Crossings

“Stupid snob. The average age of this group tallies up to Neanderthal man, for chrissake. At least downstairs there's a younger group, some people I can talk to. You forget, dear Nick, I'm not as old as you.”

“Or as smart. Keep that in mind. It would be embarrassing to have to lock you in your cabin.” His eyes were slowly beginning to blaze but she only laughed.

“Don't be an ass. All I'd have to do is ring for the maid. What do you want to do, tie me to the bed?”

“I get the feeling you've already taken care of that yourself. Who'd you meet on the ship, Hil? Some old friend from New York, or someone new?”

“No one at all. Just a bunch of young people traveling slightly less deluxe.”

“Well, do me a favor and kiss them good-bye. Don't make a laughing stock of yourself, playing poor little rich girl visiting the plebes.”

“That's not what they think.”

“Don't bet on it. That's an old, old game. I used to do it on the ships myself when I was young. But I was in college then, and I didn't have a wife. I hate to bore you, Hil, but you aren't single anymore, and you don't belong downstairs on A deck, you belong up here. Life could be worse, you know.”

“Not much.” She was looking like a spoiled little girl again. “I'm bored to tears.”

“So cry. We'll be in Paris in two days, you can survive up here till then.” But she didn't answer him. She ordered another Scotch, ate only half a club sandwich for lunch, and afterward he walked around the shops with her, hoping to keep her mind off her new friends. But when he went to check on John at the pool after that, she disappeared. He sat in their cabin until she came back to dress, and when she walked in the door, he felt himself lose control in total, impotent rage, and he was shocked to find his hand pulled back to slap her face. Thankfully just then he saw Johnny peeking through the door of his room, and he rapidly regained control and lowered his hand. Time and time again she pushed him to the brink, but this was the first time he'd ever felt the need to strike at her. He motioned her inside their room. He could see that she had had a lot to drink, and suddenly he felt as though he had been slapped. There was a bite mark on her neck, and he dragged her to the mirror to show her, trembling with rage.

“How dare you come back to me like that, you little whore. How dare you!” He was sure that Johnny could hear his voice through the wall but he was beyond caring. She pulled free of him.

“What did you want me to do? Stay downstairs?”

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I will.”

“For God's sake, Hillary, what's happening to you? Don't you have any decency at all? Do you climb in and out of any bed you find?” This time it was she who raised her hand and slapped him.

“I told you before. I'll do anything I goddamn want. You don't own me, you son of a bitch. All you care about anyway is your bloody steel mill, your contracts, your goddamn dynasty that you'll leave to Johnny one day. And what do I get out of that? What do I care about your empire? I don't give a shit. Do you know that? Not about your empire and not about you.” She fell silent then, knowing that she had said too much, and there were tears in Nick's eyes as he turned away. He said nothing at all to her. He went quietly out on their private deck, and she watched him for a long time, and then followed him outside. His back was turned as he leaned forward on the rail, and Hillary's voice was hoarse as she spoke to him.

“I'm sorry, Nick.”

“Leave me alone.” He sounded like a hurt little boy, and for a moment her heart ached, but in her eyes he was the greatest enemy she had. He wanted to keep her in chains, and she wanted to be free. He turned to face her then and there were tears in his eyes. “Go back inside.”

“You're crying.” She looked even more shocked.

“Yes, I am.” He didn't seem to be ashamed, which shocked her still more. Men didn't cry. Not strong men. Not the men she knew. But Nick Burnham did. He was stronger than them all, and deep inside he grieved, not for her, but for himself, for the foolishness that had led him to marry her at all. “The game is over between us, Hil.”

“Do you want a divorce?” She almost sounded pleased and she offered him no comfort at all.

But his eyes bore deep into hers. “No, I don't. And let me tell you right now, I never will. The only way you'll ever walk out of this marriage is alone. The day you agree to that, I'll divorce you on the spot. But until that day, you're married to me, for better or worse. Remember that. And from now on, I don't give a damn what you do.”

“You mean leave Johnny if we get divorced?” She sounded shocked again.

“That's right.”

“I'll never do that.”

“Why not? You don't give a damn about him, any more than you do about me.” It was a simple statement of fact and he was right, but she wouldn't admit that to him. Not now.

“I won't give him up.” She sounded petulant again. Nick was always screwing up her life. Here he had tantalized her with talk of divorce, only to say that she would have to give up their son. “I wouldn't think of it.”

“Why not?” He was goading her, and he noticed that she had had the decency to cover her neck with a scarf. All of a sudden he felt the urge to slap her again.

“What would people think if I gave him up?”

“Do you care?”

“Sure I care. They'd think I was a drunk or something.”

“You almost are. And worse than that, you're a whore.”

“If you call me names, you son of a bitch, you'll never get your son.”

“Well, keep it in mind. You can have out anytime you want. But without him.” She was about to say something vicious to him, but once again she was helpless in his hands. She knew that to divorce him, she would have to do so on grounds of adultery, and she would never be able to establish those grounds against him. Nick was faithful to her. She knew by the vehemence with which he took her now and then, he was a man burning with loneliness and desire. And she was a woman drowning in her own helpless rage. She would never get what she wanted out of him now. Never. She knew it as she went back inside. And why should she leave John with him? He was her son, after all, and in a few years he might be fun to have around. She liked young people. She would like him and his friends. She just didn't like little kids, that was all. She would never give him to Nick. Never. She'd never live it down. People would whisper behind her back for years. They would say that Nick had thrown her out. And she wouldn't tolerate that. When she left him, everyone would know that she had left him.

Nick stood alone on the deck for a long time, trying to calm his thoughts. He knew that a final turning point had come. It was the first time they had ever spoken seriously of divorce, even in a rage. But even on the ship, she couldn't stay out of other beds. He knew her for what she was now, and he would never open up to her again. And maybe in time she would tire of the game. Maybe she would run off and leave Johnny with him. He could give the child a happy life, whether he remarried or not. But that wasn't even worth thinking about now. He was married to Hillary, with all the agony that that meant. He stood staring at the sunset, thinking about his life, and his son, and then at last he went back inside to dress, and closed the door to the Deauville suite.

And it was then, and only then, that in an agony of embarrassment and pain, Liane could leave her deck chair on the private deck of the Trouville and go inside as well. They hadn't seen her when they had come out. She hadn't dared to move or speak. She didn't want them to know what she had heard, especially him. She felt deeply sorry for the man as she sat down in her own room. What a painful, lonely life he led. But what would he do now? What a lonely life that woman had condemned him to.

“My God, who died?” Armand walked in and kissed his wife. She had been sitting at her dressing table, staring at her feet.

“What? … oh … it's you.” She tried to smile, but she had a heavy heart. Liane always cared about other people's private griefs.

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“No, of course not.” She smiled up at him then, but he could see that something was wrong.

“What's the matter, my love?”

She looked up at him with stricken eyes. “I just happened on the most awful scene.”

“Did someone get hurt?” He looked concerned.

“No. It was between Nick Burnham and his wife.”

“Oh, dear. A domestic fight? How did you happen into that?”

“I was sitting in a deck chair outside, reading my book, and they didn't realize I was there. When they came out on their deck, I heard the whole thing. Apparently she's been sleeping with someone on the ship.”

“I'm not surprised. But it's a bit his fault as well for not controlling his wife.”

“How can you say such a thing?” She looked shocked. “What kind of woman is she to do a thing like that?”

“A little tramp, I suppose. But he's obviously let her get away with it before.” Liane suspected that her husband was right.

“Nevertheless, the poor man, Armand … and he accused her of not caring about their little boy.” There were tears in her eyes and Armand pulled her close.

“And now you want to adopt them both, and have them move in with us in France, is that it? Ah, Liane, sweet child, you have a soft heart. The world is full of people like that. They lead nightmarish, ugly lives.”

“But he's a nice man. He doesn't deserve that.”

“Probably not. Anyway, don't you feel too sorry for him. He can take care of himself, and you have other things to think about.” Armand knew how women were, sometimes too much sympathy could create situations one could regret, and he wanted to protect Liane from that. She was still innocent in some ways, and he knew he had to protect her from herself. “What are you wearing to the gala tonight?”

“I don't know … I … oh, Armand, how can you talk about something like that?”

“What would you have me do? Offer to go over there and shoot his wife?”

“No.” She laughed at him. “But still, the poor man … and that child …”

“Never mind that. They have each other, after all, and she may run off with someone else one of these days. It would probably be a blessing for them both. Now, don't get involved in the Burnham family fights, for all you know, by now they're making passionate love. Maybe he likes her like that.”

“I doubt that.”

“How do you know?” He gazed at his wife, wondering if there was more to this than met the eye, but he decided there was not.

“I played tennis with him today. He asked about us, and I could tell by the way he talked that he's not happy with her.”

“At least that proves he's sane. But it's his problem, not ours. Now, I want you to forget about all that. Would you like a glass of champagne?” She hesitated for a moment and then decided that she would, and he returned a moment later with a glass for himself and another for her, and he kissed her tenderly on the cheek and the neck and the mouth and she put Nick Burnham and his wife out of her mind. Armand was right. There was nothing she could do. “Now, tell me what you're going to wear to the gala tonight.” They would be sitting at the captain's table again, and tonight was the most important of all on the ship. The next day would be their last night, and the following day they would reach Le Havre.

“I thought maybe the red moiré.”

“You'll look like a dream.” And his eyes told her that he meant every word.

“Thank you.” She sat down at her dressing table again, and watched him in the mirror as he began to undress. “Did you finish your work?”

“More or less.” He was deliberately vague.

“What does that mean?”

“We'll see.”

“You're coming to the gala tonight, aren't you?” For once she looked upset.

“Of course.” He returned to where she sat and kissed her shoulder just at the base of her neck. “But, I may not be able to stay very late.”

“You're going to work with Jacques after the gala?” She was suddenly tired of the trip, of not seeing Armand, of the people on board. She wanted to go home, or arrive in France.

“Jacques and I may have to work for a little while. We'll see how late it gets.”

“Oh, Armand …” She looked crestfallen as he sat down on the bed.

“I know. I know. I feel as though I've hardly seen you during the trip. And I wanted this to be a second honeymoon for us, but I have such a mountain of work to do before we arrive. Liane, I promise you, I'm doing my best.”

“I know. I don't mean to complain. I just thought that tonight …”

“So did I.” But he hadn't realized how much Perrier had dragged along from his desk. Armand barely had time to breathe between their meetings every day, but he had to be prepared, whether it was hard on Liane or not. “Anyway, we'll see. Maybe I'll be too drunk after the gala to go back to work.”

“You're inspiring me to devise a plot.”

“Don't you dare!” He smiled down at his wife, and she went to run her bath.

And in the Deauville suite at exactly the same time, Hillary had just poured herself another Scotch. It had been a rough day, rougher than Nick knew, the guy in second class had almost broken her neck, he was so rough. He had insisted that he didn't know she was married, and when he got a good look at her wedding ring, he told her he was giving her a little “gift” to take back to Nick. Some gift, the bite on her neck had created a long-avoided scene. In a way, it was a relief, but she hadn't liked what Nick had said.

He stood looking at her now, a glazed look in his eyes. It was as though he had aged ten years in that one afternoon.

“Are you dining in first class tonight or not?” He no longer cared, but he wanted to know if he should give the captain an excuse.

“Yes, I thought I would.”

“You don't have to, if you'd rather not.” It was the dawn of a new day, and Hillary was more than a little shocked.

“Would you rather I didn't?” She was a little frightened by his new attitude, but there was no way to come back from the things she had said and she remembered the stricken way he had looked on the deck. There was nothing vulnerable about him now. He looked totally indifferent to her, and his eyes were icy cold.

“Suit yourself. But do us both a favor. If you dine at the captain's table, try to behave. If that's too big a strain, then take yourself to dinner somewhere else.”

“Like in my room?” She would not be treated like a naughty child, not by him, or the moron downstairs. And she wasn't particularly anxious to go back there again. She had a feeling that that was getting a little out of hand. She would be safer upstairs in first class with Nick.

“I don't give a damn where you eat. But if you eat with me, you know the rules.”

She said not a word, but walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

onight when Hillary came down the staircase in the Grande Salle à Manger, she didn't smile her sultry smile. Her eyes looked sulky and her face strained as Nick walked just behind her in white tie and tails. But she still made the same sensation she had before, this time in a white satin dress with long sleeves and a high neck, sewn with silver bugle beads and tiny white pearls, and when she reached the foot of the stairs and crossed the room, once again everyone stared, as the back of the dress was almost totally bare, revealing her creamy flesh in a large teardrop from the nape of her neck to a point just below her waist. But Nick didn't seem touched by the impression his wife created as he sat down across from Liane and smiled pleasantly. She was instantly aware that his eyes were different than they had been before, they seemed colder and somehow sad and she was reminded of what she had heard on the terrace that afternoon. But as she watched him she felt Armand watching her, and she turned to acknowledge him with her own eyes. He had admonished her before they came down that she shouldn't let it be seen that she was aware of what had passed between the two Burnhams on their private deck. She had told him that he didn't need to remind her to be discreet, but he had disagreed with her.

“Yes, I do. I know you too well. You have a tender heart for everyone you think is hurt. And you'll embarrass the poor man if he knows. It's bad enough to have been cuckolded by his wife.” He still found the story shocking, although not difficult to believe, and he couldn't resist glancing at Hillary himself when she sat down. She was a remarkably beautiful girl, but she looked pure bitch. And the high neck of the dress covered what Liane had overheard described, the bruise on her neck left by her most recent lover. Perhaps that was why she had worn the dress, Liane thought to herself as she glanced at Armand.

His stare let her know he could sense what she was thinking and so she turned to the man on her left. He was a stern-looking German with a monocle in his eye, and countless ribbons on his chest, which was wide enough to rival Armand's. He was Count von Farbisch of Berlin, and Liane had to fight back an instant dislike for him. Armand had recognized him at once as the man Nick Burnham had been talking to on the second day of the trip, in the smoking room, and he wondered if they would acknowledge each other now, but he saw the count give a curt nod and Nick inclined his head. The captain introduced them all around, and with the exception of the Burnhams and the De Villierses and the captain himself, it was a different group than it had been before. And Liane realized once again how few people she had met on the trip.

“Isn't that right, Madame de Villiers?” Captain Thoreux had been asking her a question and she blushed. She just wasn't in the right mood tonight. Between the unhappiness she had heard between the Burnhams, and the unpleasant German on her left, who had been regaling everyone with propaganda stories about Hitler, she had had enough before the meal had begun, and she was almost sorry that she and Armand weren't dining alone in their cabin.

“I'm sorry, Captain, I didn't hear …”

“I was saying that our tennis courts are extremely fine. I understand that you and Mr. Burnham played this morning.”

“We did.” Nick smiled at her. It was an easy, open smile, with no suggestiveness to it. “And what's more, Madame de Villiers beat me. Six to two.”

“Only after losing two games to you.” She laughed, but her heart was not light tonight. Even less so when she saw the ugly look that suddenly crossed the eyes of Hillary Burnham.

“Did he really beat you?” Hillary's eyes glittered menacingly. “I'm surprised. He plays a very poor game.” The diners at the captain's table were slightly taken aback at the remark and Liane entered the silence quickly.

