Crossings (13 page)

She was surprised that he knew, and he read it in her face and answered with his easy smile. “Someone mentioned your maiden name last night. Crockett, wasn't it?” She nodded again. “My father used to do business with yours.” That was easy to believe; her father had had huge steel contracts for his ships. “We have an office out there, it's a beautiful town, but I always seem to end up on this side of the world.”

She smiled at him, amused. “Paris isn't so bad.”

“I guess not.” He grinned. Neither was the
Normandie
, nor any of the other places he stayed. It was just too bad Hillary didn't feel that way, but she had her own reasons for wanting never to leave home. “Is your husband being stationed back in France?”

“For now anyway. He hasn't lived there in years, I guess they thought it was time to bring him back for a while.”

“Where were you before the States?”

“London, and Vienna before that.”

“That's another of my favorite towns. I hope to have a chance to visit there on my way back from Berlin sometime.” He said it candidly, as though he had nothing to hide, and Liane looked shocked.

“Will you be living in Berlin?”

“No. Paris. But I have some business there.” His eyes examined hers carefully, to see what reaction lay there. But he knew from the way she had stiffened just from the word
Berlin
. “My business, Mrs. de Villiers, is selling steel. Not always to my favorite people, I'm afraid.” It was very much what Armand had said, but she didn't approve and it showed.

“The time will come eventually for all of us to choose sides.”

“Yes.” He nodded in agreement with her. “It will. But not for a while, or so I'm told. And in the meantime I have contracts to live up to, not only with France.”

“Do you sell to the English too?”

“I did. They've made other arrangements now.”

“Perhaps they didn't approve of your business dealings in Berlin.” And then suddenly as she said the words she blushed, sensing that she had gone too far. “I'm terribly sorry … I didn't mean … I shouldn't have said …”

But again Nick Burnham smiled his peaceful smile. She hadn't offended him, and he respected her for speaking her mind. “Perhaps you're right, and don't apologize for what you said. You were right with what you said at first, the time will come for all of us to choose sides. I'm just trying not to let my personal views affect my work for now. I can't afford to play those kind of games. I have a steel business to run, but I sympathize with what you feel.” He looked very gently down at her, and she was doubly embarrassed for what she had said. He was a very easy, personable man. And there was something more to him as well, an openness, an honesty, a lack of pretense or show. There was something very solid and strong about the man. She could see it even in the gentle way he spoke to his son when the children returned. He was the kind of man one felt that one could turn to at any time, and one always knew that he would be there, rock solid, a good man to be with in a storm.

She turned then and saw Armand, looking for her from the door. She waved and he approached, and she saw that he looked almost as tired as he did at home.

“How was the Punch and Judy show?” He kissed her gently on the cheek, watched the girls, who were back on the carousel with John, and then noticed Nick Burnham approach. The two men exchanged a brief hello and a shake of hands.

“Did you get your work done, Ambassador?”

“More or less, at least for today.” He smiled at his wife. “Were you very lonely at lunch, Liane?”

“Very. But Mr. Burnham was kind enough to invite us to join him here. The girls met his son this morning at the pool, and they've become fast friends,” She smiled up at Armand again, oblivious of all eyes but his. “Where's Jacques? Did you push him overboard?”

“Would that I could. But that briefcase of his would never sink, it would simply follow me to Le Havre like a shark, and devour me the instant I set foot on shore.” Liane and Nick Burnham laughed, and they chatted on for a few moments about the ship. There was a play scheduled in the theater that night, it had been a big hit in Paris the winter before, and Liane and Armand were looking forward to it. “Would you and Mrs. Burnham care to join us for that?”

“I'm afraid my wife doesn't speak French.” Nick smiled regretfully at his new friends. “But we might join you for drinks afterward.” Liane and Armand said that they thought that might be an excellent idea, but when they left the theater at eight o'clock that night, they didn't see the Burnhams in the Grand Salon, and Liane talked Armand into going back to her favorite room, the winter garden beneath the bridge. They sat there for several hours, drinking champagne and looking out into the night. And as they sat between the aquariums filled with rare fish and cages filled with exotic birds, Armand admitted that he was relieved the Burnhams hadn't come. The task of keeping Hillary at bay hadn't held much appeal, although he liked Nick, and Liane agreed.

“He asked me to play tennis sometime while you work. Would you mind?” She turned her deep-blue eyes to him.

“Not at all. I feel guilty enough as it is, leaving you with nothing to do.”

“On this ship?” Liane laughed. “I would be ashamed to admit it if I could find nothing to do here.”

“Are you having a good time, then?”

“A very good time, my love.” She leaned toward him and spoke in a whisper. “Especially right now.”

“Good.” At last they wandered back to the Café-Grill, and then out onto the promenade, and then they ascended to their private deck and into their rooms. It was almost two o'clock by then, and Liane was half asleep.

“Are you working tomorrow morning again?”

“I have to, I'm afraid. Why don't you play tennis with that chap. I'm sure there's no harm in it.” Liane agreed. Nick wasn't the kind of man to make passes at someone's wife, and he had his hands full enough as it was. Liane and Armand settled comfortably in their bed, and he had had every intention of making love to her, but before either of them could pursue the thought, he was snoring softly and she was sound asleep.

