Crossings

by Danielle Steel

  “Yes, I do. I'm Armand's wife, and don't you forget that.”

  “Maybe one of these days you'll come to your senses. Did you read about those children killed when the British ship sank? Well, he's one of the people that killed them.” It was a cruel thing to say and Liane's whole body went tense. She knew only too well what the sinking of a ship looked like.

  “Don't you dare say that! Don't you dare!” She sat trembling and then without another word she hung up. The nightmare would never end. Not for a long, long time, and she knew it. And she had to remind herself every day of what Nick had said: “Strong people cannot be defeated.” But as she lay in her bed and cried every night, she no longer believed him.

  fter Nick had got to the apartment in New York, and had been told by the maid that Hillary was in Cape Ann and Johnny was still in Boston, with his face grimly set, he had taken his car out of the garage, where it had sat for a year, and had driven the bottle-green Cadillac directly to Gloucester. He knew exactly where she was, or he guessed, and a few careful phone calls confirmed it.

  He did not call to tell her he was coming. He arrived, like an expected guest, on the enormous handsome old estate. He walked with determination up the front steps and rang the bell. It was a beautiful July night, and there was obviously a party in progress. A black-uniformed maid with a cap and lace apron appeared and smiled as she opened the door for him to enter. She was a little surprised at the grim set of his face, but he very pleasantly asked to see Mrs. Burnham, who he understood was a guest there. It was clear by then from his lack of formal attire that he wasn't planning to stay for dinner. He handed the maid his calling card, and she disappeared with it immediately and, returning a moment later, looking even more nervous than before, she asked him to come into the library with her, and there he found the formidable Mrs. Alexander Markham, Philip's mother. He had met her many years before, and knew her immediately as she glanced at him through a lorgnette, her hands littered with diamonds, and her long elegant frame in an ice-blue evening dress. Her hair was so white, it was almost the same color as the dress.

  “Yes, young man, what do you want here?”

  “How do you do, Mrs. Markham. It's been many years since we've met.” He was wearing white linen slacks, an impeccable white silk shirt, his blazer, and a bow tie, and he very properly shook her hand and introduced himself. “I am Nicholas Burnham.” Beneath the powder, she blanched slightly, but her eyes gave nothing away. “I believe my wife is here for the weekend. You've been very kind to have her.” He smiled and their eyes met, each knowing exactly what was going on, but he was willing to play the game, for the old woman's benefit at least, if not Hillary's. “I've just returned from Europe at last, a little later than expected. She doesn't know I'm back, and I thought I'd drive up here and give her a little surprise.” And to prove that he was not malicious, he added, “I'd like to drive her to Boston tonight so that we can pick up my son. I haven't seen him since I put them on the Aquitania in September.” There was a moment of silence in the room as the old woman watched him.

  “I don't believe your wife is here, Mr. Burnham.” She sat down with the utmost grace and total composure, her rigid spine never touching the back of her chair and the lorgnette never flagging.

  “I see. Then perhaps your cousin made a mistake. I called her before I came up.” He knew how close the two women were. They had married brothers. “She mentioned that she saw Hillary here last weekend. Since she hasn't arrived home, I assume she's still here.”

  “I really don't know how—” But before she could finish her sentence, her son burst into the room.

  “Mother, for God's sake, you don't have to—” He stopped but he was too late. He was going to tell her that there was no need for her to trouble herself with Nick Burnham. Nick turned where he stood and looked Philip full in the face.

  “Hello, Markham.” There was total silence among all three, and Nicholas proceeded. “I came to pick up Hillary.”

  “She's not here.” He said it with pure derision in his voice as his eyes glittered.

  “So your mother tells me.”

  But Hillary proved them both liars. She was the next one through the door to the library, in a gossamer-thin gold-and-white evening gown made of Indian sari fabric. And she was a vision to all eyes, with her dark hair swept up, her deep tan, and long dangling diamonds at her ears and on her neck. She stood still and stared at Nick. “Then it is you. I thought it was a bad joke.” She made no move to approach him.