“He plays far better than I.” She felt Armand's eye on her. And her German neighbor was by then speaking to the American woman on his left, once again about the miracles Hitler had wrought. For a moment Liane began to wonder if she would survive dinner. There was an obvious strain to them all, which even the Chateau d'Yquem didn't cure, nor the Margaux, nor the champagne, nor the excellent food from caviar to soufflé. Somehow, tonight, the food and the wines were almost oppressive, and everyone seemed relieved when they moved on to the Grand Salon for the gala ball. It was meant to have the bright atmosphere of New Year's Eve, but for Liane it didn't.

“You shouldn't have made that remark to Burnham's wife.” Armand reproached her gently as they danced.

“I'm sorry.” Liane was contrite. “But she's such a hateful woman, Armand. And it was either that or throw my glass of wine into that German's face. Who in God's name is he? I thought if I heard one more word about Hitler, I'd throw up.”

“I'm not sure. I suspect he's with the Reich. I saw him talking to Burnham in the fumoir earlier in the trip.” His words silenced her, it reminded her again of what Armand had said before, that Nick probably did business with the Germans. And it still upset her. He seemed such a decent man. How could he provide anything to the Third Reich? And if he was selling them steel, then they were obviously arming themselves again, which was a violation of the Versailles Treaty. Everyone knew the Germans had been arming themselves for years, but it made her sick to realize that a fellow American was helping them. There seemed to be too much to think about tonight, on all fronts, and it was almost a relief when Jacques Perrier appeared, discreetly, at eleven o'clock, and had a few quiet words with Armand. Moments later, he explained the situation to Liane. They had to go back to work for a little while. And she wasn't sorry when they excused themselves to the captain. She just wasn't in a festive mood, and she was happy to take off the red moiré gown she had put on only three hours before. It was a very handsome piece of work and she liked it, but now she cast it aside on a chair in her room as Armand left, and she settled into bed with a book. She had promised him that she would wait up, although he had said that she didn't have to. But even the book didn't hold her interest tonight. All she could think about were the mysterious Burnhams, Nick with his strange business alliances, and Hillary with her smoldering eyes and sullen mouth. She tried to concentrate on the book for half an hour, but at last she gave up and got out of bed and, pulling on a pair of slacks and a warm sweater, she went to sit on their deck, in the same chair she had been in when she had heard Hillary rant at Nick. She could faintly hear the music from the Grand Salon, and as she closed her eyes she could imagine people dancing. She was just as happy not to be there tonight. It would have been fun with Armand, on another night when she was in a better mood. But with him working, it would have been depressing to dance with the captain and the German and countless strangers.

But Liane wasn't the only one depressed that night. As Nick stood pondering his wife's latest antics, he looked far from cheerful. Hillary had rapidly recovered her spirits, dancing once with the captain, and once with the German count, and then Nick had seen her dancing with a handsome young Italian, who had already caused quite a stir on board the ship. He had brought a woman on the trip who wasn't his wife, and the two of them had caused a sensation, giving parties, reveling till all hours, and reportedly indulging in “multisexual activities” with any and all who were willing to join them in “secretly” held orgies in their cabin. They were just Hillary's speed, he thought bitterly to himself as he stirred his champagne with a gold swizzle stick he always carried on these occasions. The bubbles in the champagne always gave him a terrific headache the next day, and one of his German friends had given the swizzle stick to him years before, assuring him that he would never have a champagne hangover again, and he had been right.

It saddened Nick now to see what was happening to the Germans. They were slowly being overrun by fools like the count, and their country was being destroyed by Hitler. On the surface of course, Germany had never been in better shape, people had jobs, everything worked, the factories were booming, but there was a subtle poison beginning to run in their veins. He had sensed it for the last two years, and it troubled him more each time he visited Berlin or Munich or Hannover, and he suspected that he would see more of the same now. He had made arrangements with the count to meet him in Berlin in three weeks, to discuss their latest steel contracts. He had been doing business with this particular man now for over a year, but he had to admit, he couldn't stand him.

Like Liane, he found it impossible to concentrate on the chitchat tonight. Somehow it all seemed an unbearable burden, and he was tired of watching Hillary play her games. When he finished his champagne, he made his way quietly to the captain and explained that he had some work to do in his cabin, and that he didn't want to take his wife away from all the fun of the gala, but if the captain would be good enough to excuse him … Of course the captain said that he understood, although he joked that his ship was no longer a pleasure palace, but a large floating office for all these important men. He made reference to Armand having gone back to work.

“Je regrette infiniment, M. Burnham … that you are obliged to work tonight as well.”

“So do I, Captain.” They exchanged a pleasant smile, and Nick disappeared, relieved to put some distance between himself and the music. He had felt that if he had been forced to smile even for a moment longer, his face might explode. And he had no desire to see Hillary again until the morning.

When he reached the sun deck a few moments later, he sought out the chief steward immediately. He had made the decision earlier that evening. The purser showed no surprise at the request, he was accustomed to far more exotic requests than these, and Nick explained that he needed the additional studio room to use as an office for the rest of the trip. Now that they were approaching Le Havre, he had work to do. The purser assigned two stewards to Nick, and fifteen minutes later he was ensconced in the unused studio room adjoining his suite. He didn't even leave a note for his wife. He no longer owed her any explanations. He looked around the pleasantly decorated art deco room, usually occupied by secretaries or maids, or little children. But it suited him very well, and he felt suddenly more relaxed than he had during the entire trip. He walked outside onto the deck and looked across at the deck of the Trouville suite, and there he saw Liane in her deck chair, her head back, her eyes closed, and he wondered if she was sleeping. He stood gazing at her for a moment or two, and then, as though she sensed someone there, she opened her eyes and looked over at him. He was standing in a different part of the deck than he had been earlier that evening during the exchange with his wife. He hadn't been able to see her then, but he could now, and she looked up at him in surprise and sat up in her chair with a questioning look.

“You're not at the gala, Mr. Burnham?”

“Apparently not.” He smiled across the rails at where she sat. The two decks were adjoining. “I didn't mean to disturb you.”

“You didn't. I was just enjoying the peaceful night.”

“So was I. It's a blessed relief after all that chatter.”

Her face relaxed in a smile. “It's a terrible strain sometimes, isn't it?”

“I thought that if I smiled one more time, my face would crack.”

She laughed aloud. “So did I.”

“But you must do a lot of that as an ambassador's wife. I think I would find it exhausting.”

“Sometimes I do.” For some reason it was easy to be honest with him. “Most of the time I enjoy it. My husband makes it very easy for me. He shares a lot of the burdens.” Nick fell silent at her words, thinking of Hillary dancing with the Italian, and as she watched his face she felt that she had not been very tactful. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say …” But the added words only made matters worse, and Nick looked up at her with a sad, boyish grin.

“Don't apologize. I don't think the state of my marriage is much of a secret. There's very little we share, except our son, and a mutual distrust of each other.”

“I'm sorry.” Her voice was very soft in the warm night. “It must be difficult for you.”

He sighed softly and looked up at the sky before looking back at her. “I guess it is …I don't know anymore, Liane. This is all I ever remember between us. It's been this way for a long time.” It was the first time he had called her by her first name but she didn't mind it. “I suppose she takes more liberties now than she did at first. But she's fought against this marriage since the very beginning. My captive bride.” He tried to smile but it was a feeble attempt. “It's a far cry from the romance you described to me between you and your husband.”

“Marriage is never easy every day. We have our difficult moments too, but we share common goals, common loves and interests.”

“And you're nothing like my wife.” He looked her straight in the eye. And he suddenly realized that she must have heard them that afternoon. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he did. And she sensed that he knew. Had he asked her just then, she wouldn't have denied it. She sensed that this man needed a friend, and some open, honest talk. It was as though something within him were cracking wide open and he needed a hand to hold. She was willing to lend him hers for a time, and he felt that and was grateful to her. “My marriage is a joke, Liane. And the joke is on me. She's never been faithful to me right from the first. She has to prove that she doesn't belong to anyone, least of all me.” It was rejection of the cruelest kind.

“Are you faithful to her?” Liane's voice was gentle in the night.

“I have been. I'm not sure why. Foolish, I suppose.” And he felt the fool now, remembering the bite on her neck. And as he thought of it, something deep inside him began to stir. “I shouldn't tell you my problems, Liane. I must sound like a horse's ass, standing here, moaning about my wife. You know, the damnedest thing is that I'm not even sure I care. I saw her dancing with someone tonight, and I didn't feel a thing. I care about what people think, what they see, but I'm not really sure I care about her. I did once. But I think it's finally all gone.” He stood looking out to sea, thinking of the years ahead. He would stay with her until Johnny grew up, he knew, but after that? He raised his eyes to Liane's again. “It makes me feel old sometimes, as though the good times are all gone, the happy moments to share, the ecstasy of being in love. I don't think I'll ever see that again.” His voice was sad and soft and she left her chair and walked to where he stood.

“Don't say that. You have years and years ahead, you can't know what life has in store.” Armand often said that and it was true, he had learned that after the death of Odile, after a year of despair, suddenly there had been Liane.

“You know what life has in store for me, my friend? It has business deals and steel contracts and luncheons with important men. That's not much with which to warm the heart on a cold night.”

Her voice was as soft as his. “You have your son.”

Nick nodded, and she thought she saw tears in his eyes. “I do. Thank God for that. I would die without him.” She was touched by his love for his son, but she also knew that it was unhealthy for a man his age to have only that. He needed a woman he could love and who could love him. He looked at her ruefully then. “I'm thirty-eight years old, and I feel like there's nothing left.” It was a side of him she would never have known had they not talked that night. He seemed so confident, so sure of life, but she hadn't known about Hillary before, and her constant travels through other men's beds.

“Why don't you divorce her and try to get custody of the boy?” Indeed ships made for open talk between strangers.

“Do you really think I'd have a chance?” It was clear from the tone of his voice that he thought he did not.

“You might.”

“In the States, where they believe in motherhood and apple pie? Besides, I'd have to prove what she is, and the scandal would destroy us all. I don't want Johnny to know about that.”

“Eventually he'll know anyway, if that's what she is.”

He nodded. In a way she was right. But he also knew that his chances of getting custody of Johnny were very slim. She had unlimited family money to back her up, and he didn't know of any man who had defeated his wife in court on a custody case. He could never win. “I think, my friend, that I have to make do with what I've got. At least for the next year, we'll have a change of scene. I'm going to have a lot to do over here.”

“We all will.” Liane stared out into the night and then back at him. “Looking out at this, it's hard to believe that there's a troubled world out there.” She was curious about what she would find in France, if Armand was right that in a very short time there would be a war. “What will you do if the war comes, Nick? Go back to the States?”

“I guess I would. I might stay over here for a while, to finish my work, if I could. But I still don't believe we'll have to worry about that this year.” He knew that the Germans were getting prepared, he could tell from the volume of his work, but he also knew that they weren't ready yet. “Hopefully we'll all get home in time. And America will probably never get into a war over there. At least that's what Roosevelt says.”

“Armand says that Roosevelt doesn't mean what he says.” She was being very honest with him. “He says he's been preparing the country for war for several years.”

“I think he's just playing it safe. And it's good for the economy. It keeps people at work.”

She spoke without accusation, but with truth. “That must also be good for you.” And she was right. His steel contracts had boomed. But he leveled his eyes into hers.

“It's also good for you.” He knew only too well how successful Crockett Shipping had been, particularly in recent years. And she knew exactly what he meant, but she shook her head.

“I don't feel a part of that anymore.” Not since her uncle George had filled her father's shoes. Emotionally, she had severed her ties with that life a long time before.

“But you are a part of it, Liane.” He remembered now that she had been her father's only heir, and he marveled at how little it showed, unlike Hillary, who flaunted her expensive dresses and her furs and her jewels. There was something very quiet about Liane. If one had not been aware of her maiden name, one would never have known who or what she was. “You have a responsibility too.”

“To whom?” She looked troubled at his words.

“One day, if there is a war, your ships will carry troops. They'll go into battle, men will die.”

“There's nothing we can do to stop that.”

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.

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.

There was a small group of passengers who had been asked to gather in the Grand Salon for early disembarkation. The rest of the passengers would meet with immigrations and customs officers in the dining room, and leave the ship in an hour or so, in time to board the boat train from Le Havre to Paris. Liane noticed as they stood, waiting to be released, that the German she had met at the captain's table was waiting there too, and several other couples she hadn't met. In all, there weren't more than a dozen or so people, specially privileged, with diplomatic passports or important names. And as they waited, Armand's assistant, Jacques Perrier, joined them as well, the briefcase straining at his arm, his glasses in place, his face as mournful as ever. He was a constant reminder of unfinished work.

And it was then, as he and Armand conferred for a last moment before they left the ship, that Nick finally managed to come over for a moment to see her, to say good-bye to her and the girls, and nod to Armand.

“I wanted to say good-bye to you yesterday, but I didn't want to intrude. I saw you with your husband on the deck. …” His eyes seemed to touch her face, and she felt a strong urge to reach for his hand again, but this didn't seem the time or the place.

“I'm happy to see you now, Nick.” She felt as though in leaving him, she was leaving the last familiar piece of terrain of her own country. And she felt homesick suddenly as they stood there and talked. “I hope that everything goes smoothly for you in Paris.” She didn't glance at Hillary as she spoke, but he knew what she meant and he smiled.

“It will. Things are already better now.” She wasn't sure what he meant and imagined that he was referring to some unexpected rapprochement with his wife. Perhaps he had forgiven her again, or she had promised to reform. Liane hoped so for his sake, but couldn't know that what he had meant was actually his new sense of freedom since the night they had talked. “I'd like to stay in touch.”

“I'm sure that we'll see you in Paris. In a way, it's a small town.”

Their eyes met and held for an endless moment, and she wasn't sure what she felt at all. Leaving him now was almost like losing a friend or a brother, and yet she scarcely knew him. It was the magic of the ship, weaving its spell, and she smiled at the thought.

“Take care of yourself … and John. …”

“I will … and you too….”

“Liane! On y va.” Armand sounded hurried now. He was anxious to leave, and had been told that they could go. He came quickly to Liane's side, shook Burnham's hand with a broad smile, and a moment later they were on the dock, and their bags were being loaded into a small van, while Liane and Armand and the girls climbed into a large, comfortable Citroën, and Mademoiselle and Jacques Perrier got into the front seat with the chauffeur. And as the car pulled away, and the driver started the van's motor, Liane saw an enormous black Duesenberg pull up and Nick Burnham begin to instruct the chauffeur. She turned for a second glance and he waved, and she waved back, and then she turned back to hear what Armand was saying.

“Apparently there's a reception tonight at the Italian Embassy. I have to go, but if you want to, you can stay at the hotel. You'll have a lot to do, settling the girls.” He glanced at his watch. The ride would take them about three hours.

“Does anyone know how long the furniture will take?” She was trying to turn her attention to the matters at hand, but she had the feeling of being haunted by Nick's face as he had waved. She wondered if she would ever see him again, and yet she had told him that they would. “Paris is a small town,” she had said, but she suddenly wondered.

