Crossings

by Danielle Steel

Nick smiled sadly at her. “Unfortunately, you're right. I think about it sometimes, about how people use our steel to build their war machines. But what can I do to change that? Not much. Nothing, in fact.”

  “But you trade with the Germans, don't you?”

  He hesitated, but not for long. “I do. I'll be in Berlin in three weeks. But I also do business with Italy and Belgium and England and France. It's a big industry, Liane, and industries have no heart.”

  “Men do.” She looked directly at him, as though she expected something more.

  “It's not as simple as that.”

  “That's what Armand says.”

  “He's right.”

  She didn't answer him for a time, he had awoken something in her that she hadn't thought of in a long time, her responsibility to her father's shipping line. She put her dividends in the bank, put away the checks that came in, but she never thought anymore about where the ships went or what they did. It made her feel very helpless now. She couldn't begin to imagine questioning her uncle George. He would have been outraged at the thought, but if her father was still alive, she would have known more. “Did you ever meet my father, Nick?”

  “No. We had someone else on the West Coast when he was alive. I was on Wall Street burning the midnight oil in those days.”

  “He was a very special man.” It was easy for him to believe as he looked across the rail at Liane, and without thinking about it, he reached out and took her hand in his.

  “You're very special too.”

  “No, I'm not.” She left her hand in his, it was warm and powerful and strong, different from Armand's long, aristocratic fingers, lined by age since they had first held hers.

  “You don't know how good you are, it's part of what's special about you. And you don't know how wise or how strong. You helped me a lot tonight. I'm growing tired of it all, and standing here with you, suddenly life doesn't seem quite so bad.”

  “It's not. And it'll be better for you again one day.”

  “Why do you think that?” He was still holding her hand and she smiled at him. He was a beautiful man, in the flower of his finest years, and she hated to see him waste them with a wife like his, but she felt good things about this man.

  “I believe in justice, that's all.”

  “Justice?” He looked amused.

  “I think that difficult things happen in one's life in order to make one strong, but in the end decent people are rewarded with good people at their sides, and good things happen to them.”

  “You really believe that?” He seemed surprised.

  “I do.”

  “I'm a little more cynical than that.” So was Armand, and maybe most men were, but she still believed in things happening fairly in life, at least most of the time. It still didn't explain early deaths or children who were hurt or died, and yet most of the time she believed that life doled out the right rewards. Hillary would get hers. And Nick would too. “But I hope you're right, my friend.” She liked what he had just said, it was precisely what she felt for him. They had become friends. “I hope we see you in Paris some time, if you and Armand aren't all swallowed up by diplomatic life.”

  “And you by your own steel deals.” She smiled at him and finally withdrew her hand from his. “They say that things happen quickly on ships, friendships, romances, and that back on land everyone becomes normal again and forgets.” She looked into his eyes and he slowly shook his head.

  “I won't forget you. If you ever need a friend, call. Burnham Steel is in the Paris book. Over here we're called Burnham Compagnie.” She liked the idea of knowing where he would be, and yet she couldn't imagine a call like that. Her life with Armand was very complete. Nick was far more likely to need them.

  They stood quietly then for a time, looking out to sea, and at last Liane looked at her watch with a sigh and then at Nick. “My husband works too hard, I'm afraid. I was going to wait up for him, but I think I ought to get to bed. Tomorrow is the last day on the ship, and I'll have a lot of packing to do.” They had brought so much, but there had been so many gala events, the theater, the captain's dinners, she had to dress for lunch and then again for tea every day. Even keeping to their rooms as much as they had, she had worn a great many clothes. It was easier for the men, spending every evening in white tie and tails. “It's funny, we've only been on the ship for ten nights, but it feels more like ten weeks.”

  He smiled. “It does to me too.” But he was anxious to arrive now. He'd had enough. And he was glad that they only had one more day. And then he had a thought as he looked at Liane. “Can I interest you in another tennis match tomorrow?”