“
here are you off to at this hour?” Nick was drinking coffee in their private dining room, and John and his nurse were playing on the deck, when Hillary appeared in a pair of white slacks and a red silk shirt, cut like a man's. It set off her dark shiny hair, and the creamy color of her skin. She had disappeared also the day before, having explained to Nick that she had gone for a massage at the pool, and then a facial in the beauty shop. The treatment had taken almost all day.

“I thought I'd take a walk.” She glanced at him and her eyes were cold.

“Don't you want something to eat?”

“No, thanks. I thought I might go for a swim in a while. I'll eat after that.”

“Okay. Where shall I meet you for lunch?”

She hesitated, but not for long. They were on the trip together, after all, she had to make some effort for him. “How about the Café-Grill?”

“Don't you want to eat in the main dining room?”

“The people at our table bore me to tears.” So much so that the night before, she had excused herself before the dessert and it had taken him two hours to find her afterward. She had gone down to the tourist decks, for a look around, and declared it a hell of a lot more fun when she returned. But he had told her that he didn't think she ought to go down there. “Why not?” She had looked both surprised and annoyed, and he had explained that if nothing else, the jewels she wore made it unsafe, and she had only laughed at him. “Are you afraid the peasants will hold me up?” He hadn't answered and she had only laughed again, but she seemed much more docile than she had that afternoon, except when he suggested drinks with the De Villierses. She had declared them both prissy bores, and had gone back to her room for another bottle of champagne. He noticed that she was drinking a lot on the trip, but she had drunk a lot in New York too. He just didn't see as much of her there, and it was easy to notice the bottles decreasing rapidly in their private bar. She seemed to do most of her heavy drinking in their room.

“Hil …” He started to say something as she left. “Do you want company today?” He felt somehow as though he ought to be with her. He had promised himself that things were going to be different on this trip. But they weren't yet. They couldn't be. She never let him near her, and now she shook her head again.

“No, thanks. I want to have another massage before lunch.”

“The massages must be great.” There was suspicion in his voice again, and he berated himself silently for what he thought. It was crazy to distrust your own wife to that extent, yet she had cuckolded him so often before that now he suspected her at every turn.

“They are.”

“See you at lunch.” She nodded and closed the door, without saying good-bye to their son. John came in a few minutes afterward and looked around.

“Did Mom go out?”

“Yes. She went to get a massage at the pool, like yesterday.”

John looked up at his father with confused eyes and shook his head. “She doesn't even know where the pool is. I wanted to show it to her and she said she had something else to do.” Nick nodded, pretending almost not to hear, but he had already heard too much. And he knew that she was at it again. But where? And with whom? In tourist class? In cabin? With a purser on another deck? He couldn't chase her everywhere. He was going to confront her at lunch, but now he forced his mind back to his son.

“Do you want to go look at the dogs?”

“Sure.” The little boy beamed and they went upstairs to the upper sun deck, to see the dozen or so French poodles being exercised there. There was also a Saint Bernard, a Great Dane, two small ugly pugs, and a Pekingese, and John petted each of them in turn as his father looked out to sea, lost in his own thoughts. He was thinking of Hillary again, and wondering where in hell she was. For an instant he wanted to scour the ship and turn it upside down, but what was the point. He had fought this battle for nine years, and he had long since lost. He knew it well. Even on the ship she was the same as she was in Boston or New York. She was rotten to the core and had always been, the only thing he thanked her for was their son. He turned his eyes back to John and smiled. He was holding one of the funny, snortling little pugs.

“Dad, when we get to Paris, can I have a dog?”

“Maybe, we'll have to see what the house is like.”

“Could I really maybe?” John's eyes almost popped out of his head and his father laughed.

“We'll see. Why don't you put your friend down for now, and I'll take you to the playroom to find your other friends.”

“Okay. But can we come back?”

“Sure.” And as they left, Nick glimpsed the tennis courts and remembered his invitation to Liane the day before. Her husband hadn't seemed to object, and he would enjoy a game or two to burn off steam. It was either that or throw something at the wall in his suite. He had to find something to do to calm his nerves between now and one. He was almost sorry that he had not yet met a man with whom to play. But Hillary was right about one thing at least, the group at their table in the Grande Salle à Manger was extremely dull. There were not too many young people on the ship, it was a very expensive journey, and most who made it in first class had long since “arrived.” There were important journalists and authors, attorneys and bankers, musicians and conductors, but all of them had reached a certain stature in life, not unlike Armand. And few of them were as young as Nick, possibly none of them, except the ambassador's wife, Liane, and his own. He was used to being the youngest man around, but for a moment he regretted it. He would have liked to have had a male friend his own age along just then.

He escorted his son downstairs to the playroom, where he spotted Armand and Liane's girls, and then after a moment's hesitation he decided to take a walk on the promenade outside the Grill, and he saw Liane there, sitting on a bench with a book, her head bent and her blond hair flying in the wind.

He hesitated before he approached, but in the end he decided to anyway. “Hello.” She looked up in surprise and then smiled as she saw him. She was wearing a pink cashmere sweater set and gray slacks, and a double strand of pearls. This was acceptable only as morning dress, for a walk on the promenade, but she had no other plans. “Am I disturbing you?” He stood, with his hands in his pockets, braced against the wind, in white flannel slacks and blazer once again, but today he wore a bright red bow tie.