  “A very bad joke, Hillary dear. Apparently you're not even here.” She looked from Philip to his mother at Nick's words and then shrugged her shoulders.

  “Thank you anyway. But it doesn't matter. Yes, I'm here. So what? The point is, why are you here?”

  “To take you home. But first we're going to pick up Johnny. I haven't seen him in ten months, or had you forgotten?”

  “No, I haven't forgotten.” Her eyes began to blaze like the diamonds hanging from her earlobes.

  “And how long has it been since you've seen him?” Nick's eyes burned into hers as he asked the question.

  “I saw him last week.” Her words gave away nothing.

  “I'm very impressed. Now, go and pack your bags and we'll leave these nice people to their party.” He spoke to her in a smooth, even tone, but it was clear that he was on the verge of exploding.

  “You can't just yank her out of this house.” Philip Markham stepped forward, and Nick stared at him evenly.

  “She's my wife.”

  The elderly Mrs. Markham watched them all and said nothing. But Hillary was quick to speak up for herself.

  “I'm not leaving.”

  “May I remind you that we're still married. Or have you filed for divorce in my absence?” He saw Hillary and Philip exchange a quick nervous glance. She hadn't, but had meant to, and Nick's sudden arrival would hamper their plans. They were practically ready to announce their engagement. Mrs. Markham was unhappy about it. She knew what Hillary was and she didn't like her. Not at all. And so she had told Philip. The girl was worse than any of the wives he had had, and she would cost him a fortune. “I asked you a question, Hillary.” Nick pressed the point. “Have you filed for divorce?”

  He heard the old familiar petulance in her voice. “No, I haven't. But I'm going to.”

  “That's interesting news. On what grounds?”

  She glared at him. “Desertion. You said you'd come back at Christmas, and then in April.”

  “And all this time, poor love, you've been pining for me. Funny, I never got an answer to any of my letters or cables.”

  “I didn't think you could get mail—with the war on and all.” Her voice faltered and he laughed.

  “Well, I'm home, so now it doesn't matter. Get your things and we'll leave. I'm sure Mrs. Markham is very tired of us.” He looked at the old woman and for the first time saw a smile.

  “Actually, I'm quite amused. It's rather like an English drama. But more entertaining because it's real.”

  “Quite.” Nick smiled pleasantly and turned to his wife. “For your information, although we can discuss it later, what has kept me in France all this time were matters of national defense. Major contracts that affect the economy of our country, and defense matters that involve us against the Germans, should they ever become a threat to us directly. You would have a very hard time convincing any court that you'd been deserted. I rather think they'd sympathize with the reasons for my staying so long.”

  She was furious at his words, and Markham didn't look pleased either. “I thought you were selling to the Germans. You were last year.”

  “I canceled all my contracts, at a considerable loss, but the President was very pleased when I told him.” Not to mention his gift to Poland, which had pleased the President too. Checkmate, friends. Nick smiled at his audience. “So, desertion won't do, and adultery doesn't apply.” He forced the image of Liane out of his head as he spoke, although thoughts of her hadn't left him for an instant s
ince he had walked out of Grand Central Station. “I'm afraid that leaves us still married, with a son waiting to be picked up in Boston. Let's go, my friend, the party is over.” The three of them stood there for a long moment, with Mrs. Markham watching and she decided to step in at last.

  “Please go and get your things, Hillary dear. As the man says, the party is over.” Hillary turned to her and then Philip, with a look of total frustration on her face, and then she turned to Nick.

  “You can't do this, damn it. You can't disappear for almost a year and then expect to pick me up like a piece of furniture you left somewhere.” She made a move as though to slap him and he caught her arm in midair.

  He spoke in a clear, even voice. “Not here, Hillary. It's not pretty.”

  And with that she stormed out of the room, and returned twenty minutes later with two large bags and her maid and a French poodle. Philip had left the room instantly on her heels and Mrs. Markham had invited Nick to sit down and have a drink while they were gone. They both had double bourbons, while he apologized for keeping her from her guests.