But Armand was entirely involved in the present. “The furniture will take six weeks. Meanwhile, we're at the Ritz.” It was unusual even for an ambassador to stay there, but Liane had offered it as a treat from her income, and now and then he let her do that. It irked him that he couldn't make gestures like that, but he knew it meant nothing to her, and it was foolish not to use a little bit of her income. Her fortune was so large that a stay at the Ritz put no dent in it.

The girls chattered on through most of the trip and Liane was happy to be able to chat with Armand. She knew that the moment they arrived, he'd be off, and even tonight there was a diplomatic reception. She was almost sorry when she saw the Eiffel Tower pull into sight, and the Arc de Triomphe and the Place de la Concorde. Suddenly she wanted to turn the clock back and return to the luxurious womblike atmosphere of the ship. She wasn't sure she was ready to face Paris.

Three bellboys escorted them upstairs to the large suite of rooms they had reserved. Here there was one very large bedroom for the girls, an adjoining one for Mademoiselle, a living room, a bedroom for Armand and Liane, a dressing room, and a study. Armand looked around their bedroom at the mountain of trunks and smiled at Liane. “Not bad, my love.”

But she looked sad as she sat down and smiled up at him. “I miss the ship. I wish we could go back. Isn't that silly?”

“No.” He gently touched her face as she leaned against him. “Everyone feels like that at first. Ships are very special, and the Normandie is the most special of all.”

“She is, isn't she?” They exchanged a warm smile for a moment, and regretfully, Armand pulled himself from her side.

“I'm afraid, my love, that the gentlemen to whom I report are expecting to see me for a little while tonight, and afterward there's that reception….”He looked at her apologetically. “Would you be happier here or do you want to go?”

“Honestly, I'd love to stay here and get settled.”

“That's fine.” He disappeared to run a bath for himself, and half an hour later he appeared in his dinner jacket, and his wife whistled as he walked into the room. “Don't you look handsome!” His eyes sparkled as he grinned at her. She had taken off her suit and was wearing a white satin dressing gown, and trunks were open all over the room. “The worst of it is that I'm going to have to pack up and move all over again in a few weeks.” Liane sat down on the bed with a groan, and looked up at him. “Why did I bring all this?”

“Because you're my beautiful, elegant wife.” He gave her a quick kiss. “And if I don't hurry up, they're going to send me someplace charming, like Singapore.”

“I hear it's a nice post.”

“Never mind!” He wagged a finger at her, stopped in the girls' room to kiss them good-bye, and went downstairs. The desk had already called to tell them that the Citroën was waiting for him, and he sprinted out of the lobby with a look of excitement in his eyes. Suddenly he felt alive again. He was home, in France. He didn't have to wait anymore to get the news secondhand. He was here, and soon he would know exactly just what was going on.

When Armand departed the Élysée that night, he was shocked at how calm his colleagues were. They seemed absolutely sure that the peace would last for a long while. Instead of terror, there was the feeling that Paris was enjoying a little boom. There was no doubt in their minds that Hitler represented a threat, but they felt equally certain that he would never cross the Maginot Line. This was not what Armand believed, and in a way, it wasn't what he had wanted to hear. He wanted to know that France was fully prepared for an all-out war, and that preparations for that possibility were being made, but none were. He had the impression that he had come to fight a fire in France, and instead of joining the ranks and rolling up his sleeves, he was being asked to admire the blaze. He felt confused as he slid back into the Citroën and directed the driver to the Rue de Varenne on the Left Bank. “L'Ambassade d'Italie.”

And at the Italian Embassy he was even more aware of the same easy spirit he had felt in the hallowed halls of the Élysée. There was champagne, pretty women; talk of summer plans, diplomatic dinners, society balls. No one even mentioned the danger of war. And after two hours there, greeting scores of people he knew, he returned to Liane at the Ritz, and was grateful to sit down in a chair and share some soup and an omelet with her.

“I don't understand it. Everyone here is having a good time.” It was not unlike what he had seen in April. “Is everyone blind?”

“Perhaps they're afraid to see.”

“But how can they not?”

“How were things at the Élysée? Can you say?”

“Much the same. I expected serious briefings, and instead they're discussing agriculture and economics and are totally comfortable about the security of the Maginot Line. I wish I felt as secure.”

“Aren't they afraid of Hitler at all?” Even Liane was shocked.

“To some extent. And they do think that eventually there will be a war between Hitler and the British, but they're still hoping for a miracle of divine intervention.” He sighed and took off his dinner jacket. He looked exhausted and disappointed and suddenly older than he had in years, and he reminded Liane of a warrior ready to go into battle, with no battle to fight, and she felt suddenly sad for him. “I don't know, Liane. Maybe I see demons that aren't there. Perhaps I've been away from France for too long.”

“It's not that. It's hard to know who's right. Maybe you have greater foresight than they, or perhaps they've lived with the threat of war for so long that it no longer worries them so much, and they think it will never come.”

“Time will tell.”

She nodded quietly, and rolled away their tray. “Why don't you forget about it for tonight. You take it all too much to heart.” She rubbed his neck gently, and a little while later he undressed and went to bed and fell into an uneasy sleep. But tonight Liane wasn't tired and she sat quietly alone in the living room of their suite. She still missed the ship, and wished that she could go out on the deck to look out at the peaceful sea. She felt far from home suddenly, although she knew Paris well from her frequent visits with Armand, but there was something different about it for her now. It didn't feel like home yet. They weren't living in a house yet, they were living in a hotel, she had no close friends here, and thinking of that reminded her suddenly of Nick. And she found herself wondering how the Burnhams' arrival had been. It seemed years since they had stood on the deck and talked, only two nights ago. She remembered Nick asking her to call anytime she needed a friend, but she knew that that wouldn't be appropriate here. It was harmless on the ship, but here as Armand's wife, she couldn't make friends with a man.

The suite was silent as she returned to their room, and Armand was snoring softly in the large double bed. Perhaps, despite his disappointment, the news had all gone well. If the situation in Paris was not as acute as he feared, maybe she would see more of him, and that thought appealed to her a great deal. Maybe they would have time for some walks in the Bois de Boulogne, or strolls in the gardens of the Tuileries … maybe they could even go shopping together … or take the girls for a boat ride. Cheered by the prospect, she got into bed and turned off the light.

illary walked into the house on the Avenue Foch with the chauffeur almost staggering behind her, carrying seven large dress boxes from Dior, Madame Grès, and Balenciaga, and several smaller packages as well. She had had a very pleasant day, and the evening would be more so, as Nick was still in Berlin.

“Just leave them over there.” She tossed the words over her shoulder and then groaned at his blank expression as she pointed to a chair. “Ici.” He deposited the boxes as best he could on the chair in the long marble hall with its enormous crystal chandelier. It was a beautiful house and Nick had been enchanted when he saw it. But Hillary was less so. The water was never hot enough for her bath, there was no shower, she insisted that the house was full of mosquitoes, and she would rather have had an apartment at the Ritz. She thought the servants Nick's office had hired were unpleasant, they barely spoke English, and she had complained for days about the heat.

They had been in Paris for almost a month now and she had to admit that Paris this season was not entirely dull. Everyone was saying that the summer of '39 was the first good time since the summer before when Munich put a damper on everyone's spirits. But now costume balls and dinner parties abounded, almost with a vengeance, to keep everyone amused. The Comte Etienne de Beaumont had given a costume ball a few weeks before, with all the guests ordered to come as characters from the plays of Racine, and Maurice de Rothschild had actually worn his mother's famed diamonds on his turban and Cellini Renaissance jewels on his sash, to catch everyone's attention. Lady Mendl had given a garden party at Versailles for 750, with three elephants as objects of entertainment and conversation. And the best party of all had been that given by Louise Macy, who hired the famed Hotel Salé for the night, moving in priceless furnishings, and adding plumbing, a mobile kitchen, and several thousand candles. All of the guests were “ordered” to wear diadems and decorations, and amazingly they had. Hillary had arranged to borrow a tiara from Cartier, a spectacular confection of ten fourteen-carat emeralds, surrounded by clusters of very fine diamonds. She had hardly been bored in Paris, and yet she hadn't really enjoyed it, and now she had other plans for the rest of the summer. And with any luck at all, she and the friends she had run into from Boston would be in the South of France before Nick returned from Berlin. He had made her uneasy ever since they had arrived in France. The new demeanor he had adopted during the last of the crossing stayed with him. He was chilly and distant, always polite but not particularly interested in her doings. The only time he required her presence was for business dinners, or to entertain some industrialist's wife for tea. He made it clear what he expected of her, and she had found that she disliked his new attitude even more than his old one. In the days when he had been trying so desperately to please her, he had made her feel guilty, which had made her hate him. Now she felt as important in his life as a doorknob, and that made her even angrier. She had decided within a week of their arrival that she'd show him. He couldn't drag her out of the closet like a pair of old pumps everytime he needed her for a business dinner. She wasn't a dancing bear to be brought out for guests, and she was already sick of their life in Paris. In the week that he'd been gone, she had made her own plans.

She strolled into the paneled library with the depressing Aubusson tapestry on one wall and looked out into the garden. John was out there playing with his nurse and the puppy Nick had bought him, a small terrier that barked too much for Hillary's taste. Even now the barking and laughter assaulted her ears and annoyed her. She had a headache from the heat and her shopping, and she tossed her hat onto a chair, and peeled off her gloves as she walked toward the bar concealed in the boiserie, and then she almost jumped out of her skin as she heard a disembodied voice behind her.

“Good evening.” She wheeled and saw Nick sitting at the enormous Louis XV desk in the corner. She hadn't even glanced in that direction as she came into the room. “Did you have a nice day?”

“What are you doing here?” She looked anything but happy to see him, but she had stopped before she reached the bar.

“I live here, or so I'm told.” Although here, as on the ship, he had ensconced himself in his own room. But other than the insult it implied, Hillary didn't really mind that. What bothered her was that for years she had kept him at bay or in her bed, at her choosing, and now he had made the decision for her. But in truth, it wasn't a loss she regretted. She already had other plans. And now he was watching her from the desk, like a cat watching a mouse, and she wanted to slap him. “Aren't you going to have a drink? Don't let me interfere with your routine.”

“I won't.” She walked to the bar and poured herself a double Scotch. “How was Berlin?”

“Do you care?”

“Not really.” They were remarkably honest with each other these days. In some ways it was a relief.

“How's Johnny?”

“Fine. I'm taking him to Cannes in a few days.”

“Are you? May I ask with whom?”

“I met some friends while you were gone, from Boston, and I'm leaving for Cannes this weekend.” Her eyes were defiant as she looked at him over her glass. If he wanted separate lives, he would have them, but he wouldn't stop her.

“May I ask for how long you plan to be there?”

“I don't know. It's too hot for me in Paris. I feel sick here.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. But I'd like some idea of how long you plan to be gone.” She scarcely recognized her husband in the tone of his voice. He had gotten immeasurably tougher in the past month, and she would almost suspect him of having a mistress, but she couldn't really believe he'd do that. He didn't have the balls, she would have said if he'd asked her, but he didn't, and she didn't volunteer. He sat now and waited for her answer as she tapped her foot and stared at her drink.

“A month. Maybe more. I'll come back in September,” she decided as she answered.

“Have a lovely time.” He smiled coolly. “But don't plan to take Johnny.”

“May I ask why not?”

“Because I'd like to see him, and I have no desire to travel to Cannes every week to see you.”

“That's good news at least. But you can't leave the child in the city.”

“I'll take him away myself.” She hesitated for a moment, about to answer him sharply, and then suddenly he could almost hear her thinking. She didn't really want to take the child and he knew it.

“All right. I'll leave him here.” That had been an easy battle, Nick thought to himself, and he'd have to give some thought now to where he'd take Johnny. He had wanted to take some time off anyway that summer, and this would be the perfect excuse. Despite the atmosphere of power and aggression one sensed building in Berlin, he still felt confident that war wouldn't come too quickly and it would be nice to take Johnny somewhere in France, particularly if they were going to be alone.

“When did you say you were leaving?” Nick stood up at the desk and walked around it, and she glared at him, every ounce of her hatred showing. It was a marriage gone so sour, they could both taste it, and the taste was exceedingly bitter.

“In two days. Is that soon enough?”

“I just wondered. Will you join me here for dinner tonight?”

“I have other plans.” He nodded and went out into the garden to see Johnny. The little boy squealed with delight as soon as he saw his father, and ran into his arms as Hillary watched from the window, and turned and walked out of the library and went upstairs.

As it turned out she left two days later then planned, but Nick scarcely saw her, he stayed late at the office every night, and he had to have dinner with some people from Chicago, and when he asked Hillary to join them, she refused.

She claimed that she was too busy packing for her trip, and Nick decided not to force her. He saw her the morning she left for Cannes, when a large limousine arrived to take her to the train. For a moment Nick wondered who she was going to Cannes with, and then he decided not to ask her any questions.

“Have a good time.” She had asked him for two thousand dollars for the trip and he had given it to her the night before without question. She had barely said thank you to him.

“See you in September,” she called out cheerily as she ran out the door in a red silk dress with white polka dots and a matching silk hat.

“You might call your son from time to time.” She nodded and hurried out to the car. It was the first time he had seen her look happy in a long time, and as he went back inside to get ready to go to the office, he was sorry in a way that he insisted on maintaining their marriage. If she was that unhappy with him, they both deserved better. And as he straightened his tie and put his jacket on, he found himself thinking of Liane and wondering how she was. He hadn't seen the De Villierses at any of the dinners he'd gone to, but he imagined that they were more likely to stick to diplomatic receptions, and he hadn't been to any of those. He knew that the Polish Embassy was planning to give an elaborate dinner in a few weeks, and assumed they would go to that, but he would be careful not to attend that one. It was important that no one learn of his recent charity to Poland. It could only do them harm if it was discovered that they were arming themselves too. The diplomatic sources he had used to make his offer had been astounded by the minute prices he charged them. But it was the only way he knew to help them at the eleventh hour.

The Germans had stepped up all their contracts recently, and he felt an increasing desire lately to wind them up and get his business with Germany over. He felt uncomfortable every time he went there, and no matter how profitable the deals were, he couldn't bring himself to feel right about dealing with them anymore. It was impossible not to know what was coming. Liane had been right. The time to choose sides was coming close. In fact, for him, it had come already.

When he left for the office, he kissed Johnny good-bye, and was pleased that he didn't seem upset about his mother going away. He had already promised him a trip to Deauville, and they were going to ride horses along the beach there. They were both excited about the trip, planned for the first of August. They were going to be away together for at least two weeks.

“Have a good day, tiger, I'll see you later.”

“Bye, Dad.” He was playing with his bat and a ball, which he had stowed in one of his trunks. And Nick saw just as his limousine turned the corner of the Avenue Foch that the ball had just sailed right through one of the living room windows. He laughed to himself, remembering his saying to the doorman in New York that one of these days that would happen, and the chauffeur turned at the sound of his voice.

“Oui, monsieur?”

“I said ‘That's baseball.’”

