Crossings

But the next morning, she still had a troubled feeling as she rose. Her mind was filled with Armand, and she pored carefully over the paper as she always did, looking for reports of the war in Europe.

“Was that you I heard prowling around last night, Liane? Or was it a burglar?” He smiled at her over their breakfast on Sunday morning. He knew about her midnight forays now. The first time he had heard her, he had snuck out of his bedroom, holding a loaded handgun, and they had both screamed and jumped.

“It must have been a burglar, Uncle George.” “Did he get the Christmas presents?” Elisabeth bounded into the room. She was nine years old now, and the days of Santa Claus were over. She was far more concerned that a burglar might have made inroads in the enormous stack of presents gathering in an upstairs closet.

“I'll have to check.” Liane smiled at her daughter as she went out to the garden with her sister. They were happy in San Francisco, and although they still missed their father, they had adjusted well, and the ugliness that had struck diem in Washington had never happened here, thanks to George's caution in not referring to his niece's husband as a Nazi. Liane was grateful to him for that, and she left for her day at the Red Cross with a lighter step than she had the day before. She wondered how Nick was faring after the shock of losing custody of John, but she knew from her own sorrows that time had a way of softening life's blows. She was sure that it wouldn't be easy, but in time the agony would be less acute, just as it was now when she thought of him. He had stayed on her mind for a long time as she carried on her quiet life in San Francisco. She was often surprised at how near he seemed when she closed her eyes and remembered their crossing on the Deauville. But now he was beginning to seem like a distant dream. And sometimes at night, as she slept, her dreams of him would get confused with those of Armand, and she would awake not knowing where she was, or with whom, or how she had come there, until she looked out the window and saw the Golden Gate Bridge or heard the foghorns, and she would remember where she was, far from them all now. Nick was a part of the past, but a part she still cherished. He had given her something no one else ever had, and his words had stood her in good stead for the past year and a half. She had needed every ounce of the strength he had reassured her she had when they left each other. She needed it each time she waited three or four or five weeks for a letter from Armand, or read a news report that filled her with terror, or thought of Armand working with the Germans in Paris. She needed it every day, every hour, for herself, for the girls, even for Uncle George. And she needed it as she turned on the radio in her bedroom after returning from church with the children. She often listened to the radio, for the latest news, but as she did now she stood transfixed in the center of the room, unable to believe the words she was hearing. Six great battleships had been sunk or seriously damaged in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and the Air Corps was left with only sixteen serviceable bombers. The Japanese had made a surprise early-morning attack on Hawaii, leaving scores of dead and wounded, and there could be no doubt now, the United States had been pulled into the war with one swift, vicious gesture.

Her heart pounding, her face pale, Liane raced downstairs to find her uncle, and she saw him standing in the den, listening to the news himself, with tears streaming down his cheeks. For the first time in his life his homeland, the country he held so dear, had been invaded. Liane went soundlessly to him, and they clung together, listening to President Roosevelt's words a few moments later. There was no question about it. America was at war now. It remained only to be confirmed by the Senate the next morning, and three days later, on December 11, Germany and Italy declared war, and Congress passed a joint resolution accepting a state of war for the United States. For Americans, a new day had dawned, and a sad one. The entire country was still in turmoil over the attack on Pearl Harbor, yet everyone wondered if the Japanese would be even bolder, attacking major cities on the mainland. Suddenly nothing was certain or safe.

n the morning of December 7 all was panic in New York too, but the terrors were not quite as acute as they were on the West Coast. Hawaii was a little remote, although the realization that America's shores had been attacked brought everyone to a screeching halt that morning. And Roosevelt's announcement to the nation, declaring war, was almost a relief. The United States could roll up its sleeves and fight back. The Americans’ only hope was that the Japanese wouldn't get to them first, and attack the rest of the country as they had Pearl Harbor.

Nick didn't hear the news until an hour or so after it had happened. When Hillary had picked Johnny up, he had taken his car out late that night and begun driving, and by the next morning he awoke at the side of the road, deep into Massachusetts. He hadn't known where he was going and he hadn't cared. He just wanted to drive until he could go no farther. He called her the next day and spoke to Johnny, but when he inquired about the weekend, he was told that they had other plans. They were going to Palm Beach for a few days to visit Mrs. Markham, and he could imagine why, to kiss the old woman's ass for more money, not that they needed it now. All it meant to him was that he wouldn't see Johnny for another week. And having heard that, he called his office and told them he was taking a week off. Everyone knew why and he offered no explanation. He wouldn't have been able to keep his mind on his work anyway, and it was a relief to be out in the country. Although he ached for his son, he felt better after a few days of fresh air. He called Johnny every night as he had promised, and drove from one small town to the next, staying in quaint inns, eating simple meals, and getting up to go for long walks along wooded roads and beside frozen lakes. The countryside seemed to restore him, and on the day Pearl Harbor was bombed he stayed out until lunchtime, and then came back for a hearty meal at the little inn where he was staying. He had a bowl of soup, drank a tankard of ale, and ate a thick slice of cheesecake, and then absentmindedly cocked an ear as someone turned on a radio at the other end of the dining hall, sure that nothing much could be happening on a Sunday. At first he couldn't make out what they were saying, and then suddenly he listened to what was being said on the broadcast and like millions of others all over the country, he froze in shock. And then, without saying a word, he stood up and went to his room to pack. He wasn't sure what he would do there, but he knew he had to return to New York at once. His New England idyll was over. And after he paid his bill, he called Hillary's apartment and left a message for Johnny, to tell him he was on his way back and would see him that night. To hell with her goddamn visiting schedule. And with that he grabbed his bags and ran out of the inn. It took him four and a half hours to drive back to New York, and he didn't even stop at his apartment to change, he went directly to his office on Wall Street, and sat there in the Sunday silence in the clothes he had worn in the woods in Massachusetts. He knew what he was going to do now, and he had had to come here, to find peace, to be sure of what he was doing.

All the way home he had listened to the news on the radio. Air Force spotters were watching the entire West Coast, but no planes had been sighted. There were no further attacks after Pearl Harbor.

He dialed the private number himself, after making some notes on his desk, and they kept him waiting for a while, but the President came on surprisingly quickly. Everyone of any importance at all in the country would be calling Roosevelt now. But as the President of Burnham Steel, he also knew that he would have top priority.

As he sat at his desk, with the phone cradled beneath his ear, he made several hasty notes. And as he sat there in rugged clothes, on this Sunday evening, he felt in command again. He had been beaten for the first time in his life, but he wasn't beaten forever. One day he'd get Johnny back, and right now maybe it was just as well that he was with Hillary after all. He had a lot on his mind, and a lot of things were going to change now with the country at war. For a while he wasn't going to have a spare minute. He looked up seriously then as the President came on the line, and Nick told him why he had called him. It was a brief but satisfactory conversation, and Nick got everything he wanted. Now all that remained was to lock his office and see John. After he called Brett Williams.

Brett Williams was his right-hand man, and had run the United States operation for him during the year Nick was in Europe. And five minutes later Nick had him on the phone at home. Brett had expected to hear from him all afternoon, and wasn't surprised to hear from him now. They both knew what was coming. It would mean a boom for them, but it was still frightening.

“Well, Nick, what do you think?” There was no greeting, no welcome back, no mention of the disastrous attempt to win custody of Johnny. The two men knew each other well. Brett Williams had begun working at Burnham Steel in the days of Nick's father, and he had been invaluable to Nick since he took over.

“I think we're going to have one hell of a lot of work. And I think a number of other things too. I just called Roosevelt.”

“You and every little old lady in Kansas.”

Nick grinned. Williams was an intriguing man. He had grown up on a farm in Nebraska, earned a scholarship to Harvard, and had been a Rhodes scholar at Cambridge. He had come a long way from the fields of Nebraska. “I made some notes. Peggy will type them up for you tomorrow. But I want to ask you a few pertinent questions now.”

“Shoot.”

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he'd be willing to do it. It was a lot to ask. But Williams didn't let him down. He never had before, and Nick knew he wouldn't now. But it was good to hear it from Williams himself. He wasn't really surprised at what Nick asked, as Roosevelt hadn't been when Nick had called him. It was the only thing Nick could do, given who, and what, he was. And all three of them knew that. What Nick wondered now was if Johnny would understand too.

ick picked Johnny up at Hillary's apartment on Friday. He had wound everything up in the office before he left and he had the whole weekend free for his son. The boy was ecstatic to see him. Hillary watched them from the doorway with pursed lips and her greeting to Nick was cool, as was his to her.

“Hello, Hillary. I'll bring him back on Sunday at seven.”

“I think five would be better.” There was a brief lightning bolt of tension between them, and Nick decided not to argue with her in front of the child. He had been through enough, and Nick didn't want to spoil their visit.

“Fine.”

“Where will you be?”

“At my apartment.”

“Have him call me tomorrow. I want to know he's all right.” Her words grated on Nick's nerves, but he nodded and they left and he questioned Johnny intensely in the car, but although the boy would have preferred living with his father, he had to admit that his mother was being decent to him. And Mrs. Markham Sr. had been very nice to him in Palm Beach. She had given him a lot of presents and took him on walks with her, and Johnny liked her. He admitted that he wasn't seeing too much of his mother and Philip. They were out most of the time, and he had the impression that Philip didn't care much for kids.

“They're okay, I guess. But it's not like living with you, Dad.” He grinned broadly as he walked back into his old room and threw himself on the bed.

“Welcome home, son.” Nick watched him with a happy smile, and the ache of the past nine days began to dull. “It sure is good to have you back.”

“It sure is good to be here.” They had a quiet dinner together that night, and Nick tucked him into bed. He had a lot to talk to him about that weekend, but it could wait. They spent Saturday skating in Central Park, and went out for a movie and a hamburger. It seemed very different from their old life, and it lacked the ease of an everyday existence, but Nick was just glad to be with John. And on Sunday he told him what he'd been putting off all weekend. They had talked several times about Pearl Harbor, and what it meant for the United States, but it was only on Sunday afternoon that Nick told him he was reenlisting.

“You are?” The child looked shocked. “You mean you're going to go fight the Japs?” He had heard that at school and Nick wasn't sure he liked the way he said it, but he nodded.

“I don't know where I'll be sent, John. I could be sent anywhere.” The boy thought it over carefully and then he raised sad eyes to his father's.

“That means you'll be going away again, like when you were in Paris.” He didn't remind his father that he had promised never to leave him again, but Nick saw the reproach in his eyes. No matter that the whole world was upside down and Hawaii had been bombed, he felt guilty suddenly for reenlisting. It had been that that he had wanted to check out with Williams. As the head of a major industry in the country, he could have gotten a deferral. But he didn't want that, he wanted to go and fight for his country. He no longer had his son with him, and he needed to get away from it all. From Hillary, and the courts and the agony of an appeal, and even from the reproaches in his son's eyes because he had been unable to keep him. He had realized that he needed to make some radical changes as he walked through the woods in Massachusetts, and when he had heard the news of Pearl Harbor, he had known instantly what he had to do. His call to Roosevelt had been to inform him and expedite his reenlistment. And his call to Brett had been to ask the man to run Burnham Steel in his absence. Brett was the only man he would have left it to. As long as he was willing, Nick was going. “How soon will you leave, Dad?”

Johnny seemed like a little grown-up as he asked. He had seen a lot in the last few months, and he had grown up a great deal.

“I don't know, Johnny. Probably not for quite a while, but it all depends on where they decide to send me.” Johnny digested his father's words and nodded, but it threw a pall on the rest of their afternoon, and Nick was doubly glad that he hadn't told him sooner.

Even Hillary noticed how subdued the boy was when Nick brought him home. She looked at Johnny, then at Nick, and was quick to ask. “What happened?”

“I told him that I've reenlisted.”

“In the Marines?” Hillary looked startled as he nodded. “But you already served.”

“Our country's at war, or hadn't you heard?”

“But you don't have to serve. You're exempt.”

Nick noticed their son listening to their words with interest. “I have a responsibility to my country.”

“Do you want me to start singing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’?”

“Good night, John.” He ignored her and kissed their son good-bye. “I'll call you tomorrow.” He was reporting to Quantico, Virginia, on Tuesday, and after that he would be busy for a week or two. He had stayed in the reserves for a long time, so he didn't have to retrain, and he was going in with the same rank he'd had when he left, as a major.

And that night as Nick went back to the apartment, he wondered what Hillary would tell Johnny, that he didn't have to go to war? That he was being a fool? Then what would the boy think? That he was being abandoned, He felt suddenly tired again as he tried to sort it all out in his head, and went back to the apartment to go through some papers. He had a lot to do before Tuesday.

hen Nick reported to the base at Quantico on Tuesday morning, he was amazed at how many men were reporting back to duty. There were one or two faces he knew from the reserves, and legions of young boys signing up as enlisted men. And he was surprised too at how comfortable he felt to be back in uniform. He walked smartly down the hall, and a nervous young boy snapped to attention and addressed him as Colonel.

“That's General, sir!” Nick roared and the boy almost peed in his pants as Nick tried not to laugh.

“Yes, sir! General!” The brand-new private disappeared and Nick grinned as he turned a corner and ran into an old friend who had seen what he'd just done.

“You should be ashamed of yourself. Those kids are just as patriotic as you are. Probably more so. What are you doing, trying to get out of a tough week at the office?” The man who addressed him was an attorney he'd gone to Yale with, and served with in the reserves years later.

“What happened to you, Jack? Did they disbar you?”

“Hell, yes, why else would I be here?” The two men laughed and wandered down the hall. They had to pick up their orders. “I have to admit to you, though, by last night I decided I was nuts.”

“I could have told you that at Yale.” And then he glanced at his friend. “Any guess as to where they'll send us?”

“Tokyo. To the Imperial Hotel.”

“Sounds nice.” Nick grinned. It was strange being back in the military, but he didn't dislike it. He had talked to Johnny the night before too, and he thought the boy finally understood what he was doing. He had actually sounded proud of him and it took a huge burden off Nick's shoulders to hear him like that.

They saluted the officer who handed them their orders and she smiled. They were the best-looking pair she'd seen all week, and although Jack Ames wore a wedding band on his left hand, she noticed that Major Burnham didn't.

“Do we get to open these now, Lieutenant? Or do we wait?”

“Suit yourselves, just so you report for duty on time.”

She smiled and Jack opened his first, with a nervous grin. “And the winner is … shit. San Diego. What about you, Nick?”

He opened the envelope and glanced at the single sheet of paper. “San Francisco.”

“And then on to Tokyo, right, cutie pie?” Jack pinched the girl's cheek.

“That's Lieutenant to you.”

They walked back into the hall, and Nick was lost in thought.

“What's the matter, don't you like San Francisco?”

“I like it fine.”

“Then what's the matter?”

“My orders say I've got to be there by next Tuesday.”

“So? You had other plans? Maybe it's not too late to change your mind.”

