Crossings

by Danielle Steel

  What ensued was an agonizing three months. Liane could barely keep her mind on her studies, and Armand thought he would go mad at his desk. They met again at a Christmas party given by her father, and by New Year's both of them had given up the fight. He took her to dinner one night, and afterward, in an agony of tension and emotion, he told her all that he was feeling, and was stunned when her emotions cascaded out with the same force as his. They began seeing each other weekly, on weekends, and kept to quiet haunts so as not to become the center of gossip around town, and at last Liane told her father, expecting some resistance, and possibly even fury, but what she got from him instead was delight and relief.

  “I wondered when you two would finally realize what I've known for two years.” He sat looking at her, beaming, as she stared.

  “You knew? But how could you? I didn't … we didn't …”

  “I'm just smarter than both of you, that's all.” But he approved of the way they had proceeded. They had each felt out their emotions with caution and respect for the past. He knew that neither of them took the matter lightly, and he wasn't even bothered by the difference in their ages. Liane was an unusual young woman, and he couldn't imagine her happy with a man her own age. And to her, the twenty-four-year span between them mattered not at all, although Armand had expressed some concern about it in the beginning. Now he didn't give a care to something so minor as that. He adored her. He felt as though he had been born again, and he rapidly proposed marriage. On her twenty-first birthday they announced their engagement. Her father gave a lovely party, and life tasted like a dream, until two weeks later, when Armand received word that his term in San Francisco had come to an end. He was being moved on to Vienna as Ambassador. And like it or not, it was time to go. He and Liane discussed a precipitous marriage, but her father intervened. He wanted her to complete her final year in college, which meant waiting another full year until they could be married. Liane was crushed, but she was anxious not to disobey her father, and the two lovers agreed that they would survive the next year somehow, with visits when they could, and letters each day in between.

  It was a difficult year for them both, but they managed, and on the fourteenth of June 1929, Armand de Villiers and Liane Crockett were married at old St. Mary's in San Francisco. Armand had left Vienna a month, for the “wedding of the year,” as the San Francisco papers called it, and they both went back to Europe for a quick honeymoon in Venice, before returning to Vienna, where Liane would then be Ambassadress. And she stepped into those shoes with extraordinary ease. Armand tried to make everything easy for her, but she scarcely needed his help. After her years with her father, and the six months of helping Armand after Odile's death, she knew what to do.

  Her father came to visit twice during their first six months there, unable to stay away. He had no business in Europe, but he longed for his daughter, and during his second visit she could no longer keep the news from him, although she had predicted accurately to Armand how he would react. She was having a baby the following summer, and her father responded with sheer terror, insisting privately to Armand that she had to be brought back to the States, had to have the best doctors, had to stay in bed, had to … He was haunted by memories of Liane's mother, and his agony when he had lost her. He was almost in tears when he went back to the States. And Liane had to write him daily to assure him that all was well. In May he arrived six weeks before the baby was due, and he almost drove them crazy with his worry, but Liane didn't have the heart to send him back to the States. When she went into labor, it was all Armand could do to subdue Harrison and to keep him busy, but fortunately the baby came quickly, a fat, angelic-looking girl with wisps of blond hair and round cheeks and a little rosebud mouth, born at 5:45 P.M. in a hospital in Vienna. When Harrison came to visit Liane three hours later, he found her eating dinner and laughing, as though she had spent the afternoon at the opera with her friends. He couldn't believe it, nor could Armand, who gazed at his wife as though she had wrought single-handedly the miracle of all time. He loved her more than life itself, and thanked God for this new life he had never even dreamed would be his. He was totally crazy about the baby, and when their second daughter was born two years later in London, he was just as excited all over again. This time they had convinced Liane's father that he could wait in San Francisco and that they would cable him the moment the baby was born, which they did. Their first child they had named Marie-Ange Odile de Villiers, which they had both thought about with great seriousness before doing. They both decided that it was what they wanted, and they knew that Odile would have been pleased. The second baby was named Elisabeth Liane Crockett de Villiers, which pleased Liane's father no end.

  He came to London for the christening, and gazed at the baby with such rapture that Liane teased him afterward about it, but she also noticed on this trip that he didn't look well. He was sixty-eight years old, and had always been in good health, but he seemed older than his years now, and Liane was worried when she saw him off on the ship. She said something to Armand about it, but he had his hands full with a difficult diplomatic negotiation with the Austrians and the English, and afterward he felt guilty for not paying more attention. Harrison Crockett died of a heart attack on the ship on the way home.

  Liane flew home to San Francisco without the children, and as she stood beside her father's casket she felt a loss she almost couldn't bear, and she knew that life would never be quite the same without him. Her Uncle George was already preparing to move into Harrison's house, and his shoes at Crockett Shipping, but her uncle was like a very dim star in the orbit of the bright planet that had been her father. She was glad that she didn't live in San Francisco and wouldn't have to see her uncle living in their house. She couldn't have borne watching the gruff, ornery old bachelor living her father's life and changing all the old ways. She left San Francisco within a week, with a feeling of grief that exceeded only what she had felt when Odile had died, and she was grateful to return home to Armand, to her babies, and to throw herself back into her life as Ambassadress at his side. From that moment on she always felt less of an allegiance to her own country. Her tie to the States had been her father, and now all of that was gone. She had the fortune her father had left her, but she would have much preferred to have her father living, and all that mattered to her now were her daughters and her husband and her life with them.