The chauffeur nodded with a blank stare and they drove to the office.

n the thirty-first of July, Liane and Armand's things arrived from Washington, D.C., and within the week they moved into the house Armand had found for them in April. It was a pretty little place on the Place du Palais-Bourbon, in the Septième. And for the next ten days Liane sweated and slaved and opened boxes. She did almost everything herself, knowing exactly where she wanted each item placed, and she only asked the servants to wash dishes and dust tables. The rest she enjoyed doing herself. If nothing else it gave her something to do, now that she scarcely saw Armand. The dream of walks in the Bois de Boulogne and the Tuileries never happened. With or without a war, the Bureau Central had devoured him. He had lunch with his colleagues or at various embassies around town and he didn't come home until eight o'clock at night, if he didn't have an important business dinner. And if he did, she didn't see him until well after that.

This wasn't like their Washington life, when as the Ambassadress she was an integral part of his social life, entertaining, playing hostess, giving small dances and black-tie dinners, standing in receiving lines at his side. Here, more often than not, he went alone, and it was more the exception than the rule that he took her with him. Her entire life centered around the girls now, and when she finally saw Armand at night, he was almost too tired to talk to her. He would eat dinner and go to bed, exhausted, and he was invariably asleep within seconds of his head touching the pillow. It was a lonely life for her now, and she longed for their days in Washington or London or Vienna. This was a whole new life, and she didn't like it, and despite her efforts not to complain, he sensed it. She was like a little wilting flower in an untended garden, and it made him feel desperately guilty, but things were beginning to happen. France was coming awake to the danger of Hitler, and although they were still certain that they were safe in France, there was a certain heightened sense of protection and preparation. He felt alive again as he participated in endless meetings. It was a good time for him, but a rough time for her, and he knew it, but there was very little he could do about it. He didn't even have time to take her out for an occasional dinner.

“I miss you, you know.” She smiled at him as he walked into the apartment one night to find her hanging a painting. As usual, she had created the effect of a home they had lived in for years and he was grateful to her. He came to kiss her now and helped her down from her perch, and he held her in his arms for a moment longer.

“I miss you, too, little one. I hope you know that.”

“Sometimes I do.” She sighed and set her hammer down on the desk, and then she looked up at him with a sad smile. “And sometimes I think you've forgotten I'm alive.”

“I could never do that, little one. I'm just very busy.” She knew that much already.

“Will we ever have a real life again?”

He nodded. “Hopefully soon. It's just that now there's such an increase in tension. We have to wait and see what happens … we must prepare. …”

There was such a bright light in his eyes as he spoke that her heart fell at his words. She felt that she had lost him to France, it was almost like losing him to another woman, only worse, because it was an opponent she couldn't fight. “What if there's a war, Armand? What then?”

“Then we'll see.” Always the cautious diplomat, even with her, but she wasn't asking about his homeland, she was asking him about her.

“I'll never see you then.” She sounded tired and mournful and tonight she didn't feel like putting up a cheerful front for him.

“These are unusual times, Liane, surely you understand.” He would be disappointed in her if she didn't, and she knew that. It was a heavy cross to bear. She had to be willing to make the same sacrifices as Armand, and sometimes that was too much to ask. If they'd just have a quiet night together, some time to talk, an evening when he wasn't too exhausted to make love … her eyes told their own tale.

“Never mind. Do you want something to eat?”

“I've eaten.” She didn't tell him that she had waited for him. “How are the girls?”

“Fine. I promised them I'd take them for a picnic in Neuilly next week, when I've finished the house.” It was lonely for them too. Once they were in school, they would make new friends. But for the moment all they had was their mother and their nurse.

“You're the only woman I know who can put a house together in a week.” He smiled at her as he sat down in a chair in the living room, almost afraid to tell her that all he wanted was to go to bed and sleep.

“I'm just happy to be out of the hotel.”

“So am I.” He looked around at their familiar things, and it felt like home to him at last. But he hadn't really noticed much of anything in the last month. He was so busy at the office, that he could have come home to a shanty or a tent and it wouldn't have mattered to him, and Liane suspected that as she followed him to their bedroom.

“Would you like a cup of chamomile?” She smiled gently at him, and he reached out and kissed her hand as he sat down on their bed.

“You're too good to me, little one.”

“I love you very much.” And there had been so many times when he had been good to her too. It wasn't his fault that he was so busy now, and it couldn't go on forever. Sooner or later the problems would be resolved. She just prayed that they wouldn't erupt in a war.

She went to the kitchen to make him the promised cup of tea, and when she returned with a delicate porcelain tray and the Limoges cup she'd unpacked that afternoon, she set it down gently on the bed table with a smile. But when she turned to hand it to Armand, she saw that he was already asleep on his pillow, without the assistance of the chamomile.

ell, Tiger, what do you think?” Nick and John had ridden all the way down the beach side by side, and they stood now only moments after the sun had fallen into the sea. It had been a heavenly week in Deauville. “Ready for something to eat?”

“Yup.” For the past hour he had pretended he was a cowboy on a ranch. He was enchanted with the tall, gentle white horse he was riding, and his father was astride a pretty chestnut mare. Johnny glanced over at his father then. “I wish we could eat hamburgers tonight, just like on a ranch.”

Nick smiled at his son. “So do I.” A hamburger and a milkshake would have tasted good, but they were a long way from any possibility of that. “Would you settle for a nice, juicy steak?” He knew that a steak au poivre was the closest they'd get, but at least it was something.

“Okay.”

At Johnny's request they had talked to Hillary that day. She was having a nice time in Cannes and had been surprised by their call. Nick hadn't told the boy, but he had had to call four times just to find her in, and in the month that she'd been gone, the rumors had begun to filter back to him. The “group of friends” she was with in Cannes had been joined by a man named Philip Markham, whom Nick knew from New York. He was a playboy of the worst kind, had been married four times, and now his name was linked with that of Hillary Burnham. Nick didn't give a damn what she did, but he had told her to be discreet. Obviously discretion was beyond her. They went gambling in Monte Carlo every night, danced till all hours, and had given a raucous party at the Carlton, which had even made the Paris press. He had thought for a time about calling her and telling her to lay off, but he realized that it was already too late. He had no control over her, and whatever he said to her, she'd still do whatever she wanted anyway.

“It was nice talking to Mom today.” It was as though the child had read his mind, and he looked over at him now as they guided their horses back to the barn.

“Do you miss her a lot, John?”

“Sometimes.” And then he smiled loyally at his father. “But I'm having a real good time here with you.”

“So am I.”

“Do you think she'll be home soon?” The question cut to the quick. Despite Hillary's lack of interest in the child, Nick knew that Johnny loved them both. She had sent him a couple of presents from the South of France but she seldom called, and Nick tried to make it up to him, as he always had. But she was what she was, and he knew that one day his son would know the truth.

“I don't know when she'll be back, Son. Probably in a few weeks.” Johnny nodded and didn't say anything more and they put away their horses and went back to their hotel.

As promised, that night, they ordered steak au poivre, and when they went back to their room, Nick read to him from his favorite book. They had spent every night like that. Nick hadn't even brought the nurse. He wanted the time they shared to be just for them, and he enjoyed having him to himself.

On the last day of their stay they took a final ride, and the sunset was even more beautiful than it had been before. They had played tennis that day, had a picnic on the beach, and then taken their daily ride. And as they sat watching the sunset now, Nick looked over at the boy with a warm smile.

“We're going to remember this for a long, long time, you and I.” It was the best time they had ever shared, and he reached out to touch the child's hand, and they sat there like that for a long time, hand in hand, and John never noticed the tears in his father's eyes.

The day after they got back Nick had to go to Lyons for a few days, to talk to the owner of a textile mill. Four days after he got back from Lyons, he left again for what he hoped would be his last trip to Berlin. Johnny had asked if he could come along, but Nick had told him that he'd be back in a day or two. He sensed something very different in Berlin when he arrived, a kind of exhilaration that ran through everyone's veins, and that afternoon he understood why. It was the twenty-third of August, and Germany had just signed a mutual nonaggression pact with the Russians. The negotiations had been conducted in secret, but the results were big news. Germany's greatest potential enemy had just been rendered impotent. Nick knew instantly, as did everyone else, that their agreement would pose an enormous threat to France and the rest of Europe. And he was suddenly desperately anxious to get home to Paris and his son. Who knew how quickly there might be a reaction, and he would himself be trapped in Berlin. And as he hastened through his day he was secretly glad that he had done what he could for Poland.

He attended one meeting that afternoon, and took the next train back to Paris. As he saw the Eiffel Tower come into view, he felt enormous relief sweep over him. All he knew was that he wanted to be near Johnny. He rushed home to the Avenue Foch and put his arms around him as he sat at breakfast.

“You came back fast, Dad!”

“I missed you!”

“I missed you too.”

The maid brought him a cup of coffee and he chatted with his son as he scanned the papers. He was anxious to see the reaction in Paris, but of course he had known what it would be. There was a general mobilization of the French army, the preparations for war were being made, and all available troops were being sent to the borders, to defend the Maginot Line.

“What's that, Dad?” Johnny was reading over his shoulder as he frowned. Nick explained to his son about the alliance between the Russians and the Germans and what it meant to France. The boy watched him with wide eyes. “You mean there's going to be a war?” He didn't look entirely displeased about it. He was young enough to find it intriguing, and he still loved anything that had to do with guns.

When Johnny went out to play, Nick walked into the library with a solemn face. He asked the operator for the Hotel Carlton in Cannes. It was time to bring back his wife, no matter how little she'd like that.

They paged her at the pool, and suggested he call back later. But Nick was insistent with the operator at the hotel. If she was anywhere in the hotel, he wanted her found, and at last they found her, in someone's room, he suspected, but he didn't give a damn. Whatever else she was, she was his son's mother, and he wanted her back in Paris, in case something drastic happened in France.

“Sorry to bother you, Hil.”

“Is something wrong?” The thought instantly crossed her mind that something had happened to Johnny, and as she walked naked across Philip Markham's room, holding the phone, her face wore a nervous expression. She glanced guiltily at him over her shoulder and then turned away as she waited for Nick's answer.

“Have you read the papers yesterday or today?”

“You mean that thing about the Germans and the Russians?”

“Yes, that's exactly what I mean.”

“Oh, for chrissake, Nick. I thought something had happened to Johnny.” She almost sighed with relief as she sat down on a chair and Philip began to stroke her leg as she smiled at him.

“He's fine. But I want you to come home.”

“You mean now?”

“Yes. That's exactly what I mean.”

“Why? I was coming home next week anyway.”

“That may not be soon enough.”

“For what?” She thought he was being a nervous fool, and she laughed as she watched Philip make funny faces and make obscene gestures as he returned to their freshly rumpled bed.

“I think there's going to be a war. They're mobilizing the French army, and things are liable to explode any day.”

“It won't happen as quick as that.” She had been nervous about it before they left New York, but now she had other pursuits in Cannes and the possibility of war seemed very remote to her.

“I don't want to argue with you, Hillary. I'm telling you to come home. Now!” He raised his voice as he pounded the desk, and as he attempted to control his voice he realized that he was afraid, for her as well as their son. He had thought that a war in Europe was at least a year away. He had never intended to expose his family to danger over here, and now he was suddenly desperately sorry that they had come with him. “Hillary, please … I've just been in Berlin. I know what I'm saying. Trust me for once. I want you back here in Paris if anything happens.”

“Don't be so nervous, for chrissake. I'll be home next week.” And as she said it she accepted a glass of champagne from Philip.

“Do I have to come down there and get you myself?”

“Would you do that?” Her voice on the phone sounded surprised, and he nodded as he watched Johnny playing in the garden.

“Yes, I would.”

“All right. I'll see what I can arrange. I'm giving a dinner party tonight for a few friends, and—”

“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 pact 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 start 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.

“Why do you hate me so much, Hil?”

She appeared to think about it for a time and then shrugged. “I don't know. …” And then she looked at him sadly. “Maybe because you've always reminded me of what I'm not. You wanted something that I never had to give.” It was a truth he had only recently accepted. “You gave me too much. You stifled me from the first moment we met. You should have married some sweet little schoolteacher who would give you eight children.”

“That wasn't what I had in mind. I loved you.” He looked tired and sad. It was all over between them.

“But you don't anymore, do you?” It was a question she had to ask. She had to know. It was her final ticket to freedom.

Slowly he shook his head. “No, I don't. It's better for both of us like this.”

She nodded. “Yes, it is.” And then she took a deep breath and walked to the door. “I'll go see Johnny now. How soon do we leave?”

“As soon as I can arrange it.”

“Are you coming with us, Nick?” She watched him as she asked, and regretfully he shook his head.

“I can't for a while. But I'll come home as soon as I can.” She nodded and left the room, and he walked quietly to the window and stared out at the garden.

n the night of September 6, Armand and Liane shared a light dinner she warmed for him at midnight. All Armand wanted was some soup and a piece of bread. He was too exhausted to eat. He had had an endless day of frantic meetings. The news from Poland was worse than ever, though thankfully Warsaw had not yet fallen. According to reports, the situation was critical and the Poles were facing mass extermination. Liane watched Armand's face now and she saw the grief there, and the years, and the concern for his own country.

“Liane … there's something I want to tell you.” She wondered what grim bit of news he would impart. It seemed as though that's all there was now.

“Yes?”

“The Aquitania, a British ship, docked in Southampton last night, and she will make one more trip back to the States, where they're going to convert her to carry troops. And when she sails”—he almost choked on the words—“I want you and the girls on her.” She sat and listened to him in total silence, and he watched her. For a moment there was no reaction, and then slowly she shook her head.

She sat up very straight and looked him in the eye. “No, Armand, we're not going.”

For an instant it was his turn to be startled into silence.

“Are you mad? France is at war. You must go back. I want to know that you and the girls are safe.”

“On an English ship, with the Atlantic probably crawling with U-boats? They sank the Athenia, why not this ship?”

Armand shook his head. The horrors they were hearing out of Warsaw were too fresh in his mind. He would not allow his wife and girls to stay in France to fight the Germans.

“You must not argue with me.” But he was too tired to say much more, and he met in Liane a resolve he had never anticipated.

“We are not going. The girls and I are staying here with you. We discussed it as soon as war was announced. There are other women and children here. Why should we go?”

“Because it's safer for you in the States. Roosevelt has insisted that he will not enter this war.” That much wasn't news, and Liane heard it again with disgust.

“Have you no faith in France? It will not fall like Czechoslovakia or Poland.”

“And if they drop bombs, which they surely will, do you want to be here with the girls, Liane?”

“Others lived through it in the last war.” He was so tired he was almost ready to fall asleep at the table, and she was too determined to stay. He couldn't fight her. They talked about it again the next morning, the moment he awoke, but she was even more immovable then. She ignored almost everything he said, and as he prepared to leave for the office at seven thirty, she looked at him for a last time with her gentle smile. “I love you, Armand. My place is here with you. Don't ask me again. I won't go.”

He watched her eyes for a long moment. “You're an extraordinary woman, Liane, but I knew that before. You still have the choice. You should get back to the States while you can.”

“I have nothing there. My home is here with you.”

