“Not in this case.”
“You may be right. But we have to prove that, and it's going to be an ugly fight. You'll have to pull out every ounce of dirt you can get. Do you really want to drag your son through that?”
“No. But if I have to, I will. And if you tell me I have no choice, then we'll start a smear campaign that won't quit. She's given me the ammunition over the years, and I'm going to use it all now. It's for Johnny's good in the long run.”
Greer nodded. He enjoyed a tough case. “And if you're right and she doesn't really want the boy, she may give up.”
“She might.” But he didn't really think she would. “And in the meantime, I want a restraining order on Markham to keep him away from my son.”
“Where's the boy now?”
“He's still at our apartment with me. I told the maid not to let Hillary back in for her things. I'll send them to Markham's place myself.”
“She has a right to see the child.”
“The hell she does. Not as long as she's consorting with a man who pulled a gun on him.”
“That was to impress you, Nick.” Greer's voice was painfully calm, but Nick was too wound up to hear him.
“Well, guess what? It did. Now, will you take the case?”
“I will. But I want to make something clear to you right now. I can't guarantee the outcome, Nick.”
“I don't care. Give it the best shot you've got.”
“Will you do what I say?”
“If it makes sense to me.” He smiled, and Greer wagged a finger at him from across the desk. “All right, all right. How long do you think it'll take?”
“You can agree to let her go to Reno for the divorce. That way it would only take six weeks. But the custody matter could take a long time.”
“How long? I don't want Johnny living with this thing over his head, or mine.”
“Maybe a year.”
“Shit. But if I win, she's out of his life for good?”
“Could be. You could also try to buy her off.”
Nick shook his head. “That won't do. She's got a trust for six million dollars, and Markham's worth a small fortune too.”
“So much for that. We'll have to win this one fair and square.”
“And if you can't, cheat.” Nick grinned, and Ben Greer did too.
“You tell me how and I will. Anyway, I'll get that restraining order for you today. I have to be in court in half an hour.” He glanced at his watch. “And I want to meet with you to plan our campaign. How about next week?”
Nick looked disappointed. “Not before that?”
“You won't get to court on this for at least six months.”
“All right. But, Ben”—he looked intently at his lawyer across the desk—“remember one thing.”
“What's that?”
“I intend to win.”
ick didn't see Hillary again for several days and when she came back to the apartment, he was waiting. She let herself in with her key when she thought he'd be at work, and tiptoed quietly upstairs. But Nick had suspected she'd do something like that and he hadn't gone to the office since she'd left. He'd taken all his calls at home, and kept Johnny home from school. He was in his room when Hillary opened the door, but Nick was right behind her.
“Get out of our house.” She jumped a foot when she heard his voice behind her, and when she turned, she saw that he was rigid and pale and she was suddenly afraid that he would hit her.
“I've come for my son.” She tried to look nonchalant but he saw that she was shaking. And then she turned to John. “Pack your bags. You're coming with me.” The child looked immediately to his father.
“Johnny, please wait for me in the den. I want to speak to your mother.”
“Pack your bags.” Hillary's voice was shrill, and Nick crossed the room then and gently led the frightened child from the room.
“Daddy, is she going to take me?”
“No, she isn't, son. Everything's going to be all right. She's just upset. Now, wait for me downstairs. That's a good boy.” He watched the boy scamper down the hall to the den, and then turned back and walked back into the child's bedroom, where Hillary was throwing clothes into a valise. “Don't waste your time, Hil. I'm going to call the police and they're going to throw you out on your ass. Or would you like to leave now and spare me the trouble?”
“You can't keep my child here. I'm taking him with me.” She turned and there was fire in her eyes.
“You're a whore. You don't deserve to be his mother.” She slapped her husband and he grabbed her arm. “Now, get out of my house. Go back to that son of a bitch who wants you. I don't.”
Hillary glared at him in impotent rage. She knew she wasn't winning the battle. But she would. Come hell or high water, she was going to. “My son belongs with me.”
“Not with a man who'd hold a gun to his head to get me to agree to a divorce. I assume you got the restraining orders.” She nodded. Markham had been served with them the previous morning. “Good. Now, get out of this house before I call the cops.”
“You can't take my son away from me, Nick.” She was beginning to whine, and he had to fight himself not to hit her. Instead, he yanked open the door and waited for her to leave the room.
“You never wanted him before, and I don't see why that should change now.”
“If I don't have him, my name will be ruined. …” She began to cry. Philip's mother was already giving them trouble. He had gone through most of his own fortune on his first four wives, and now he needed Mama to bail him out of his debts and eventually leave everything to him. He had told Hillary that she had to get the boy, or God only knew what his mother would think. She had to get him, no matter what, but she had told Philip this would happen. She knew Nick, and as she looked at him now she knew she was in for a world of trouble.
“Get out!”
“When can I see him?”
“After we go to court.”
“When will that be?”
“Maybe next summer.”
“Are you crazy? I can't see my child till then?”
