was somehow an insignificant part of my life, nothing of any great consequence in view of the enormity of the Holocaust. That horrendous catastrophe somehow manages to overshadow and overwhelm our children. Some children of survivors are even oddly jealous of their parents because they know they will never experience anything so immense as the Holocaust.”
Claire was frowning when she said, “I don’t think Philippe is the kind of man to feel that.”
Rosa nodded in agreement. “He didn’t, and doesn’t. What was problematical was the absence of a family, of a family past, and of a family history and inheritance. I know he definitely had feelings about all that. You see, the common element that binds together all of the children of survivors is this unnatural disruption of family history … because of that catastrophic occurrence that wiped out so many people.”
“I can understand that, and Philippe was odd in certain ways, I agree. He was also an angry young man in those days.”
“That is the truth, Claire.”
“He did feel he must do something worthwhile, something for humanity, like saving lives.”
“That was always the driving force in his life.”
“Is he still troubled, Rosa?”
“I think perhaps he always will be, but he’s learned to live with my past as well as his own life. Just as Pierre did. He and his family were in Switzerland when war broke out in France, and they remained there for the duration. So thank God my husband didn’t personally suffer, although his family did. They, too, had many losses. Philippe has learned to control the anger and the despair. He’s a good man, a worthwhile man, and I think he is at peace with himself.”
“I hope so,” Claire whispered.
“Are you all right?” Rosa asked, leaning forward, a concerned expression ringing her mouth.
“Yes, I’m all right. Just catching my breath.”
They sat in silence for a while, and when Claire finally opened her eyes again and looked at Rosa, the older woman said, “Claire, please forgive me, won’t you?”
“I forgive you, Rosa. I know you want to hear that, but truly, there’s nothing to forgive.”
“Oh, but there is,” Rosa insisted.
Claire reached out, groped for Rosa’s hand. “Grandma Megan told me your story recently, she told me about the hole … where they hid you … she told me about the things that happened to you. How ever did you survive?”
“I’m not sure, I often ask myself that. Willpower, determination, the desire to conquer, not to be beaten by the Nazis. Just wanting to live, I suppose.”
“Why didn’t you tell me years ago? Why didn’t Philippe tell me?”
“I don’t know … except that once a woman I met said she was sick of the professional Jews who were always showing their numbers … the numbers tattooed on their arms when they were in the death camps. Her words stunned me, and I never ever spoke of my past to anyone again. Not that I’d discussed it much at all, but that woman had diminished in the most dreadful and derisive way the suffering of so many … millions.”
“I understand,” Claire said, shifting her position in the bed and leaning on her side. “Rosa?”
“Yes, Claire?”
“Will you forgive me … for keeping your granddaughter away from you?”
“Of course, of course,” Rosa said swiftly, and added, “but as you just said, there’s nothing to forgive.”
Claire beckoned with one finger for Rosa to come closer. “Come and sit on the edge of the bed,” she murmured softly.
Rosa did so; her eyes did not leave Claire’s face.
Claire whispered, “I’m not going to make it,” and took hold of Rosa’s arm. “I’m dying.”
“No, don’t say that, Claire!” Tears filled Rosa’s eyes; she blinked them away. “I know you’re very sick, but Laura said you’d improved.”
“Yes, I did for a while, here at Rhondda Fach. But I can’t last much longer, I can’t fight anymore, Rosa, I’m tired.”
“Oh, my poor Claire,” Rosa said, and the tears fell out of her eyes and splashed down onto her hands holding Claire’s.
“Don’t cry,” Claire murmured. “I’ll be all right where I’m going … it’s just that I’ll miss Natasha and Grandma Megan and my darling Laura.”
Rosa was unable to speak. She sat on the edge of the bed, holding Claire’s hand for the longest time. Finally she bent forward, put her arms around Claire, and held her close, just as she had held her son when he was a small boy. And they stayed like that for a long time.
Eventually the two women drew apart and Claire said, “Don’t say anything to the others, will you?”
“No, I won’t,” Rosa said, and thought: Laura knows even if everyone else is deluded. She knows, but she’s keeping up a front for Natasha.
Rosa shifted slightly on the bed and started to get up, when Claire opened her eyes. “Don’t go, please. Stay for a few minutes longer. I need to gather my strength before I see Philippe.”
