“Never mind that. I'm telling you, damn it, get your ass on the next train to Paris.”
“And I'm telling you that I'm giving a dinner party—” But he cut her off before she could finish her sentence.
“Look, if you won't listen to reason from me, damn you, tell that Markham bastard to bring you home. Come home with him if you want, but you have a child here and the country is about to go to war. Just get your goddamn ass back here!”
“Just what the hell do you mean?” Her voice trembled as she asked. It was the first time Nick had ever mentioned Philip, and she hadn't realized that he had known. The embarrassment of that only served to fan her fury.
“Hillary, I told you why I called. I have nothing else to say.” His voice sounded tired on the phone.
“I want you to explain what you just said.” She had set down the glass of champagne and was sitting up very straight on the bed next to Philip.
“I'm not going to explain a goddamn thing. You heard me. I'll expect to see you here in the next couple of days.” And with that he hung up, and she sat staring at the empty phone.
“What was that all about?” Philip Markham was watching the look on her face, and he knew instantly. “Does he know about us?”
“Apparently.” She stared at him.
“Was he angry?”
“Not at all, or not much anyway. He's just mad that I don't want to come home yet. He's convinced that the whole country is going to explode in the next few days.” She took a sip of champagne and glanced at the man who had been her lover the past two months. He suited her very well. He was every bit as spoiled and decadent and hedonistic as she was.
“He may be right, you know. There was a lot of talk about it last night on the Croisette.”
“Oh, the goddamn nervous French. Anyway, if there's a war, I'm taking my ass home. And not to Paris. I mean Boston or New York.”
“If you can get there, my friend. Does he want to go back now?”
“I don't know. He didn't say. He just wants me in Paris with our son.”
“You know, you're probably safer here. Hell, if the Germans bomb anything, they'll be sure to hit Paris first.”
“That's a comforting thought.” His sarcasm didn't ease her fear. She looked pensive for a moment and held out her glass for more champagne. “Do you think I should go back?”
He leaned over and kissed the cleft between her breasts. “Eventually, pretty girl. But not just yet.” He devoured one nipple gently with his lips, and as she leaned back against the bed she forgot everything that Nick had said to her on the phone. It was only later, as she lay on the beach outside the hotel, that she thought about it again, and some deep inner instinct told her that she should go home. She told Markham about it as they dressed for the dinner party they were giving, and he shrugged with a relaxed air. “I'll get you home in a few days. Not to worry, love.”
“And after that?” She was combing her hair as she asked. It was the first time she had asked him that kind of question, and he looked at her now in surprise.
“Do we have to worry about that?”
“I'm not worried, I'm just asking. Will you stay in Paris with me for a while?” Her voice almost cooed as he watched her, but his face broke into a broad grin.
“Wouldn't Nick Burnham just love that!”
“I don't mean at the house, you ass. You can stay at the Ritz or the George Cinq. But you don't have to rush home yet.” He lived off the income his mother gave him, and everyone knew he was a playboy. He made no secret of it, but he also made no secret of the fact that he was no longer looking to get permanently attached. Four ex-wives had cost him dearly, and he was no longer shopping for a fifth one. But for those purposes, Hillary was perfect. She was already married and she had long since told him that marriage didn't suit her, which made him all the more surprised by the worried look he saw in her eyes now.
“You haven't fallen in love with me, have you?” There was a devil-may-care attitude about him, and it was that that appealed to her so much. He wasn't a tame one she could have for the asking, like Nick. He made her sweat for it, and she liked that. He was the first man who had openly and lovingly called her a little bitch. “I'm a dangerous man for a woman to love, pretty girl. Ask any woman. Hell”—he laughed at his own joke—“ask any man.” He had stolen plenty of wives from his cronies.
“I don't need to. I know what you are. And you're as rotten as I am.”
“Good.” He pulled her gently backward by her hair and kissed her mouth and then bit it. “Then maybe we deserve each other.” He didn't want to admit it to her, but he was more taken with her than he had planned to be. He had thought in New York that it would be an amusing affair for the summer. She had almost openly invited him to meet her in France. But she had thought then that she couldn't have him, and it intrigued them both that having spent the summer with him she still wanted him now. “Maybe I will stay in Paris for a while.” The idea of a month at the George V pleased him, and he wasn't really worried about a war. “Tell you what, I'll drive you up myself the first of next week. Will that do, or do you think Nick will come racing down here for you before that?”
“Not likely.” She smiled. “He's too busy with Johnny, our son, and his business.”
“Good. Then we'll go home when we're ready. I'll call the hotel tomorrow and see if I can get my usual suite.”
She left him then to finish dressing for the party, and when she emerged from the dressing room they were sharing, he whistled loudly. She was wearing a red organza dress almost cut to her navel in front. It barely hung to her body by a thread, and he loved it. He loved it so much that with one evil look, and a leer, he tore it right off her body and threw her on the bed, pressing his body against hers, and taking her with such force that it left her panting and breathless, with no thought at all for the thousand-dollar creation from Dior that lay in shreds beside her.
he weekend of August twenty-sixth, Nick and John went to the Gare de l'Est to watch the thousands of soldiers entraining. They were going to the northern frontier fortresses for the most part, and Johnny stood watching them in awe as they boarded. Nick had hesitated at first when the boy asked him if they could go to watch, but in the end he decided that history was happening around them, and Johnny should see it. There had been no news of Hillary since his call, but he assumed that she would be home at any moment. There was no point calling her again, he had certainly made his point the first time he called her.