  Two years after that they left London. Armand was reassigned as Ambassador to Washington. It was the first time in five years that Liane would be living back in the United States. It was an exciting time for them both, filled with the prospect of an important post for Armand and lots of responsibility for Liane, and the only thing that marred it was the fact that Liane lost a baby, this time a little boy, shortly after their arrival in the States. It had been a rough crossing, and she had had a hard time from the first. But aside from that, the years in Washington were a time they both remembered fondly, filled with spectacular dinners at the Embassy, glittering evenings amongst heads of state, nights at the White House, and acquaintances with important politicians who filled their lives with interesting events and fascinating friendships. It was a time they would miss now, and it seemed as though it were ending much too quickly. It was hard to believe that the Washington years had already come to a close. They would both miss their friends, as would their daughters. Marie-Ange and Elisabeth were respectively nine and seven now, and they had never known schools other than those in Washington. Armand had already made arrangements for them in Paris, and they both spoke perfect French, but still it would be a big change for them. And with a war possibly coming in Europe, God alone knew what would be in store. Armand had already discussed that possibility with Liane, and if anything happened, he planned to send the three of them back to the States. Liane could stay with her uncle in San Francisco, in her father's old house, and at least he would know that they were safe there. But for the moment, that didn't enter the picture. For the time being, as much as one could know that sort of thi
ng, Armand knew that there would be peace in France, though of course there was no way of knowing for how long.

  At present he had to ready the Embassy for his replacement, and he turned his attention back to the work on his desk, and it was almost ten o'clock when he looked up again. He stood up at his desk and stretched. He had been feeling so old lately, despite Liane's amorous protests, but at fifty-six he had led a very full life.

  He locked the door to his office behind him, bidding good night to the two guards posted in the hall. And then he inserted his key in the lock of the private elevator at the rear that would take him to their apartments, and he stepped in with a tired smile and a sigh. It was always good to get home to Liane after a day's work, even after all these years. She was a wife any man would be lucky to even dream of having. She had been devoted and understanding and patient and humorous and loving for all of their ten years. As the elevator reached the fourth floor it ground to a halt, and he opened the door into the ornate marble hall that led to his study, their large paneled living room, and their dining room, and he could smell something delicious still being prepared in the kitchen beyond. And as he glanced up the marble staircase to the top floor, he saw her, still as lovely as she had been ten years before, her blond hair in a handsome pageboy on her shoulders, her blue eyes unlined, and her skin as fresh as it had been the first time he had seen her in his garden at fifteen. She was a rare beauty, and he cherished every moment with her, although these days the moments they shared were fewer than they had been in a long time, he was so damnably busy.

  “Hello, my love.” She slid her arms around his neck as she reached the bottom of the stairs, nuzzling his neck in the way she had for the past ten years, and as it always did, the gesture warmed him to his very soul.

  “How was your day, or shouldn't I ask?” He smiled down at her, proud of her, still proud that she was his. She was a beauty, and a rare, rare gem.

  “I think I've almost finished packing. You won't recognize our bedroom when you come upstairs.”

  “Will you be in it?” His eyes danced as he looked at his wife, even after his long day.

  “Of course.”

  “Then that's all I want to recognize. How are the girls?”

  “They miss you.” They hadn't seen their father in four days.

  “We'll make up for lost time next week on the ship.” He smiled at Liane. “Our reservations were reconfirmed today, and”—the smile widened—“I have quite a surprise for you, chérie. The gentleman who had reserved one of the four Grand Luxe suites has had to cancel, because his wife was taken ill. Which means …” He seemed almost to be waiting for a drumroll as Liane laughed and took his arm to escort him into the dining room. “It means that as a courtesy to this tired old returning Ambassador, we are being given one of the Normandie's four most luxurious suites. Four bedrooms, a dining room of our own, if we wish to use it, which we won't. We'll be too busy enjoying the Grande Salle a Manger. But perhaps the children will enjoy having a dining room of their own and a living room with a baby grand piano. Our own promenade deck, my love, where we can sit at night, looking up at the stars …” His voice drifted off dreamily, as he was really looking forward to the crossing on the ship. For years now he had heard nothing but raves about the Normandie, and he had never been on it. Now it was an extra treat that he could give to his wife. No matter that she could have paid for all four of the Grand Luxe suites herself, he would never have let her. He had too much pride about that sort of thing, and he was happy to be able to spoil her a little, and happier still that they would have five days together, suspended between two worlds. At last he would be free of the final exhausting days at the Embassy in Washington, and he would not yet have been swallowed up by the work he was to do in France. “Isn't that good news?” His eyes danced.

  “I can hardly wait.” And then she giggled as she sat down at the enormous dining table set for two. “Since we have a piano in our cabin, should I practice the piano a little before we leave? I haven't played in years.”