“It's not that. I'll have to leave by day after tomorrow. I told my boy …” He stood lost in thought, and Jack understood. He had a wife and three daughters to contend with. He patted Nick on the shoulder and left him to his own thoughts, and that night Nick called Johnny at Hillary's place. There was no easy way to break the news. He already knew that he was to leave by train on Thursday night, and he would be given a twenty-four-hour leave before that. It wasn't long enough to say good-bye to his son, but it was all they had. He spoke to Hillary first and explained the situation to her, and for once she was decent and agreed to let him see the boy the following night, and on Thursday, for as long as he could. And then she put Johnny on the phone. She told Nick that she'd let him break the news himself. “Hi, Dad.”

“Major Dad, if you please.” He tried to keep his tone light, but his mind was already on their good-bye. It wouldn't be an easy one for either of them, and he was terrified that the child would feel abandoned. But he knew that he was doing what he had to do. “How're you doing, tiger?”

“I'm okay.” But he sounded sad again. He hadn't fully recovered yet from the news Nick had given him only two days before, and there was worse to come.

“How about spending tomorrow night with me?”

“Can I do that?” Excitement filled his voice. “You think Mom'll let me go?”

“I already asked and she agreed.”

“Wow! That's great!”

“I'll pick you up at five o'clock. You can spend the night at my place, and you can figure out where you want to eat.”

“You mean you already have leave?”

“Sure. I'm an important man.”

His son laughed. “It must be easy being a marine.”

Nick groaned. “I wouldn't say that.” It was a distant memory but he still remembered boot camp eighteen years before. “Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow night. Five o'clock.” He hung up and wandered slowly away from the phone. It was going to be rough saying good-bye to him, but no worse than what had happened to them only weeks before. He thought back to the trial, and then pushed it from his head. He couldn't bear the memory of the night Hillary had picked Johnny up. Not that this was going to be much easier, and he wasn't wrong.

He told Johnny over dinner the next night, and the child simply sat and stared at him. He didn't cry, he didn't balk, he didn't say a single word. He just looked at him, and the way he did almost broke Nick's heart.

“Come on, tiger. It's not that bad.”

“You promised you'd never leave me again. You promised, Dad.” It wasn't a whine, just a small sad voice.

“But, Johnny, we're at war.”

“Mom says you don't have to go.”

He took a deep breath. “She's right. If I wanted to, I could hide behind my desk, but it wouldn't be right. Would you be proud of me if I did that? In a few months your friends’ fathers will be going off to war. How would you feel then?”

“Glad that you were here with me.” At least he was honest, but Nick shook his head.

“Eventually you'd be ashamed. Is that really what you want me to do?”

“I don't know.” He stared into his plate for a long time. And then finally he looked up at him. “I just wish you wouldn't go.”

“I wish the Japanese hadn't attacked Pearl Harbor, John. But they did. And now it's our turn to go and fight. They've been fighting in Europe for a long, long time.”

“But you used to say we'd never go to war.”

“I was wrong, son. Dead wrong. And now I'm going to do what I have to do. I'm going to miss you like crazy, every day and every night, but you and I both must believe that I did the right thing.”

Tears seeped slowly into his son's eyes. He wasn't convinced. “What if you don't come back?”

His voice was gruff. “I will.” He started to add “I swear,” but he had sworn before, and lately they hadn't done so well with things he'd sworn about. “Just know that, son. Know that I'll come back and I will.” He told him about San Francisco then, and eventually he paid the check and they went home. It felt strange to Nick to be back in uniform again, but for the last few days uniforms had begun to spring up everywhere. And as they left the restaurant, with their arms around each other, he wondered if one day his son would be proud, or if he'd never give a damn, feeling only that he'd been betrayed again and again, by a mother who didn't care, a judge who didn't understand, and a father who'd run off to play soldier. His heart was heavy as he tucked Johnny in that night, and the next day was worse. They took a long walk in the park, and watched the ice skaters swirling on the Wollman rink, but there were other things on their minds, and time moved too fast for both of them. He took him back to Hillary's at four, and she opened the door and looked at her son. He looked as though someone had just died, and she watched as Nick said good-bye.

“Take good care, son. I'll call from San Francisco whenever I can.” He knelt beside the crying child. “You take care of yourself now, you hear? I'll be back. You know I will.” But Johnny only flung his arms around his father's neck.

“Don't go … don't go … you'll get killed.”

“I won't.” Nick had to fight back tears too, and Hillary turned away. For once their pain had touched her too. Nick squeezed the boy tight once more and then stood up. “Go on in now, son.” But he only stood there as Nick left, watching as he turned once more to wave good-bye, and then he was gone, running down the street to hail a cab, a tall blond man in uniform, with deep-green eyes swimming in tears.

He picked up his bags at his apartment then, and said good-bye to the maid. She cried too, and he hugged her once before he left, shook hands with Mike at the front door downstairs, and then he was off to catch his train, and as he took his seat with the other men, he was reminded of the last train he'd seen, the one carrying Liane to Washington as he'd stood on the platform and watched her go. How different their lives were now, or his at least. He hoped that for her nothing had changed, that Armand had survived the war thus far. And he knew now what they'd been through when she had left Toulon, the wrenching good-byes. All he could think of on the way west was his son, and his face as he'd looked up at his father and cried. He called him midway on the trip, but the boy was out and he'd had to board the train again quickly. He'd call him again from San Francisco when he arrived, but when he did, he never got to a phone at the right time. He was swamped with orders, assignments, and adjustments to the no-longer-familiar military regime. It was a relief when at last he got to his own room. The Marines had taken over several small hotels on Market Street, they had no more accommodations to house their men and it was the best they could do. And when Nick closed the door at last on Tuesday night, it was difficult to believe that he'd only been back in the military for a week. It seemed as though he'd been back for years, and he was already sick of it. But there was a war to fight. He hoped they'd ship him out soon. There was nothing for him in this town. There was a sea of uniforms everywhere. And all he wanted was a quiet place to sleep. He lay in the dark on the narrow bed in his hotel, and he was just drifting off to sleep when he heard a knock at the door. He muttered an expletive as he tripped on his way out of bed and stubbed his toe, and yanked the door open to see a nervous private standing there with a clipboard.

“Major Burnham?”

“Yes?”

“I'm sorry to disturb you but I was told to let everyone know …”At the very least Nick expected news of an enemy attack as he tensed to hear what the boy had to say. “There's a gathering tonight, given by the Red Cross. It's for all the new senior officers here. And because of Christmas and all …” Nick leaned against the doorway in his shorts and groaned.

“You woke me up for that? I've just come nearly three thousand miles and I haven't had a decent night's sleep in five days, and you banged on my door to invite me to a tea party given by the Red Cross?” He tried to glower, but he could only laugh. “Oh, for chrissake …”

“I'm sorry, sir … the CO's office thought—”

“Is the CO going to a tea party at the Red Cross?”

“It isn't a tea party, sir, it's cocktails.”

“How nice.” The absurdity of it all was too much for him, he sagged in the doorway and laughed until he cried. “What kind of cocktails? Kool-Aid and gin?”

“No, sir, I mean—I don't know, sir. It's just that the people here have been very nice to us, to the Marines, I mean, and the CO wants everyone to show up … to show our appreciation for—”

“For what?”

“I don't know, sir.”

“Good. Then you can borrow my uniform and you go.”

“I'll end up in the brig for impersonating an officer, sir.” The private had been standing ramrod straight since the recital began.

“Is this an order, Private, or an invitation?”

“Both, I think. An invitation from the Red Cross, and—”

Nick cut in. “An order from the CO. Christ. What time is this shindig?”

“Eighteen hundred hours, sir.” Nick glanced at his watch. It was almost that now.

“Shit. Well, there goes my nap. And thanks.” He started to close the door, and then suddenly pulled it open again. “Where is this thing anyway?”

“It's posted on the bulletin board downstairs.”

“Sir.” Nick was amused. Fortunately his sense of humor hadn't left him yet. The private blushed.

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“Where are you from?”

“New Orleans.”

“How do you like it here?”

“I don't know, sir. I haven't been out yet.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Two weeks. I was in boot camp in Mississippi before that.”

“That must have been fun.” They exchanged a smile of camaraderie. “Anyway, Private, since you won't agree to wear my uniform tonight, I'd better get my ass in gear and get dressed.” Nick was one of the lucky few with a shower adjoining his room. He cleaned up from his trip, put on his dress uniform, and twenty minutes later he was downstairs, looking at the bulletin board. The address was clearly marked. Mrs. Fordham MacKenzie, on Jackson Street. He had no idea how to get there. He hadn't been in San Francisco in years, and he decided to call a cab. Three other officers had received the same “invitation” as he, and they shared the ride and stepped out in front of an impressive home with an iron gate and formal gardens. One of the officers whistled softly in his teeth as Nick paid the cab, and they stepped up to the iron gate to ring the bell. A butler led the way and Nick found himself wondering how many of these soirees Mrs. MacKenzie gave. The war had brought a host of new men to town. It was kind of her to throw her home open to the servicemen. Christmas was only two days away.

He had given Johnny his gifts before he left, but it certainly would be a lonely Christmas for them both. Nothing was the same this year. And now he was nearly three thousand miles away on the West Coast, walking down some strange woman's hall into a living room filled with uniforms and women in cocktail clothes as waiters passed trays of champagne. It was all a bit like a strange dream as he looked out at the Golden Gate, and then as his eyes strayed back he saw her there, standing quietly in a corner, holding a glass, speaking to a woman in a dark-red dress. And as he looked at her she turned her head, and their eyes met, as time stopped for him and the room spun for her. And slowly he walked toward her and she heard the voice she had remembered only in dreams for a year and a half. The voice was a caress and the crowds around them seemed to disappear as he spoke a single word. “Liane …” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with disbelief and amazement as he smiled slowly at her.

s that really you?” Nick looked deep into Liane's eyes, and at the expression on his face, the woman in the red dress who'd been talking to Liane disappeared quietly. Liane smiled at him, not sure what to say.

“I'm not sure.”

“I'm dreaming this.” She smiled in answer. “Aren't I?”

“Could be, Major. How have you been?” Her smile was warm but there was no invitation in her words. “It's been a long time.”

“What are you doing here?” He couldn't take his eyes off her face.

“I live here now. We've been here since last year.” He searched her eyes for all the things he ached to know, but there was nothing written there. They were as big and beautiful as before, but they were veiled now. She had seen pain and loss and it showed, and he wondered instantly about Armand, but when he looked, the plain gold band was still in place.

“I thought you were in Washington.”

“That didn't work out.” Her eyes met his, but she didn't say more, and then slowly he saw the old, familiar smile. He had dreamed of it for almost two years. He had seen that smile as she had lain in his arms. “It's good to see you, Nick.”

“Is it?” He wasn't so sure. She looked uncertain, almost frightened.

“Of course it is. How long have you been in town?”

“Just today. And what the hell are you doing here?” This didn't seem her kind of place, a cocktail party to meet military men. If she was wearing her wedding band, she couldn't be on the hunt, and that wasn't her style. Not the girl he'd left on the train in New York seventeen months before, unless everything had changed. Maybe her solitude had got to her.

“I work for the Red Cross. This is a command performance for us.”

He bent low and whispered in her ear. “It is for me too.”

She laughed at that, and then something gentle touched her face. She hadn't wanted to ask him at first, but she decided to now. “How's John?”

Nick took a quick breath and looked her. “He's fine. I don't know if you read about the trial out here, but Hillary and I got divorced about a year ago, and I fought her for custody and lost a few weeks ago. That was pretty rough on him.” And he glanced at his uniform. “And so was this.”

“It must have been rough on you too.” Her voice was smooth as silk, and she couldn't take her eyes from his, but she also knew that she had to keep the walls up. She could never let them down again. Especially not for him. She had done that once, and she was still fighting to keep that door closed. “And yes, I did read about the trial.” She spoke in the gentle voice he loved. “My heart ached for you.”

He nodded and took a sip of his drink. “The judge thought Johnny would be better off with her, since she's married now. And you know what that bastard did?” His face went taut as he told her about Markham and the gun. “I was going to file an appeal, but then Pearl Harbor was hit. I'll try again when I go back, by then she may be ready to give him up. My lawyer thinks she just wanted to get back at me.”

“For what?” Liane looked stunned. Had he told her about them?

“I guess for never loving me, crazy as that sounds. In her eyes, I kept her a prisoner for all those years.”

Liane remembered instantly the incident on the ship, as did he. “You were far more the prisoner than she.”

He nodded. “Well, that's all over now, for whatever it was worth. I got Johnny out of it, so I can't complain. Now all I have to do is get him back.”

“You will.” Her voice was quiet and strong. She was remembering his own words to her: “Strong people cannot be defeated.”

“I hope you're right.” He finished his champagne and looked at her. She was even prettier than she'd been before, but there was something quieter about her now, and more severe. The rigors she forced on herself had taken their toll, and yet her face was as lovely as it had always been, her eyes seemed even more blue, and her hair was wound into a smooth bun. She looked very chic, he decided, and smiled at his own thoughts. “Where are you living here?”

“With my uncle George.”

“And the girls?”

“They're fine.” And then, with lowered eyes, “They still remember you.” And with that two more men in uniform suddenly joined the group, and a woman from the Red Cross, and a little while later Liane left. She didn't see Nick to say good-bye and she decided it was just as well. She drove home in the car she had borrowed from George and walked slowly inside. It had been strange to see Nick again. It opened wounds she'd hoped had healed. But there was nothing she could do about that. She had always wondered if they would meet again one day, and they had. Everything had changed for him since they had last met, but nothing had changed for her. Armand was still struggling to survive in France, and she was waiting for him here.

“Did you have a good time?” George was waiting for her when she got back.

“Very nice, thanks.” But she didn't look as though she had as she took off her coat.

“It sure doesn't look like you did.”

“Really, who?”

She smiled. “I met an old friend. From New York.”

“Nick Burnham.” She wasn't sure why she had told her uncle that, but it was something to say.

“Is he any relation to Burnham Steel?”

“He is. As a matter of fact, he is Burnham Steel.”

“Well, I'll be damned. I knew his father about thirty years ago. Fine man. A little crazy, now and then, but we all were in those days. What's the boy like?” Liane smiled at his choice of words.

“Nice. And a little crazy too. He's just reenlisted in the Marines, as a major, he got here earlier today.”

“You'll have to have him over some night before he ships out.” And then suddenly George had an idea. “How about tomorrow?”

“Uncle George, I really don't know….”

“It's Christmas, Liane. The man's alone. Do you have any idea what that's like in a strange town? Be decent to the man, for God's sake.”

“I don't even know how to get in touch with him.” And she wouldn't if she could, but she didn't tell that to him.

“Call the Marines. They'll know where he is.”

“I really don't think—”

“All right. All right. Never mind.” And then he muttered to himself, “If the man has any sense, he'll call you.”

And the man had a great deal of sense. He had gone back to his hotel, and sat in his room for a long time, staring down at Market Street and thinking of Liane, and the strange quirk of fate that had brought them back together again. If the little private from New Orleans hadn't knocked on his door that night … He grabbed a telephone book off the desk and began looking for George Crockett, and found the address on Broadway with ease, and then he sat staring at it. She lived there, at that phone number, in that house. He made a note of it, and the next morning he called, but she had already left for the Red Cross, and an obliging maid gave him the number there. He dialed the number once and she answered the line.

“You're already at work at this hour, Liane? You work too hard.”