It was not what Nick's lawyers had told him, but he didn't give a damn. He was not going to let this woman near Johnny. He still trembled when he thought of Markham putting the gun to the child's head, and she had peacefully sat there and let him. And maybe she had known that the gun wasn't loaded, but Johnny did not. He had been terrified, his face deathly pale, his breathing labored. Just thinking about it made Nick want to kill her.
“You don't deserve to ever see that child again, after what you've done.”
“I haven't done shit!” she shouted at him. “Philip was just trying to scare you.”
“Congratulations. I hope you'll be very happy. He's the perfect man for you, Hil. I'm just sorry you didn't meet him sooner.” He grabbed her arm, pulled her out of Johnny's room, into the hall, and shoved her into the main hallway. “Now, get out of here before I kick you out the door.” She looked at him strangely for a moment, his threat would have suited her plans. She was pregnant, and she wanted an abortion. But Philip had sworn to her that he'd find someone to do it in New Jersey. He didn't want a baby any more than she did, but just in case he couldn't find someone decent to do the abortion, he thought they should get married, and soon. Hence the gun. They had to get married before his mother got wind of the situation.
“If you threaten me, Nick, Philip will kill you.”
“Let him try.”
She glared at Nick then and walked slowly toward the front door. It was hard to believe this had once been her home. She felt nothing for it now. She never did., She had never felt anything of what she felt for Philip, for Nick. And when she reached the front door, she turned around and looked at him long and hard. “You'll never win this in court, Nick. Never. They'll give Johnny to me.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That”—she smiled sweetly at him before closing the door—“would be a pleasure.”
And with that she was
gone and he went to the library to find John, who was crying softly as he lay on the couch. Nick sat down next to him and gently stroked his head. “It's all right, son. It's all right.”
Johnny turned to look up at his father. “I don't want to live with her and that man.”
“I don't think you'll have to.”
“Are you sure?”
“Almost. It's going to take some time, but we'll win. I'm going to go to court, and we'll fight a good fight.” He bent down and kissed the child's hair. “And after Christmas vacation, my friend, you're going back to school, and everything will be just like it was before, except that it'll be just you and me around here, without Mommy.”
“I thought that man was going to kill me.”
Nick's jaw clenched again at the thought. “I would have killed him if he had.” And then he forced himself to smile down at the boy. They had to get back to some kind of normal life, he knew. “Nothing like that will ever happen again.”
“But what if they come back?”
“They can't.”
“Why not?”
“It's too complicated to explain, but the court served him with some papers that say he can't come near you.” And that afternoon, when Johnny was playing in his room, Nick made some new arrangements. He hired three bodyguards on loan from the New York police force to work a twenty-four-hour shift. There would be one of them with the boy at all times, in the apartment, in school, in the park. They were going to become Johnny's shadows.
The next day they were both relieved to read in the gossip columns that Hillary, and Philip Markham, had left for Reno. Nick's lawyer had notified her at once that Nick would agree to the Reno divorce and that, as long as he didn't contest it, it would be legal. Hillary had lost no time. She was in a big hurry to get divorced and marry Philip Markham. And Nick was glad, it was Christmas Eve and he wanted to spend the evening peacefully with Johnny. They shared Christmas dinner quietly in their apartment, and on Christmas Day they went out to the park to play. Nick had bought Johnny a new bicycle, a new football, and a pair of skis. He tried the skis out on a little hill covered with snow as the bodyguard watched, grinning. Johnny was a cute kid, and Nick was a good father. He hoped he won his case. And in the meantime, nobody was going to lay a hand on Johnny.
erry Christmas, Uncle George.” Liane handed him a large package and he looked, surprised. They were sitting around the tree he had set up in the library downstairs. There hadn't been a Christmas tree in the house in years, but he wanted the girls to have a beautiful Christmas.
“You're not supposed to give me presents!” He looked embarrassed as he opened his gift, and seemed very pleased as he took out the dark blue and wine-colored silk dressing gown. And she had bought him navy blue suede slippers to go with it. She had teased him about the raggedy bathrobe he wore, and he always said that he'd had it for forty years and liked it. The girls gave him a new pocket watch, and they were as excited about it as he was. Liane had helped them pick it out at Shreve's, and they had also made him little gifts at school, ashtrays, and decorations for the tree, and pictures, and Elisabeth had made him an impression of her hand in clay. It was a Christmas that brought tears to his eyes, and Liane was pleased. He did so much for them that it was a good feeling to do something for him for a change.
They had Christmas dinner at home that afternoon, and then they all went for a drive to see the decorations around the city. But as they sat in the car, Liane found herself worrying about Armand and what kind of Christmas he was having in Paris. She suspected that it was grim, and knew how much he must have missed her and the girls. It was the first Christmas in eleven years that they had been apart, and she felt a dull ache in her chest to be without him.
Uncle George saw the look in her eyes as they got out at the St. Francis to have tea, and he was sorry too. He wanted her to forget him and meet someone else, but he knew that on Christmas it was inevitable that she think about her husband.