  “I'd like that, unless Armand is free.” And she was hoping that he would be. She liked Nick, but she was desperately hungry for some time with her husband.

  “Of course. I'll look for you tomorrow morning, and you can let me know then.”

  “Thank you, Nick.” She looked at him for a long time, and then gently touched his arm. “Everything will be all right, you know. You'll see.”

  He only smiled in answer and waved as she left. “Good night.” She was an unusual woman, he thought to himself. He only wished he had met her ten or twelve years before, but he had been only twenty-six then. She was the kind of woman who understood older men, and he assumed that her father had been responsible for that. She would never have been interested in him. Nor would he. What he had wanted ten years before was excitement and flash, women who took his breath away and danced all night. He couldn't imagine Liane doing that. She was too solid, too sedate, too wise … and yet, he thought to himself, he would have liked to see her running barefoot through a garden in the middle of the night… or in a swimming pool, or with her hair loose on a beach … she filled him with a sense of quiet, happy beauty. And as he returned to his new studio room, adjoining the Deauville suite, he realized that for the first time in a long time, he felt peace.

  “here were you last night?” Hillary eyed him through a haze of champagne from the night before, and she looked none too pleased as he entered their suite from the front door and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “In my room.”

  “And where's that?”

  “Next door.”

  “That's cute. I saw that you moved your things.”

  “And cried all night, I suppose.” They were words with a slight sting as he glanced at the ship's newspaper and buttered a croissant.

  “I don't know why the hell you moved out.”

  “Oh, don't you?” He sounded strangely calm, and she glared at him from where she sat.

  “Is this a new trend for us, separate rooms? Or is this just because you were angry at me last night?”

  “Does it matter, Hil?” He looked up from the paper and set it down. “I think things will work out better like this. You looked as though you were having a good time last night. I didn't want to spoil your fun.”

  “Or your own? Are you playing tennis again today, Nick?” Her voice was all innocence at first, but he could see from the look in her eyes that there was more to come. “How's your little friend, the ambassador's wife?” She was pleased to see him bridle at this. “I assume that you've been playing more than tennis with her. A little shipboard romance perhaps?” Her voice oozed the evil spirit with which she thought, and pointed once again to her own guilt.

  “That's more your style than mine.”

  “I'm not so sure.”

  “Then you don't know me very well. Or her. But I suppose you apply your standards to the rest of the world. Fortunately, they don't apply.”

  “Oh, dear Saint Nick. Is your little friend sweet and pure?” She laughed out loud and crossed the room. “I doubt that. She looks like a whore to me.”

  Nick stood up and there was menace in his eyes. “Don't speak that way about people you don't know. You're the only whore on this ship, from what I can see, and if that suits you, that's fine, but don't waste your time pointing a finger at anyone else. It doesn't apply to anyone but you, and just
be damn glad that people all over this ship aren't calling you a whore.”

  “They wouldn't dare.”

  “At the rate you're going, one of these days they will.”

  “And wouldn't you love that.” She stood watching him, baffled at what she saw in his eyes. Suddenly he didn't seem to care anymore. He wasn't angry, he wasn't sad, he was numb. And the only thing that had made him angry was what she had said about Liane.

  “I'm not sure I care what people say about you anymore. I know the truth. What does it matter after that?”

  “Have you forgotten that I'm your wife? What I do reflects on you.”

  “Is that some kind of a threat?”

  “No, it's the truth.”

  “It hasn't stopped you before, and I doubt if it'll stop you now. Everyone in Boston and New York has had their eyes open about you for years. The only difference is that now I'm willing to face it too.”

  “And let me do what I want?” She looked stunned.

  “As long as you're reasonably discreet. For you, that ought to be something new.”

  “You son of a bitch …” But as she rushed toward him, he grabbed her arm, and she was startled by the fierce grip. He was a powerful man, and he was no longer afraid to use his strength on her.