“That's what my uncle says.” But her hand trembled at the sound of his voice. She wished he hadn't called her, but maybe her uncle was right. Maybe inviting him to dinner was the decent thing. And maybe by exposing herself to him as a friend, the old dreams would fade at last.

“What are you doing for lunch today?”

“I have to do an errand for Uncle George.” It was a lie, but she didn't want to be alone with him.

“Can it wait?”

“I'm afraid not.” He was puzzled by the tone of her voice, but maybe there were other people around. The walls were up, as they had been for almost two years, he reminded himself. There was no reason to pull them down because he had breezed into town, and he hadn't asked about Armand the night before. He knew how she felt about all that, but he had accepted that before. He just wanted to see her again.

“What about lunch on Friday?”

“I really can't, Nick.” And then she took a deep breath as she sat at her desk. “What about tonight? Dinner at my uncle's house? It's Christmas Eve, and we thought—”

“That's very nice. I'd like that very much.” He didn't want to give her a chance to change her mind. She gave him the address and he didn't tell her he'd already written it down. “What time?”

“Seven o'clock?”

“Great. I'll be there.” He hung up with a victorious grin and gave a whoop as he left the phone. He didn't feel forty anymore. He felt fifteen again. And happier than he'd been in seventeen months, or maybe ever.

ick arrived promptly at seven o'clock at the Broadway house, looking very dapper in his uniform, his arms laden with Christmas gifts for the girls. He had realized quickly what life in San Francisco was going to be like for him. There was virtually nothing for him to do. He had been assigned a desk and put in charge of some unimportant supplies, but basically, like the others, he was biding time until he shipped out, which gave him plenty of time to wander around and see friends. Now that he had found Liane and the girls, he was glad for the free time.

The butler led him down the long, stately hall and into the library, where the family had already gathered around the tree. It was their second Christmas with Uncle George, and the stockings, which they knew he would fill, were hung over the fireplace. The girls momentarily forgot about the stockings as they opened Nick's gifts eagerly, as George and Liane looked on. He had bought them beautiful toys. Each little girl hugged him warmly, and then he handed a package to George, which was obviously a book for the senior of the clan, and then he turned to Liane and handed a small box to her. He realized then that it was the first gift he'd ever given her. During their thirteen days on the ship there had been no time when he could have given anything to her, and from there they had gone straight to the train. He had thought about it often at first, with regret, that he'd never been able to give her anything, except his heart. But he would have liked to have known that she'd had something to remember him by. Little did he know that the memories he had left instead were far more durable than any gift, and she carried them deep inside her still.

“You shouldn't have.” She smiled, the small box still wrapped in her hand.

“I wanted to. Go on, open it. It won't bite.” George watched them with an interested eye. He had the feeling that they knew each other better than he'd realized, and perhaps better than they wanted him to know. And he watched Liane's eyes, as did Nick, as she opened the box, which held a single gold circlet for her arm, unbroken, without a catch, just a wide gold band. She slipped it over her arm now, but Nick reached out for it and spoke in a husky voice for no ears but hers. “Read what's inside.” She took it off again, and there was a single word. “Deauville.” And then she put it back on and looked at him, not sure if she should accept the gift, but she didn't have the heart to give it back to him.

“It's beautiful. You really shouldn't have, Nick …”

“Why not?” He tried to make light of what he felt, and said in a voice only she could hear, “I wanted to do that a long time ago; consider it a retroactive gift.” And then Uncle George opened his book, and exclaimed with delight. It was one he'd been anxious to read, and he shook Nick's hand. George regaled them all with tales of Nick's father, and how they'd met, and an outrageous caper they'd embarked on once, which had almost got them both arrested in New York. “Thank heavens he knew all the cops.” They had been speeding up Park Avenue and drinking champagne with two less-than-respectable women in the car, and he laughed at the memory, feeling young again, as Liane poured Nick a drink and another for herself. She sipped it as she watched him talk to Uncle George and felt the bracelet on her arm. She felt the weight of the gold almost as much as the single word written inside. “Deauville.” She had to fight back the memories again as she sipped her drink, and force herself to listen to what was being said.

“You made a crossing together once, didn't you?”

“Twice, in fact.” Nick smiled at her and she caught his eye. She hadn't told George that Nick had been on the Deauville.

“Both times on the Normandie?” He looked confused and Nick shook his head. It was too late to lie and they had nothing to hide. Anymore.

“Once on the Normandie, in thirty-nine. And last year on the Deauville when we both came back. I'm afraid I stayed over there a little too long, and got caught. I had a hell of a time getting out. I sent my son back on the Aquitania when the war broke out, but I didn't leave Paris until after the fall.” It sounded innocent enough, and when George glanced at Liane, he saw nothing there.

“That must have been quite a trip, with the rescue at sea.”

“It was.” His face sobered as he remembered the men that had been brought on board. “We worked like dogs to keep them alive. Liane was absolutely extraordinary. She worked in the surgery all night, and made rounds for days after that.”

“Everyone pitched in and did more than their share,” Liane was quick to interject.

“That's not true.” Nick looked her in the eye. “You did more than anyone aboard, and a lot of those men wouldn't have lived if it weren't for you.” She didn't answer and her uncle smiled.

“She's got a lot of guts, my niece. Sometimes not as much sense as I would like”—he smiled gently at her—“but more guts than most men I know.” The two men looked at her and she blushed at their words.

“Enough of that. What about you, Nick? When are you shipping out?” It sounded as though she were anxious for that, and in a way she was, not to send him into danger overseas, but to get herself out of a danger she still sensed when he was nearby.

“God only knows. They assigned me to a desk yesterday, which could mean anything. Six months, six weeks, six days. The orders come from Washington, and we just have to sit here and wait.”

“You could do worse, young man. It's a pleasant town.”

“Better than that.” He smiled at his host, and then glanced casually at Liane. They had heard nothing from the girls since they'd opened their gifts. They were entranced with them, and he only wished that Johnny could be here too. The butler announced dinner then, and they went into the enormous dining room. As they walked, George told Nick the history of various portraits on the walls.

“Liane lived here as a girl, you know. It was her father's house then.” And as George said the words, Nick remembered one of the first times they'd talked on the Normandie, when she had told him about her father, and Armand, and Odile, and even about her uncle George.

“It's a lovely house.”

“I like to watch my ships pass by.” He looked at the bay and then at Nick, with an embarrassed smile. “I suppose I'm old enough to admit that now. In my younger days, I might have pretended not to be proud of who I was.” He looked pointedly at Nick, and then turned their talk to steel. He knew a great deal about what Nick did and he was impressed at his having taken on the business so young, and from what he knew, Nick had done a fine job. “Who have you left in charge while you're gone?”

“Brett Williams. He was one of my father's men, and he ran things for me in the States while I was in France.” He thought for a moment and then shook his head. “Lord, that seems a hundred years ago. Who would have thought we'd be in the war by now?”

“I always did. Roosevelt did too. He's been getting us ready for years, not that he'd admit it publicly.” Liane and Nick exchanged a smile, remembering their crossing on the Normandie, when so many had insisted that there wouldn't be a war.

“I'm afraid I wasn't as prescient as you. I think I refused to see the handwriting on the wall.”

“Most people did, you weren't alone. But I have to say that I didn't expect the Japanese to come right down our throats.” Already watch points had been set up all along the coast, there were blackouts at night, and California waited to see if they would strike again. “You're lucky to be young enough to fight. I was too old for the first one too. But you'll set things to right again.”

“I hope so, sir.” The two men exchanged a smile and Liane looked away. Her uncle never softened that way toward Armand, but then again he thought that Armand was in collaboration with the Germans. It hurt her not to be able to defend him, and Nick still didn't know about his liaison with Pétain. Somehow that bit of ugly news had never reached him. She dreaded the day that he would hear, and wondered if he ever would. Perhaps it would be after the war and then it wouldn't matter anymore.

The meal was a very pleasant one, and Nick left them early to go back to his hotel. George was an elderly man, no matter how spry he was, and Nick didn't want to overstay. He thought that Liane looked tired too when he left. She thanked him for the bracelet and the girls kissed him before he left, in thanks for the gifts. As he stood up he looked into Liane's eyes.

“I hope it's a better Christmas for all of us next year.”

“I hope so too. And … thank you, Nick.”

“Take care of yourself. I'll give you a call, and maybe we can have lunch sometime.”

“That would be nice.” But she didn't sound overly enthused and after he left, she put the girls to bed and came down for a few more minutes with Uncle George. He was extremely impressed by Nick, and curious as to why she'd never mentioned him before.

“I don't know him that well. We've only met once or twice, on the ships, and at a couple of parties in France.”

“Does he know Armand?”

“Of course. He was traveling with his wife when we met too.”

“But he's divorced now, isn't he?” And then suddenly he remembered the scandal in the newspapers all year. He rarely read that kind of thing, but that had caught even his eye. “I know, it was some land of a shocking thing. She ran off with someone and they fought over the child.” He frowned. “Where's the boy now?”

“His mother won custody of him last month. I suspect that may be why he enlisted again.”

Her uncle nodded and lit a cigar. “Good man.”

And then she bid him good night, and left her uncle there with his own thoughts, and returned to her room with her own. She carefully took off the bracelet that he'd given her, and looked at it for a long time, and then she put it down resolutely and tried to forget it. But even as she lay in the dark, she knew where it was and knew what was written inside. Deauville. The single word that cast a thousand forbidden images into her mind.

ick called to thank her the next day, and to wish a Merry Christmas to all of them. Liane was determined to keep the conversation formal and brief, but she felt a tug at her heart when she heard his voice. She suspected that he was desperately lonely without his son, and spending Christmas so far from home. And she couldn't resist saying something more to him.

“Did you call Johnny today, Nick?”

“I did.” But his voice sagged on the words. Her guess had been correct. It was a rough day for him. “He cried like a little kid. It broke my heart. And his mother is leaving tomorrow for two weeks in Palm Beach without him.” He sighed. “Nothing has changed. And there isn't a damn thing I can do about it now.”

“Maybe when you go back …” She echoed his own thoughts.

“I'll do something about it then. My lawyer said I'd have to wait a while anyway for an appeal. And at least I know he's safe with them. Markham is a complete fool, but all he's interested in is the good life. He won't do the boy any harm.” It wasn't what he had said before, but he had no choice now. He knew Hillary wouldn't shower love on him, but she would keep an eye on him. It was like leaving him with strangers for the duration of the war. “Brett Williams is going to keep an eye on things for me too. And if things get totally out of hand, he'll take control. That was about the best I could do before I left.”

She listened, aching for him, she knew how much he loved the child. It was half of why she had let him go. “Is that why you signed up, Nick?”

“More or less. I needed to get out. And there was a war to fight. It's almost a relief after the last year.”

“Well, don't get crazy when they ship you out.” She almost thought he should have stayed home to watch over John himself, and at times he thought so too, but he was glad he'd signed up, especially since he had found her.

“I'm not gone yet.” He smiled as he stood in the hall of his hotel, leaning against the wall. And then he decided to take a step. “I don't suppose I could see you today, Liane?”

There was a moment's pause. “I really ought to be here with the girls and …” Her voice drifted oft”. She didn't know what to say to him. She wanted him to know that for her nothing had changed in the last year and a half. Her feelings were the same. Both for him, and Armand. And her decision to end the affair hadn't altered.

“I understand.” But again she heard the loneliness in his voice and she felt torn. A warning bell went off somewhere in her head, but she didn't heed it this time. What harm could it do? It was Christmas, after all.

“Maybe if you'd like to come by this afternoon …” The girls would be there, and her uncle.

“I'd like that very much.”

“Around four?”

He held the phone tight. “Thanks, Liane. I appreciate it.”

“Don't say that. You're an old friend.”

There was a silence and then at last he spoke. “Is that what I am?”

“Yes.” Her voice was soft, but firm.

“That's good to know.”

He arrived promptly at four, and the girls were happy to see him when he arrived, and George was surprised.

“I didn't know we'd meet again so soon.”

“I think your niece felt sorry for me, a poor sailor in a strange town.” Uncle George guffawed and Nick sat down and played with the girls, and after a while Liane suggested that they go for a walk in the Presidio. George said that he'd stay home and wait for them, he wanted to read his new book. He smiled at Nick. And the others got their coats and went out as the girls pranced ahead, Marie-Ange on suddenly long, coltish legs, and Elisabeth charging along behind.

“They're growing up to be beautiful girls. How old are they now?”

“Elisabeth is nine, and Marie-Ange is eleven. And John is what? Almost eleven now?”

Nick nodded. “Time moves too fast, doesn't it?”

“Sometimes.” But she was thinking of Armand, and Nick realized it at once and turned to her.

“How is he? Still in France?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“I thought he'd be in North Africa by now.”

And then she looked at Nick and stopped their walk. There was no point pretending to him. She really couldn't bear it anymore. “Armand is with Pétain.” Nick looked at her, but he did not seem stunned.

“You know, I got that feeling when we were on the ship. I don't know why, but I did. How does that affect you, Liane?” He knew it didn't affect her feelings, or she would have said so before.

“It's difficult to explain. But it's been hard on the girls.” She told him about Washington then and the swastikas, and he winced.

“How awful for them … and you….”He searched her eyes and found a new sadness there.

“That's why we came west. It's been easier, thanks to Uncle George.”

“Does he know about Armand?”

“He knew before we came out.” She sighed softly and they walked on, to keep up with the girls. It had been a relief to tell Nick, they had always been able to speak to each other openly before, and there was no reason for that to change now. After all, they were still friends. “He doesn't approve, of course, and he thinks I'm mad.” And then she told him about his matchmaking during her first weeks in town, and they both laughed. “He's a dear old man. I never used to like him much, but he's mellowed a lot.”

Nick laughed. “Haven't we all.”

“He's been awfully good to us.”

“I'm glad. I worried about you a lot. Somehow I always assumed that you were in Washington. When did you leave?”

“Right after Thanksgiving last year.”

He nodded and then he looked at her. “There's more to it, isn't there?”

“To what?” She didn't quite follow his train of thought.

“To Armand being with Pétain.”

She stopped walking again and looked at him with surprised eyes. How did he know? Was it something she said? But she nodded. She trusted him. It was the first time she had admitted that to anyone. To do so would have been to jeopardize Armand, yet she knew that the secret was safe with Nick. “Yes.”

“That must make it even worse for you. Do you get news of him?”

“As often as he can. He runs a great risk if he says too much. I get most of his letters through the underground.”

“They've been damn good in France.” She nodded, and they walked on in silence for a while. It brought her closer to him to be able to be honest about Armand. He was truly her friend, and she looked at him after a time with a grateful smile. “Thank you for letting me tell you that. There are times when I thought I'd go mad. Everyone thinks—or they did in Washington. …”

“He's not that kind of man.” He could never imagine Armand working sincerely for Pétain, even as little as he knew the man, he knew that. He just hoped that the Germans weren't as smart.

She felt as though she owed him a further explanation now. He'd been decent to her, and she'd never told him then. “That was why—I couldn't, Nick. Not with what he's doing there. He doesn't deserve that.”

“I know. I understood.” His eyes were gentle on hers. “It's all right, Liane. You did the right thing. And I know how hard it was.”

