A Sudden Change of Heart (8 page)

The kitchen door had flown open with a clatter at that moment and Claire rushed into the living room; she was laughing. “There you are, Hercule, as punc—” She, too, instantly cut off her sentence midway when she saw Philippe Lavillard; she was flabbergasted at the sight of him. “What the hell are you doing here?” she exclaimed, but the words sounded more like a snarl than anything else.

“We met, he and I, on the doorstep,” Hercule began, already sensing trouble, wishing to keep things at least civilized; he knew they would never be amicable. That was an impossibility between these two antagonists. “We came up the stairs together,” he finished somewhat lamely, and shrugged.

Claire stared at her old friend without uttering a word, blinking rapidly, as if suddenly afflicted with a nervous tick. Then her eyes swung to Philippe. “What do
you
want?” she demanded, her voice shrill.

It struck Laura that Claire was spoiling for a fight with Philippe, and she wondered how best to diffuse the situation before it spiraled out of hand, became a full-blown row. She glanced at Doug; he stared at her pointedly.

In answer to Claire, Philippe said quietly, “You know what I want.”

“What you want and what you’ll get are two entirely different things. You can’t just come here without warning and make demands on me. And you know that,” she snapped, her eyes icy.

“I’m entitled to see Natasha.”

“Huh!
You!
You don’t give a damn about Natasha. If you did, you wouldn’t bury yourself in darkest Africa, tending to the natives and their bubonic plagues and Black Deaths or whatever other horrendous diseases it is they have. You’d be here, living in Paris, and
available
to be with your daughter whenever she needs you. Instead, you’re thousands of miles away, half the time incommunicado because of your deadly viruses, and of no use to her or me when we might need you urgently.”

“You know if there were an emergency I’d be here as quickly as possible, if you asked me to come. And I do have a right to see my daughter,” he answered, cool and reasonable in his tone.

“You gave those, rights up when you ran off!”

“I didn’t run off, as you put it, Claire, and you know it. And don’t forget, I do have visitation rights.”

“If
I
say so. And don’t
you
forget that I have sole
custody, and that I control your visitation rights. They’re at my discretion. The judge said so. And you accepted that stipulation without a murmur.”

“I don’t wish to fight with you, Claire,” he replied, sighing imperceptibly, holding his temper in check, knowing it was futile to squabble with Claire. Invariably her rage turned into a terrible verbal violence that frightened him because he never knew where it was going to lead. Again he said, “Look, I just want to see Natasha for a while.”

“But she doesn’t want to see you, do you, Natasha?” Claire turned her head, focused intently on their daughter.

At first Natasha did not answer, then she said softly, “No, Mom.”

“You see!” Claire cried triumphantly, and threw him a smug smile. “You’ve even antagonized your own daughter, not that she really knows you as a father. Basically, she never had a father. You were always away, and far too often, ever to be one of any consequence. In fact, you’re a stranger to her.”

“That is not true,” Philippe shot back swiftly. He shook his head and shifted slightly on his feet, wanting to be gone from her. “And let us not dredge up the past,” he went on, his control still tightly held, his voice steady. “I just thought we could spend a bit of time together, she and I. I’m here for only a few days.”

“Now?
At this hour? Why
did
you come at this particular time? I’m not going to ask you to stay to dinner, if that was your intention.”

“I don’t want to stay to dinner. I want to see my daughter.”

“You can’t. Not now. You should have phoned me. That would have been the proper thing to do.”

“I knew you’d say no, or slam the phone down if I called you.”

“I’m slamming the phone down now. You’re not welcome here. Please leave.”

“Claire, be reasonable,” he begged, his tone now becoming even more conciliatory. “Please agree to—”

“No way,” she cut in swiftly. Her hatred for him flooded her eyes, washed over her face. He saw it and flinched inside.

He said, “Tomorrow, Claire. For a short while. For lunch?”

“No.”

“For coffee, then? In the morning. Here at the apartment. Or at a café. Whatever you say.”

“Please go, I don’t want you in my home,” Claire almost shouted, and she stamped her foot.

Laura was not only appalled but troubled. She had never seen Claire behave like this before.

Hercule said, “Perhaps it would be more appropriate to have this discussion inside the apartment rather than out here in the hallway.” He took a long stride into the foyer and carefully closed the front door of the apartment behind him. At the same time, he managed to give Philippe a gentle push into the room. Then he struggled out of his overcoat, which he hung in the coat closet.