“Uncle George, look!” The girls distracted them both. They had discovered the enormous gingerbread house set up in the lobby. It was so large that the girls could have walked inside, and it was covered with thousands of tiny candies and tons of spun sugar. “Look at that!” Liane stood beside them with a smile, but her thoughts were far, far away. For days now, she had had a desperately worried feeling about Armand.
“Monsieur de Villiers?” He looked up from his desk. It was Christmas night, but there was no reason for him not to be working, and a few others had also come to the office. There had been an aura of tension in the office for weeks. The Resistance had stepped up their efforts so enormously in the past month that it was a struggle for Pétain's people to keep one step ahead of them. And the Germans did not find it amusing. In order to make their point, they had held their first public execution only two days before. Jacques Bonsergent had been shot for “an act of violence against an officer of the German Army,” and a pall of depression had fallen over Paris. Even the softening of the midnight curfew after that, for one day on Christmas, had had no effect. The cafés were allowed to stay open until 2:30 A.M. that night, and all traffic had to cease by three. But after the shooting of Bonsergent, no one wanted to be out anyway, except the Germans.
It was bitter cold in Paris that year, and it suited Armand's mood. His hands were almost numb as he sat at his desk, thinking of Liane and his daughters.
“Monsieur, have you seen this?” His zealous young assistant handed him a sheet of paper with disdain. It was entitled “La Résistance” and dated December 15, 1940, and it claimed to be the first edition of the only bulletin of its kind, published by the National Committee of Public Safety, giving news “as it really was,” as opposed to the propaganda being spread by the Occupied Forces. It spoke of the student demonstrations that had taken place in November, and the Faculté being shut down after that on November 12, and it reported the increased strength of the underground now. The little bulletin said that as of December, the Resistance had never been stronger. “Soyez courageux, nos amis, nous vainquerons les salauds et les Bosches. La France survivra malgré tout… Vive de Gaulle!” … Be brave, our friends, we will best the bastards and the Germans. France will survive in spite of it all… Long live De Gaulle! … Armand read it and was instantly sorry that he couldn't show it to Liane, and he didn't dare send it out in one of his letters, lest in some way it be traced back to him, and he couldn't afford to keep it on him. He handed it back to the young man, and wondered how Jacques Perrier had fared. He had gone to Mers-el-Kebir, in Algeria, the summer before, to be with De Gaulle. It was there that the French fleet had been seriously damaged, with the loss of more than a thousand lives. But Armand had heard several months earlier that Perrier was still alive, and he hoped he'd survive the war. But now his new assistant was looking down at him, expecting a reaction.
“Ça ne vaut pas grand-chose.” It isn't worth much. “Don't worry about it.”
“The little pigs. They call themselves the true press.” Thank God for that, Armand thought silently, wondering why this young man was so fond of the Germans. He was ecstatic working for Armand, who was the official liaison now between Pétain's men and the German occupying forces in Paris. They were expected to report the collection of artifacts to be handed over to the Germans, the rounding up of Jews, and the discovery of any possible Resistance agents. It was a draining job and Armand looked ten years older than he had when Liane had left. But it was an ideal situation for him, giving him ample opportunity for reporting falsified facts, hiding the treasures he had spoken of to Liane, and assisting others in getting to the South of France, most often by shuffling and falsifying reports and papers. The young man who had handed him the newspaper was his greatest obstacle. He was much too interested in his job, like now, when he could have been home on Christmas with his family or his girl friend, but he was too busy trying to impress Armand.
“Don't you want to go home now, Marchand? It's getting late.”
“I'll leave with you,
monsieur.” He smiled. He liked Armand. He was a great man for France, not like the other traitors who had gone to North Africa with De Gaulle. If he could have read Armand's mind at that moment and discovered the hatred there, he would have shuddered. But the years in the diplomatic service had served Armand well. He was ever charming and calm and efficient, and at times nothing less than brilliant. It was why Pétain had wanted him so much, and why the German High Command liked him, although they weren't always sure that they trusted him absolutely. In time, but not quite yet. The Pétain government was still too new, and they were only French, after all. But there was no doubt, Armand had been very useful to them.
“I may not leave for hours, André.”
“It's all right, sir.”
“Don't you want to spend at least some of Christmas at home?” They had been there all day, and the young man was driving him crazy.
“Christmas is much less important than this.” And what had they done? Gone over endless lists of names of possible Jews, some only quarter Jewish, or half, and some allegedly being hidden in the suburbs. It was work that made Armand sick, but the younger man loved it. And Armand had skimmed over entire groups of names whenever he could, burning the lists quietly in the fireplace in his office.
At last, in desperation, Armand decided to go home. There was nothing left to do here, and he couldn't hide any longer from the fact that his house was silent and empty. He dropped André Marchand at his home in the Septième, and went on to the Place du Palais-Bourbon, aching, as he always did. for Liane and his daughters.
“Good night, girls.” Liane kissed them in their beds in the house on Broadway. “Merry Christmas.”
“Mommy?” Marie-Ange picked up her head after the light was out, and Liane stopped in the doorway.
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