“No, you don't.” She shook her head, and he saw that she was wearing the bracelet he'd given her the night before. It pleased him to see it there, the gold glinting in the winter sunlight.

“It was just as hard for me. I must have picked up the phone to call you a hundred times.”

“So did I.” She smiled and looked at her daughters in the distance. “It seems a long time ago, doesn't it?” Her eyes drifted back to his then and he shook his head.

“No. It seems like yesterday.”

And in a way it did to her too. He hadn't changed, and neither had she, although the world around them had. Almost too much so.

And then he played tag with the girls, and she joined them as they laughed and ran, and at last they went back to the house with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes, and George was pleased to see them, filling the old house with life. It truly felt like Christmas to him now, and to the others too. They invited Nick to stay for Christmas dinner with them, and when he left that night, they were all old friends, and Liane saw him to the door. He stood there for a moment and smiled at her.

“Maybe you're right. Maybe it is different now. I like you even better than I did before. We've both grown up a lot.”

She laughed. “Maybe you have, Nick. I think I've just grown old.”

“Tell that to someone else.” He laughed and waved as he went out to the waiting cab. “Good night, and thanks. Merry Christmas!” he called back as the cab drove off, and Liane went back inside with a happy smile. Too happy, she decided, as she looked in the mirror. But she couldn't change the sparkle in her eyes, from the relief she felt when she went to bed. It had been good to unburden herself to him.

ick turned up in Liane's office at the Red Cross a few days after Christmas. He had had some errands to do around town, and he had the afternoon off. He strode into the office and half a dozen women stopped their work to stare. In his uniform, he was more handsome than ever. Liane laughed.

“You're going to start a riot in here if you don't watch out.”

“It's good PR for you. How about lunch? And don't tell me you can't, or you have to do errands for your poor old uncle George, because I won't believe a word of it. How about the Mark Hopkins for lunch, old friend?” She hesitated, but he grabbed her coat and hat and handed them to her. “Come on.” He was impossible to resist.

“Don't you have anything else to do, like fight a war?”

“Not yet. There's still time for lunch, thank God, and George says you never go out. It won't hurt your reputation to eat lunch in broad daylight. We can sit at separate tables if you want.”

“All right, all right. I'm convinced.” She was in a lighthearted mood and so was he; it was almost like the old days on the Normandie, when they'd had their tennis match. They sat at a good table and enjoyed the view. Nick told her funny stories about the men on the base and in his hotel, and for the first time in years she felt alive again. He was easy to be with, funny and smart, and he took her totally by surprise when he asked her what she was doing on New Year's Eve.

“Wait. Don't tell me. Let me guess. You're staying home with Uncle George and the girls.”

“Right!” She grinned. “First prize goes to you.”

“Well, you get the booby prize. Why not let me take you out? I'm safe. And if I misbehave, you can call the MPs and have me removed.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You mean I have a chance?”

“Not a bit. I just want to know what I'm going to miss.”

“Oh, for chrissake.” He grinned at her. “Come on, Liane. It would do you good. You can't lock yourself up in that house all the time.”

“Yes, I can. And I'm happy there.”

“It's not good for you. How old are you now?” He tried to count back. “Thirty-three?”

“I'm thirty-four.”

“Oh, in that case … I had no idea you were so old. Well, I'm forty now. And I'm old enough to know what's good for you. And I think you should go out.”

“You sound just like Uncle George.” She was unconvinced but amused.

“Now, wait a minute. Forty is one thing, but I'm not that old!”

“Neither is he, in his heart. You know he used to be quite a rake in his day.”

Nick smiled. “I can still see it in his eyes. Now, don't change the subject on me. What about New Year's Eve?”

“First it's lunch, and then it's New Year's Eve. You know, you could be quite a rake too, if you tried. Maybe even if you didn't.”

“It's not my style.” He looked at her seriously. “I meant a quiet evening between two old friends who've had a tough time and understand the rules. We deserve that much. Otherwise, what do I do? Sit in my lousy hotel, and you stay home? We could go to the Fairmont for dinner or something like that.”

“I suppose we could.” She looked at him, but she still wasn't sure. “Would I be safe?” It was a straight question and he looked her in the eye.

“As safe as you want to be. I'll be honest with you, I still love you, I always have since the first time we met, and I probably always will. But I'll never do anything to hurt you. I understand how you feel about Armand, and I respect that. I know what the boundaries are. This isn't the Deauville, or even the Normandie. This is real life.”

She spoke softly as she looked at him. “That was real too.”

He took her hand gently in his. “I know it was. But I always knew what you wanted to do after that, and I respected that. I'm free now, Liane, but you're not, and that's all right. I just enjoy being with you. There was more to us than just—” He didn't know how to say the words and she understood.

“I know that.” She sighed and sat back in her chair with a smile. “It's funny that our paths should cross again, isn't it?”

“I guess you could call it that. I'm glad they did. I never really thought I'd see you again, except if I went to Washington sometime and ran into you on the street. Or maybe in Paris ten years from now, with Armand. …” And then he regretted saying his name, she looked pained again. “Liane, he made a choice, a difficult one, and you've stood by. You can't do more than that. Staying home, holding your breath, killing yourself, won't make it any easier for him. You have to go on with your life.”

“I'm trying to. That's why I took the job with the Red Cross.”

“I figured that. But you have to do more than that.”

“I suppose I do.” He made a lot of sense, and if she went out at all, she'd like it to be with him. He understood. And who knew how long he'd be around? He could be shipped out any day now. “All right, my friend, I would be honored to usher in nineteen forty-two with you.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

He paid the check and took her back to work, and the afternoon seemed to fly by. She was happy to get home to see George and the girls. Her uncle noticed the look on her face and didn't say a word. And that night, she casually mentioned to him that she was going out for dinner with Nick on New Year's Eve.

“That's nice.” He knew her well by now, he dared not say more, but he hoped that there was something afoot with “the Burnham boy.” He buried his nose in his book, and she went upstairs to talk to the girls, and at dinner that night, not another word was said about Nick.

Liane didn't mention him again until she came downstairs on New Year's Eve, in a dress she'd bought four years before in France, but it was still beautiful and so was she. George looked her over with a happy grin as she waited for Nick, and whistled softly though his teeth as she laughed.

“Not bad … not bad at all!”

“Thank you, sir.”

The dress had long sleeves and a high neck, it was black wool and reached to the floor, but it had tiny jet-black bugle beads sewn all over the top and a tiny cap to match, and it sat on her blond hair, swept up in a simple knot, and on her ears she wore tiny diamond clips. The outfit was simple and elegant and ladylike, and perfect for Liane. Nick thought the same when he arrived. He stood in the entrance hall for a moment and stared at her. And then he whistled, echoing George. It was the first time in years that she'd felt like a lady admired by men and it felt good. Nick said hello to George and Liane kissed him good night.

“Don't come back soon, it would be a shame to waste that dress. Go show it off.”

“I'll do my best to keep her out.” Nick winked broadly and all three of them laughed. The girls had already gone to bed. There was a festive feeling to the night as they left the house in the car Nick had borrowed. “I'm afraid I don't look half as elegant as you in my uniform, Liane.”

“Want to trade?”

He laughed at her and they reached the Fairmont in high spirits. Nick had reserved a table in the Venetian Room, and they went inside, where he ordered champagne, and they toasted each other and a better year to come before Nick ordered them steaks, preceded by shrimp and caviar. It was a far cry from the exotic goodies of the Normandie, but it was a fine meal and they were both relaxed. They danced several times after dessert, and Nick felt happier than he had in a long time and so did Liane.

“You're easy to be with, you know. You always were.” It was one of the first things he had noticed about her, in his days of misery with Hillary. He mentioned her now, and Liane smiled.

“You're well out of that, you know.”

“Oh, God, yes! I knew it then. But you know why I stayed.” It was because of John. “Anyway, those are old times, and this is almost a new year.” He glanced at his watch. “Are you making any resolutions this year, Liane?”

“Not a one.” She looked content as she smiled at him. “And you?”

“Yeah, I think I will.”

“What?”

“Not to get killed.” He looked her in the eye and she looked back at him. It brought home the point that at any moment he would be going to war, and that the casual dinners were only for a little while, and it suddenly made her stop and think, about him, about Armand, about the others around them going to war. The room was filled with uniforms. Overnight San Francisco had become a military town.

“Nick …” For an instant she wasn't sure what to say.

“Never mind, it was a dumb thing to say.”

“No, it wasn't. Just see that you live up to it.”

“I will. I still have to get Johnny back.” It was something to look forward to when he got back. “And in the meantime, would you like to dance?”

“Yes, sir.” They circled the floor to the tune of “The Lady's in Love with You,” and it seemed only moments later when the horns sounded and there was confetti everywhere in the air, and suddenly the lights were dim, people kissed, the music played, and they found themselves standing in the middle of the floor, looking at each other, their arms around each other, and he pressed her close just as she turned her face up to his and their lips met, and as they kissed, the rest of the room disappeared and they were on the Deauville again … lost in each other's arms … until at last they came up for air, and Liane didn't pull away.

“Happy New Year, Nick.”

“Happy New Year, Liane.”

And then they kissed again. They hadn't drunk enough champagne to blame it on that, and they stayed on the floor and danced for a long time, until at last he took her home and they stood outside her uncle's house as Nick looked down at her.

“I owe you an apology, Liane. I didn't play by the rules tonight.” But the truth was for the last two years he would have given his right arm to have what he had just had tonight. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean—” But she put up a hand and touched his mouth with her fingertips.

“Nick, don't … it's all right. …” Something he had said had touched a place in her heart, about making a resolution not to be killed. And suddenly she knew that they had to take the moments while they could. They had learned once before that the moments might not come again. And they had been given this second chance as a gift. She couldn't turn it back now. She no longer wanted to. She only wanted him.

He kissed her fingertips and then her eyes, her lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” She pulled away and smiled at him. “We don't have a right to waste that now. We did what we had to before, and we will again … but right now—” He pulled her close to him with a fierceness that took her by surprise.

“I'll love you all my life. Do you know that?” She nodded.

“And when you tell me to go away again, I will. I do understand what has to be.”

“I know you do.” She touched his face as he held her close. “Then we don't have to talk about it again.” She pulled gently away from him then and opened the door with her key. He kissed her good night, and she watched him drive away. There was no stopping the tides now, and neither of them wanted to. They had held them back for almost two years, and they couldn't now … couldn't … and she had no regrets. She walked quietly upstairs and took off her dress and went to bed, and tonight there were no dreams of anyone. There was a strange weightless feeling of peace and light and joy as she slept on dreamlessly until morning.

n New Year's Day Nick stopped by the house to see her, and they sat in the library for a long time, chatting by the fire. No mention was made of what had happened the night before. It was as though they had always been together and she had expected to see him. Even the girls didn't look surprised when they came in from the garden and saw him sitting there.

“Hi, Uncle Nick.” Elisabeth threw her arms around his neck and cast her mother a guilty smile. “Do we still have to call him Mr. Burnham?”

“That's not up to me.” She smiled at them both. It was nice seeing him with the girls. It had been so long since they'd had a man around, aside from Uncle George, and she knew that he did them good.

“Well, Uncle Nick?” Elisabeth turned to him now. “Can we?”

“I don't see why not.” He stroked the silky blond hair so much like her mother's. “Actually I'm flattered.” Marie-Ange followed suit and then they ran out into the garden again to play and Uncle George came downstairs.

“I just finished my book. It was excellent.” He smiled at his benefactor. “I'd be happy to lend it to you, if you have time to read.”

“Thanks very much.” As usual, within moments, the men began discussing the war news. The world was still shocked at the Japanese sinking the British battleships the Prince of Wales and the Repulse, off the coast of Malaya four days after Pearl Harbor. The loss of life on both ships had been shocking, and the Prince of Wales had sunk with her admiral. She had been the battleship that Churchill had been on in Argentia Bay, when he met Roosevelt to sign the Atlantic Charter. “I don't suppose you know what ship you'll be assigned to yet?”

“No, sir, but I should know soon.” George nodded and looked at Liane then.

“You looked very pretty last night, my dear. I hope you two had a good time.”

“Very pleasant.” And then they mentioned how many military men they'd seen at the hotel. In three and a half weeks since Pearl Harbor had been hit, it seemed as though the entire country had signed up, and all the young men they knew were being drafted. “Actually, you know, I'm surprised they sent me here. From the gossip, the United States is a lot more interested in wiping out the Germans before they level the Japanese.” In the days immediately after Pearl Harbor, the Germans had launched an enormous submarine offensive in the Atlantic, and ships were being sunk within frightening close range of the eastern seaboard. The main ports of New York, Boston, and Norfolk were now being protected with mines and nets and coastal convoys, and everyone wondered just how close the Germans would dare to come. There were blackouts every night in both the east and west coastal areas.

“It looks like we're getting it from both sides.” George stared into the fire with worried eyes. His homeland had never been threatened directly before and it was a shock to him. He looked at Nick and shook his head. “I just wish I were young enough to join you.”

“I don't.” Liane looked at her uncle. “Someone has to stay here with us, or hadn't you thought of that?” He smiled and patted her hand.

“That, my dear, is my only consolation.” He left them then and went back upstairs to read the afternoon paper in the study next to his room, and Nick and Liane were left alone. He looked at her for a long moment and took her hand in his.

“I had a wonderful time last night, Liane.”

“So did I.” Her eyes met his without wavering. Even in the clear light of day, she had no regrets over kissing him the night before. He had drifted back into her life like a ship on an unknown course, and perhaps for a time they could sail on together. Not for long though, she knew; eventually he would ship out. Perhaps that was their destiny, she had thought to herself that morning, to meet now and then in the course of their lifetimes, and to give each other the strength they needed to go on. He had done that for her now as he had once before. She felt calmer this morning than she had in more than a year, and there seemed to be an aura of peace all about them.

“No regrets?”

She smiled at him. “Not yet.” And then she explained what she had been thinking.

“It's funny but I thought almost the same thing on the way home last night. Maybe this is all we'll ever have, but maybe it's enough.” Their eyes met and held, and then he asked her about an idea he had had that morning. “Do you suppose you could get away for a few days, Liane?”

“What did you have in mind?”

His voice was very gentle. “I was thinking of a few days in Carmel. What do you think?”

She smiled peacefully at him, amazed at her own reaction. But she was taking something for herself that she wanted very badly and had for a long time. She knew deep in her soul that she would never do it again. But just this once … this once more … “I think it would be lovely. Can you get away?” She forced herself not to think of Armand. That would come later.

“As long as I leave the number where I am. I have a three-day leave coming next weekend. Is there any place special you'd like to go?”

“I haven't been to Carmel in years …” She thought about it for a moment. “What about the Pine Inn?”

“Done. Can you leave on Friday morning?” And then he frowned. “What about the girls? Will they be upset?”

She thought about it for a moment and then shook her head. “I'll tell them it's something for the Red Cross.”

He grinned, feeling like a mischievous boy kidnapping a virgin from her parents. “A likely story. Just watch out when they start telling you stories like that a few years from now.”

She smiled happily at Nick. “I'll kill them.” He laughed then, and they chatted on for a while, and then wandered out to the garden to see the girls. He left later, before dinner, despite their invitation; he had to dine with his commanding officer. And then she walked him to the front door and he looked at her as they said good-bye. They were alone in the cavernous marble hall, and he bent to kiss her gently, uttering the words “Don't forget how much I love you.”