Philippe spoke in a coaxing tone, making a last-ditch effort as he said, “Let me spend an hour with Natasha tomorrow. That’s all I ask.” Growing bolder suddenly, he took another step toward his former wife.

Claire backed away.

They glared at each other.

There was a sudden rush of immense dislike flowing between them like waves. It filled the room.

Hatred, Laura thought. They have only hatred for each other. How terrible that they should end up like this. Once they so loved each other, shared all their hopes and dreams, planned a future, a whole life together. Now they are embattled.

Natasha also felt the hostility flowing between her parents, and as always it dismayed and troubled her. But she managed to diffuse it to some extent by saying, “It’s okay, Mom. Coffee tomorrow is fine.”

“No!” Claire exclaimed. “I don’t want you to do this, Natasha, just to placate him.”

Natasha went and put her arm around her mother, who was so much smaller than she, and held her close, as if somehow protecting her. She couldn’t stand her mother’s pain. It broke her heart. “Mom, I don’t mind, honestly I don’t, and it’s better this way.”

Claire did not respond, simply leaned into her daughter, taking sudden comfort from her proximity, her warmth, and the love she exuded.

Looking across at her father, Natasha continued,
“Ten o’clock.
I’ll be ready. We can go to the café on the corner.”

Philippe nodded, and an unexpected smile struck his somber mouth. “Yes, that’s perfect, and thank you, Natasha. Thank you.” He cast a glance at Claire. “Is that all right with you? You’re not going to make problems tomorrow, are you?”

“Everything will be all right,” Natasha answered swiftly, suddenly in command here, in charge of this volatile situation. “I promise. No problems.”

Relieved, reassured by the oddly grown-up girl who was his daughter, Philippe relaxed a little. For a moment he gave his attention to Laura. “Nice seeing you the other day,” he murmured, and then nodded to Hercule. Knowing it was wise to disappear before Claire did indeed find a way to object to the date their daughter had made with him, he let himself out without further ado.

The moment he was gone, Claire pulled away from Natasha and swung her head to look at Laura. She frowned and said in a puzzled tone, “You
saw
him the other day?”

“I ran into him at the d’Orsay just before you arrived. He was looking at the Renoirs.”

“And you never told me when
I
got there … never told me he was in Paris. Why not?”

“I was going to, Claire darling, but then I decided against it. I realized you didn’t know Philippe was here, passing through, as he’d told me, otherwise you would have mentioned it
to
me. And to be honest, I didn’t want to upset you. Mentioning his name is like a red rag to a bull, you know that, and I was just … Well, I was waiting for you to tell me you’d had a phone call from him. But when you didn’t, I decided not to say anything. Obviously he hadn’t been in touch with you. Why open a can of worms?”

“Lying by omission,” Claire pronounced, her mouth drooping. “I can’t believe it,” she added in a low mutter.

“Oh, Claire, come on, don’t take exception like this,” Laura exclaimed. “It wasn’t lying by omission.” She cleared her throat. “Well, not really,” she now thought to say, remembering that she herself had come to the same
conclusion two nights ago, when they were having dinner at the Relais Plaza. “Surely you understand, Claire?”

But Claire remained silent.

Laura continued. “Look, I didn’t want to bring up Philippe’s name, to say I’d run into him accidentally. What good would it have done? You’d only have been as mad as hell that he was in Paris and not calling you, not asking to see Natasha.”

“I’m mad now.”

“Mom, don’t take it out on Laura. She hasn’t done anything,” Natasha said gently, a worried expression clouding her eyes.

“Never a truer word spoken, my dear,” Hercule agreed. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’d like a drink.” He moved farther into the room and glanced at Laura. “Actually, I
need
one, don’t
you?”

“Absolutely, Hercule. Go and sit down, I’ll fix them,” Laura answered, walking across to the bar. “Scotch and soda as usual?”

“Oui. Merci.”

“What about you, Claire?” Laura asked as she dropped ice into two glasses. “I’m fixing myself a vodka for a change.”

“I won’t have anything, thanks,” Claire responded, her voice suddenly back to normal. “I think I’d better go and look at the dinner.”

“I’ll come with you,” Natasha cried, rushing into the kitchen after her mother.

“And you, Doug? Do you want something?” Laura asked.

“Not right now, thanks. I’m finishing this glass of white wine.”

Laura carried the drinks over to the sofa in front of the fire, handed the scotch to Hercule, then sat down on a chair opposite. “Cheers,” she said, lifting her glass. Doug lifted his, and smiled at her.