  “Not at all. Actually”—she smiled—”I've enjoyed it. And you're doing me a great favor. I've been very worried about Philip.” They sat in silence again for a time, with their drinks, and she glanced at Nick again. She had decided that she liked him. He had one hell of a lot of balls, and she had to admire him for tackling that bitch he was married to. “Tell me, Nick … may I call you Nick?”

  “Of course.”

  “How did you get saddled with that little baggage?”

  “I fell madly in love with her when she was nineteen.” He sighed, thinking of Liane, and then looked back at Mrs. Markham. “She was very pretty at nineteen.”

  “She still is, but she's a dangerous woman. No,” the old woman reconsidered with a shake of her head, “not a woman, a girl … she's a spoiled child.” Her eyes met Nick's over their drinks. “She'll destroy my son if she gets him.”

  “I'm afraid she'll destroy mine.” He spoke in a quiet voice and she nodded, as though she were satisfied about something.

  “You won't let her. Just don't let her destroy you. You need a very different kind of woman.” It was the oddest half hour he had spent in years, and he had to smile as he thought of Liane. She was indeed a very different woman. And he almost wanted to tell Mrs. Markham that he had found her … and lost her….

  And at that moment Hillary walked back into the room with her bags, the dog, the maid, and Philip. Nick politely thanked Mrs. Markham then for a lovely time, and Hillary said good-bye to her and her son, with another fulminating look of rage directed at her husband.

  “Don't think this is for good. I just don't want to make a scene while they're having a party.”

  “That's a new touch. Very thoughtful of you.” He shook hands with Mrs. Markham, nodded at her son, and took Hillary's arm as they walked to the door while a butler carried the luggage. Moments later it was stowed in the car, and Nick turned on the ignition and headed for Boston.

  “You won't get away with this, you know.” She was sitting at the extreme other side of the car, practically steaming as the dog panted in the heat, its nails painted the same color as Hillary's.

  “And neither will you.” The charming, well-modulated tone he had used at the Markhams' was no longer evident. “And the sooner you get it into your head, Hillary, the better for all of us.” He pulled the car over to the side of the road once they had left the estate, and looked at her with eyes that told her he was not going to take any more nonsense from her. “We are married, we have a son, whom you neglect shamefully. But we are going to stay married. Period. And from now on, you are going to goddamn well behave, or I'm going to kick your ass for you in public.”

  “You're threatening me!” she shrieked.

  But Nick roared, “You're goddamn well right I am! You've practically deserted our son for the last year, from what I hear, and you're never going to do that again. Do you understand me? You're going to stay home for a change and be a decent mother. And if you and Markham are madly in love, then terrific. Nine years from now, when Johnny is eighteen, you can do anything you goddamn well please. I'll give you a divorce. I'll even pay for your wedding. But in the meantime, my dear, this is it.” He lowered his voice. “For the next nine years, like it or not, you are Mrs. Nicholas Burnham.” It sounded like a death sentence to her and she began to cry.

  When they reached Hillary's mother's house, Nick got out of the car without another glance at her, rang the doorbell, and rushed inside the minute the door was opened. Johnny was already in his room, in his pajamas, and he looked like the most forlorn little child Nick had ever seen, until he looked up and gave one wild whoop as he saw his father.

  “Daddy! Daddy! … You're back! … You came back! Mommy said you were never coming back.”

  “She did what?” He looked at the child in horror.

  “She said that you liked it better in Paris.”

  “And did you believe that?” He sat down on the bed as his mother-in-law watched from the hall, with tears streaming slowly down her face.

  “Not really.” The child spoke in a soft voice. “Not when I read your letters.”

  “I was so lonely there without you, tiger. I almost cried every night. Don't ever think that I'm happy anywhere without you, 'cause I'm not, and I'm never going to leave you again. Never!”