During the weekend and for the rest of the week, he had a hard time getting free, but he called on Thursday night to confirm their plans. Uncle George had purposely not asked for him, and Liane hadn't mentioned him once. “Is everything set for tomorrow?”

“It is here. What about you?” She had told them that she was going to a three-day Red Cross seminar in Carmel, and everyone seemed to believe her.

“Everything's fine.” And then he laughed. “You know, I'm as nervous as a kid.”

And suddenly she giggled. “So am I.”

“Maybe we're crazy to do this. Maybe it was just a shipboard romance after all, and we're nuts to try it again.” It was a very honest thing to say, but they had that kind of ease between them, even now, after all this time and only a few kisses to remind them of the past.

“We could flood the room and pretend that we're sinking.”

“I don't think that's very funny.”

“Sorry. Bad joke.” But they both laughed anyway. They laughed a lot together, something he hadn't done in a long time and neither had she, and it did them both a world of good.

She left the house with a light step the next morning and a smile she could barely conceal. She was grateful that the girls had gone back to school three days before and didn't see her leave the house just before noon, and Uncle George was at the office. She took a cab to Nick's hotel, where he was nervously pacing up and down on the street, smoking a cigarette.

“You look like your wife is having a baby.” She grinned as he paid the cab.

“I suddenly got panicked that you wouldn't show.”

“Would you rather I didn't?” But in answer to her question, he took her in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth. They stood there like that for a long time, and two passing marines hooted and whistled.

“What do you think?” She smiled in answer. She was glad she had come. She had felt the same nervousness as he in the cab, and almost turned back once. What if they got in an accident and George and the girls found out? What if … but she had come and she was glad. He put her bag in the trunk of his borrowed car and they took off for Carmel, singing and laughing like two children.

It was a beautiful drive down the coast and the weather was lovely even though it was cool. They stopped at a roadside restaurant for lunch, and they reached Carmel at four o'clock, in time for a walk on the beach before it got dark. They left their bags in their room at the Pine Inn, and walked the two short blocks to the beach, stuffing their shoes in the pockets of their coats, and running through the sand, he barefoot, and she in silk stockings. The air felt wonderful on their faces, and at last, when they stopped far down the beach and sat down, they were breathless and happy and laughing. Everything looked so peaceful here, as though all were right with the world and always would be.

“It's hard to believe there's a war going on, isn't it?” Nick sat staring out to sea, thinking of the battleships defending their country halfway around the world. Carmel was totally untouched by the hubbub of uniforms they had seen in San Francisco. It was a sleepy little town, and it slept on, and Liane hoped it would never awaken. And she had a constant sense of gathering moments to remember later.

“It feels good to get away. My work at the Red Cross is beginning to depress me.” She sighed and looked at him. He was surprised. He thought she liked it.

“How come?”

“I don't feel as though I'm doing enough. Organizing officers’ teas and making lists isn't my style. It's been something to do for the last year. But I'd much rather be doing something useful.” She sighed and he smiled, remembering how hard she had worked to save the men on the Deauville.

“I remember. What do you have in mind?”

“I don't know yet. I've been thinking. Maybe some hospital work.”

He reached for her hand. “Florence Nightingale.” And then he kissed her, and they lay side by side on the beach until it got dark and then they walked slowly back to their hotel. And Liane realized for the first time that they were about to spend a civilized weekend together, like ordinary people. On the ship, they had existed in the stuffy darkness of the first mate's cabin during the nightly blackouts, and suddenly here they were with a pretty little room and a shower, and she felt shy with him as they walked into the room, and they both glanced at the bathroom. It was like being newlyweds and she giggled.

“Do you want to shower first or shall I?”

“After you. You probably take longer than I do anyway.”

She loaded her arms with her toiletries and what she was going to wear, and closed o the door, and half an hour later she emerged fully dressed, with her hair done in a smooth knot, and he whistled. “That's quite a feat in a room that size.” She laughed. She had juggled all her things and her dress had almost fallen in the tub, but one would never have known it to look at her.

“You're next.” And he was right. It took him less time, and when he came out, he was only wearing a towel. He had forgotten to take a fresh uniform in with him.

“There must be an easier way than this.” He grinned, and she laughed.

“It's strange, isn't it? It was much easier on the ship, and God knows why in those conditions.” But they both knew why. It was all familiar then, after the first time, they could have existed in half the space, and now everything was different. He looked at her gently from the bathroom door and he walked slowly toward her.

“It's been an awful long time, Liane … too long …” He stood very still and she reached her arms up around his neck and kissed him.

And very gently he pulled her toward him. There were no words needed for what they felt, as suddenly where they were, or where they had been for the last year and a half, no longer mattered. Their bodies seemed to surge together as her clothes seemed to melt away beneath his hands and his towel fell and he gently picked her up and carried her to the bed, and he devoured her with his lips and his hands, and she lay breathless with pleasure. It was hours before they lay side by side again, drowsy with contentment. He rolled over on one elbow to look down at Liane. She was more beautiful than ever.

“Hello, my love.”

She smiled up at him with sleepy eyes. “I've missed you, Nick … even more than I remembered.” She kissed his shoulder and his chest, and ran a finger lazily down his arm. It was even better between them than it had been before. Added to passion was something warm and easy and familiar.

At last at ten o'clock they got up and Nick strolled around the room, comfortable without his clothes, it felt as though they had always lived together. He looked over his shoulder with a smile as he fished a pack of Camels out of his jacket. “Well, I guess we blew dinner. Are you starving?”

She laughed and shook her head. She hadn't thought about food since the first time he had kissed her. “Maybe they'll let us forage around in the kitchen.” But they were surprised, when they got dressed and went downstairs, to find that the dining room was still open, and they took a quiet table in a corner and enjoyed a candlelight supper of champagne and smoked salmon. For dessert Nick had apple pie à la mode, which wasn't in keeping with the rest, and she teased him about it.

“The military is giving me bad habits.” But she shared it with him, and they laughed, and eventually went back to their room. There was a bright moon overhead, and the room was quiet and cozy. And almost before they closed the door he pulled her back to their bed and they made love again, and Liane drifted off to sleep at last in his arms with a happy smile on her face as Nick lay awake for a long time and watched her.

he next morning, they woke up and ordered breakfast in their room. They sat naked on the bed and nibbled off each other's trays of croissants and Danish pastries, while Liane drank English breakfast tea and Nick drank black coffee. And as she looked up at him with a smile he grinned.

“Nice, isn't it, Liane?”

“Nice isn't the word for it.” It was very different from her old life with Armand, it was different from anything she'd ever known before, yet at the same time it felt as though she had always lived it. Almost instinctively she had known what they would eat for breakfast, and she knew he drank his coffee black. She even knew just how hot he liked his shower. And as she sat in the bath afterward while he shaved, he whistled and she sang and then they sang a duet together.

He grinned when they were through and turned to her with a towel wrapped around his middle. “Not bad, eh? Maybe we should audition for a radio show.”

“Sure. Why not?” She smiled. They both got dressed and went for a long walk on the beach, and then they strolled past some of the shops and art galleries. He bought her a little walrus carved out of wood, and she bought him a small gold sea gull on a gold chain.

“Will they let you wear that on your dog tags, to remind you of Carmel?”

“Let them try and stop me.” They were silly trinkets but they each wanted something to remind them of Carmel in the months to come. And then she bought little presents for the girls and Uncle George, and they went back to their hotel to snuggle cozily in the big bed until they went downstairs for another late dinner.

On Sunday they stayed in bed until after noon, and Liane hated to get up. She knew that they'd have to go home soon and she didn't want their idyll to end. She sat in the bathtub with a distant look in her eyes, staring at the soap in her hand. Nick read her mind as he watched her. He touched her head gently and she looked up and smiled.

“Don't look so sad, love. We'll come back.”

“Do you think we could?” But who knew when he'd ship out. It could be any day. But he read her mind again.

“We will. I promise.”

They checked out of the hotel an hour later, after they made love “just one more time,” and Liane giggled afterward as she wagged a finger at him.

“You know, you're giving me bad habits and I think this is habit-forming.”

“I know it is. I had withdrawal for seventeen months last time.”

“So did I.” She looked at him sadly. “I used to dream about you at night. The night I ran into you at Mrs. MacKenzie's I heard your voice and I thought I'd finally lost my mind.”

“That's how I felt when I looked across the room and saw you. That used to happen to me all the time in New York, I'd look down a street and there you were, walking away, with the same blond hair, and I'd fly down the street to see and it was never you. A lot of women on the street must have thought I was crazy. And I was …” His eyes reached deep into hers. “I was crazy for a long, long time, Liane.” She nodded.

“We're still crazy now.” They had stolen three days, and they both knew that what they had was something they couldn't keep. It was only borrowed.

“I'm not sorry. Are you?”

She shook her head. “I thought of Armand yesterday … and what it must be like for him in Paris … and yet, somehow, I knew that what we were doing wouldn't change anything for him. I'll still be here for him when the war is over.” Nick knew it too, and he didn't resent it. It was something about her that he had always accepted … almost always. … He also knew that Europe was having a terrible winter, but he assumed that she knew it too. And there was no point talking about that. There was nothing she could do for Armand, and he knew how much she worried.

They drove slowly back by the coast road again, and got home at eight o'clock, after stopping for a quick dinner just before they reached San Francisco. She hadn't called home all weekend and she hoped the girls were all right, and she noticed that Nick hadn't called Johnny either. It was as though just for those three days they belonged to each other in another world, and no one else and no other world had ever existed. They talked about the children in the last half hour of the trip and Nick sighed.

“I know he'll be all right. But I worry so damn much about him.” And then he turned to Liane. “I want to ask you something … something special. …” Her heart raced, she knew suddenly it would be important.

“Sure. What?”

“If something happens to me … when I'm gone … will you promise me that you'll go see him?”

For a moment Liane was shocked into silence. “Do you suppose Hillary would let me?”

“She never knew about us. There's no reason why she wouldn't. And she's remarried now.” He sighed again. “If I could, I'd leave him with you, then I'd know he'd be in good hands forever.” Liane nodded slowly.

“Yes, I'll go to see him. I'll stay in touch with him over the years.” She smiled gently. “Like a guardian angel.” But then she touched Nick's hand. “But nothing's going to happen to you, Nick.”

“You never know.” He looked at her in the darkness as they pulled up in front of her uncle's house. “I meant what I asked you.”

“And I meant what I said. If that happens, I'll go to see him.” But it was something she couldn't bear to think about.

They got out of the car, and he put her bag in the front hall. There was no one around. The girls were already in bed and she hoped that they wouldn't see him, but he hadn't wanted her to take a cab from his hotel so he had brought her home. She turned to him then just outside the door and they kissed for a long time.

“I'll call you in the morning.”

“I love you, Nick.”

“I love you, Liane.” He kissed her again and then he left, and she went upstairs to her bedroom.

rmand sat in his office, blowing on his hands to warm them. It had been a ghastly few weeks, with rare snow and ice on the streets of Paris, and all the houses held the cold. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been warm, and his hands were so cold now he could barely write, even after rubbing them together for several minutes. As a liaison between Pétain and the Germans, he had moved his offices the month before, and he was now in the Hotel Majestic with the Verwaltungsstab, the German administrative offices of the High Command. Their corresponding military arm was the Kommandostab, under the command of Staff Colonel Speidel. Unfortunately, he had had to take André Marchand with him, and the young assistant was so excited to be in the same building as the Germans now that he always appeared rigid with zealous devotion, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for Armand to conceal his hatred for him.

And Armand's responsibilities these days were even more extensive than before. The Germans had finally come to trust him. He spent many hours with their Propaganda Abteilung, in order to help impress on the French what a blessing had befallen them in the guise of the Germans. And he had frequent meetings with Staff Colonel Speidel, and General Barkhausen to discuss what they referred to as “War Booty Services.” It was here that Armand was secretly able to wreak havoc and sidetrack a lot of the treasures earmarked for Berlin. They simply disappeared and the Resistance was blamed, and no one seemed more irate than Armand. And as yet, no one suspected. And he also had frequent meetings with Dr. Michel, of the German Ministry of State Economy, to discuss the current state of the French economy, the controlling of prices, chemical industries, paper manufacture, labor problems, credit, insurance, coal, electric power, and assorted other minor areas.

Most of the big hotels had been taken over by the German High Command. General von Stutnitz, the Military Commander of Gross-Paris, was at the Crillon, Von Speidel and the others at the Majestic. The Verwaltungsstab were conveniently located near Armand's home in the Palais-Bourbon, and Oberkriegsverwaltungsrat Kruger, in charge of the city's budget, was at the Hotel de Ville. And General von Briesen, commander of the city of Paris itself, was at the Hotel Meurice, although eventually General Schaumburg took his place, and remained at the Meurice because he found it so enchanting.

And throughout the city posters in French issued terrifying warnings regarding information passed, acts of sabotage, violence, strikes, incitement to riot, or even the hoarding of articles for daily use, which were all punishable “with the utmost severity,” by a War Tribunal. And inevitably there were frequent violations, mostly by members of the Resistance, who, the Germans immediately informed the public, were “communist students” and who were shot publicly to teach everyone a lesson. Public executions in Paris were all most commonplace by 1942, and the atmosphere in the city was subdued and depressing. Only in the hidden Resistance meetings around Occupied France was the atmosphere one of excitement and tension. But everywhere else the cities and the towns and the countrysides seemed blanketed in silent oppression. And not only were the Germans out to get them, but the elements appeared to be too. All that winter, people had been dying like flies from the cold and the shortages of food. As Armand looked around him he saw a dying nation. And the Germans had long ceased pretending that the “unoccupied South” would go untouched. They had moved in there too, and now all of France was swallowed up. “But not for long,” De Gaulle still promised on his broadcasts from the BBC in London. And the most amazing man of all was a man called Moulin, who was almost single-handedly responsible for spurring on the Resistance. Without anyone understanding how he managed, he made constant trips to London to the organization of Resistance fighters waiting there and then would manage to infiltrate back into France again, to give everyone hope and new spirit.

Armand had only dared to meet with him once or twice. For him it was much too risky, and most of the time he dealt with him indirectly, particularly after the famous Edict of July 15 of the year before, when the Germans cracked down on art treasures all over France, demanding that any item valued at more than one hundred thousand francs be reported at once by their custodians or owners. It was these records that Armand was so busy destroying and misplacing in the winter of 1941 and the early months of 1942, and he knew that single-handedly he was already responsible for salvaging millions of dollars worth of treasures for France, in spite of the Germans. But more important than that, he was attempting to save lives, and that was becoming more and more dangerous for him. And for the last few weeks he had been sick from the desolate cold that attacked Paris. But he said nothing of it in the letter that Liane received the day after she got back from Carmel. All she could glean from it was that his work was going well. Yet she heard something else in his letter. Something she had never heard before. A kind of despair that almost reached desperation. She sensed through the things he didn't say that France was not faring well at the hands of the Germans, worse than anyone knew. And she stood at the window for a long time, looking out at the Golden Gate Bridge, after she had read the letter.