“Santé,”
Hercule replied, and took a sip. Leaning back against the cream velvet sofa, he stared at the fire for a brief moment, a look of abstraction on his face.

Laura sat observing him, giving him a few minutes to collect himself, to relax.

Eventually, she said in a low, concerned tone, “I’ve never seen Claire act in that way before, not in all the years I’ve known her.”

“A dreadful scene,” Hercule replied, shaking his great leonine white head. Turning to look at her, he went on. “I’ve not witnessed anything like it either. However, I must tell you, Laura, she now harbors the most terrible hatred for Philippe.”

“I’ve never been able to get to the bottom of
that,
Hercule. I mean, after all, a lot of marriages fail and people get divorced. But there isn’t always this hideous acrimony.”

“That is true, yes. I am rarely if ever with Claire and Philippe when they meet on occasion, but Natasha has told me that it is always stormy, and that Claire rages on and on at Philippe.” He shook his head; there was a hint of bafflement on his face. “It seems to me she has grown to hate him more and more as the years have passed. Extraordinary, I think.”

Laura made no comment; she was at a loss for words. But she knew deep down within herself that Hercule was correct. A sense of dismay suddenly lodged in her stomach, and she said slowly, “I hope this hasn’t ruined the
evening. Claire was so lighthearted in the kitchen before Philippe showed up. But then—” She cut herself off and sipped the vodka.

“But then?” Hercule’s eyes rested on her quizzically.
“What?”

“Philippe Lavillard has always spelled trouble, and I’ve never really liked him.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s such a bad fellow, Laura,” Doug interjected.

Hercule smiled at her and said, “Perhaps you see him through Claire’s eyes and not your own, my dear.”

“Perhaps,” Laura had the good grace to admit.

Hercule chuckled softly to himself and glanced into the fire, his face grown contemplative again.

“What is it? Why are you chuckling?”

“We can control so much in our own lives … except what other people say and do. And their actions and their words affect us tremendously. Therefore we do not have as much control as we think we do, Laura.”

“No, we don’t,” Laura agreed.

“You can say that again,” Doug said.

7
     

N
atasha could see her father standing on the far corner of the place de Furstemberg, and she ran across the square to join him.

“Hello, Natasha,” he said when she drew to a standstill in front of him, and hugged her to him.

“Hi, Dad,” she responded, hugging him back, and when they drew away, she went on. “Let’s go somewhere else for coffee, not the café on the corner, and then maybe we can go for a walk.”

“But your mother …” he began, and then stopped, peering at his daughter, his dark eyes suddenly worried. “Won’t she expect you home soon? Within the hour?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, Dad, honestly,” Natasha reassured him. “I told Mom I wanted to have a longer visit with you today, and she said it was all right.”

Philippe Lavillard continued to regard his daughter for a moment, assessing what she had just said. Although he did not know her as well as he wished he did, he was, nevertheless, quite sure she would not say anything to him that was untrue. Claire had brought her up well.

“All right,” he said at last. “Since you say your mother’s agreed, let’s walk for a bit and find a place for breakfast. I haven’t had any yet, have you, darling?”

Natasha shook her head, smiling up at him. She tucked her arm in his and they set off at a brisk pace. Natasha loved her father, and she did not think he was the ogre her mother constantly made him out to be. And she was baffled by her mother’s perpetual anger, and the fact that she would never discuss her past relationship with Philippe. But then, she was often baffled by adults, whom she considered to be very strange at times, to say the least, and most especially when it came to relationships.

“I’m planning to leave Africa,” Philippe announced out of the blue.

Taken by surprise, and startled by this statement, Natasha exclaimed, “Why, Dad? I thought you enjoyed working there.”

“I have enjoyed it and I’ve done some good work there, but I want to get out now. I’m tired, Nattie. Anyway, I want to be near you, able to see you more frequently. Would you like that?” he asked, and was suddenly filled with trepidation. He had always believed she felt the same way he did, that she loved him in return, and now he hoped he had been right in this assumption.

When she did not immediately respond, he asked, “Well, how
would
you feel if I were around more?”

“I’d like it, I really would,” Natasha said, meaning this. “And I think Mom would let me see you more often, wouldn’t she?”

“I’m sure of it, Natasha. Your mother is angry with me, not you, and if
you
ask her, then I know she’ll agree.”

“Why is she angry with you, Dad?” Natasha asked, voicing a question that had nagged at the back of her mind for the last couple of years.

“She thinks I let her down, I suppose that’s it.”

“Did you?” the fourteen-year-old asked, gazing at him, her eyes questioning.