And on this same Sunday afternoon at the Place du Palais-Bourbon, on the Left Bank, Liane and the girls waited for Armand to come home. He had had to work all through the weekend, but there was an aura of unexpected calm about him now. Everything was moving into action. In the streets, there were posters everywhere with the words APPEL IMMÉDIAT, calling men into the army. The girls had seen the signs everywhere on their way home from the park, and Liane had tried to keep them informed of what was going on. Their father no longer had time to. Elisabeth was still too young to understand very much, and she was desperately afraid of guns, but Marie-Ange was greatly intrigued with what was happening. There were other posters in the streets too, which she read aloud to her nurse and her sister, giving instructions in the event of a possible gas attack, and telling civilians about car headlights and house lamps during blackouts. The night before, Paris had been only partially illuminated.
And Liane had explained to them that the reason there were so many cars in the streets was that people were leaving Paris. They carried an odd assortment of belongings on their cars, sometimes with chairs and tables strapped to the hood, baby buggies, pots and pans. The evacuation had begun, and people were being asked not to hoard food, and, as much as possible, not to panic. When Liane took the girls to the Louvre museum, to distract them that afternoon, they discovered that it was closed, and a guard told them that many of the great treasures within were already being shipped to the provinces to be hidden. And everywhere in the streets, among men discussing the pa
ct between Moscow and Berlin, one heard the phrase “Nous sommes cocus”— “We've been cuckolded.” Armand had said it himself to Liane. She still couldn't believe what had happened.
“Do you think the Germans will attack us tomorrow?” Marie-Ange asked sweetly over breakfast a few days after the crisis had begun, and Liane shook her head sadly. They were all waiting for the same thing, even the children.
“I don't think so, sweetheart. We hope they never will.”
“But I heard Daddy say—”
“You shouldn't listen to grown-ups' conversations.” But as she said it she wondered why not. They were all listening to what other people said, in the hope of hearing something they hadn't known before. Everyone was hungry for information. “That's why the soldiers are all going off to the borders, to keep us safe.” She felt that at least Marie-Ange should know what was going on, but she wanted her not to be frightened. But they all were, at the core. Despite the outward calm one saw everywhere, deep within, everyone was afraid, so much so that when the air raid siren sounded that Thursday, as it always did, it sounded for only an instant, for fear that the population would think they were being attacked. There had been an instant of tension as the siren began, the entire city seemed to stop breathing, and then breathed a sigh of relief when it stopped so quickly.
But on September first, they all held their breath again as the news reached them that Germany had attacked Poland. The year before, the same thing had happened when the Germans attacked Czechoslovakia, but after the Munich Accord, the world had been reassured. Czechoslovakia had been a sacrificial lamb, but there would not be others. But now, with the strength of their nonaggression pact with the Russians, the Germans felt that they had nothing to fear from the rest of Europe, and the march on Poland began with a vengeance. Armand came home at lunch with the news, and Liane sat down quietly as tears ran down her face.
“Those poor people. Can't we help them?”
“We're too far away, Liane. And so are the British.” Eventually, of course we can help, but not right away. For the moment …”He couldn't finish the sentence.
And on the same afternoon, Nick sat in the library of his rented house on the Avenue Foch, staring out the window. He had just called Hillary in Cannes, only to be told that she had checked out of the Carlton. It had been a week since he had told her to come home, and she still hadn't. They had told him that she checked out that morning, and no, they did not know, monsieur, how she was returning to Paris. He hoped that it was by train and that she would be home quickly. He was sorrier than hell now that he had brought her and Johnny over. There was obviously going to be war in Europe.
The next day was a tense one for everyone, as all of Europe waited to hear news of what was happening in Poland. And Armand told Liane that night what he had heard through diplomatic channels. Warsaw was in flames and it was a slaughter, but the Polish were a valiant people and they would not give up. They would fight the Germans until there was nothing left. They were determined to die with honor.
That night, they darkened the lights, and respected the blackout as they had been told, and it was an eerie sensation as they sat in the darkened room, with the shades drawn. Neither of them could sleep, and Liane found that all she could think of was the people fighting against the Germans in Poland. She thought of women like herself, in their homes, with two daughters … or were the women and children fighting for their lives too? It was a horrifying image.
But on the next day, September 3, there was a great deal more to think about than Poland. Armand didn't come home this time to tell her the news. She didn't see him until late that night. But long before that, she had heard it on the radio. The British ship Athenia had been sunk by a German U-boat west of the Hebrides. And the reaction was instant. Britain declared war on Germany at once, and France joined them, honoring the pledge to Poland. The years of surmisal and guesswork were over. Europe was at war. Liane sat in the living room, staring at the Paris sky, with tears in her eyes, and then she went into the girls' room and told them. They both began to cry at once, as did Mademoiselle, and the two women and two little girls sat together for a long time, crying. But Liane forced the girls to wash their faces after a time, and she went to make lunch for them all. It was important that they stay calm. Crying wouldn't help anything, she told them.