Rosa nodded. “All right. Do you want me to get anything for you, Claire? A glass of juice perhaps?”
“No, thanks. I just need you to stay with me, Rosa.”
Philippe Lavillard sat with Laura in the solarium, drinking a tomato jui
ce and chatting to her. They were alone. He and his mother had arrived at Rhondda Fach an hour before, only to find that Natasha was out with Fenice and Hercule Junot.
Now he said to Laura with a faint smile, “They must be buying an awful lot of groceries, it’s taking them so long.”
Laura explained. “It’s about half an hour to Balsamo’s, the best produce stand in the area, and half an hour back, and they did have to go into Kent to pick up other stuff. But they’ll be here soon. Don’t worry.”
Philippe nodded. “It’s just that I’m eager to see Natasha …” He focused his dark eyes on Laura more intently, and said in a warm voice, “I haven’t thanked you, Laura, for all that you’ve done for Natasha, and will be doing. I’m very grateful.”
“She’s a wonderful girl. Certainly she makes it easy for us all to love her. She adores Grandma Megan, they’ve got quite a little thing going between them. Anyway, we’re just happy to have her around. Natasha’s got such spirit and warmth, a certain kind of joie de vivre that’s infectious. She’s always willing to pitch in and help, and she has a great sense of responsibility; she’s actually very grown-up for her age.”
“Yes, she is, but then, I think a lot of European children are. They just seem to mature at an early age. Natasha’s been brought up in a single-parent environment, and that’s more than likely made her independent and capable. Anyway, you know what Claire’s like … she’s always treated Natasha as an adult, and expected her to behave like one.”
“I know,” Laura said, and laughed. “Natasha’s always had to stand up and be counted on. By the way, I’m glad you agree with us about sending her to Chapin. Claire selected the school, and I just hope Natasha gets in.”
“I’m fairly certain she will,” Philippe answered. “Natasha likes school, and that makes her a good student. Also, she seems to be diligent and hardworking.”
“She is.” Laura sipped her apple juice, and then went on. “Do you like living in Atlanta?”
“Yes, I do, although if I had the choice, I’d be in New York. There’s no place like one’s hometown. But aside from that, New York’s such a great city, I get a hell of a kick out of it.”
“I guess you don’t miss Africa,” Laura remarked, looking at him questioningly.
“Not at all.” He grimaced. “If I live to be a hundred, I won’t miss the sickness and disease, the grinding poverty, the cruelty of the politicians, the barbarity of the soldiers. Nor will I miss the droughts, the famine, the violent wars, the wholesale death and destruction on an unimaginable level.”
“I asked a stupid question,” Laura muttered, looking embarrassed. Suddenly, she felt a bit foolish.
“No, you didn’t,” Philippe was quick to assure her, smiling warmly. “Of course, Africa is beautiful, and the game parks are extraordinary, out of this world. In fact, there’s something about being out there in the bush that simply takes my breath away. But I’ve had my fill of Africa … I just became burnt out, Laura. Utterly exhausted. I wasn’t functioning properly anymore, and as I said to Francine, I’d better get out before I get sloppy and manage to infect myself with some deadly virus like Ebola or Marburg.”
“Who’s Francine?” Laura asked, looking at him alertly.
“Francine Gillaume is a French socialite with a conscience. She’s given a lot of money to some of my research programs over the years. Almost all the time I worked under the auspices of the Pasteur Institute. And naturally she agreed with me, even though it meant I was off one of her pet projects.”
“Being a virologist is pretty dangerous. Hazardous work, isn’t it?”
Philippe grinned at her. “Only if you’re sloppy, as I just mentioned. Getting burnt out, becoming over-exhausted, can easily be a death warrant.”
“Claire looks quite good. But she isn’t, not really,” Laura said, suddenly changing the subject. “I know she gave you permission to talk to her doctor at Sloan-Kettering. Did you?”
“Yes, I did. He says she’s a real fighter, a tough one, and that she—” Philippe stopped as Natasha came rushing into the solarium, her face wreathed in smiles as she flew across the room to greet him.
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.
Philippe 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.
A Sudden Change of Heart a Sudden Change of Heart Page 28