“Liane? Is something wrong?” Her uncle had not yet left for work, and he had been watching her from the doorway. Her whole body seemed to sag and her head was down, and when she turned toward him, he saw that she was crying. But she shook her head and smiled through her tears.

“No. Nothing new. I had a letter from Armand.” It had been smuggled out by Moulin during his most recent trip to London, but she couldn't tell her uncle that. Even he couldn't know about Armand's ties to the Resistance. Armand had told her to tell no one. And she hadn't, except Nick. But she trusted him completely.

“Did something happen?”

“I don't know. He just sounds so sad … it's all so depressing.”

“War isn't a nice thing.” The words were trite but true.

“He almost sounds ill.” She knew her husband well. And her uncle refrained from saying he didn't wonder a traitor would be ill at the destruction of his country.

“He'll be all right. He's probably just lonely for you and the girls.” She nodded, suddenly feeling the first spear of guilt slice through her.

“I suppose he is.”

“How was your seminar in Carmel?”

Her eyes lit up in spite of herself. “It was lovely.”

He asked her no further questions and they both left for work. She told Nick about the letter from Armand that afternoon when he picked her up at the Red Cross office. But he could only think of one thing, and his eyes searched hers in sudden panic. “Have you changed your mind about us?”

She looked at him for a long time and then shook her head. “No, I haven't. It's as though I have two separate lives now. My old one with Armand, and now this with you.” He nodded, relieved, and she sighed. “But I feel terrible for him.”

“Does he seem to be in any particular danger?”

“Not more than usual, I think. I didn't get any sense of that in his letter. Just a sense of terrible depression, mostly for France.” She looked up at Nick. “I think he cares about that more than he cares about himself, or about us. His country means everything to him.”

Nick spoke softly. “I admire him.” And then he took her home, and joined the family for dinner. After dinner, he played dominoes with Liane and Uncle George, and then he went back to his hotel, and she found herself wondering when they would be together again, as they had been in Carmel. Women were not allowed in his hotel, and she wouldn't have wanted to go there anyway. But the next weekend, he solved the problem for them by suggesting that they reserve a room at the Fairmont. There was one problem that they didn't have, and others did. Neither of them was short of funds. But they had enough other problems. She, worrying about Armand in France, and he worrying about Johnny.

She listened that weekend, when he called his son, and she watched him with her girls, and she knew how much he missed the boy. He had a wonderful ease with children. And after they took the girls home, they went to dinner, and then back to the room they had rented at the Fairmont. The girls had been invited to spend the night with a friend, and she had told Uncle George another story he hadn't questioned.

“Do you think he suspects about us, Nick?” She smiled up at him as they lay on the bed in their room and drank champagne and ate peanuts. This time they didn't go to the Venetian Room. They wanted to be alone. Nick looked amused at her question.

“Probably. He's no fool. And he's probably done plenty of this in his day.” She knew that herself, but she wondered.

“He hasn't said a thing.”

“He knows you too well for that.”

“Do you think he minds?”

“Do you?” Nick smiled gently and she shook her head.

“No, he wishes I'd divorce Armand and marry you, I suspect. “

“So do I—I mean I suspect the same thing.” He was quick to clarify when he saw the look in her eyes. She was desperately afraid that she was being unfair to Nick. She was a married woman, after all, and could offer him no part in her future. “Anyway, don't worry about it. As long as the vice squad doesn't show up, or the press, we'll be fine.” She laughed at the idea. They were registered in the hotel as Major and Mrs. Nicholas Burnham.

They drifted on like that for quite a while with dinners and long walks in the afternoon, and stolen weekends at the Fairmont. They managed another quick hop to Carmel after a few weeks, but in February things began to get tense for Nick. Singapore fell to the Japanese, and Japanese land forces had taken Java, Borneo, the Dutch East Indies, and several islands in the South Pacific. The Japanese were so pleased with themselves that General Nagumo had retired north to Japan. And Nick expected to be shipped out at any moment. He somehow assumed every week he would hear, but still he didn't. U.S. aircraft carriers were making hit-and-run raids on the Gilbert and Marshall islands south of Japan, battering successfully at Japanese positions, but the main strongholds could not be won from the Japanese.

One day in March he looked at her in dismay, and after his second Scotch, he astounded her by slamming a fist onto the table. He had been nervous for weeks, waiting to be shipped out.

“Goddamn it, Liane, I should be over there too. Why the hell am I sitting on my ass in San Francisco?” Her feelings weren't hurt by his outburst, she understood and spoke to him in a soothing tone, but it didn't seem to help.

“Wait, Nick. They're biding their time.”

“And I'm spending the war sitting around in hotel rooms.” His look was one of pure accusation, and this time he got to her.

“That is your choice, Nick, it is not an obligation.”

“I know … I know … I'm sorry … I'm just sitting here going goddamm nuts. I enlisted three months ago, for chrissake, and Johnny is in New York with Hillary, tugging at me by saying he misses me. I made him a big speech about going to war, and now all I do is sit here, having one long party.” The anxiety in his voice touched her and she tried to calm him down. She had her own guilts about Armand, and there were times when she questioned herself too. But she couldn't leave Nick now, and she didn't want to. They were going to stay together until he left, and then they both knew that it would be over.

She snapped at him now and then, particularly once after she'd gotten a letter from Armand. He mentioned that he was having attacks of rheumatism in his legs from the cold, and the same day, Nick had complained to her that they had danced so much the night before that his back hurt, and she had suddenly turned on him in a rage.

“Then don't dance so much, for God's sake!”

He was surprised at the look on her face. He had never seen her like that before. “I didn't see you walk off the floor until two o'clock in the morning.” But as he said the words she burst into tears, and as he cradled her in his arms he discovered the problem as she sobbed and told him about Armand's letter.

“I think he's sick, Nick … he's almost fifty-nine years old … and it's freezing cold over there. …” She sobbed in Nick's arms and he held her.

“It's all right, love … it's all right….” He always understood. There was nothing she couldn't tell him.

“And sometimes I feel so guilty.”

“So do I. But we knew that right from the beginning. It doesn't change anything for him.” Liane wrote to him just as often, and she was helpless to help him.

“What if the Germans kill him?”

Nick sighed and thought about it, not sure what he could say to reassure her. There was very definitely a risk that the Germans would kill him. “That's a chance he took when he stayed there. I think he thinks it's worth it.” He had a strong sense of Armand's passion for his country. Judging from things Liane had said, he sensed that it had almost become an obsession. “Liane, you just have to trust that he'll survive. There's nothing else you can do.”

“I know.” And then she thought of the night before, when they'd gone dancing. “But it's as though our life here is like one long party.” She was echoing his words and they looked at each other long and hard.

“Do you want it to stop?” He held his breath.

“No.”

“Neither do I.” But in April he picked her up at the Red Cross one afternoon and he was strangely silent.

“Is something wrong, Nick?”

He looked at her sadly. He felt none of the excitement he had expected to feel. He felt loss and desolation. “The party's over.”

There was a strange tingling in her spine. “What do you mean?”

“I'm leaving San Francisco tomorrow.” She caught her breath and looked at him, and suddenly she was crying in his arms. They had both known it would come, but now they weren't ready.

“Oh, Nick …” And then fear struck her again. “Where are you going?”

“San Diego. For two days. And then we ship out. I'm not sure where. I'll be on an aircraft carrier, the Lady Lex.” He tried to smile. “Actually, she's the Lexington. We're going somewhere in the Pacific.” She had just returned for some repairs, Liane had read in the papers. And now as they drove home to her uncle's house, neither of them spoke. They were grim-faced and silent and Uncle George knew at once when he saw them.

“Shipping out, son?”

“Yes, sir. I'll be leaving here tomorrow for San Diego.” George nodded and watched Liane, and it was a quiet dinner that night. Even the girls seldom broke the silence, and when he said good-bye to them that night, they cried, almost as much as they had when they had left their father. He was more real to them now than Armand. They hadn't seen him in two years, and Nick had been in their midst almost constantly for the past four months. His loss would be felt by all, especially Liane, who kissed him tenderly in the doorway. She had promised to take the train to San Diego the next day, and they would have a little time together before he shipped out. He had to be on the ship the day before she sailed. That gave them one day and one night in San Diego together.

“I'll call you at the hotel in San Diego tomorrow night, if I can. Otherwise I'll get to you the next morning.” She nodded again, with tears in her eyes.

“I miss you already.”

He smiled. “So do I.” Neither of them had been prepared for the pain they felt now. “I love you.”

She waved as he drove away, and went back into the house, and when she got to her room, she lay on the bed and sobbed. She wasn't ready to give him up … not again … not now … not ever….

iane's train reached San Diego at eleven o'clock the next night, and she didn't reach the hotel until midnight. She knew that it was too late for Nick to call, and she waited breathlessly by the phone the next day, until finally he called just after noon. She had been awake and tense since seven o'clock that morning.

“I'm sorry, love. I couldn't call. I've got meetings and briefings and God knows what else.”

She panicked at his words. “Can I see you?” She glanced out at the Pacific as she spoke, trying to imagine where he was. Her room had a view of the base and the port in the distance.

“I can't see you until tonight. And Liane …” He hated to do it, but he knew he had to tell her. “That'll be it. I have to report to the base at six o'clock tomorrow morning.”

“When do you sail?” Her heart was pounding in her ears.

“I don't know. All I know is that I have to be on the ship at six o'clock tomorrow morning. I assume we sail the next day. But they won't tell us.” That was standard military procedure, because of the war. “Look, I've got to go. I'll see you tonight. As soon as I can.”

“I'll be here.” She spent the day in her room, terrified that he would come early and she would miss him. And at ten minutes to six there was a knock on her door. It was Nick and she flew into his arms, crying and laughing and desperately happy to see him. For these few moments they could pretend that he would never leave.

“God, you look so good to me, love.”

“So do you.” But they were both exhausted from the strain of the past two days. It was a time she knew she would never forget. It was worse than when she had left Paris.

They talked frantically for half an hour, and then he took her in his arms and took her to bed, and after that, things seemed to slow down. They never left the room to go to dinner that night, and they never slept. They lay there and they talked and made love. And Liane trembled as she saw the sun come up. She knew that their last night was over.

At five thirty he got out of bed, and he looked at her soberly as she watched him. “Babe … I've got to go….”

“I know.” She sat up, wanting to pull him to her, wanting to turn the clock back.

And then he asked her something he had wanted to ask her for two days. “Will you write to me, or would you rather not?” They had agreed four months before that when he left it would be over.

“I'll write.” She smiled sadly. She was already writing to Armand, and now she had lost two men to the war, for the time being at least. She didn't know what she would do when he came back. For weeks she had been asking herself that question. Things were different than they had been on the Deauville, she and Nick had had four months, not thirteen days, and she couldn't give him up so easily now. Once or twice she had thought of leaving Armand after the war, but she didn't think she could. Nor could she give up Nick Burnham.

“I'll write to you too. But it may take forever for you to get my letters.”

“I'll be waiting.”

He didn't shower before he put on his clothes. He didn't want to waste a single minute of their time together, he could shower on the ship, he had a lifetime to do that. And all he had now were a few moments left with Liane. “Remember what I said about Johnny.” He had given her Hillary's address, but she had insisted again that she wouldn't need it. He'd come back to see to Johnny himself, and he had answered “Just in case.” She had taken it to make him feel better.

Their last moments ticked by like the last seconds before a bomb explodes, and in the end they stood in her room and he held her tight. “I'm going to leave you here.”

Panic struck her again. “Can't I take you back to the base?”

He shook his head. “It'll just make it harder.” She nodded, tears already flooding her face, and he kissed her one last time and looked into her eyes. “I'll be back.”

“I know.” And neither of them asked the other what would happen then. It was too late to think of that. All they had was the present, and whatever fate dealt them later. “Nick … take care. …” She grabbed at him once as he left the room, and he held her again, and then with a last wave he ran down the stairs, and she went back into their room and closed the door, and she sat, feeling as though the last bit of life had been drained out of her. She was still sitting in the room two hours later, thinking of him, when she happened to glance out the window, and the whole Pacific Ocean seemed to have disappeared and in its place was an enormous ship, moving slowly out to sea. Her heart pounded as she watched. It was an aircraft carrier, and she knew as she watched that it was the Lexington and Nick was on it. She flung open the window of her room as though that would bring her a little closer, and she watched until it had left the harbor. And then she turned slowly and packed her bag, and two hours later she was back on the train, sitting silent and still as she returned to San Francisco.

hen Liane got back to San Francisco, she let herself into the house, and climbed slowly up the stairs to her room. It was late and the house was dark, and she jumped as though a bomb had exploded near her when she heard a voice. It was Uncle George. He was sitting quietly in her room, in the dark, waiting for her.

“Is something wrong? … The girls?”

“They're fine.” He looked at her searchingly as she turned on the light. She looked ravaged. “Are you all right, Liane?”

“I'm fine.” But she began to cry as she said it, and she turned away so he wouldn't see. “Really … I'm all right….”

“No, you're not. And it's nothing to be ashamed of. I didn't expect you to be. That's why I'm here.”

And then, like a little child, she flew into his arms. “Oh, Uncle George …”

“I know … I know … he'll be back …” But so would Armand. And all the way home on the train she had thought about both men. She was torn between the two now. And then her uncle poured her a glass of brandy. He had brought a bottle and two glasses to her room, and she smiled at him through her tears.

“What did I ever do to deserve a nice uncle like you?”

“You're a good woman, Liane.” He said it without a smile.

“And you deserve a good man. And God willing, you'll have one.”

She took a sip of the brandy and sat down with a nervous smile. “The trouble is, Uncle George, I have two of them.” But he didn't answer. He left her a little while after that, and she went to bed, and in the morning she felt a little better.

She had a letter from Armand that day and he sounded a little better too. He seemed cheered by “recent events,” as he told her, but he didn't say what they were. And the weather had warmed up and his legs weren't as painful.

In the next few days the news from London was cheering too. The British had received their first shipment of United States food, averting a drastic food shortage in London.

And on April 18, everyone read in the American press of the Doolittle raid on Tokyo, led by Lt. Colonel James H. Doolittle, the aeronautical scientist and pilot. He had modified sixteen B-25 bombers, and the team had headed for Japan, knowing full well that they couldn't return, with the intention of landing in unoccupied China, after they bombed Tokyo. And all but one of the planes made it, with the result of an enormous improvement in morale among the troops. Revenge had been served. Tokyo had been bombed. It was a thank-you for Pearl Harbor.

But the good cheer over the Doolittle raid was short-lived. By the night of May 4, everyone was talking of the battle of the Coral Sea, and Liane lay awake through the night, praying for Nick. The battle raged on for two days, under the direction of General MacArthur, who had wisely stayed behind in New Guinea, at Port Moresby. And by May 6 they knew the worst. The Lexington had sunk. Miraculously only 216 men had died. Another 2,735 had been saved and taken on board the Lady Lex's sister ship, the Yorktown. But what Liane did not know was whether Nick was among the 216, or the others. As she sat frozen in her room day after day, listening to the radio she'd brought upstairs, she remembered the ghastly scenes in the Atlantic when the Queen Victoria had sunk. And now she prayed that Nick would be among the survivors. She took her meals in her room on trays, and they returned to the kitchen, barely touched, as her uncle sat in the library, listening to the news there. But it would be weeks, if not longer, before they would have word of Nick. Unbeknownst to Liane, George had someone in his office call Brett Williams in New York, but he knew nothing either.

