8     

It seemed to Laura that the rest of the week in Paris flew by. Suddenly, before she knew it, Friday morning was upon her, and she was scurrying around doing last minute things.

By the time she finally arrived at the Bar des Théâtres across the street from the Plaza-Athénée, it was one-fifteen and she was late for her lunch date with Claire.

But Claire merely smiled as she began to apologize, and said mildly, “It doesn’t matter, I know what it’s like when you’re pushed for time. Come on, Laura darling, take off your coat and sit down.”

Laura did this, agreed to the glass of champagne Claire suggested, and then sat back. After taking a deep breath, she grinned and said, “Everything just piled in on me all of a sudden, but it was all good stuff! A lot of things came to fruition, finally, this morning.”

“So it’s been a successful trip?” Claire asked, raising an auburn brow.

“Very much so. Our Canadian client has committed to the Matisse and the Cézanne, and then this morning a private dealer I know came up with a Bonnard that’s simply beautiful. I’m sure the same Canadian client will buy that too. And I think another client in New York is going to buy the Renoir … the countess’s Renoir.”

“That’s great! Hercule will be pleased, and so will the countess. Apparently she needs the money for repairs to the château in the Loire,” Claire said. “Although I’m not sure why she feels the need to maintain that place. Hercule says it’s enormous. She ought to sell it, in my opinion.”

“Hercule said something to me too … about it being in the family for hundreds of years, and there’s the countess’s son, who inherited the title and the lands. I’m sure the house is … well, part of them. It’s their heritage, his heritage, actually.”

“I guess so,” Claire agreed. She chuckled suddenly. “My mother used to say that a house is a thief. It steals all your money. Don’t ever forget that.”

“As if I could! When Grandma Megan gave me her house in Connecticut I was thrilled, until I realized that it’s a money pit. And that’s with Doug doing a lot of repairs and other things himself. You know how handy he is with tools.”

“Give the famous Doug my love. It was lovely to see him last weekend.”

“I will.” Laura took a sip of the champagne, which had just materialized, saying cheers as she did so. With a frown she then asked, “Why does everyone call him the famous Doug in that way?”

“I didn’t know everyone did; I thought it was only me,” Claire replied, looking at Laura curiously, her head on one side.

“Well, actually Philippe said the same thing the other day—” Laura stopped, wondering if she had made a faux pas by mentioning Philippe’s name.

“Philippe said, give the famous Doug my love when you saw him in the museum? Is that what you mean?” Claire murmured, her puzzlement reflected on her face.

“No, not that. He said, how’s the famous Doug? And what I’m getting at now is why you and he call Doug famous?”

“I think I was the one who started it, because when you first met him you talked about him so much, raved about his looks and his brains and … his brawn.” Claire laughed as she finished. “You were so crazy about him, you made him seem like a movie star, and therefore famous. And he is so good-looking, the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome hero, right?”

Laura laughed with her old friend. She said, “I guess I was pretty bowled over at the time. He was the most gorgeous thing on two legs that I’d ever seen. Still is, really.”

“So, give him my love.”

“I will. And I know he reciprocates. You’ve always been his favorite.”

Claire looked pleased on hearing this, but she made no comment. Then she asked, “What do you want to eat? I think I’ll have the omelette fines herbes, and a green salad.”

“I’ll have the same, Claire, I’m not very hungry.”

Once Claire had ordered lunch for them, she confided, “It’s been wonderful having you here, Laura. I’m going to miss you, and so is Natasha. You’re the only person she has in this world, you know. After me, of course.”

“And her—” Laura began to cough, covered her mouth with her hand. Once she calmed herself, she added, “She has Hercule,” knowing how stupid it would be to say she has her father, which she had just been about to do.

“You started to say her father, didn’t you?” Claire said.

Laura felt herself flushing. After a moment, she nodded.

Claire went on quickly. “But she doesn’t have him, you see. She never had him. He’s never been a good father to her. Nor was he a good husband, for that matter. His work and his women invariably came first. He was extremely independent, and did what he wanted. And very selfishly so. He was neglectful of me, and of Natasha.”

Suddenly they were right in the middle of something Laura had not intended, had, in fact, wanted to avoid at all cost. She wondered how to respond, was afraid of upsetting Claire by saying the wrong thing. And so she said nothing at all.

Suddenly, Claire leaned across the table, staring into Laura’s troubled face. “I’m so sorry about last Saturday night. I wish it hadn’t happened. It was ugly and unnecessary. But Philippe shouldn’t have arrived like that, unannounced. He knows it upsets me when he does. Somehow he always manages to create problems.”

“I know how hurt and angry you’ve been, and still are, Claire,” Laura acknowledged in a sympathetic voice. “But I do wish you could put all that on one side, turn away from it. Philippe is no longer a part of your life, except for seeing Natasha from time to time. It’s so … enervating to hang on to anger the way you do, darling.”

