“But a birthday means you’re actually starting a whole new year in your life, and perhaps it might be a wonderful year for you,” Megan pointed out, wondering how to make her change her mind.
Laura did not answer. She got up and walked over to the window and stood looking down the East River, her thoughts on Philippe Lavillard. She sometimes wondered if Natasha suspected something, realized how she felt about her father, and was trying to play the matchmaker. But it wasn’t possible to be a matchmaker if the other person wasn’t interested. And certainly Philippe wasn’t interested in her. There was no special woman in his life, Natasha had announced that only the other day. Suddenly, Laura wondered why she had felt the need to say this. Perhaps the girl had tuned in to the way she felt about her father. She was certainly bright enough. Thank God I don’t have to spend more than a couple of days in Vienna, Laura thought. I can dash off to London once Rosa has received the painting.
“You seem very preoccupied with something, Laura,” Megan said, cutting into her thoughts.
Laura swung around and nodded. “I am a bit, Gran. Lots of business is coming through the office these days. I’m really snowed under.”
“Oh, dear, only business. And I was hoping it might be a young man you were thinking about just now.”
“Don’t be silly.” Laura walked back to join her grandmother on the sofa. “What time do I have for a man, young or old? I work like a dog, I have to travel constantly to London for Sir Maxim, and I’m bringing up a fifteen-year-old. Soon to be sixteen, actually. That’s the birthday party we should be planning, Gran. Natasha’s sweet sixteen bash.”
“We will, later. At the moment I’m thinking of your birthday. And I do want to give this dinner. It’ll be small. Just you and me and Natasha, and Rosa, of course. Unless you’d like me to invite anyone else. What about Alison and Tony?”
“Alison and Tony won’t come, they’re not very social these days since Alison’s pregnant again. No, there’s nobody else I want.”
“Nobody else at all?” Megan pressed hopefully.
“Not really.”
“Definitely no young man.”
“No, Gran,” Laura said, and laughed for the first time in days.
“But you have agreed that I can give a dinner for you, haven’t you, darling girl?”
“I guess you sort of trapped me into it, you wily old thing you, and why not? But, please, no birthday cake.”
“Absolutely not. And no balloons either,” Megan quipped, keeping a poker face.
“When are you planning on giving this dinner, Gran?”
“That’s up to you. Are you going off to see Sir Maximilian West this month?”
“No. He and his wife will be traveling. However, I do have to go to Vienna with Rosa. At the end of this month, so I can fit in with you.”
“Then I shall have your thirty-third birthday on your birthday. That’s the way it’s meant to be, you know.”
31
“Happy birthday, Laura!” everyone cried, lifting their champagne flutes and sipping the Dom Pérignon.
Laura smiled and said, “Thank you. And thank you, Grandma Megan, for my wonderful dinner party. Everything was absolutely beautiful.”
“My pleasure,” Megan said, and pushing back her chair, she continued. “Now let’s go into the sitting room. It’s time to open your presents, Laura dear.”
“Oh, yes, let’s do that!” Natasha cried, jumping up. “Come on, Laura, come on, Dad.”
Not wanting to linger near Philippe, Laura got up quickly and hurried into the sitting room with Natasha. From the moment Philippe arrived at her grandmother’s apartment, she had felt queasy inside, shaky. He had been a surprise. She certainly hadn’t expected him to fly in from Atlanta for her birthday. In a sense, she was pleased he had made the effort, touched even; but the saner part of her told her not to be. After all, what did it signify? Tonight was Friday, and he frequently came to New York to be with Natasha on weekends.
Natasha ran to her, caught hold of her hand as she was entering the room, and said, “Sit here, Laura, on the sofa. I’ll sit next to you and hand you your gifts.”
“All right,” Laura answered, and did as she was told.
Megan and Rosa followed more slowly, escorted by Philippe. Once they were seated, he went and stood near the fireplace, watching the proceedings from this vantage point. He hoped Laura liked his gift, which he had found in an antique shop the previous weekend when he’d been in New York. At the time he had been quite certain it would please her. Unexpectedly, he was no longer sure. But how he wanted it to be exactly right.
Automatically, his eyes were drawn to her, as they always were when she was in the same room. To him she was the most beautiful of women, not only on the outside, but inside as well. Laura was a very rare being, a woman of integrity, understanding, and compassion. There weren’t many like her in this world.
He loved Laura Valiant. He had loved her for many months now, perhaps even longer than that, if he were honest with himself. That cold day in December, almost two years ago now, he had wanted to prolong his contact with her in the d’Orsay museum. But his mother had arrived, and their conversation had been interrupted. And suddenly he was hurrying after Rosa, wondering when he would see Laura again. Now he wondered how to get their relationship on a different footing. Perhaps he could attempt it this weekend. If not, it would have to wait until he moved permanently to New York. He couldn’t wait to be in the same city as Laura….