And also on May 6, the broadcaster told the nation that General Jonathan Wainwright had been forced to surrender Corregidor to the Japanese. General Wainwright and his men were taken prisoner. Things were not going well in the Pacific.

“Liane.” George stood in the doorway of her bedroom on the morning of May 8, two days after the Lexington had sunk. “I want you to come downstairs for breakfast.”

She stared at him lifelessly from her bed. “I'm not hungry-”

“I don't care. The girls are afraid you're sick.” She stared at him then for a long time, and silently nodded. And when she came down at last, she was weak from the days in bed, listening to the radio with the shades drawn. The girls watched her now as though they were frightened of her, and she made an effort to see them off to school, and then she went back to her room and turned the radio on again. But there was nothing more. The battle of the Coral Sea was over.

“Liane.” He had followed her to her room again and she turned to look at her uncle with empty eyes. “You can't do this to yourself.”

“I'll be all right.”

“I know you will. And what you're doing isn't helping him.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. “They've had no news in New York. If he'd been killed, they would have got a telegram. I'm sure he lived through it.” She nodded, fighting back tears again. It was just too much worrying about both of them. And that day, she had had another letter from Armand. Thirty thousand Jews had been taken out of their homes in Paris. It was one of the letters Moulin had gotten out, and like many of the others, it crossed the Atlantic on the Gripsholm.

The Jews in Paris had been locked in a stadium for eight days without water or food or toilets. Many people, including women and children, had died. The world was going mad. From one end of the globe to the other, people were dying and killing each other. Suddenly she knew what she had to do. She pulled a dress from her closet and threw it on the bed. She looked better than she had in days.

“Where are you going?”

“To my office.” And she didn't tell him why. She bathed and dressed, and an hour later she had turned in her resignation, not from the Red Cross, but that chapter. And by that afternoon she had signed up at the naval hospital in Oakland. She was assigned to the care of men in a surgical ward. It was the most difficult work of all, but when she returned to the house on Broadway at eight o'clock that night, she felt better than she had in months. It was what she should have done long before, and always meant to do. She told her uncle that night after dinner.

“That's a terrible job, Liane. Are you sure that's what you want to do?”

“Absolutely.” There was no doubt in her voice and he could see from her face that she had pulled herself back together. They talked of the Jews in Paris and he shook his head. Nothing was the same anymore. Absolutely nothing. Nothing was safe. Nothing was sacred. U-boats cruised American coasts, Jews were driven from their homes all over Europe, the Japanese were killing Americans in the South Pacific. Even the beautiful Normandie had burned three months before in New York harbor as workmen raced against the clock to turn her into a troop ship. And in London, bombs fell day and night, killing women and children.

For the next month Liane worked like a fiend in the naval hospital in Oakland, three times a week. She left the house at eight o'clock in the morning and came home at five or six at night and sometimes even seven, exhausted, smelling of surgical solution and disinfectant, her uniforms often covered with dried blood, her face pale, but her eyes alive. She was doing the only thing she could to help and it was better than sitting in an office. And a month after the battle of the Coral Sea, she was rewarded with a letter from Nick. He was alive! She sat on the front steps and cried as she read it.

n the fourth of June, the battle of Midway began, and by the following day it was over. The Japanese had lost four out of five of their aircraft carriers, and the Americans rejoiced. It was the biggest victory by far for us. And Liane knew that Nick was safe. He was on the Enterprise by now, out of the storm of the battle. And although Liane trembled each time she heard the news, a regular stream of letters kept her informed that Nick was alive and well. She wrote to him almost every day, and as often as she could she wrote to Armand.

Her husband's most recent letters seemed to indicate a heightened sense of tension in Paris. More young Communists had been shot, more Jews had been rounded up, and in his frequent meetings with the Kommandostab, it was becoming increasingly clear that they were cracking down on Paris. The Resistance in the villages was reaching an alarming strength, and it was important to them that they keep a tight rein on the capital to keep it as an example. As such, the Germans were turning increasingly to Armand now, expecting him to account for artwork that couldn't be found, people who had disappeared, and people in Pétain's flanks who allegedly had Communist leanings. They needed someone to turn to each time there was a problem that couldn't be blamed on the Germans, and Armand was invariably it.

He provided a comfortable buffer for Maréchal Pétain, but it left him perennially tense and exhausted.

And as he sat in his office in the Hotel Majestic on a warm June day, André Marchand walked in and dumped a fresh stack of papers on his desk.

“What are these?”

“Reports on the people arrested last night. The High Command wants to know if there's anyone important here, masquerading as peasants.” Marchand liked nothing better than turning his countrymen over to the Germans, and Armand was only sorry they didn't draft him and send him to Russia. If he wanted to be a German so badly, let him.

“Thank you. I'll take a look when I have time.”

“The High Command wants them back by tonight.” He looked Armand in the eye.

“Fine. I'll see to it.” He wondered lately if Marchand had been assigned to him to make sure that he was faithful to Pétain and the Germans. But that was a ridiculous thought. Marchand was a child, a man of no importance. They couldn't possibly use him as a watchdog. Armand smiled to himself. He was so tired, he was seeing dangers everywhere now. The night before he even thought he was being followed. He turned to the reports on his desk then, adjusting the glasses he now wore to read. It was just as well that he got it done anyway. He was meeting with Moulin tonight, before the man went back to London.

At six o'clock he left the Hotel Majestic, and went home to the Place du Palais-Bourbon, as he always did, although tonight he had left earlier than usual. He went into the kitchen, which now showed months of disuse. It didn't look like the same house where Liane had once lived with the children. The copper pots had turned dark, the stove no longer worked, and he kept almost nothing in the icebox. There was a thick coat of dust everywhere. And he really didn't care. He used it as a place to sleep. But tonight he sliced some cold sausage that he had bought, and munched on an apple. He made a few notes to himself before he drove out to Neuilly. And he looked around carefully as he started the car, but no one was watching.

He made the short drive without a problem. He had a special emblem on his car now, which told the German soldiers posted in the street that he worked with the government. And he parked the car two blocks from the house where he was going. He knocked twice, and then rang the bell. He was let in by an old woman who nodded and closed the door, and then walked him into the kitchen, where he descended a stairway to her basement. And there, together, they shoved aside a pile of old boxes to reveal the trap door to the tunnel that had been made. He crawled through it, as he had before, into the next house, where three men were waiting. One was a man with short gray hair, in workman's pants, a cap, and a black sweater. It was Moulin. He held out a hand to Armand as the other two watched. They had come with him from Toulon this time. These two were new, but Moulin was familiar.

“Hello, my friend.”

“It's good to see you.” Armand smiled. He only wished that he knew the man better. He was doing great things for France. He was already a hero of the Resistance.

“It's good to see you too.” Moulin glanced at his watch. He didn't want to waste time. He had half an hour before he was to return to Toulon, he had already completed his work in Paris. And that night, he would sneak back across the channel to London. “I have a proposition to make to you, De Villiers.” Armand was surprised when he heard Moulin's proposal. “How would you like to come to London?”

“But why?” Nothing he did could be of use there. He was important where he was. “To what purpose?”

“A good one. To save your life. We have reason to believe that they suspect you.” Armand nodded. He showed no fear.

“Why do you think that?”

“Some reports we intercepted from the Germans.” Two guards of the High Command had been killed the week before, and they had been carrying the commanding officer's briefcase, which had disappeared into the hands of the Resistance. Von Speidel had been livid.

“Was that you last week?” Armand inquired quietly.

“Yes. There were papers that lead us to think … we're not sure … but we don't want to wait until it's too late. You should go now.”

“When?”

“Tonight. With me.”

“But I can't….” He looked frightened, he still had half a dozen important projects. There was a Rodin piece he wanted to spirit into Provence, a Jewish woman and her son hiding in a basement, a priceless Renoir lying hidden beneath a building. “It's too soon. I need time.”

“They may not give it to you.”

“But are you sure?”

Moulin shook his head. “Not yet. There is nothing definite. But your name was mentioned in two reports. They are watching.”

“But you got those reports, Speidel didn't.”

“We don't know who had seen them before that. Therein lies the danger.” Armand nodded, and then he looked hard at Moulin again.

“What if I stay?”

“Is it worth it?”

“For the moment, yes.”

“Can you finish what you're doing quickly?”

Armand nodded slowly. “I can try.”

“Then do it. I'll be back in two weeks. You'll come then?”

Armand nodded, but there was something tentative in his face, which Moulin recognized at once. There were others like him; those who couldn't bear to give up the fight—beyond reason.

“Don't be a fool, De Villiers. You will serve France better if you stay alive. You can do a great deal from London.”

“I want to stay in France.”

“You can come back. We'll give you new identity cards and put you in the mountains.”

“I'd like that.”

“All right.” Moulin stood up and the two men shook hands, then Moulin swiftly crossed the room and left. He exited by the same route that Armand had come, and a moment later Armand followed. He knew that they would be gone when he reached the street. Moulin always disappeared like the wind. But not tonight. As Armand walked to his car there was a sudden movement near him, and then suddenly armed soldiers leaped out from their hiding places with guns blazing. They didn't get a clear view of him, but in the distance there were three men running. Armand pressed himself quickly against a wall and the soldiers flew past him. There were more shots in the night, and Armand disappeared into a garden, where he hid, and he began to feel a dull throbbing in his leg, and when he touched it, it was damp with blood. He had been wounded.

He waited until there were no more sounds, and he made his way carefully out of the garden, praying that Moulin had fled, as he always did. Armand returned to the house where they had met, and the people there took him in and bandaged his leg. At midnight he went home, but his whole body was trembling, and he wished desperately that he still had some brandy. And as he sat and gazed at the rough bandage they had made, he realized how grave a problem it was for him. He could not go to the office the next day with a limp. And it was much too warm for him to convince anyone that he was suffering from rheumatism again. He practiced walking across his living room without a limp, wincing terribly with each step from the pain. There was no way he could do it, and yet he had to. He practiced again and again as the sweat poured down his face, and at last he mastered it. And with a horrible groan he climbed into his bed, but he was too exhausted to sleep. And he turned on a small light and took out a notebook. He hadn't written to Liane in over a week, and he needed her tonight. Suddenly he longed for her gentleness and her comfort, and as he wrote he did something he never had before. He poured out his heart and his soul and his anguish for France, and he told her just how grim it all was. And at the end of the letter he told her that he had been wounded.It is nothing serious, my little love. It is a small price to pay in this fearsome battle. Others have suffered so much more than I. It grieves me that I have so little left to give. Even this small piece of flesh is not enough…

And then he told her of Moulin's suggestion that he go to London, and that possibly in a few weeks he would be there, before coming back to France with new papers.He said something tonight about putting me in the mountains. Perhaps then I shall truly join the fight. They are doing remarkable things there, troubling the Germans at every step … it would be a heavenly change from the damp walls of my office.

He folded his letter four or five times and placed it under the innersole of his shoe, lest something happen to him during the night, and the next day he dropped it behind a planter on the Rue du Bac. It was a drop he used often, although he preferred giving his letters to Moulin when he could. But he knew that the letters dropped here had reached Liane too. And this one did as well.

As Liane read it two weeks later tears streamed down her face. He was blind to what he was doing and she knew it. She read the lines where he told her that he had been wounded and she felt sick. If they were coming that close, and Moulin wanted him in London, it was almost too late. And he didn't see it. She felt desperation creep up within her like bile. She wanted to shake him, to show him what he wasn't seeing. Was he so blind that a portrait, a statue, a stranger, were all more important than her and Marie-Ange and Elisabeth? She sat there crying for half an hour, and then she did something she hadn't done for a long time. She went to church, and as she sat there and prayed, she knew what was wrong. It was what she had done with Nick. She had turned her values upside down. She had turned her back on her husband, and he had felt it. It was so clear to her now that it was almost as though she had heard voices or seen a vision. And as she returned to the house on Broadway, she sat for a long time, looking out at the Golden Gate Bridge. She had written to Nick every day, but she had only written to Armand once or twice a week. He must have felt the distance between them. And it was clear to her now what she had to do. She had known it all along, but she hadn't wanted to do it.

It took her hours to write the single page. She sat and stared at the paper and thought that she could never do it. It was more painful than leaving him at Grand Central Station or in the hotel room in San Diego. It was more painful than anything she had ever done. It was like cutting off her right arm. But as the Bible said, “If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out.” And it felt as though that were what she was doing. She told Nick now that she knew that what they had done was wrong, and that she had led him to believe that there was hope for the future, when there wasn't. Armand needed her now. He needed her full support, full attention, full belief. He needed all she had to give. And to do it right, she could no longer betray him. She told Nick that she loved him with her whole soul, but it was a love that neither of them had a right to. She wished him well with all her heart, and she would pray for him each day of the war, but she could no longer write to him. She told him also that if anything happened, she would honor her promise and stay in touch with Johnny.

“But that won't happen, my darling … I know you'll come home. And I only wish …” She could not write the words.

You know what I wish. But our dreams were not borrowed, but stolen. I must return now to where I belong, in heart, in soul, in mind, to my husband. And remember always, my darling, how much I have loved you. Go with God. He will protect you.

With a sob wrenching at her throat, she signed the letter, and walked outside to mail it. She stood at the mailbox for a long time, her hand trembling, her heart breaking, but with a force of will she didn't know she had, she opened the mailbox and dropped in the letter. And she knew that it would find him.

hen Armand returned to his office the morning after the incident in Neuilly, his face was pale, and his palms damp with perspiration, but he did not limp as he walked to his desk, and he sat down at his desk as always. Marchand came to give him a stack of reports to read, forms to fill out, and assorted messages from the local generals.

“Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you, Marchand.” His face was drawn but his voice was normal. And for the next week he went on with his work, working at a furious speed. The priceless Renoir disappeared from under the building. The Rodin was hidden. The Jewish woman with her child was concealed in a basement in a farmhouse near Lyon, and there were countless other projects he saw to at full speed. He knew he had precious little time. And day by day the leg grew worse. It was badly infected but he had none of the things he needed to care for it. Each day he had to force himself to walk as though nothing were wrong with him. It took more strength than he had ever drawn on before, and he was gaunt now. He finally looked his age, and many years older.

And as he worked furiously every day, he stayed in the office long after the nightly blackout. And he was so anxious to complete his job that he took longer and longer to burn his notes, and it was difficult now to create a reason for making a fire. He often told Marchand, as he rubbed his hands and smiled, that his old bones needed warmth. Marchand only shrugged and went back to his work at his own desk.

There were only four days left until his next meeting with Moulin and he knew that he had to hurry. He left his office after ten o'clock one night, and when he went home, he had the feeling that someone had been in the apartment. He didn't remember leaving the chair quite so far from his desk. But he was too tired to care and the wound in his leg throbbed all the way to his hip now. He would have to have it looked at in London. He looked around the apartment that night, and out at the Place du Palais-Bourbon after he'd turned out the lights, and a piece of his heart ached to know that soon he would be leaving Paris. But he had left her before, and he would return again, and she would be free the next time he saw her.