Claire sighed. “I wish I could turn away, Laura, but I can’t forget all the terrible things he did to me. I suppose I’m bitter.”

The waiter arrived with their food, which saved Laura the trouble of replying. She was greatly relieved, since she did not know how to answer Claire. At least, not in a way that would please her friend. Laura was aware that to harbor bitterness was deadly: It only bred more pain and hurt in the long run. However, getting Claire to accept this was another matter altogether. Even to attempt it would be a futile exercise on her part.

Deeming it wiser, Laura still did not respond; she picked up her fork and began eating the salad, then took a forkful of omelette.

They ate in silence for a while. It was Claire who eventually broke it, when she said, “It’s funny, I’m very ambivalent about Philippe in certain ways. I want him to see Natasha, to be a father to her, and yet another part of me wishes he would just stay away from Paris altogether, never attempt to see her. That way we would all know where we stand. Perhaps I should say that to him. What do you think?”

“Is he still here?” Laura asked quietly.

“I don’t know. He never reveals much to Natasha when he sees her. What did he say to you when you ran into him at the museum?”

“Just that he was passing through, en route to Atlanta to see the head of the Centers for Disease Control.”

Claire nodded. “That figures. First and foremost, always the great scientist.”

Laura wanted to remind Claire that Philippe Lavillard had done some remarkable work and made some extraordinary discoveries in his field, but she decided to hold her tongue. Instead, she said, “Listen, Claire, I’ve been thinking about something for the last few days, and I want to pass it by you now. How about coming to New York for Christmas? Or, rather, to Connecticut. You and Natasha, and even Hercule, if he’d enjoy it. We’d have a wonderful time—” She paused and laughed, added, “It would be like old times, you know. Mom’s coming up, and she’s going to bring Grandma Megan. And Doug’s friend Robin Knox is bringing his fiancée, Karen. There’ll be a houseful, and it’ll be warm and happy and fun. What do you say?”

Claire’s face lit up, and Laura could see that she loved the idea. But then Claire shook her head. “I just can’t get away right now, and anyway, I promised Hercule I would host his New Year’s Eve party with him.”

“But you could go back in time for that. It’s only the thirteenth of December today.”

“Friday the thirteenth,” Claire cut in, and grimaced.

“Oh, I know, so what!” Laura exclaimed dismissively, and hurried on. “If you came next weekend, that’s Saturday the twenty-first, or Sunday the twenty-second, you could easily stay for a week, even eight days, and then fly back for Hercule’s party on the thirty-first. Oh, do try, Claire! Just think how much Natasha would love it. And I would too. All of us would.”

“I’ll think about it,” Claire said, and took a mouthful of salad. “There is something I wanted to ask you, Laura.” Claire hesitated before saying, “Could Natasha and I come and stay in the country with you in the summer? I never really know what to do with her then, they have such long school holidays in France. Hercule usually takes us to Brittany to stay with him there, but normally we go for only a couple of weeks. What do you think?”

“It’s a fabulous idea! And of course you can come. But I don’t want you to substitute the summer for Christmas. Promise you’ll try your damnedest, and that you’ll ask Hercule?”

“All right, I’ll see what I can do, and of course I’ll extend your invitation to him.” She shook her head. “It’s just that I have so much work,” she finished worriedly.

“I understand, I’m sort of snowed under myself. Even though I’m supposed to go to Palm Beach to see a client’s house, to recommend the kind of art she should use, I don’t think I’ll make it before Christmas,” Laura explained. “I’ll have to go in January.”

“I supposed Grandma Megan still has that pretty little cottage on Island Drive in Palm Beach?”

Laura nodded. “Mom likes to spend time there in January and February. She says she paints well at Bedelia Cottage. But Grandma doesn’t go there anymore, she hasn’t been for years. Don’t ask me why. Personally, I think the warm weather would do her good.”

“Yes, it would. But you know what she’s like. Nobody can tell Grandma Megan what to do.”

Laura smiled, thinking of her grandmother. “She’s just wonderful, that’s all I know.”

They fell into a discussion about Megan Valiant, whom they both loved, and who had been such a force in their lives when they were young. Then they reminisced about their girlhood spent together in New York and at the house in Connecticut, and they remembered those days with love and warmth and a great deal of nostalgia.

They were quite loath to say good-bye to each other, so closely bonded were they, and so they drank another cup of coffee, wanting to be together for as long as possible. Finally, it was Claire who brought their farewell lunch to an end, pointing out that she must return to her office.

The two women walked across the avenue Montaigne and stood in front of the hotel for a few more moments, still talking, clinging to each other verbally. And then they were doing that physically as they hugged and said their good-byes.

“Please try for Christmas,” Laura said, squeezing Claire’s arm.

“I will, Laura, I promise,” Claire answered, and then she smiled a bit wanly and hurried off down the street without looking back.

I really will miss her terribly, Laura thought, staring after Claire’s retreating figure. Turning, she went into the hotel and took the elevator up to her room. It was time to pack and conclude the remainder of her business.