  “You promise?” There were tears in Johnny's eyes too, and Nick's.

  “I swear. Let's shake on it.” They shook hands solemnly and Nick pulled Johnny into his arms again.

  “Can I go home soon?”

  “How soon can you get packed?”

  Johnny's face was ablaze with joy. “You mean now? Back to our house in New York?”

  “That's what I mean.” He looked apologetically over his shoulder at his mother-in-law. “I'm sorry to do this to you, but I can't live another day without him.”

  “Or he without you,” she said sadly. “We did our best but—” She began to cry in earnest and Nick put his arms around Hillary's mother.

  “It's all right. I understand. Everything will be all right.”

  She smiled at him through her tears. “We were so worried about you. And when Paris fell, we were afraid you'd fall into the hands of the Germans.” She sighed deeply and blew her nose. “When did you get back?”

  “This morning. On the Deauville.”

  “The ship that made the rescue?” He nodded. “Oh, my God …” Johnny had overheard a few words and insisted that his father tell him all about it. Nick thought about telling him that he had seen the De Villiers girls on the ship, but he decided not to. He didn't want Hillary to know anything about it.

  They left the house half an hour later, amid tears and goodbyes and promises to call and write. But Johnny was so obviously ecstatic as he climbed into the car with the dog his father had given him in Paris, now full grown, that even the leave-taking wasn't overly sad. And his grandmother knew it was best for him to go home to his parents. The only further surprise was when he saw his mother in the car.

  “What are you doing here, Mom? I thought you were in Gloucester.”

  “I was. Your father just picked me up.”

  “But you said you'd be there for three weeks …” He looked confused and Nick tried to change the subject. “Why didn't you come into the house to see Grandma?”

  “I didn't want to leave the dog in the car, and she gets nervous in new houses.” The explanation seemed to satisfy Johnny. Nick noticed that there hadn't been so much as a kiss between them.

  The boy fell asleep long before they arrived in New York, where Nick carried him upstairs to his own bed, and tucked him in as an astonished maid looked on. They had actually come home again, all of them. That night Nick walked around the house, pulling dust covers off the furniture and looking around, getting accustomed to his home. Hillary found him sitting quietly in the den, staring out at the New York sky and the bright summer moon, his thoughts so far away that
he didn't even hear her come in. And as she stared at the man who had almost literally kidnapped her from Philip Markham in Gloucester that night, she didn't have the energy left to be angry with him. She simply stood there and watched. He was a stranger to her. She could barely remember what it was like being married to him. It seemed a hundred years since they'd made love, and she knew that they never would again, not that she cared. But she was remembering what he had said to her in the car before they picked Johnny up. The next nine years, he'd said … nine … and as she thought the word aloud he turned around to look at her.

  “What are you doing up?”

  “It's too hot to sleep.”

  He nodded. He had so little left to say to her. And yet he knew that if he was with Liane, he could talk to her all night. “Johnny didn't wake up, did he?”

  She shook her head. “He's all you care about, isn't he?”

  He nodded. “But it didn't used to be that way. And in a lot of ways, I still care about you too.” In the ways that affected their son, but that wasn't the same thing. They both knew that.

  “Why do you want me to stay your wife?” She sat down on a chair in the dark and he looked at her.

  “For him. He needs us both. And he will for a long time.”

  “Nine years.” She echoed his words again.

  “I won't give you a rough time, Hil. As long as you're decent to him.” He wanted to ask her how she could have left him for almost the entire year. He ached to think of how lonely the child must have been. And to think of how lonely he himself had been in France, without Johnny.

  “Don't you want something more than this for yourself, Nick?” He was a mystery to her, and she didn't want to be here with him. They both knew that. She didn't have to hide it from him anymore. She still couldn't believe he'd actually made her come back, but he was a powerful man, too powerful for her to fight. It was part of why she hated him sometimes.

  He looked at her now, wondering who she was, just as she wondered about him. “Yes, I want something more for myself. But this isn't the time.”