“And we have to do everything we can to help Papa.”
“Will he go to be a soldier now?” Elisabeth had looked at her with enormous blue eyes and almost choked on her lunch as she stifled a sob, but Liane gently stroked her face as she shook her head.
“No, darling, Papa serves France in a different way.”
“Besides, he's too old.” Marie-Ange added matter-of-factly. Liane was surprised at the remark. She never thought of Armand as old, and she was surprised that her daughter was even aware of his age. He was so youthful and dynamic that his age seemed irrelevant to her, and Elisabeth was quick to his defense.
“Papa is not old!”
“He is too!” And before Liane could stop them the girls were fighting. In the end, she almost slapped them both, their nerves were all pulled taut, and after lunch she left them with Mademoiselle to play quietly in their room. She didn't want them in the garden. Who knew what would happen now. With France officially at war, there could have been anything from an air raid to a gas attack, and she wanted them in the house. She longed to talk to Armand, but she didn't dare disturb him.
“Daddy, does this mean we'll have to go back to New York?” Johnny was watching him with wide eyes. Nick had just told him the news, and the boy looked shocked. The idea of war was exciting, but his father had looked so grim when he told him the news that it didn't seem like fun now. “I don't want to go home yet.” He liked it in France. And then, suddenly, real panic. “If we go home, can I take my puppy?”
“Of course you can.” But he wasn't thinking about the dog as he sat in the child's room. He was thinking of the boy's mother. She had left Cannes two days before and she wasn't home yet. He left Johnny after a little while and went down to his study. He had come home from the office the moment he heard the news, to reassure his son, but now he wondered if he should go back. He called them and told them to call at home if they needed him. But he wanted to stay with John until they heard more news about what would happen. But there was little news to hear. Paris was strangely calm once war was declared. The exodus of the masses to the provinces continued, but on the whole Paris seemed very self-contained, and there was no panic.
And it was late on that afternoon of September 3, that Nick heard her. The front doorbell rang, there was a clatter of voices in the hall, and a moment later the library door swung open. It was Hillary, deeply tanned, her hair swinging loose, her eyes like enormous inlays of onyx and ivory in her face, and a straw hat, which matched her beige cotton sundress, swinging from her arm.
“For God's sake, Hil …” He had the same reaction one has when one recovers a lost child, the instant confusion as to whether to hug it or slap it.
“Hello, Nick.” Her face looked strangely calm, and there was obviously not going to be a warm greeting. He noticed instantly a large diamond bracelet on her arm, totally out of keeping with what she was wearing, but he said nothing about what was obviously a very expensive gift from her new lover. “How've you been?” Her voice was bright. He watched her, feeling as though he were moving underwater.
“Do you realize that France and England declared war on Germany today?”
“So I hear.” She seemed remarkably cool as she sat down on the couch and crossed one leg over the other.
“Where in hell have you been?” The conversation was surrealistic and disjointed.
“In Cannes.”
“I mean for the last two days. I called and they said you'd checked out.”
“I drove home with friends.”
“Philip Markham?” It was crazy. France had gone to war, and he was questioning his wife about her lover.
“Are we going to st
art that again? I thought those days were over.”
“That's not the point. This was no time to go careering around France, for chrissake.”
“You told me to come back, so I did.” Her eyes were openly hostile, and she hadn't yet asked for their son. As he watched her he realized that he had begun to hate her.
“You came back exactly ten days after I told you to come home at once.”
“I had plans I couldn't walk out on.”
“You have a son, and there's a war on.”
“So I'm back. Now what?”
He sighed deeply. He had thought about it all day, and it wasn't what he wanted, but he knew he had to do it. “I'm sending you both home, if we can get you home safely.”
“I think that's a fine idea.” For the first time since she'd entered the room, she smiled. Philip and she had discussed it before he got out of the car at the George V. He said he was taking her back to New York, whether Nick liked it or not. But Nick had just solved that problem. “When do we leave?”
“I'll have them research it at the office. It's not going to be easy now.”
“You should have thought about that in June.” She stood up nervously then and walked around the room, and then glanced at him over her shoulder. “I guess you were too busy doing business with the krauts to think of what danger you were putting us in. You realize, don't you, that you're part of all this. You're partly responsible for starting the war. Who knows how the Germans use the steel you sell them?” It was a horrifying thought and one that had been on Nick's mind for weeks now. The only consolation he had was that two days before, he had canceled all the rest of his German contracts. His company would take a loss of any size, he had announced, but he would no longer deal with Hitler's Reich. He was only sorry he hadn't done that before. And as he stood there staring at his wife, he remembered Liane's words on the ship … “The time to choose sides will come” … it had, and he had, but too late, he had to live now with the knowledge of what he had done, and how he may have indirectly helped them. It was small consolation that he had also helped to arm Britain and France and Poland. What hurt so much now was that he had also assisted the Germans. But more than that it hurt him that Hillary had driven the spear in even deeper into his side, and he looked at her now with open amazement.
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