Free A Sudden Change of Heart by Barbara Taylor Bradford

downstairs to the bar. It was only when they were finally settled at one of the small tables in the dimly lit, rather clubby-looking Bar Anglais that Laura spoke.
    “Why are you worried about Claire? Please tell me, Hercule.”
    “I will, in due course. First, let us order. What would you like?”
    “A glass of white wine, please.”
    Hercule beckoned to the waiter, ordered for Laura, and asked for a scotch and soda for himself. Then he sat back in the black leather chair and said, “I’ll get to Claire in a moment. First I want to talk to you about paintings.” He paused and added, “Something serious about paintings.”
    Looking at him alertly, she nodded. “Please tell me, Hercule.”
    “It is about Gauguin’s paintings. It is very important that you let me know whenever one comes onto the market in the States. Providing you know this, of course, andif you are interested in it for a client. I am asking you to do this for your own protection.”
    “Of course I’ll tell you. What’s this all about?”
    “There are several Gauguin paintings that are, well …
questionable.
I know your great interest in him as an artist, and how much you love his work, and I do not want you to make any mistakes. I do not want you to make a commitment without talking to me.”
    “You mean there are some fakes around?”
    “I am going to tell you a story about a Gauguin, and you will find it interesting, I believe.” He paused, stared at her intently. “Laura, this is confidential. What I am about to tell you is for your ears only; it must remain between us. At least for the moment.”
    “I would never discuss it with anyone,” she reassured him. Her eyes were eager, the expression on her face expectant.
    “Many years ago, there was a collector,” he began. And slowly, carefully, he recounted a story to her.
    She was rapt, and hung on to his every word.
    When he had finished his tale, he added, “Now to Claire. I don’t think she is well. In fact, I would go so far as to say that she is ill.”
    Laura gaped at him, then said, “She told me you’d given her a lecture about her weight.”
    He nodded. “She has lost much weight. She says she has been on a
régime.
However, it is not so much the weight loss that troubles me. It is … the
look
of her, Laura.”
    Frowning, shaking her head, Laura murmured, “I don’t understand what you mean.”
    “Yesterday, at the studio, there was a moment whenshe was talking to me from the set, and she had—” He stopped, looked off into space, as if trying to remember something, and then he said, “She looked very peaked, no, that is not it. What is the word I am looking for … she looked pinched … drawn … as if the skin of her face were stretched very tightly over her bones.” He took a deep breath, and added very quietly, “Her face was like a death mask, and it frightened me, Laura.”
    “Hercule! That’s awful! An awful thing to say,” she exclaimed, and shuddered.
    The waiter brought their drinks, and they were silent until he disappeared behind the bar again. Then Hercule continued. “I have the most terrible apprehension for her. I cannot explain it. You see, I love her—” He cut himself off and stared at Laura, suddenly at a loss.
    She said swiftly, “I know you love her, Hercule, and I’ve known it for a long time. You don’t have to be embarrassed or feel shy with me. I do understand. And I’m glad you love her, glad you care so much about Claire.”
    Looking relieved, he answered with a slight nod, “I am pleased I have told you this, and I thank you, my dear, for your understanding.” He lifted his glass and took a sip of his scotch.
    Laura, also sipping her drink, asked a moment later, “What do you mean when you say you feel apprehensive?”
    “As I told you, I do not think she is well, but I cannot explain why I feel this, not in a rational way. I reviewed the time I had spent with her at the studio, and certainly she had been energetic, as she