Philippe sighed. “We let each other down in so many ways, and you suffered as a result.” He glanced at her and smiled ruefully. “It’s children who always suffer in a divorce.”

“I guess.” Natasha hesitated, and then blurted out, “Is it true what she says? About other women?”

“No, of course not. But Claire was always suspicious of me, especially when I went away to do research.”

“But why, Dad? I don’t understand why she didn’t trust you.”

He shook his head and a sigh escaped again. “I don’t know, Nat. But she believed it, she truly did, and she wasn’t pretending to be angry. It was genuine,
is
genuine.” They walked on in silence for a few minutes, and then Philippe volunteered, “I have a feeling—” He paused, wondering if he should continue.

“Go on, Dad, what feeling do you have?”

“I have a feeling your mother has an enormous and deep-rooted distrust of men for some reason. It seems to me that it’s very well ingrained in her, and I think I fell victim to this in some way. I’m not saying I wasn’t also at fault in the disintegration of our marriage, but I was often accused unfairly of things I didn’t do.”

Natasha nodded quickly. “I know you’re not the villain Mom makes you out to be. Actually—” She stopped abruptly, looked up at him, and suddenly grinned. “I think Mom’s still in love with you, Dad.”

Momentarily Philippe was startled, and he exclaimed, “I doubt it, Nattie! That’s your romantic imagination running away with you.”

“No, it isn’t, Dad. I just feel she is.” Natasha shrugged, and made a moue.
“You
think it’s wishful thinking on my part, but I don’t think it is.”

He was silent, and she hurried on.
“That’s
why Mom’s so angry with you … that you’re not
here,
living with us. I know she still loves you, Dad.”

“Well, in a way, I still love her.”

“That’s already something. Don’t you think you should try to get back together?”

Philippe came to a sudden standstill, took hold of his daughter’s arm, and turned her to face him. Very gently, he said, “I wish it
were
possible, Nat, for your sake, but I can’t. And in all truthfulness, I don’t think your mother wants me back. I said I still loved her in a certain way, but it isn’t the kind of love that would support a marriage. Perhaps I should correct that and say I’m very fond of your mother because of our early relationship and because of you. There’s a big difference.”

“I know.”

They began walking again.

Natasha slipped her arm through his, clinging to him as they fell into step. They were very much alike in looks, and Natasha was almost as tall as he was. And to passersby there was no doubt that they were father and daughter. Philippe was slim, elegant in appearance, and handsome in a quiet way, his lean face sensitive, his dark brown eyes compassionate and kind. Natasha now realized that her mother and father would never get back together, something she had often dreamed about. But she hoped they would be more amicable with each other in the future. Perhaps if her father did come back to work in Paris, her mother would see him in a better light, and relent.

“Would you work at the Pasteur Institute again, Dad?” she now asked.

“I’d like to, yes, Nattie, but I’m not sure that this would be possible. However, they’re interested in talking to me. Actually, I’m seeing the director tomorrow.”

“You’re such a brilliant virologist, they’ll want you, Dad. I just know they will.”

He laughed. “Thank you for that vote of confidence, Natasha. I’m glad I have you on my side.”

“I
am,
Dad.”

“How about going in here?” he suggested, stopping in front of a café. “I remember it well. They have wonderful croissants and make the best fried eggs. Come on, let’s try it.”

Once they were inside the café, Natasha shrugged out of her green quilted-down coat, and Philippe hung it up for her, along with his sheepskin jacket. After they had been seated and had ordered, he said, “I’m going to New York later next week with your grandmother.”

Natasha looked across the table at him alertly. “How is she?”

“Quite well, thanks, Nattie. Longing to see you again.” He pursed his lips. “Perhaps you and she can get to know each other one day.”

“It could happen if you were living in Paris,” Natasha said, unable to keep the eagerness out of her voice. “I mean, she could come here to see you. And me. Don’t you think?”

Philippe nodded. He was glad he made the effort and had gone to see Claire and Natasha last night. The outcome had been better than he had expected, despite Claire’s outburst. And he knew now that he
did
have his
daughter’s love, and that perhaps his mother would also have it one day. And that pleased him greatly.

“I
’m sorry to intrude, Laura,” Philippe said, speaking to her from a phone in the lobby of the hotel. “But I had hoped we might get together, if only for a few minutes. I need to speak to you about Natasha. And Claire.”

“Just a moment please, Philippe,” Laura said.