  “Don't waste your time, Hil.” It was all wasted on him now. Both her anger and her charm. And as they stood there in the dining room of their suite, she began to cry.

  “You hate me, don't you?”

  He stood looking down at her and shook his head, surprised at how little he felt for her now. Only a few days before there had still been hope. But yesterday she had ended it for him. For good, he thought. And it was just as well for him.

  “No, I don't.”

  “But you don't give a damn, do you? You never did.”

  “That's not true.” He sat down with a tired sigh. “I once cared very much.” His voice grew soft. “I loved you very much. But you've fought me every inch of the way for years. And I guess, finally, you win. You don't want to be my wife, but you are. So we'll both have to live with that. I'm not willing to let you out, because of our son, but I can't force you to feel something you don't, I can't even keep you out of other men's beds, even on this ship. So, Hillary, the game's up. You wrote the rules, I'll play it your way. But don't expect me to care for you as I once did. I don't. I can't. You killed that for us both. It's what you wanted, and you've won.” He stood up and walked to the door.

  “Where are you going?” She looked suddenly afraid. She didn't want to be his wife with all the mature commitment that entailed, but she still needed him.

  “Out.” He smiled ruefully at her as he left. “I can't go very far. At least you'll know I'll be somewhere on the ship. I'm sure you'll be busy with your friends.” He closed the door then and went back to his room. He felt better than he had in years. Half an hour later he went to find his son at the swimming pool, and they had a nice time, swimming together in the deep end for a while, and then he left him with some of his new friends and went to get dressed. He was thinking about Liane, and hoping that she was free for another tennis match. He wanted to tell her how much she had helped him the night before. But when he saw her, she was strolling happily with Armand on the promenade deck outside the Grill, their heads bent close, and she was laughing at something he had said. He didn't want to intrude, so instead he went to the gentleman's smoking room. He knew that anywhere else on the ship he might have run into his wife, so he spent the afternoon there, and eventually went back to his room. It seemed moments later when the dinner bell sounded in the hall. He put on his white tie and tails as he had each night and went back to the living room of their suite to meet his wife. She was wearing a black taffeta dress and carrying her silver fox. Even that didn't bother him anymore, it was as though overnight he had been freed from the agonies she had caused him for so long. The bite on her neck the day before had been the last straw.

  “You look very nice.”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes were distant and cold. “I'm surprised you came back.”

  “I don't know why. We dine together every night.”

  “We used to sleep together too.” He didn't want to get into that now, so close to the open door to Johnny's room. “I gather that, according to your new rules, public appearances are all right, but private ones are not.”

  “That's about right.” He sounded very cool as he went to kiss John good night. The boy looked up at him with a bright smile as he nuzzled his neck.

  “You smell good, Dad.”

  “Thank you, sir. So do you.” The child smelled of soap and shampoo and Nick wished that he could spend a little more time with him, but Hillary was standing in the doorway, anxious to interrupt.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Yes.” Nick stood up and followed her out the door as Johnny went back to his games with his nurse, and in the Grande Salle à Manger, he and Hillary took their places at the table she had complained about before, but it didn't matter anymore. This was their last night.

  There was an atmosphere of bittersweet joy and regret tonight, with people who had met clustered in friendly groups in the Grand Salon and couples walking along the deck. Even the music seemed sad and sweet as people danced, and Nick saw Armand and Liane, strolling peacefully on the deck. Again he wanted to say something to her, but the time didn't seem quite right.

  “Are you sad to leave the ship?” Armand looked down at Liane with a gentle smile. She looked so pretty tonight, in a pale-blue organza dress with pale-blue-and-gold satin shoes and a matching bag. She was wearing aquamarines and diamonds set in gold at her ears, with a handsome necklace to match that had been her mother's, from the enormous cache of jewels bought by her father before she was born. “Have I told you tonight how lovely you look?”

  “Thank you, my darling.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek, “and yes, I am sad to leave the ship. But happy too. It's been a beautiful trip, but I'm ready to go home.”