There were tears in his eyes as he bent to kiss her goodbye. She had moved him more than she ever had before. She was as brave as any of them in Poland. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She spoke in a whisper as she kissed him, and then he was gone. She knew that she wouldn't see him again until after midnight that night, and that he would return almost stumbling with exhaustion, but at least it was for a good cause now. The country was at war. And she was staying. She would always stand by him.

re you ready to go?” Johnny nodded with big sad eyes, his puppy in his arms, and his nurse beside him. “Do you have your baseball bat in your trunk?” The child nodded again, the tears sliding down his face at last. And his father pulled him close. “I know, Son … I know … I'm going to miss you too … but it's only for a little while.” He clenched his teeth and prayed that what he said was true. But he couldn't go back yet. He couldn't desert their interests in Europe. “But I don't want to go home without you, Dad.” “It's just for a little while … I promise. …” He looked at Hillary over the child's head, and she was strangly quiet. Their bags were waiting in the hall. This time there was no second carload of trunks. They had been told that they could each bring two bags. The ship was loaded to the gills, and it was not going to be a luxurious journey, although the passenger list was sure to be impressive. Hundreds of wealthy American tourists had been trapped abroad and they had besieged their embassies in desperation to get home. All the British and French sailings scheduled for September had been canceled. The Normandie had reached New York on August 28, and had been cabled by her owners to remain in New York for safekeeping. The American ships had canceled their schedules as well, and Ambassador Kennedy in London was going mad, cabling frantically that there were an army of American tourists stranded abroad, and ships had to be sent for them. Accordingly, the Washington, Manhattan, and President Roosevelt were all on their way, but no one knew when, and the Aquitania was the only ship with a certain sailing date. And this would be her last journey before being pressed into military service.

The dangers of this last crossing were well-known to all, with terrifying tales of German U-boats on the high seas, but due to her structure, she was less vulnerable to underwater attack than most of the others. And she had made her last crossing by zigzagging handsomely across the Atlantic, at great speed and in total blackout. The trip back to the States was going to be an interesting journey.

The large black Duesenberg was waiting outside the house on the Avenue Foch and Hillary, Nick, Johnny, and the nurse somberly climbed in. They were driving to Calais, where Nick had rented a large yacht, which would take them to Dover. And he had a car waiting there to take them on to Southampton. The trip was not so much perilous as exhausting, and by the time they reached the dock on the day the ship sailed, Hillary, to her own surprise, was close to tears. She was suddenly terrified that the ship would be sunk at sea and she clung to Nick in a manner most unlike her when they read a warning before passengers boarded the ship. They were all told that they were making the crossing at. their own risk, “on a belligerent ship and were subject to sinking without notice.” It brought the point home in a way nothing else could and the three Burnhams held each other tight for a moment before Nick took them on board. He had been able to get them only one small airless cabin with three beds, a decent one for his wife, and a double bunk for Johnny and the nurse. At least, he noticed, they had their own bathroom.

He stayed with them until the last signal that he had to leave, and then he held Johnny tightly in his arms for an endless moment.

“Be a big boy, tiger, and take care of your mommy for me. And do everything she tells you on the ship. It's very important.”

“Oh, Daddy …” His voice trembled almost as much as Nick's. “Do you think we'll sink?”

“No, I don't. And I'm going to think good thoughts about you every day. And the minute you get home, Mommy is going to cable me.”

“What about my puppy?” She was trembling under the bed. Johnny had hidden her to get her on the ship. They had been told no pets, but knowing the English's soft heart for dogs, he knew that nothing would happen once she was discovered. “What'll I do with my puppy if we sink?”

“You won't. Just hold on to her real tight and keep her in your life vest.” It was a hideous thought, and he held on to Johnny's hand as he stood up to look at his wife. “Take care of yourself, Hil … and John….”He glanced down at their son, who was crying openly as he looked up at his father.

“I will, Nick. Take care of yourself over here.” And then, with a gulp, she hugged him. “Come back soon.” In the last moments on board the hatred between them seemed to dispel. This was no time for that. The possibility that they might never see each other again occurred to all three of them, and the nurse was almost hysterical as she sat sobbing on her bunk. It was going to be quite a trip, Nick knew, as he left them. He only prayed that the Aquitania would make it safely.

And he stood alone on the deck, waving frantically to the ship, until he could see them no more, and then when it was too far for his son to see, he dropped his face into his hands and began to sob. A workman on the dock coughed softly as he walked past him, and he stopped to pat Nick's shoulder.

“She'll be all right, mate … she's a great ship, she is. … I came over with her from New York … moves like the wind, she does … the krauts won't be able to touch her.” Nick nodded, grateful for the encouraging words, but he was unable to answer. He felt as though his very life and soul had set sail on the ship. He went inside the lounge for a drink of water, and saw the manifest posted on the wall. As though it would bring Johnny closer to him again, he looked at the list and saw them there. “Burnham, Mrs. Nicholas … Burnham, Master John …” The nurse was listed farther down, and then he felt his heart turn to ice as he read the name “Markham, Mr. Philip.”

he normal number of passengers accommodated on the Aquitania was 3,230 with a crew of 972, but for this last voyage, as much furniture as possible had been removed, and extra beds put in. They were carrying an additional 400 people. The accommodations were more than cramped, and there were several families traveling like Hillary and Johnny, cramped into one room, when they normally have had two or three cabins or a suite. But this trip was entirely different. Dinner was served at four and five in the afternoon, and by nightfall everything was in total blackout. The passengers were urged to be in their rooms by then, so as to avoid accidents in the corridors. The windows were painted black all over the ship, and the passengers were requested to use the bathrooms without turning on the lights, a circumstance everyone seemed to get used to. There were a vast number of Americans on board, and English too, and the British appeared particularly calm, coming to dinner in black tie every night, as though nothing were amiss, as they discussed the war news.

As for the ship itself, what was left intact still had the aura of elegant Victorian drawing rooms, and it was an odd contrast to the notices on the walls, instructing passengers what to do in case of attack by a German U-boat.

By the second day out John had seemed to calm down, enough so that Hillary felt she could introduce him to Philip Markham. She explained that he was an old friend from New York, and she had run into him on the ship, but as Hillary and Philip talked, Johnny watched them with open suspicion. And the next morning, when he saw them together on one of the promenade decks, he told his nurse, “I hate that man.” She scolded him soundly, but he didn't care, and that night he said much the same to his mother. She slapped him soundly across the face, and he looked at her without a tear. “I don't care what you do to me. When I grow up, I'm going to live with my daddy.”

“And don't you think I am too?” Her hands were still shaking but she tried to control her voice. The child was much too smart for his own good, and she was glad that he couldn't tell Nick. She wondered if he had seen them kissing. She had been in her own bed every night, though not by choice. There were three other men in Philip's cabin. “What do you mean you're going to live with your daddy? So am I.”

“No, you're not. I'll bet you're going to live with him.” He refused to even say his name, or acknowledge Philip when they met.

“That's a stupid thing to say.” But it was precisely what she and Philip had been discussing lately. She wasn't at all sold on Nick's idea that they had to stay married forever, and if she could get him to agree to a divorce when he got back, or if she could get grounds to sue him, she would, and marry Philip. “I don't want to hear you say that again.” And she didn't. He scarcely spoke to his mother again on the trip. He stayed with his nurse, and spent most of the time playing with his puppy in the cabin. It was a long, tiresome journey for them all, following a zigzag course, and with the nightly blackouts. It took them longer than usual to reach New York, and when at last they did, Hillary hoped she never saw a ship again, and she had never been so grateful to be in New York in her life, although she stayed there for only a few days before taking Johnny up to Boston to stay with her mother.

“Why do I have to stay here? Aren't we going home?” Johnny didn't understand why he had to stay with his grandmother.

“I am. And I'm going to get the apartment ready in New York.” It had been closed for four months, and she claimed that she had a lot of work to do to get it ready. But two weeks later his grandmother registered him in a school in Boston. She said that it was just for a little while, so he wouldn't miss too much school while his mother was getting the apartment ready. But he overheard his grandmother talking after that. It had been her idea to put him in school. She had no idea when Hillary was going to come back for him, and she seemed to be stalling. Johnny knew why, though he kept silent. She was probably with that man … Mr. Markham. … He was going to write to his father about it and tell him, but something told him that that wouldn't be such a good idea. His dad might get too worried. It would be better to tell him when he saw him. And in the last letter he'd gotten from his dad, Nick told him that he would come home as soon as he could, probably right after Christmas. It seemed like a long time to Johnny, but Christmas was only two months away, his father reminded him in the letter.

It was a lonely life for Johnny with his grandmother. She was elderly and nervous. Johnny was just glad that she had let him bring his puppy with him.

It was a week after Nick had written the last letter to Johnny that he ran into Armand and Liane at a small dinner party given by the American consul. It was the first time Armand and Liane had been out in months, and everyone seemed to have aged considerably over the summer. Liane was wearing a very pretty long black satin dress, but she looked very tired. The strain was telling on them all, although on the surface Paris was very calm. But everyone was still grieving over the surrender of Warsaw a month before. The Poles had fought valiantly until the end, but the Soviets had attacked them from the east on the seventeenth of September, and on the twenty-eighth it was all over, despite all their efforts, including Nick's steel. Their sister city of the east had fallen.

“How have you been?” Nick found himself sitting next to Liane at dinner, with Armand at the other end of the table. And Nick thought Armand looked ten years older than he had on the ship in June. He had been working fifteen and eighteen hours a day and it showed. Armand looked like an old man now, and he had just turned fifty-seven.

“We're all right.” Liane spoke very softly. “Armand has been burning the candle at both ends and in the middle.” She saw the ravages too, but there was no help for that. He would push himself until he dropped, for the love of his country. It left her alone with the girls almost all the time, but she accepted that too. She had no choice now. And she was doing volunteer work for the Red Cross. There wasn't much she could do yet, but it was something. They were helping to ship vast numbers of German and Eastern European Jews out through France, and at least she knew she was helping to save some lives. They were going to South America and the United States, and Canada and Australia. “How's my friend John?” She smiled at Nick now.

“He's all right. I'm not entirely sure where he is though.” Nick had expected him to be in New York, but the letter he had gotten from Johnny had said that he was with his grandmother in Boston, probably for a visit, to reassure her that he was all right.

But Liane looked confused. “Isn't he here with you?”

Nick shook his head. “They sailed on the Aquitania in September, on her last trip over. Actually, what I meant was that I thought he was in New York, but he appears to be in Boston with my mother-in-law.”

“You sent him alone?” Liane looked shocked. It was the ship that Armand had tried to get her to sail on.

“No, his mother went too. I didn't want them over here anymore. I feel better knowing that they're in the States.” Liane nodded. It made sense even though it hadn't been what she had wanted. She suspected however that Hillary Burnham had been only too happy to go. She had heard the rumors about Philip Markham. The international community in Paris was small and inbred and very loquacious. But Liane looked at Nick now, wondering how he was faring. He looked tired too, although not as much as Armand. She remembered their last conversation on the ship and wondered how his life had been since then. It seemed a thousand years ago since they had all come over, and it had only been four months since then.

“And how are you doing?”

“All right, I suppose.” He lowered his voice to speak his mind. She always brought that out in him. She was that kind of woman. “I have to live with my mistakes and my misjudgments.” She knew immediately what he meant, that he was referring to his German contracts.

“You're not the only one who misjudged them. Think of what they're saying in the States. Roosevelt is trying to get reelected next year on the basis that the Americans won't ever get involved in the war over here. It's madness.”

“Willkie is saying the same thing. They might as well be on the same ticket.”

“Who do you suppose will win?” Liane asked. It seemed odd to be speaking of the American elections while Europe was in blazes around them.

“Roosevelt will, of course.”

“For a third term?”

“Do you doubt it?”

She smiled. “Not really.” It was nice speaking of those things with him. A taste of sanity and home in the midst of the nightmare they were living.

The dinner party ended early and Armand took Liane home. He yawned all the way and patted his wife's hand in the back of the Citroën, with its government driver. “I see that Burnham was there tonight. I never got a chance to talk to him. How is he?”

“Fine.” Their conversation had had none of the personal flavor of their talks on the ship, but that was to be expected.

“I'm surprised he's still here.”

“He says he's going home after Christmas. The boy and his wife went home on the Aquitania.”

“Probably with Philip Markham.”

“Did you know about that?” She looked at Armand in surprise, and then she grinned. He had never mentioned it to her, she had heard it on her own, from some of the Americans she knew in Paris. “Is there anything you don't know, Armand?”

“Hopefully not. Information is my business.” He knew also about Burnham's secret deals with Poland but he didn't say so. And then Armand glanced quickly at the driver. But the man was to be trusted. He had top security clearance.

“Is it?” Liane looked surprised. That wouldn't have been how she would have described his work. But nowadays everything was changing.

And Armand drifted away rapidly from the subject. “It was nice seeing you all dressed up tonight, my love. Like the old days, when we lived in a peaceful world.” She nodded slowly. She was still thinking about what he had said, but she didn't want to question him in the car. She had seen him glance at the driver. But she had been wondering about his activities for a while. He never told her anymore about what was going on at the office. He told her just the news that she read every day anyway in the paper. But he was much more secretive than he had been in the past. And more tired than she had ever known him. They hadn't made love since late August. And she suspected that tonight would be no different. He was already drifting off to sleep in the car before they reached the Place du Palais-Bourbon. She woke him up and they went upstairs, and while she was undressing, he did the same and reached the bed first, and was sound asleep when she got there.

n the thirtieth of November, two days after Americans all over the United States had carved their turkeys, Soviet air and ground troops attacked Finland. As usual, Liane did not see Armand. She was starting to feel that their marriage was beginning to crumble along with Europe. For months she had felt that she could serve France by serving him, but more and more now he kept a distance from her that she had never felt before. He was distracted and silent, uninvolved with the girls; their sex life was at a total standstill. He gave all of his energies to France, and would allow her to give none of hers to him. He told her absolutely nothing now, and she no longer asked him what was new. She felt as though she were living alone with the girls, and they noticed it too, although, out of respect for Armand, she denied it to them.

“Papa is just very busy. You know that. It's the war.” But she was beginning to wonder if it was just that, or if it was something more. There were constant secret meetings at all hours of the day and night, and once or twice he went away for the weekend, but could not tell her where or with whom. She wondered briefly if he was involved with a mistress, as well as the war, but she didn't really think that.

Whatever was happening in his life, it did not include her. She might as well have gone back to the States, for the little she saw of him. And she found herself wondering now and then how Nick Burnham was holding up without his son, living in the enormous house on the Avenue Foch, all alone.

In fact, he was even more lonely than Liane. At least she had her daughters. He had no one at all. He had heard not a single word from Hillary since he'd left her on board the Aquitania in September. His only letters had been from Johnny, and one from his mother-in-law. All he could gather from what she told him was that Hillary was terribly busy in New York, and for some vague, undisclosed reason, Johnny was going to continue staying with her. Nick knew exactly what Hillary was up to. It was either Philip Markham, or someone else, but she didn't want to be saddled with her child, any more than she had wanted to the past summer. It turned Nick's stomach to think of the boy alone with his grandmother in Boston, but for the moment nothing could be done. He had planned to stay in Paris until after Christmas, but by the end of the week he knew that he couldn't go back yet. He had made a commitment he had to live up to, to assist the French. Now he hoped to be back in New York by April, though he didn't tell Johnny that when he wrote to him, not wanting to get the child's hopes up until he was sure. He just said soon. He cabled his office in New York to buy the boy a mountain of Christmas presents and have them delivered to Boston. It wasn't much of a replacement for a father or a mother, but it was something; it was all he could do for the moment. And it was more than he had in Paris on Christmas Day.