“Thank you, Rosa,” Laura exclaimed. “The Renoir book is marvelous.” She pushed herself up and went to kiss Rosa, then returned to her place on the sofa.
“This is from Grandma Megan,” Natasha announced, handing Laura a small package.
Ripping off the paper, Laura found herself holding a worn leather jewelry box. As she peeked inside she saw a narrow ring set with diamond chips, and taking it out, she slipped it on her little finger.
“Oh, Grandma, it’s beautiful. Thank you!” Laura went to hug Megan.
“Your grandfather gave it to me many years ago,” Megan said, “and I was sure it would fit you.”
“And this is from me.” Natasha presented her with a long, slender box. Laura looked up at Natasha, who was sitting on the arm of the sofa, and smiled. Out of the cardboard box she lifted a white chiffon scarf handpainted with pink peonies. “Why, it’s lovely,” Laura said, reaching for Natasha.
Natasha bent down and they embraced. “I painted it myself, and I chose the peonies because they’re your favorite flower. And now here’s your final gift. From Dad.”
Laura’s eyes flew to Philippe, standing near the fireplace. He half smiled and nodded. “I hope you like it,” he muttered, feeling suddenly awkward and a little embarrassed.
“I’m sure I will,” Laura responded, carefully taking off the ribbon and the paper. Again, it was an old leather jewelry box, and with a sudden rush of excitement Laura lifted the lid. She found herself staring at one of the most beautiful cameo brooches she had ever seen. “It’s exquisite, Philippe,” she exclaimed, and rose, slowly walking across to the fireplace. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, stepped away from him swiftly, and added, “Thank you so much.”
Natasha said, “I knew something was missing. And it’s music. I won’t be a minute.” She rushed out of the sitting room, humming under her breath.
Megan said, “She’s a whirlwind at times, but then, I suppose I was too when I was her age. Now, Laura, let me look at Philippe’s gift.”
Rising, Laura took it over to her grandmother and showed it to her, and then to Rosa. They both exclaimed over it, and Laura said again, “It’s very beautiful, Philippe.”
He merely smiled at her.
The strains of music filled the room as Natasha came back and said, “There, that’s better, isn’t it, Grandma Megan? You did say you wanted music tonight.”
“I did indeed, child, and it’s perfect.”
Natasha, now standing next to her father near the fi
replace, whispered, “You should ask Laura to dance, Dad, it’s her birthday after all.”
Philippe looked at Natasha and asked in a low voice, “But where would we dance?”
“Out there in the front hall. Near the dining room.”
Philippe followed the direction of her gaze, and nodded. But then he hesitated, and did not move until Natasha squeezed his arm and whispered, “Go on, Dad.”
Crossing the room, Philippe came to a stop at the sofa, looked down at Laura, and gave a small half-laugh. “Since the music’s playing just for you, for your birthday, would you come and dance with me, Laura?”
“I’d love to,” she responded. Together they walked through the doorway of the sitting room and out into the front hall.
Taking hold of her hand, Philippe put his arm around her and brought her closer, then slowly they moved around the marble floor, not saying a word to each other.
Laura was shaking inside. She could hardly breathe.
Philippe was as nervous as she was, but he managed to conceal this as they danced. When the music came to an end he said, “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He dropped her hand, stepped away from her.
“No, it wasn’t,” Laura replied, also moving away.
They strolled back to the sitting room, only to find it empty. They heard voices and laughter coming from the library and turned to face each other in puzzlement. Just as they did so, another disc started to play, and strains of a romantic ballad echoed throughout the apartment.
Philippe, looking down at Laura, said, “Do you think we’re the victims of a conspiracy?”
“I don’t feel like a victim,” Laura murmured. “Do you?”
“Not at all,” Philippe answered, and taking hold of her hand, he led her out of the room, back to the front hall, where, miraculously, the lights had been dimmed.
They stood in the middle of the marble floor, staring at each other. Their eyes locked. Neither of them could look away. And then, before he could stop himself, Philippe took a step closer and pulled Laura into his arms. Their mouths met; she clung to him. He kissed her passionately, and she responded ardently. When they finally pulled away, he said quietly, “Dare I hope you feel the same way I do, Laura Valiant?”
“I think so. But how do you feel?” she asked, her eyes riveted on his face.
“I’m crazily, madly, in love with you,” he answered.
“Then we feel the same way,” she said, and moved back into his arms. “And that’s the way I’m going to feel for the rest of my life.”
“The rest of our lives,” he murmured against her hair.
Published by
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This is a work of fiction. The situations and scenes described, other than those of historical events, are all imaginary. With the exception of well-known historical figures, none of the characters portrayed are based on real people, but were created from the imagination of the author Any similarity, therefore, to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental
Copyright © 1999 by Barbara Taylor Bradford
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law For information address: Doubleday, New York, New York
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eISBN: 978-0-307-49144-2
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