Although she had covered the receiver with her hand, he could vaguely hear her speaking to Doug, and then she came back to him. “Yes, all right. I’ll be down in a few minutes. Why don’t you go and wait for me in the long gallery, where they serve tea.”

“That’s fine. Thanks,” he said, and hung up.

Walking across the lobby, Philippe Lavillard headed into the gallery where tea and drinks were served, and found himself a table. He took off his jacket, put it on a chair, and settled in the other one to wait for Laura Valiant.

He had always liked her, and considered her to be a truly good friend to Claire. Many times he had often wanted to ask her if she knew anything about Claire’s past that would shed light on her distrust of men, himself in particular. But he had always lost his nerve at the last moment.

Suddenly Laura was there, standing in front of him, looking elegant in a dark red jacket and black pants. Beautiful as always, he said to himself as he jumped up and stretched out his hand.

After shaking it, Laura sat down and asked, “Did you have a nice morning with Natasha?”

“Yes, it’s always great to be with her, she’s a very special girl, very grown-up for her age. We walked, had breakfast, and then took another walk through the Luxembourg Gardens. We enjoyed being together.”

Laura said, “I’m glad. And you’re correct, Philippe, she’s a terrific girl. Claire’s done a good job.”

“Yes, she has, Laura. I’m the first to say it.”

Laura looked at him and asked politely, “Would you like a cup of tea? Or a drink? It’s about that time.”

He shook his head. “Thanks, but I don’t really want anything. Except to talk to you for a few minutes about Claire.”

“What about her?” Laura asked cautiously.

Leaning forward, Philippe said in a quiet, confiding tone, “Look, Laura, I want to spend more time with Natasha, and she’d like that too. But you know how fierce Claire is, and she’s determined to keep us apart.”

A thoughtful look crossed Laura’s face, and she replied, “I have a feeling Claire thinks you’re the one who has created the situation. I mean because you work in Zaire.”

“I know she does. And I’m planning to leave there. It may take me some time to extricate myself and to find a new job, but I’ve made up my mind to be in the same city as my daughter. If that’s at all possible.”

“I see,” Laura said, and added, “Last night was really awful. I must admit, I was a bit startled by Claire’s anger. I’ve never seen her like that.”

“Neither have I, to be honest, Laura. She’s been furious with me for a long time now. And I admit there’s been quite a lot of acrimony between us, but last night she was worse than ever. Claire didn’t seem like herself. I even
wondered if there was something else upsetting her. Was there? Is there?”

“Not that I know of,” Laura answered, and instantly thought of Hercule’s concern that Claire was ill. But she refrained from mentioning it. After all, Claire’s life had nothing to do with Philippe anymore.

He said, “Once I’m back in Paris, I’m hoping I can establish a better relationship with Claire. Do you think that’s possible?”

For a moment Laura was silent, pondering this, and finally she said, “Perhaps.”

“Only perhaps? You don’t sound very certain.”

“I guess I’m not. On the other hand, her complaint is that you’re so far away in Zaire. So, once you’re back, maybe she’ll understand how serious you are about Natasha, serious about helping to bring her up. Because that’s what you’d be doing, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely. And I want her to get to know my mother better. She’s hardly seen her grandmother in the last few years, and that’s not right, Laura. You more than anyone else should understand that.”

Laura merely nodded, but deep down she agreed with him. And she was coming to understand how sincere he was about changing his life in order to accommodate his daughter in it. How obvious it was he wanted to be with her, share time with her. She loved Claire, but like all people, Claire was not infallible. Last night Hercule had suggested that she had always seen Philippe through Claire’s eyes and not her own. Even Doug had pointed out that he was not such a bad fellow. Perhaps they were right. She suddenly adjusted her thinking about Philippe Lavillard.

Now Laura said, “Yes, I do think it’s important Natasha get to know her grandmother. After all, we all need family. But I thought your mother lived in New York?”

“She does, but she often comes to Paris. She was born here, you know. Anyway, if I were living here, she’d probably come more often.” He paused, and looked at Laura intently. “I know how close you are to Claire, and I almost hesitate to ask this, but do you think you can put in a good word for me? I’m very serious about getting closer to Natasha, being with her in these important years of her life.”

“I know that. Still, Claire might wonder why I’m suddenly intervening.”

“You could tell her I’d been to see you.”

“I suppose I could.”

“You still sound very hesitant, Laura, and I don’t want to put you in an awkward situation with Claire. Look, why don’t you think about this … once I’ve moved here, maybe you could talk to Claire and then get her to come around to my way of thinking.”