He stood alone in the paneled library, where he had once stood watching Johnny play in the garden, and now there was no one and nothing. The trees were bare, the garden was pale gray, there was no sound in the house … no Christmas tree … no carols … no shining face exploding with glee, digging through an overstuffed Christmas stocking. There was only the sound of his own footsteps as he walked up the stairs to his bedroom, carrying the last bottle of brandy he had bought before the war, and praying for a few hours of oblivion, when he wouldn't be aching for his only son. But even the brandy didn't help, and he stopped after three stiff drinks. They were just enough to take the edge off and then he sat down to write Johnny a letter, telling him how much he missed him, and how next Christmas would be much better than this. Nick Burnham was grateful when at last night fell, and he drew the curtains, turned off the light, and went to sleep.

he next four or five months were characterized by a period of limbo, a time referred to as the “phony war” in France, when nothing seemed to happen. The French stood staunchly at the Maginot Line, prepared to defend their country but not being asked to. And in Paris life went on almost as normal. After the initial shock, there were very few changes, unlike London, where rationing was acute and uncomfortable, sirens shrieked, and air raid drills were common almost every night. But in Paris, life was very different from all that.

It created a kind of subterranean tension, coupled with a false sense of security that nothing would ever change. Armand went on with his constant secret meetings, and rather than being supportive, Liane was beginning to get annoyed. At least he could tell her something about what he was doing, she reasoned. He had always trusted her before, but it was clear that he didn't now. He went on with his mysterious war work, disappearing occasionally for a few days at a time. She would get a quiet call from his office, telling her only that Monsieur had gone out of town.

The lull that appeared to overtake Paris allowed Nick to continue his work. There was the feeling in the air that this could go on for quite a while. Nick almost left in April, as he had planned, but things were so peaceful in Paris that he decided to tie everything up himself and stay for just one more month. And it was that month that was decisive. Suddenly the cancer that had spread so quietly erupted all around them. On May tenth Hitler attacked the Lowlands—Belgium, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg—and on May fourteenth the Dutch surrendered, after which the Germans moved into northern France. Suddenly everyone was frenzied and alert as they hadn't been since the previous August and September. The lull was over, and terror reigned. It was obvious now that Hitler had only been biding his time before attacking the rest of Europe. Once again the British had been right. But when Liane attempted to discuss it with her husband, he said nothing more to her. He had his hands full with his secret work.

Amiens and Arras fell on May 21, and the Belgians surrendered officially a week later, on May 28. During this time the evacuation of Dunkirk had begun, on May 24, and had continued for eleven horrendous, frenzied days. The news in Paris was appalling, the loss of life beyond anyone's worst fears. And on June 4, when the evacuation ended, Churchill spoke to the House of Commons, promising to fight in France, in Britain, or on the seas, whatever the cost would be. “… we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender!”

Six days later Italy entered the war. And on June 12, tragedy of tragedies in all eyes, Paris was declared an open city. The French had decided not to fight. On the fourteenth of June, Armand and Liane's eleventh anniversary, the Germans marched into Paris, and within hours the swastika flew from every major building in sight. From the Place du Palais-Bourbon Liane watched them, the ugly red flags flying in the breeze, as tears poured down her face. She hadn't seen Armand since the day before, and she was praying for his safety. But more than that, she was crying for France. The French had appealed for aid from her own country, but had been declined, and now Paris was in the hands of the Germans. It was enough to break anyone's heart.

Armand returned to the house for a moment that afternoon, on foot, by the back streets, to assure himself that Liane and the girls were not in danger. He told them to lower the drapes and keep the doors locked. The Germans would harm no one, but it was best not to catch their attention. He found her crying in their bedroom the moment he came in, and he took her in his arms. He was hurrying back to his office. They had destroyed truckloads of papers the day before, but there was still work to do before they turned the city over officially to the Germans, and now he told her that Premier Reynaud's cabinet would resign on the day after next. They had plans to flee south to Bordeaux, and Liane looked at him in sudden panic.

“Are you going with them?”

“Of course not. Do you think I'd leave you here alone?” His voice was tired and sharp and angry, and she didn't understand what he was saying.

“But don't you have to? Armand …”

“We'll discuss it later. Now, do as I tell you and stay indoors. Keep the girls quiet. Don't let the maids out….” He left her with a flurry of last instructions and disappeared into the silent streets. Others like them were indoors, hiding. It appeared almost like a deserted city as the German troops made their way through the town. There was not even one café open. There was nothing. No people, no open shops, no French soldiers. Those who had chosen to flee had left days before, and those who had chosen to stay were hiding. But by that night, a few ventured to their balconies, waving small German flags, and as Liane saw them she felt sick to her stomach. They were traitors, pigs. She wanted to scream as she saw them, but instead she closed the curtains quietly and waited for Armand to return. For days she had wondered what they would do next. There was no escape now. They were in the hands of the Germans. She had known when she had decided to stay in Paris with Armand after war was declared that one day this might happen. But in her heart of hearts she had never believed it. Paris could not be taken. And it wasn't. It was given.

Armand did not return to the house until almost dawn two days later. He was strangely quiet, his face pale, and he said nothing to his wife as he laid on the bed with all his clothes on. He did not sleep, he did not speak, he just lay there. After two hours he got up and bathed and changed his clothes as Liane watched. It was obvious that he was going out, but to where? He no longer had an office to go to. It belonged to the Germans.

“Where are you going?”

“This is the day of Reynaud's resignation. I must be there.”

“Do you have to leave?” He nodded. “And then what?”

He looked sadly at his wife. Finally he had to tell her something. For months now he had belonged to France and not Liane. It was like belonging to two women, and he didn't have the strength for both. It was almost as though he had betrayed Liane, with all her patience, all her trust, her love. He had to tell her. For too long now he had kept his secrets. “Reynaud leaves today for Bordeaux, Liane.” The words had an ominous ring to them, but he had told her that much two nights before. And he had said he wasn't going. “Before he leaves, there will be an official surrender.”

“And we will be ruled by the Germans.”

“Indirectly. Maréchal Philippe Pétain will become our President, with the approval of the Germans. He is supported by Jean François Darlan and Pierre Laval, two fine naval men of France.” It sounded like a party line and Liane stared at him.

“Armand, what are you saying? That Pétain will collaborate with the Germans?”

“For the benefit of France.” She couldn't believe what he was saying. And where was he in all this mess? With Reynaud and the old world, or Pétain and his collusion with the Germans? She could hardly bring herself to ask him, but she had to.

“And you?” But suddenly she realized that he had already told her. The two nights before when he had told her that Reynaud was fleeing to Bordeaux, he had told her that he was staying. She almost felt sick as she remembered, and she sat down on the edge of their bed, her eyes huge in her face. “Armand, answer me.” At first he said nothing, and then he sat down slowly beside her. Perhaps it was safe to tell her more than he had planned to. He had missed her for so long now. But it had been vital that he not involve her. “Armand?” The tears ran slowly from her eyes.

“I stay with Pétain.” The words fell from him like rocks. but in sharing it with her, it took a burden off his shoulders. She only shook her head and cried as she listened, and then she looked at him, brokenhearted.

“I don't believe you.”

“I have to.”

“Why?” It was a single word of accusation as she cried uncontrollably beside him.

And then he spoke to her in a whisper. “I can serve France better this way.”

“With Pétain? You're crazy!” She was shouting at him, but suddenly she saw something in his eyes and sat very still on the bed as she watched him. “What do you mean?” She lowered her voice, and he took her hands in his own.

“Ma Liane … what a good woman you have been … so brave and strong all this winter … stronger than I sometimes …”He sighed deeply and spoke so that only she could hear him. “Pétain trusts me. He knows me from the First World War. I fought well for him, and he believes I will again.”

“Armand, what are you saying?” They were speaking in hushed whispers and she wasn't even sure why, except that suddenly she suspected that he was about to tell her what she had wondered about for months.

“I'm telling you that I will stay here in Paris and work for Pétain.”

“Working for the Germans?” But it was not an accusation now. It was a question.

“So it will appear.”

“And in truth?”

“I will be working for the others, in every way I can. There will be resistance from many quarters. The government may go to North Africa. I will stay in close touch with Reynaud, De Gaulle, the others.”

“And if you're caught, they'll kill you.” The tears barely staunched began again now. “For God's sake, what are you doing?”

“The only thing I can now. I'm too old to run to the hills with the others. And that isn't what I'm good at. I've been with the diplomatic service all my life. I know what I need to do to help them. I speak German—” He didn't finish the sentence, and suddenly she pulled him close to her and held him.

“Something will happen. … I couldn't bear it….”

“Nothing will happen. I will be very cautious. I will be safe here,” But from his words she sensed what he was going to say next and she didn't want to hear it. “But I want you and the girls to go back to the States now, as soon as we can get you out of France.”

“I won't leave you.”

“You have no choice. I shouldn't have let you stay in September. But I wanted you here with me—” His voice faltered and then he went on. He knew how hard the past nine months had been for her, and he was sorry he had kept her beside him. It had been selfish and he knew it. But now those days were over. “You will endanger my mission if you stay, Liane … and the girls … it will be too dangerous for them here now, with the Germans all over Paris. You have to go when I can arrange it.” She hoped that he would not be able to arrange it quickly. It terrified her to think of leaving him in France, acting as a double agent, against the Germans and Pétain.

But despite her fears for him, when he left her again to go back to confer with Pétain and the Germans a little while later, she was relieved as she hadn't been in months. She had suspected that something was going on and the ignorance of what it was had almost killed her. She had even come to distrust him, to suspect him. And now she felt guilty about that. But she also felt something for him that she hadn't felt for a long, long time. A kind of passionate respect and affection. He had confided in her. He trusted her, and she believed in him as she had in the very beginning. As Paris fell, their marriage rose from the ashes, and she went to make breakfast for the girls with a lighter heart than she had felt in a very long time.

That afternoon, Pétain was installed as the official head of France. As Armand had foretold, Reynaud fled to Bordeaux. Brigadier General Charles de Gaulle went to London to discuss getting troops to North Africa, and Churchill vowed to assist the French Resistance in every way he could. De Gaulle broadcast a brief speech into France on June 18, begging those still faithful to France “to carry on the fight,” and Liane listened to him avidly on a radio concealed in her dressing room, lest the house be invaded suddenly by the Germans. One could no longer be certain of one's safety, Armand had warned her since the fall of Paris. That night she recounted the speech to Armand. He told her then that he was researching a ship for her. It was imperative that he get her out of France quickly. To do it later would arouse suspicion among Pétain's men. Why would his wife want to leave? But if she left immediately after the fall of Paris, he could explain that Liane as an American disapproved of his loyalties and they had had a parting of the ways, and she wanted to go home.

Four days later Armand went to Compiègne, in the North of France, to watch Hitler, Goering, and Keitel, Chief of Hitler's Supreme Command, read the conditions of their occupation and officially become the masters of France. It was a ceremony that tore at his soul, and as the band played “Deutschland, Deutschland über Alles,” he thought he might faint, but he smiled valiantly through it all, and in his heart he prayed that one day the occupation would end. He would gladly have given his life at that moment to buy back France from the Germans. And when he returned to Liane that night, he looked worse than she had ever seen him. He was a man who had looked so youthful for so many years, but in the past months she had watched him grow old. And for the first time in many years, he turned to her that night in their bed and touched her with the gentleness and passion she remembered from long ago. They lay side by side afterward, thinking their own thoughts and dreams, as Armand tried to force from his mind what he'd seen that day. He had watched his country, his first love, being raped. Liane sat up on one elbow then and looked down at him, and she could see that there were tears trickling slowly from his eyes.

“Don't, my love …” She pulled him close to her. “It will all end one day soon.” But she wished that he were in Bordeaux with the others, and not dancing on the tightrope he had committed himself to here in Paris.

He took a deep breath then and looked at her. “I have something to tell you, Liane.” She wondered what more he could tell her now, and for an instant there was a flash of fear in her eyes. “I have found a ship for you and the girls. A freighter. She's still outside Toulon. I'm not sure they know about her yet, and she's not important enough for them to care. I received word through the underground. She has stayed off the coast, a good distance out. A fishing boat crossed her path a week ago and told her of the fall of France. And now she waits. She was going to head back to North Africa to serve the government, but there are still others like you here, and this may be the last chance to get out. I'm going to take you to Toulon myself. A fishing boat will take you out. It's dangerous, but it will be far more dangerous for you here.”

“It will be much more dangerous for you, Armand.” She sat up quietly in their bed and looked sadly down at the only man she had ever loved. “Why don't you go to North Africa to serve the government?”

He shook his head. “I can't. They have their work to do there. I have mine here.” He smiled sadly. “You have yours as well. You must leave here, taking my secret with you, and our girls. And you must keep them safe until this madness ends. And then you can come to me again.” He sighed and his mouth formed a bittersweet smile. “I may even retire then.” But who knew when that would be?

“You should retire now.”

“I'm not that old.”

“You've given enough.”

“I will give them my best now.” She knew he would and could only pray that it would not cost him his life.

“Is there nothing less dangerous you can do for France?”

“Liane …” He pulled her into his arms. She knew her husband very well. It was much, much too late to change his mind. She was only glad that he had told her the truth before they left France. It would have killed her to believe him allied sincerely with Pétain. At least now she knew the truth. She would not be able to tell anyone, lest her indiscretion cost him his life, but at least she knew, and one day they would tell the girls, who were too young to understand anyway for now.

It took her a long time to gather up the courage to ask him what she least wanted to know. “How soon do we leave?”

For a moment he didn't answer her, and then he pulled her tighter still. “Tomorrow night.” She gasped at his words, and in spite of her best efforts to be brave, her shoulders shook and she began to cry.

“Shhh … mon ange … ça ne vaut pas la peine … we will be together again soon.” But God only knows when. They lay awake side by side for a long time that night, and Liane wished, as the sun came up, that the night would never end.

hey made their trip to Toulon by back roads in a borrowed car with their headlights off, and Armand's new official papers with them in the car. Liane wore a black dress and a black scarf. She had dressed the girls in slacks and shirts and sensible shoes. They each carried one small bag with their things. The rest they would have to leave in France. They spoke very little on the trip. The girls slept, and Liane glanced at Armand frequently, as though to drink in her last hours of him. She could scarcely believe that in a few hours she and the girls would be gone.

“This will be worse than my last year in school,” she joked in a soft voice as the girls slept. And they both remembered the year they were engaged, when he was in Vienna and she at Mills College in Oakland. But this could go on for much longer than a year, as they both knew. No one knew for how long. Hitler had a firm grip on Europe's throat, and it would take time to loosen his grasp. But she knew that Armand would do all he could to make the end come soon. And there were scores of others just as devoted as he was. Even the children's nurse had astonished her. Liane had told her regretfully that she was taking the girls back to the States, and that they could not take her along. And she had been amazed to find Mademoiselle pleased. She told Liane bluntly that she would not work for one of the followers of Pétain, and then, in a passionate outburst, she admitted that she was going to leave them anyway, she was going to join the Resistance centered in the heart of France. It was a brave admission for her to make, but she trusted Liane, and the two women hugged and wept, and the girls cried when she left them earlier that day. It had been a long, painful day of good-byes, but the worst of all came on a creaking dock in Toulon as Armand handed the girls to the powerful men on the fishing boat. They clung to each other and cried, and then Liane held on to him for a last time, her eyes begging him, her voice beyond control.