  “Already?” He loved to tease. “Won't you stay in Paris with me for a while?”

  “You know what I mean.” She smiled in answer. “I'm anxious to get to Paris and set up house.”

  “And I know you will, with those speedy hands. A week from now it will look as though we've been there for twenty years. I don't know how you do it, Liane. The paintings go up, the curtains are hung, the table is set, and I see your touch in every room.”

  “Maybe I was just meant to be a diplomat's wife.” They both knew it was true, and she grinned. “Or a gypsy. Sometimes I think it's the same thing.”

  “Please don't tell the Bureau Central that.” They strolled along some more, enjoying the warm night and talking over the days on the ship.

  “I wish I had been able to spend more time with you on this trip. I've been almost sorry I brought Perrier along. He's too diligent about his work.”

  She smiled gently at her husband. “And so are you.”

  “Am I?” His eyes smiled. “Well, perhaps things will be better when we get to France.” But at this she only laughed.

  “What ever makes you think that?” She knew better and so did he.

  “Because I want it to be. I want to spend more time with you.”

  “So do I.” She sighed, but she didn't look unhappy. “But I understand.”

  “I know you do, but it doesn't seem right. Things were so different in Vienna years ago.” They had had time for long walks after lunch, and quiet afternoons when he came back from his work. But that had been a long time ago. They were different now, and the world was different too.

  “You weren't as important then, my love.”

  “I'm not very important now. Just overworked, and these are such troubled times.” She nodded, suddenly thinking back to her talk the night before with Nick. She had mentioned it vaguely to Armand over breakfast, only that they had met on the “back porch,” as it were, but Armand had been in a hurry to meet Jacques for a quick talk, and he hadn't really listened to her.

&n
bsp; They stood quietly on the deck then, looking out to sea, in the direction of France, and Liane hoped that what they would find there would prove Armand wrong, at least to some degree. She didn't want there to be a war. She didn't want to see him devoured by his work. Like him, she wanted them to have more time together. It was a selfish reason to wish that there would be no war.

  “Shall we go back, chérie?” She nodded and they went back to their suite and closed the door quietly, just as Nick turned the corner on the way to his new room. And he stood there for a moment, thinking of the night before, and the woman whose hand he had held for only a few minutes and who had told him that things were going to be different for him someday. He hoped it would be soon.

  he Normandie pulled into Le Havre at ten o'clock the next morning, just as the passengers were finishing breakfast. Their bags were packed, their staterooms ready to be emptied, the children dressed, the governesses prepared, and everyone was sorry to leave now. The romances that had been born on the ship seemed too poignant, the friendships too dear. But the frenzied activity on the quay proved that it was over. The captain was on the bridge, seeing that everything went smoothly, and for him another crossing was over. He had brought the Normandie safely back to France.

  In the Trouville suite, Armand and Liane were ready to disembark and the girls were jumping up and down with excitement. They had watched the big ship glide into port from their private deck, and they had waved to John outside the Deauville suite, but now he waited with his mother and father. He was wearing a white linen Eton suit with a white shirt, knee socks, and saddle shoes, and his mother was staring out the window in a white silk dress and a large picture hat. Nick had already tipped all the stewards, and their trunks had left the suite. He knew that a car would be waiting for them on the dock, and they left the suite now and went downstairs to leave before the others. Their passports would be stamped on the quay by a special immigrations officer, and then they would be off.

  “Ready, chérie?” Liane nodded yes and she followed Armand out, and they went downstairs with the girls behind them. She had worn the beige Chanel suit he liked, with the pink trim, and a pink silk blouse. She looked very pretty and fresh, and very much like an ambassador's wife as they prepared to leave the ship. She glanced behind her, at the girls in flowered organdy dresses and straw hats, their favorite dolls in their arms, and Mademoiselle, looking very official in a gray-striped uniform and her starched cap.