A Sudden Change of Heart by Barbara Taylor Bradford Page A

thought to say, remembering that she herself had come to the sameconclusion 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 theevening. 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,