“Armand, come with us…. Darling, please …” But he only shook his head, his body ramrod straight, and his arms as powerful as they had always been.

“I have a job to do here.” He looked once more at the girls and then at her. “Remember what I told you. I will get letters to you, censored or not, in whatever way I can. And even when you hear not a single word, know that I am well … be confident, my love … be brave …” His voice began to crack and tears filled his eyes as well, but he looked down at her and smiled. “I love you with all my heart and soul, Liane.” She choked on her own sobs and kissed him on the mouth and then gently he pushed her into the men's hands. “Godspeed, my love … Au revoir, mesfilles….” And without waiting a moment more the boat pulled out and left him there, waving in the night in his pin-striped suit, his mane of white hair blowing in the summer breeze. “Au revoir …”He whispered it again as the little fishing boat was swallowed up by the dark of night. “Au revoir …” And he prayed it was not adieu.

s it turned out, it took them two days, not one, to meet the freighter, the Deauville. She had had to move farther out several days before to avoid detection, but the fishing boat from Toulon knew exactly where she was. They had been making this same trip all week, each time stopping on the way back to fish, so that they would have something to show for their absences if they were stopped. But the Germans were too busy enjoying France, and the Resistance had not gotten under way in full yet. There were cafés and girls and boulevards to catch their eyes on the shore. And all the while the Deauville sat, collecting passengers that had been arriving on board all week. She had left her cargo in North Africa, and she was traveling light, with the exception of the sixty passengers occupying the fifteen cabins on board, mostly Americans, and two French Jews, a dozen Englishmen who had been living in the South of France, and some Canadians. It was generally an amazing assortment of people, anxious to be out of France and relieved to be on the ship.

They huddled quietly on the deck all day, and sat in the overcrowded dining room at night with the crew, waiting for the ship to set sail. The captain had said that they would sail out quietly, late that night, though he was still expecting a woman and two little girls, the family of a French diplomat. And when Liane and the two girls boarded the ship, they discovered that they were the only females on board, but Liane was too numb and exhausted to care. The girls had cried for two days for their papa, and all three of them reeked of fish from the little fishing boat. Elisabeth had been sick the whole way, and all Liane could think about was Armand. It was a nightmarish beginning to their return to the States, but they had begun the journey now and they had to persevere. She owed it to Armand to keep the girls happy until they were all together again, but every time she thought of it, she had to fight back tears of her own. She almost fell into the arms of the crewmen on the Deauville, who half carried Liane and the girls to their room. Both the girls were sunburned and chilled, and Liane herself felt too exhausted to walk another foot. They closed the door and fell onto the bunks, and all three of them fell asleep. Liane didn't wake again until late that night when she felt the gentle pitching of the ship. She looked out the porthole into the night, and she realized that they had set sail. She wondered if a U-boat would catch them before they reached the States, but it was too late to turn back now, and Armand would never have let her anyway. They were going home. She went quietly back to her bunk, after tucking the girls in as they slept, and then went back to sleep until the dawn.

When she got up, she took a shower in the bathroom they shared with approximately fifteen men. There were four bathrooms for the use of the fifteen cabins on the ship, and the lines were long, but not yet at that hour of the day, and she returned to the cabin, feeling refreshed and hungry for the first time in three days.

“Madame?” There was a soft knock at the door and an unfamiliar voice, and she opened it to see a swarthy-looking sailor of the French merchant marine, holding out a steaming mug to her. “Du café?”

“Merci.” She took a careful sip of the steaming brew after she had sat down again, and was touched at the thoughtfulness. As the only woman on board, she was liable to earn courtesies that no one else would share. But that didn't seem quite fair to her. They were all in the same boat. She grinned to herself at the bad joke. And as much as she didn't want to leave France and Armand, she was grateful for the escape. She vowed to herself to do anything she could to help on the ship, but when she and the girls stepped into the dining room, she saw that everything was very much under control. Breakfast was being served in shifts to the passengers on board, and people were quick to eat and give up their seats. The atmosphere was one of camaraderie and helpfulness, and she was aware of no impertinent stares. A number of men spoke kindly to the girls. Most of them were Americans who, for one reason or another, hadn't been able to get home since the outbreak of the war. She discovered quickly that at least a dozen or so of the men were journalists, the two Canadians were doctors, and the rest were for the most part businessmen who for whatever reason had held on in France until the end. There was much talk of Hitler now, and the fall of France, how easily Paris had opened up its doors … De Gaulle's recent speech … Churchill … The room was ablaze with interpretations of the news, bits of gossip were passed around, and then suddenly she saw a familiar form across the room. She couldn't believe it could be him. He was a tall blond man in sailor's garb that didn't seem to fit quite right, his shoulders were straining at the seams, and when she looked down, she saw that the pants were more than a little short. But when he turned to help himself to more coffee from the pot, their eyes met, almost as though he sensed her glance, and he stared at her in equal disbelief until his face broke into a broad smile, and he abandoned his chair at once and came to shake her hand and hug the girls.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Nick Burnham stared down at Liane with a broad grin and then glanced down at the pants he wore. “My luggage fell overboard when I arrived. Damn, it's good to see you all. Where's Armand?” He looked around and then realized the answer, as Liane's face fell.

Her voice was husky as she answered. “He stayed in France.”

“Will he be going to North Africa?” He lowered his voice, but she only shook her head. She didn't have the heart to tell him that he was staying in Paris with Pétain.

She turned her eyes up to Nick's then and shook her head. “Isn't it amazing, Nick? A year ago we were all on the Normandie. And now look at us.” She smiled at his pants, and they both looked sadly around the room. “France has fallen into German hands … we're all running for our lives … who would have believed …” And then she looked at Nick again. “I thought you left long ago.”

“I wasn't that smart. Things were so quiet then, I decided to stick around for another month, and then all hell broke loose, and it was too late to get out. I could have gone back on the Queen Mary in March. But instead”—he grinned— “well, at least we'll get home. Not as elegantly as we arrived perhaps, but what the hell.”

“What news do you have of John?”

“He's fine. I'm going home to rescue him. He's been with his grandmother since he left.” Something unhappy crossed Nick's eyes, they all had such complicated lives, such painful histories they brought along. And then he gestured to three empty seats. “Why don't you three sit down and eat. I'll catch you later and we can talk.”

“No tennis courts this time?” She grinned. It was so strange to see him here, and a relief too. Suddenly the sorrow of fleeing the war was reduced to an absurd adventure. And she could see the same thoughts in his eyes too.

“It's crazy, isn't it? Crazier yet to see you here.” He had been fascinated during the entire day before to learn of how the others had heard of the ship, but somehow, remarkably, they had. It was indeed an interesting assortment on board. Crockett Shipping, via Liane, Burnham Steel, thanks to him, two Harvard professors who had finished a stint at Cambridge the month before and were anxious to get out … the tales went on and on. He went back to his seat to grab his coffee cup, and came back to Liane's table to chat for a moment before he moved on. They would have plenty of time to talk on the trip.

They had no idea how long it would take them to get to New York. It depended on how far they had to wander off course to avoid any dangers the captain feared. Nick had been told the captain's instincts were good—he was sure to keep them out of danger—and he passed the cheering information on to Liane, on the upper deck later on.

“So, old friend, how have you been?” The girls were playing with their dolls in the sun, and Liane sat propped against a ladder, while Nick leaned against a rail. “We seem to meet in the oddest spots. …”

His thoughts drifted back to the year before as he glanced out to sea and then back at Liane. “Do you realize that the name of my suite on the Normandie was the Deauville suite? It must have been prophetic.” He shook his head.

“And do you remember how we talked about the war, as though it would never come?”

“Armand thought it would. I was the fool then.” He shrugged. “And you told me that one of these days I'd have to make a choice about who I sold my contracts to. And you were right.”

“You made the right choices in the end.” It made her think of Armand again. How could she explain to anyone that he was now working for Pétain?

He looked intently at Liane then. “Doesn't all of that seem terribly unreal? I don't know … I feel like I've been on another planet for the past year.”

She nodded, feeling the same way. “We've all been so engrossed in what's happening here.”

“It's going to be very strange to go back, you know. They aren't going to want to hear about what we know, what we've seen.”

“Do you think that's true?” That seemed shocking to her now. The war in Europe was so real. How could the United States go on ignoring that, yet she recognized that in the States everyone felt that they were safe, Europe was so far away. She shook her head. “I suppose it is.”

“Where are you and the girls going to live, Liane?”

It was a question she had debated at great length with Armand on the way to Toulon. He wanted her to go back to San Francisco—to her uncle George, but she was adamant about that. Washington felt more like home. “Back to Washington. We have friends there. The girls can go back to their old school.” She was going to stay at the Shoreham hotel if she could get a room, and then she'd try to rent some sort of furnished house in Georgetown, where they could wait out the war. She wasn't even sure she was going to tell her uncle that she was back in the States at first but undoubtedly he would find out from her bank, and she knew that she owed it to him to tell him. But she had never felt close to the man, and she didn't want him pressing her to come home. The only home she had recognized for years was wherever she was living with Armand.

Liane glanced at Nick now, thinking of his life. There had been several questions she'd been wondering about. “You're going back to New York, to pick up the threads of your old life?” It was the only way she could think of to ask him about his wife. And he nodded slowly.

“I'm going to bring Johnny back from Boston.” And then he looked at Liane with honest eyes. He had been honest with her before, and there was no reason not to be now. “I don't really know what Hillary's been up to since she left. I wrote to her, I cabled her a number of times. But ever since her cable in September, telling me that they had arrived safely in New York, I haven't heard a word. I suspect she's seen damn little of Johnny.” The green eyes began to burn, and he wanted to tell her now that he had seen Philip Markham's name on the manifest of the Aquitania. He had told no one since it had happened.

“Does he sound all right in his letters?” She was asking about John and her eyes reached deep into Nick's as she did. She was wondering all of the same things that he was. Most of all, why had Hillary left the boy in Boston?

“I think so. But he sounds lonely.”

Liane smiled gently. “I'm sure he misses you very much.” She had already seen a year before that he was a wonderful father.

“I miss him too.” His eyes softened as he thought of his son. “I took him to Deauville before the war broke out, and we had such a good time. …” They both fell silent then. It seemed a thousand years ago, and it brought their minds back to the occupation of Paris. It was still difficult to believe that Paris was now in the hands of the Germans and it made Liane think of Armand and the difficult position he would be in. She was so frightened for him, and there was no one she could tell. No one. Not even Nick. He watched her face, and he assumed that he knew what she was thinking. It was inevitably about Armand. He touched her arm gently as she stared out to sea. “He'll be all right, Liane. He's a wise and capable man.” She nodded and said nothing. The question was if he was wise enough to outsmart the Germans. “You know, when I put Johnny on that damn ship last year, I thought I was going to pass out on the dock, just thinking about them crossing with German U-boats in the waters. But they got on just fine, and God knows the waters were dangerous even then.” He looked pointedly at Liane. “Even surrounded by Germans, Armand will be all right. He's been a diplomat all his life. It will serve him well now, no matter what.” No matter what … Her mind echoed his words…. If he only knew….

She looked sadly at Nick and tears began to fill her eyes. “I wanted to stay with him.”

“I'm sure you did. But you were wiser to leave.”

“I had no choice. Armand insisted. And he said that I couldn't endanger the girls—” Her voice choked and she couldn't go on. She turned away so he wouldn't see her cry, but suddenly she felt him holding her in a warm, brotherly hug, and she stood there on the deck, crying in his arms. It was not an unusual sight now, even among the men. They had all suffered losses and terrible separations in leaving Europe. And it suddenly didn't even seem strange to be crying in Nick's arms, this man whose path had crossed hers from time to time, and whom she scarcely knew, and yet they both felt they knew each other well. They had always met at peculiar times, in circumstances that allowed them both to be surprisingly open. Or maybe that was just the way he was. But she didn't think about it now. She just stood there, grateful for his warmth and compassion. He let her cry for a while and then he patted her back with a gentle hand.

“Come on, let's go inside and have a cup of coffee.” There was a constantly available pot in the dining room, and it did a land-office business. There was nothing else to do on the ship except sit around and talk, or walk the decks, or sit in one's cabin while others slept or poured out their stories of the war. The ship wasn't set up for entertainment or distraction. And the few books that had been lined up on shelves in the dining hall had disappeared when the first passengers boarded. Even the zigzag course grew tedious very quickly, and it was difficult to escape one's own thoughts in the monotony of looking out at the empty horizon. The mind drifted back to recent weeks, to the events of the past month, to the people one had left…. Liane sat down in the dining room at an empty table and tried to stop her tears. As she blew her nose in a lace handkerchief the children had given her for her last birthday, she looked up at Nick with an attempt at a smile.

“I'm sorry.”

“For what? For being human? For loving your husband? Don't be silly, Liane. When I put Johnny on the Aquitania, I stood on the dock as it pulled out, and cried like a baby.” He still remembered the dockworker who had patted his shoulder and muttered a few comforting words. But nothing had really helped. He had never felt so bereft in his life. But Liane was looking at him now and her face registered a question. He hadn't mentioned Hillary.

“But you told me that Hillary went with him.” Suddenly she was confused. Had he sent the child alone? But she thought …

“Yeah.” He decided to tell her now. “And with Philip Markham. Do you know who he is?” Nick's eyes grew hard as he stared into his coffee and then back at Liane. He spoke in a low voice and his hand shook slightly on his cup.

“I've heard the name.” All over Paris for a while, linked to Hillary. But she didn't say that. “He's something of an international figure.”

Nick smiled a bitter little smile. “An international playboy, to be exact. My wife has charming taste. They spent the summer in the South of France together.”

“Did you know they would be on the ship together?”

Nick shook his head. “I saw his name on the manifest after they left that morning.”

She couldn't resist asking the next question. Does it still bother you, Nick?” He should have been used to her indiscretions by now.

He looked into her face, at the softness of her skin, and wondered as he had before how two women could be so different. “My source of concern isn't because she's my wife. I'm past that. I never got a chance to tell you, but after we spoke on the Normandie that night, I don't think I ever felt the same way again. I think she'd pushed me too far. And I let her do what she wanted in Paris. But I care because of Johnny. If she continues carrying on like that, one of these days she's going to find someone who suits her, and she may get ideas into her head about leaving and taking Johnny. Up to now she's been content to live with me and fool around, I've gotten to the point where I can live with that.” He fell silent for a moment and then told Liane the truth. “I'm scared … I'm so goddamn scared that I'd lose Johnny.”

“You couldn't.”

“I could. She's his mother. If we got divorced, she could do anything she damn well pleased. She could move to Timbuktu, and then what? I see him once a year for a two-week vacation?” It was a horrifying thought he had pondered often, particularly lately. He knew from Hillary's silence that things had changed in the last six months. Before, she had felt some obligation to report to him. But there had been not a word, not a line, not a sound since the first cable.

“I didn't think she was that interested in the boy.” Liane looked worried for him.

“She's not. But she cares about what people think. And if she gives him up, people will say a lot of ugly things about her. She'd rather keep him and park him somewhere with his nurse while she goes off to play. She hardly ever called him last summer when she was in Cannes with Markham.”