  “Silly girl. Hmm”—he turned his attention to the odors emanating from the kitchen—“that smells awfully good.”

  “Thank you, sir. Soupe de poisson for my lord and master, une omelette fines herbes, salade de cresson, Camembert, Brie, and chocolate soufflé, if the cook hasn't fallen asleep.”

  “She must be ready to kill me with these hours I'm keeping.”

  “Never mind, my love.” Liane smiled at him with a kiss in her eyes, and the maid came in with their soup.

  “Did I tell you that we're dining at the White House tomorrow?”

  “No.” But Liane was used to surprise command social engagements. She had given dinner parties for as many as a hundred people with notice of only two days.

  “They called today.”

  “Is the dinner for anyone important?” The soup was good, she liked their cozy dinners tête-à-tête, and like Armand, she wondered now how many moments like these they would have once they were back in France. They both suspected that he was going to be terribly busy, and she might not see much of him for a while. At least not at first.

  Armand smiled at his wife. “Tomorrow night is for someone terribly important.”

  “Who?”

  “Us. It's just a friendly little impromptu dinner for us before we leave.” There had already been a formal farewell reception three weeks before. “Are the girls excited about the ship?”

  Liane nodded. “Very.”

  “They can't possibly be as excited as I am. They call her the Ship of Light.” And then he saw her smiling at him again. “Do you think me very foolish to be so excited about the trip?”

  “No, I think you're very wonderful, and I love you.”

  He reached out and patted her hand then. “Liane … I am a very lucky man.”

  he long black Citroen that had been shipped over from Paris the year before drew up to the Pennsylvania Avenue entrance of the White House, and Liane stepped out. She was wearing a black satin dinner suit with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and a white organdy blouse underneath the jacket, lined in the finest of white silk. Armand had bought her the suit at Jean Patou when he had gone to Paris at Easter, and it fit her perfectly. Patou had her measurements, and Armand always chose gifts for her that suited her to perfection, as this one did. She looked like a high-fashion model, with her long, slim figure and her perfectly smooth blond hair, as she stepped from the car. Armand emerged just behind her, wearing his dinner jacket. Tonight was an informal evening. None of the men would be wearing white tie.

  There were two butlers and a maid waiting in the entry hall to greet them, to take any wraps the ladies might have brought and to direct them upstairs to the Roosevelts' private dining room. And of course there were presidential guards stationed in the hall.

  It was a considerable honor to be entertained at the White House. Liane had been here several times to lunch quietly with Eleanor and a handful of other ladies, and she was particularly pleased to be dining here tonight. Upstairs on the second floor, in their living quarters, the President and his wife were waiting, she in a simple gray crepe de chine dress from Traina-Norell and a handsome rope of pearls. There was always something unassuming about the woman. No matter who had designed her clothes or the jewels that she wore, she looked as though she might have been wearing an old dress and a sweater, sensible shoes, and a warm smile. She was the kind of woman one would have wanted to come home from school to, as there would have always been a warm welcome waiting and a gentle smile.

  “Hello, Liane.” Eleanor saw her first and walked over quickly. The President was already engaged in animated conversation with the British Ambassador, Sir Ronald Lindsay, another old friend. “It's so nice to see you both.” Her smile extended to Armand, who diligently kissed her hand and then looked into her eyes.

  “We shall miss you most of all, madame.”

  “But not half as much as we shall miss you!” She spoke in a high-pitched, thready voice, which people
made fun of often, and yet to those who knew her it had a comforting and familiar lilt. It was just another endearing aspect of Eleanor. It was difficult to find anyone who didn't love and respect her, and in the past five years Liane had been one of her most ardent fans, in spite of their recent heated exchanges over the SS St. Louis. Armand had already reminded Liane not to bring that up again tonight. She had heeded the warning in the car with an obedient nod and then a chuckle. “Am I as tactless as all that, my love?” “Never” had been the answer, but Armand had a fatherly way about him with his wife, and he often reminded her of things, as he would have the girls.

  “How are the children?” Liane was quick to ask. The Roosevelts' grandchildren were always in and out of the White House.

  “As naughty as ever. And the girls?”

  “Excited, and wild. Every time I turn around they've unpacked their trunks to look for a favorite doll, or create some mischief.” The two women laughed. With five children of her own, Eleanor was well versed in the ways of the very young.

  “I don't envy you the task of packing up! It's bad enough for us in the summer when we go to Campobello. I don't think I could ever have managed getting them all the way to France. Surely one of my children would have leaped overboard on a dare, and we'd have had to stop the ship. I shudder at the thought, but Marie-Ange and Elisabeth are much better behaved. You should have a peaceful crossing.”

  “We hope so,” Armand added, and then the threesome joined the others, the British Ambassador and his wife, Lady Lindsay, the Duponts of Delaware, the ever-present Harry Hopkins, a distant cousin of Eleanor's who was in Washington for two weeks, and Russell Thompson and his wife, Maryse, a couple that Liane and Armand enjoyed a great deal and saw often. He was an attorney, closely allied to the Roosevelt Administration, and she was from Paris, and a very lively girl.