“What are you going to do about all that, Nick?”

He sighed deeply and finished the last of his coffee before he set his cup down and looked her in the eyes. “I'm going to go home and shorten her leash again. I'm going to remind her that she's married to me and that's the way it's going to stay. She'll hate me for it, but I don't give a damn. It's the only way I can keep my kid. And, damn it, that's what I'm going to do.”

Liane felt bold as she listened to him. She was going to tell him what she thought. They were once again on a ship, suspended between two worlds, and all was fair. “You deserve a better woman than that, Nick. I don't know you very well, but I do know that much. You're a good man and you have a lot to give. And she's never going to give you a damn thing in return except heartache.”

He nodded. She already had done much of that. But at least his heart was no longer involved. Only his son. And to him that was more important. “Thank you. That's a nice thing to say.” They exchanged a smile over their empty coffee cups, and a group of the journalists on board wandered in for a round of coffee. One of them was carrying a half-full bottle of whiskey to add a little kick to the coffee. But neither of them accepted his offer of a nip. Nick was thinking over what Liane had said. “The trouble is that in order to get myself another woman, I'd have to give up my son, or at least living with him. And I'd never do that.”

“It's a high price to pay.”

“It is either way. And in ten years he'll be grown up and things will be different.”

“How old will you be then?” she asked softly.

“Forty-nine.”

“That's a long time to wait to be happy.”

“How old was Armand when you married him?”

She smiled at the question. “Forty-six.”

“I'll only be three years older. And maybe if I'm very lucky, I'll find someone like you.” She blushed at his words and looked away, but he reached out and touched her hand. “Don't be embarrassed. It's true. You're a wonderful woman, Liane. I told you when I first met you that Armand was a lucky man, and I meant it.” She brought her eyes back sadly to his.

“I gave him a hard time this year in Paris.” She felt guilty about that, now that she knew what he'd been doing. “I didn't understand what pressures he was under. We hardly ever saw each other and …” Her eyes filled with tears again and she shook her head. But she had been haunted for days now by her anger at Armand over the past months. If she had only known … but how could she have?

“You must both have been under a tremendous strain.”

“We were.” She sighed. “And so were the girls. But Armand most of all. And now he won't even have us to lean on.” Not that he really had in the past year. He had carried all the burdens alone. She looked at Nick with agony in her eyes. “If something happens to him …”

“Nothing will. He's too smart to take chances. He'll be all right. You just have to hang on.” And he knew she would. She was that kind of woman.

They went back outside then and stood on the deck for a while, and then she went to find the girls. They were enjoying the trip, and acute boredom hadn't set in yet, although she suspected it would later.

They didn't see Nick again until that night, when he played guessing games with the girls in a sheltered corner of the deck. Most of the male passengers had stayed in the dining room to drink and talk, and Liane had thought it best to remove the girls. No one had got rowdy yet, but perhaps they would. Although no one spoke of it on the darkened ship, the tension was beginning to run high. There were inevitable fears that a German U-boat would strike, and the only way to live with the fears was by drinking. And the men did. A lot.

Liane sat with Nick and the girls, trying to keep their spirits up.

“Knock, knock, who's there? …” The jokes and stories and riddles went on forever, and the four of them laughed as they sat on the stairs. Eventually Liane put the girls to bed and went back outside for a walk. She had left their life vests at the foot of their beds, as the passengers had been instructed to do, and she didn't venture too far, but she needed to get out. The atmosphere in the tiny room was oppressive. The Deauville had been prepared to take on twenty passengers and no more, there were five double rooms and ten singles, and instead they were carrying sixty men, a woman, and two children, with a crew of twenty-one. With eighty-four people on board, the ship felt like it was about to burst at the seams, and the noise from the dining room grew more and more raucous as she stood on the deck with her eyes closed in the wind. She was chilly but she didn't care. It just felt good to be out.

“I thought you'd gone to bed.” She turned as she heard Nick's familiar voice beside her, and she turned to look up at him with a smile. They were all getting used to being in the dark.

“I put the girls to bed, but I wasn't tired.”

He nodded. “Is it hot in your room?”

“Stifling.”

He smiled. “Mine's like an oven, and there are six men in it.”

“Six?” She looked shocked.

“I have the deluxe suite, so-called on the Deauville. So they put five more beds in it. Cots actually. But I don't think anyone cares.” They had all been lucky to get passage at all and they knew it. “But to tell you the truth, I'm not sleeping in my room.”

She remembered the studio he'd switched to on the Normandie after his blowout with his wife. “You do that a lot, don't you?”

“Only on transatlantic crossings.” He grinned and they both laughed. “This time, the captain showed me a perfect little spot. There's a secluded area under the bridge. And they put up a hammock for me. No one ever comes around, and I'm out of the wind, but if I peek around a little bit, I can see the stars … it's heaven.” He looked pleased. Despite his enormous fortune in steel, he was an easy man to please. A hammock under the stars, borrowed clothes from a sailor when his luggage fell overboard. He was good-natured and easygoing and unpretentious. And in that way, he was much like Liane. Between the two of them they had two of the largest private fortunes in the United States, but to look at them one would never have known it. He was in his borrowed seaman's garb. She was wearing gray flannel slacks and an old sweater, her hair was loose in the wind, and she wore no jewelry save a narrow gold wedding band, and they both looked perfectly at ease as they were. The men on the ship had been startled to realize who Nick was, and had they known that Liane was Crockett Shipping, they would have been even more so. She had totally unassuming ways, as did Nick. It was part of their inner beauty. He looked down at Liane after a while. “Do you want me to bring you another cup of coffee or a drink?”

“I'm all right. I'll go to bed in a little while. The girls will stay up talking all night if I don't, and it's so hot down there, they can't sleep either.”

“Do you want me to have another hammock rigged up in my little hideaway for them? There isn't enough room for two hammocks, but they could share one and then at least you'd have peace in the cabin.” It was a sweet suggestion and she smiled at him.

“Then you won't get any sleep. They'll keep you up all night, telling jokes and asking questions.”

“I'd love it.” And she knew he would, but she thought it best to keep them with her.

And then, after a little while longer, she bade him good night. And as she returned to her cabin she thought how remarkable it was that they should meet again, crossing the Atlantic. Before she went to bed, she washed her hair again. She had already had to wash it three times since they'd arrived to get the smell of the fishing boat off her. What an experience that had been. She smiled to herself as she got undressed. It would be funny, if it weren't so tragic. But at least laughing at it now and then kept her from crying for Armand all the time. She was barely able to think about having left him without her eyes filling with tears, and she fought the thoughts off again now as she washed her hair in the tiny sink and dried it with a towel. She did everything in the dark, and she had forced the girls to stop talking when she came in. And she could hear now from the silence in their bunks that they were sleeping at last.

She had just gotten into her own bed, and pulled the sheet over her, when suddenly there was a terrifying, unfamiliar whooping sound, and she sat up in bed like a shot, trying to remember what the sound meant. Was it a fire alarm, an air raid, or were they sinking? With a speed and deftness she hadn't known she had, she leaped from her bed, grabbed their life vests, and shook the girls. “Come on, girls, come on … quickly. …” She pushed Elisabeth into her vest. The child was still half asleep, despite the noise. Then she grabbed Marie-Ange and helped her, and she had both girls halfway out the door in nightgowns, life vests, and shoes, and she struggled to pull her own life vest on over her nightgown. She hadn't even had time to find her own shoes in the dark, but it didn't matter, she crowded into the passageway with the others, emerging from their cabins with startled looks. Most of them had still been awake, but a few of the men looked as sleepy as the girls did. There was an instant cacophony of voices and questions and a shout from the far end from someone who couldn't find his life vest. They pressed onto the deck almost as one mass, and there, in the distance, they saw the reason for the sirens. A ship of indeterminate size looked like a ball of fire on the horizon, and members of the crew moved among them now, explaining in rapid French that a troop ship out of Halifax had been hit by a U-boat two days before. The Deauville had just now gotten the message. There were men in a lifeboat with a transmitter too weak by now to have reached them at any greater distance. The ship had been burning for two days, and it had carried more than four thousand men bound for England.

Both the news that they heard and the sight of the burning ship were terrifying in the stillness of the summer night. There had been a gentle breeze before, but now there wasn't even that. It was as though they were moving toward hell, and all eyes were held riveted by the inferno ahead.

The captain came out on the bridge with a bullhorn in his hand, and spoke to them all in English. He knew that most of the passengers were Americans and he needed their immediate attention.

“If any of you have medical training … nursing … first aid, any experience at all, you are needed very badly. We do not know how many men from the Queen Victoria are still alive…. Will the two doctors on board please come forward … we will be taking on as many men as we can.” There was a moment of silence. “We cannot radio to other ships for help, or the Germans in the area will identify our position.” As this reality sank in, a total silence fell on them all. It was entirely possible that the Germans were still nearby, and the Deauville might be next. It was a terrifying thought, and the fire raging on the Queen Victoria was a clear illustration of what could happen to them.

“The burden of helping these men falls entirely to us. We need you all … now, those of you who have medical knowledge, please step forward.” A half dozen men moved rapidly toward the captain, he nodded, spoke to them in quiet voices, and then picked up the bullhorn again. “Please, everyone, try to stay calm. We will need bandages … towels … sheets … any clean shirts you have … medicines. We are limited in what we can do, but we must do all that we can. We are going to come as close as we can to the ship, and we will pick up as many survivors as possible.” Already, as the Deauville continued her approach, they could see one or two lifeboats in the distance, but there was no way of knowing how many lifeboats there were, or how many men were floating in the water. “We will use the dining hall as sick bay. I thank you now for your help. We have a long night ahead.” He paused again. “May God be with us.” Liane had a strong urge to say amen, and she looked at the girls, who stood beside her, their eyes filled with terror. She bent quickly to speak to them in the hubbub that ensued.

“Girls, I'm going to take you back to our cabin, and I want you to stay there. If anything happens, I will come to find you at once. If I don't come, go out into the hall, but don't go anywhere, unless one of the men takes you.” If they were torpedoed and she couldn't get back to them, she knew that someone would take care of them. “But you must wait very quietly. You can leave the door open if you're afraid. Now, I'm going to take you back.”

“We want to stay with you.” Marie-Ange spoke in a frightened wail, speaking for herself and her already crying sister.

“You can't. I'm going to do what I can here.” She had taken a first aid class when she was in Paris, although in the sudden panic now she found herself wondering how much she had absorbed. But two more hands could do no harm, so she hurried the girls back to their cabin, where she stripped her bed of both sheets, and took the top sheets off the girls' bunks. They could make do with their blankets, and in the heat of the room, they didn't even need those. But she knew that they might if later on they too had to take to their lifeboats. She pulled the blanket off her own, and tore open the room's small closet to look at their clothes. There were several of the girls' cotton shirts and she sacrificed two from each child to use as bandages for the survivors of the Queen Victoria. She grabbed several bars of soap, a small roll of bandages of her own, and a bottle of pain pills she had been given by her French dentist. Other than that, she had nothing else to contribute to the rescue. She dressed quickly and kissed the girls good-bye as she left the room, reminding them to sleep in their life vests tonight, and Elisabeth called after her with a sudden thought just as she was leaving.

“Where's Mr. Burnham?”

“I don't know,” she called back and disappeared down the hall, praying that the girls would be safe. She hated to leave them but knew that they would be safer out of the confusion.

And when she reached the dining hall, she found every single adult on board gathered in the room, getting instructions from the chief officer, a wizened man with a gravelly voice, who was giving curt, well-organized orders. They were being assigned into teams of three, and as much as possible, each group was assigned someone who had some experience in first aid, so that even if the other two people had no expertise, there would be one member of the team capable of some real assistance. The two doctors on board were already organizing supplies, and one of them made a brief speech about handling burns. His explanations turned several stomachs, but there was no avoiding reality now. And it was then, as Liane handed over her sheets and supplies, that she saw Nick at the far end of the room. She held up an arm to signal him, and he approached her, just in time for the chief officer to assign them to the same team. He preferred to assign people who knew each other to work together, it would make it easier to work as a unit, he explained briefly, and then the captain reappeared to make another announcement to the crowded room.

“We think that many of the men died in the initial explosion; however, we believe that there are still many survivors. There are only four lifeboats afloat, but hundreds of men in the water. Please take your positions on deck for the stretcher teams. My men will bring the survivors on board. We need you to treat them where they are, or assist in bringing them in here. The doctors will tell you who of all of you they want working with them in here. And I want to thank those of you who've given up your rooms. We do not know yet if we'll have to use them, but it's possible we will.” He looked grimly around the room with intense eyes, nodded, and left them. It would be another hour or more before they were close enough to pick up survivors, and now the assigned teams of three went on deck to watch and wait. Nick told Liane that more than half the men on board had given up their cabins and volunteered to sleep on the deck, so that the survivors could sleep indoors, and already crew members were hanging hammocks in the cabins to accommodate as many as possible. And he didn't tell her directly, but she gathered from what he said that he was among those who had given up his cabin. He was already sleeping outdoors anyway, and she sensed that it wouldn't have made any difference if he was not. He had been among the first to volunteer and now he appeared calm as they stood on deck, and he handed her a cup of coffee laced heavily with Scotch.

“I'd rather not …” She started to refuse but he was firm.

“Never mind. Drink it up. You'll need it before the night is out.” It was already one o'clock in the morning and they had a long night ahead. He looked at her worriedly then. “Have you ever smelled burning flesh, Liane?” She shook her head and took a sip of the brew he had handed her. “Brace yourself. It's going to be rough.” No one knew how many had survived the blaze. There was no way to tell. And even the men radioing weakly from one of the lifeboats couldn't tell them much. They had drifted far from the ship, and what they saw in the water around them were mostly bodies of the dead, they said. The Deauville had radioed back only once to let them know that they had heard their SOS. They didn't want to say more on the radio, for fear that the Germans were listening too. They gave no information about their position but as they approached, they flashed a single beam in Morse code to let the men in the lifeboat know that they were there, and a weak signal returned. “Thank God” the signal said, and Nick translated it for Liane as they waited tensely. They were not allowed to smoke while on deck, and the whiskey that had been passed around only seemed to heighten their senses. It seemed hours before they finally reached a huge mass of charred wood from the ship with a dozen or so men clinging to it, but they had been literally fried alive. There was another group of bodies after that, and then suddenly a shout from below as crew members from the Deauville carefully placed two men in a rubber raft that was hoisted carefully on board to the first waiting team. The two bodies were charred beyond belief and were rushed in to the doctors in the dining room. It had been turned into a surgery with lights ablaze behind the blackpainted windows. The lights violated the blackout regulations on the ship, but it could not be helped in the emergency. Liane had stared at the two bodies in disbelief and fought not to retch as she watched, and instinctively she had clutched Nick's arm. He said nothing to her but she suddenly felt his hand in hers, and then a moment later she felt no revulsion and no fear as she and Nick and a Canadian journalist assisted three men onto the deck, two of them burned hideously, and the third had been lucky to get burns only on the face and hands, and both his legs were broken. Liane supported the third man's head as Nick and the Canadian put him on the stretcher and another team moved to help the other two.