“Bonsoir, ma belle.” He smiled at his city and thought of his wife as he went to bed. In the morning he would write to Liane … or maybe the next day … he didn't have time now. But his leg pained him so badly that he awoke the next morning before dawn, and after he lay in bed in vain, he decided to get up and sit at his desk to write to her. He felt the now-familiar chill of his fever as he pulled a sheet of paper toward him.

There is very little to tell since I wrote to you last. My life has been a frenzy of work, my darling.

And then suddenly he realized something and he smiled.I'm afraid that I've become a shocking husband. Two weeks ago I missed our thirteenth anniversary. But perhaps due to the extraordinary circumstances, you will forgive me. May our next thirteen be easy and peaceful. And may we be together soon.

And then he went on to talk about his work.I'm afraid the leg isn't doing well. I regret now that I told you about it, for fear that you will worry. It's nothing, I'm sure, but I walk on it every day and that doesn't help. I suppose I've become an old man, but an old man who still loves his country … à la mort et à tout jamais … to the death and forever, and at all costs, no matter how dear. I would gladly give the leg, and my heart, for this land I love so much. She lies pinned to the ground now, raped by the Germans, but soon she will be free, and we will nurse her back to health. You will be at my side again then, Liane, and we will all be happy. And in the meantime I am glad to know that you are safe with your uncle, it is a better life for you and the girls. I have never regretted sending you back to the States. You will never know what it has been like to watch France strangle at the hands of the Germans … their hands at her throat, leering as they watch her choke. It breaks my heart to be leaving soon with Moulin, but the only thing that cheers me is the knowledge that I will come back shortly, only to fight harder.

It never occurred to him to stay in England, or to return to Liane. He thought only of France, even as he signed the letter.Remember to give the girls my love, and keep a great deal of the same for you. I love you very, very dearly, mon amour … almost as much as I love France—

He smiled as he wrote—perhaps even more, but I dare not let myself think of that now, or I shall forget that I am an old man, and run to where you are. Godspeed to you and Marie-Ange and Elisabeth, and my warmest thanks and regards to your uncle. Your loving husband, Armand.

He signed it with a flourish, as he always did, and on his way to the office he left it in the usual location. He had thought briefly of saving it until he left with Moulin, but he decided not to. He knew how anxious she was for letters and how much she worried. He could hear it in the questions she wrote, which still reached him through the censors.

And as he looked up at the calendar above his desk on the opposite wall from the portraits of Pétain and Hitler, he realized that his meeting with Moulin was only three days away. He was frowning as he was deciding what to do next when André Marchand walked into his office with a smile, and an officer of the Reich on each side of him, but neither of them was smiling.

“Monsieur de Villiers?”

“Yes, Marchand?” He didn't recall an appointment with the Germans this morning, but they were always calling him to the Hotel de Ville or the Meurice or the Crillon unexpectedly. He sat where he was and waited. “Am I expected somewhere?”

“Indeed you are, sir.” Marchand's smile grew broader. “The gentlemen of the High Command wish to see you this morning.”

“Very well.” He stood up and picked up his hat. Even in these times he always wore a striped suit and a vest and a homburg, as he had during his years in the diplomatic service. He followed the soldiers outside to the car that had been sent for him. He always went in style, not that he cared. It still turned his stomach to realize what people, whispering “traitor,” thought as he drove by.

But today Armand was not ushered in to the usual office. He was led into the office of the military command, and wondered what ugly new project they had for him now. No matter. He smiled to himself. He wouldn't have time to complete it. In three days he was leaving.

“De Villiers?” The German accent in French grated on his nerves as always, but he was concentrating on walking into the office without limping. He was in no way prepared for what came next. Three officers of the SS stood waiting for him. He had been discovered. A collection of evidence was laid out before him, including half-burned scraps of paper he had burned only the day before, and as he looked into the commanding officer's eyes, he knew. He had been betrayed by André Marchand.

“I don't understand … these are not—”

“Silence!” the officer roared. “Silence! I will speak and you will listen! You are a French pig, like all of the others, and when we finish with you today, you will squeal just like all the filthy pigs!” But they wanted no information from him at all, they wanted nothing. They wanted only to tell him what they knew, to prove to him the superior mind of the Germans. And when the commanding officer had finished his recital, which was pathetically incomplete, much to Armand's relief—they still knew almost nothing, he thanked God—he was led from the room by the SS. It was only then that he felt a tingle in his spine, that the leg dragged, that he thought of Liane, and Moulin, and he felt a creeping desperation. Before that the adrenaline hadn't been flowing too fast in his veins, but now it flowed faster and his mind whirled, and he reminded himself again and again that it had been worth it. That it was worth giving his life for his country … pour la France … he said it over to himself again and again and again as they tied him to a post in the courtyard outside the office of the High Command. As they shot him he shouted a single word, “Liane!” and the word echoed as he slumped, having died for his country.

n June 28, 1942, eight German agents were caught by the FBI on Long Island. They had been delivered there by German U-boats, which served to remind everyone how closely the German's hugged the eastern seaboard. Already, since the beginning of 1942, the Germans had sunk 681 ships in the Atlantic, and had lost almost no ships of their own.

“And that is why we've interned the Japanese.” Liane's uncle admonished her over breakfast in San Francisco. Only days before she had told him that she thought it was cruel and unnecessary. Their own gardener and his family were interned in one of the camps, and the treatment they were getting was worse than cruel. They had limited food, almost no medical supplies, and lived in quarters that wouldn't decently house animals. “I don't give a damn. If we didn't, the Japanese would be sending agents over here like the Germans, and they'd be getting lost in the crowd just like those eight tried to.”

“I don't agree with you, Uncle George.”

“Can you say that with Nick over there fighting the Japs?”

“I can. The people in the camps are Americans.”

“Nobody knows if they're loyal and we can't afford to take the chance.” It was something they had disagreed on before. He wisely decided to change the subject. “Are you working at the hospital today?” She was a full nurse's aide now and had stepped up her schedule from three times a week to five.

“Yes.”

“You work too hard.” His eyes softened and she smiled. She had been working every moment that she could since she had sent Nick the letter. As had happened after their days on the Deauville, she was haunted by thoughts of him again now. But now coupled with her own sense of loss was a sense of terror that her abandoning him would cause him to be careless. She only hoped that his love for his son would remind him to be careful. And she knew she had had no choice. Her first and only duty was still to her husband. She had closed her eyes to it for a time, but that time was over.

“What are you doing today, Uncle George?” She pushed Nick gently from her head as she did a thousand times a day. She had to live with the guilt now, and the fear that perhaps some vague intuition of what she had done had harmed Armand. She had to make up for it now and she was writing to him again every day, although she knew that the letters reached him in clumps, when the censors got around to going over them.

“I'm having lunch with Lou Lawson at my club.” His face clouded over then and his voice was husky when he spoke again. “His boy, Lyman, was killed at Midway.” Liane looked up. Lyman Lawson had been the attorney her uncle had tried to fix her up with when she'd first arrived in San Francisco.

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“So was I. Lou's taking it very hard. Lyman was his only child.”

It reminded her again that Nick was there. But she couldn't allow herself to think of it or she would go mad. Nick was in the Pacific, fighting the Japanese, Armand in France, dealing with the Germans. Her heart was torn from one side of the world to the other. “I have to go to work.” It was the only place she got away from it and even there, especially there, the war was ever present. Every day they brought wounded boys back on the troop ships, with their own horrible tales to tell of war in the Pacific. But at least she could help them, she could soothe brows, put compresses on, feed them, hold them, touch them.

“Don't work yourself too hard, Liane.”

As she left the house he bemoaned the fact that she wasn't like the other girls, or damn few of them. Most of them spent their time arranging dinner parties for the officers. But no, Liane had to empty bedpans and scrub floors and watch men vomit when they came out of surgery. But as always, he had to admire her for it.

It was two weeks later when she came back to find Armand's letter. He complained of the leg again, and she was worried. And he said something about going to London with Moulin, and now she knew that there was trouble. And for an instant her heart soared … if he got out … but her hopes died with his next words. “It breaks my heart to be leaving soon with Moulin, but the only thing that cheers me is the knowledge that I will come back shortly, only to fight harder.” It was all he thought about now, and she was almost angry as she read through the letter. He was fifty-nine years old. Why couldn't he let them fight the war and come home to her? Why? … à la mort et à tout jamais, she read … France was his whole life. There had been a time when there had been more than that, much more. And as she sat staring at his letter, she realized that nothing had ever been the same for them again since the moment they'd stepped off the Normandie. There had been those agonizing months before the war when he worked himself to the bone, and the tension of the months between September and the fall of Paris when she hadn't known what he was doing. And then she and the girls had left France, leaving Armand to fight his single-handed battle against the Germans, while pretending to collaborate with them. It was almost more than she could bear as she read the letter again and put it down. She was dead tired. She had spent the whole day nursing a boy who had lost his arms in the battle of the Coral Sea. He had been on the Lexington with Nick, but he was only a private and hadn't known him.

When she came down to dinner that night, George thought she looked especially tired. She had looked bleak and exhausted for weeks, and he suspected that there was something she wasn't telling him.

“Have you heard from Nick?” In the past she had told him when she got a letter. But she hadn't for a while. She shook her head now.

“I had a letter from Armand this morning. He sounds tired, and his leg is still troubling him.” She wanted to tell him the truth then, about Armand, but she'd wait until he was in England.

“What about Nick?” He pressed her again and she flared up at him.

“Armand is my husband, not Nick.”

But the old man was tired that night too. He was quick to answer. “You didn't remember that all this spring, did you?” He could have bitten out his tongue, particularly when he saw the stricken look on her face.

She answered him in a barely audible voice. “I should have.”

“Liane, I'm sorry … I didn't mean—”

She looked at him bleakly. “You're quite right. I was very wrong. It was unfair to Armand and to Nick.” And then she sighed. “I wrote to Nick a few weeks ago. We won't be writing to each other anymore.”

“But why? The poor man …” He was aghast at her news.

“I have no right to, Uncle George, that's why. I'm a married woman.”

“But he knew that.”

She nodded. “I'm the only one who seems to have forgotten it. I've repaired the damage now, as best I could.”

“But what about him?” He was incensed. “What do you think that'll do to him, while he's out there fighting a war?”

Tears stung her eyes. “I can't help that. I have an obligation to my husband.”

He wanted to slam his fist into the table, but he didn't dare. The look on her face was one of total desolation. “Liane …” But he didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say to her. And he knew that she was as stubborn as he was.

She left the table and went to work, she seemed to work longer and longer hours every day. And it was a week after she had received the letter from Armand that she came home to find a letter from London, with unfamiliar handwriting. She couldn't imagine who it was and she opened it as she walked slowly up the stairs. Her whole body ached. She had spent the entire day comforting the boy who'd lost his arms. He had a raging fever and there was still a possibility that they might lose him.

And then suddenly she stopped and her eyes froze on the words. “Chère Madame…” It began like a perfectly normal letter, but after that, the letter went mad.I regret to tell you that your husband died shortly after noon yesterday, in the service of his country. He died nobly, a hero's death, having saved hundreds of lives, and many of the treasures of France. His name will be engraved on our hearts and the heart of France, and may your children be proud of their father. We grieve for you in your loss. Your loss is ours. But the greatest loss of all is to his country.

The letter was signed by Moulin and Liane sank slowly onto the top step as she read it again and again but the words did not change. “Chère Madame … I regret to tell you … I regret to tell you …” But he lied. The greatest loss of all was not to his country. She crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it across the hall and she began to pound the floor as she cried. He was dead … he was dead … and he was a fool to have stayed there … to fight the Germans … to … She didn't even hear her uncle calling her name. She heard nothing as she lay on the floor and screamed. He was dead. And Nick would die too. They would all die. And for what? For whom? She looked at her uncle with unseeing eyes as she screamed, “I hate them! … I hate them! … I HATE THEM!!!”

he told the girls that night and they cried when they heard the news, and they talked for a long time when she put them to bed. She had regained her composure, though she was deathly pale. She was so relieved to be able to tell them the truth now. The girls were startled to hear that their father was a double agent, appearing to work for Pétain, and actually working for the Resistance.

“He must have been very brave.” Elisabeth looked at her mother sadly.

“He was.”

“Why didn't you tell us before?” Marie-Ange was quick to ask.

“Because it would have been dangerous for him.”

“Didn't anyone know?”

“Only the people he worked for in the Resistance.”

Marie-Ange nodded wisely. “Will we ever go back to France now?”

“One day.” But it was a question she herself hadn't yet answered. They had no home anymore, no place to return to after the war, no one to wait for. And she had no husband.

“I didn't like it very much,” Elisabeth confessed.

“It was a hard time. Especially for Papa.”

The girls nodded and she put them to bed at last. It had been a long night for them all. But she knew that she wouldn't sleep and she didn't want to go to bed. It was strange to realize that he had been dead for three weeks and she hadn't known. She had read his last letter after he had died, and she hadn't even known it. And all he had spoken of was his love for France … and for them … but for France above all. Perhaps to him it was worth it. But she felt an odd mixture of anger and despair as she walked into the library and sat down. Uncle George was still up, and worried about her.

“Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you.” She leaned back and closed her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Liane.” His voice was gentle. He felt so helpless as he watched her. As helpless as she had felt that day as she tended to the boy who'd lost his arms. “Is there anything I can do?”

She opened her eyes slowly. She felt paralyzed and numb. “Not really. It's all over now. We just have to learn to live with it.” He nodded, and in spite of himself he thought of Nick, and wondered if she would write to him now.

“How did it happen?” He hadn't dared to ask her before, but she seemed calmer now.

She looked him straight in the eye. “The Germans shot him.”

“But why?” He didn't dare add “Wasn't he one of them?”

“Because, Uncle George, Armand was a double agent, working for the Resistance.”

He opened his eyes wide and stared at her. “He what?”

“He appeared to work for Pétain as a liaison with the Germans, but he'd been feeding information to the Resistance all along. He was the highest-ranking official double agent they had in France. That's why they shot him.” There was no pride in her voice, only sorrow.

“Oh, Liane …” The things that he had said about Armand came to mind instantly. “But why didn't you tell me?”

“I couldn't tell anyone. I wasn't even supposed to know, and for a long time I didn't. He told me just before we left France.” She stood up and walked to the window and stared out at the bridge for a long time. “But someone must have known.” She turned back to look at her uncle. “The Germans shot him three days before he was to leave for England.” She had pieced that much together from his letter and Moulin's. And her uncle came to her now and took her in his arms.

“I'm so very, very sorry.”

“Why?” She looked at him strangely. “Because now you know he was on our side? Would you care as much if you still thought he worked for the Germans?” Her eyes were sad and empty.

“I don't know …” And then he wondered about something. “Did Nick know?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “What are you going to do now, Liane?” He meant about Nick and she understood him.

“Nothing.”

“But surely—” She shook her head.

“That wouldn't be fair to him. He's a human being, not a yo-yo. A few weeks ago I told him it was over, but now that Armand is dead we can dance on his grave? He was my husband, Uncle George. My husband. And I loved him.” And then she turned away and her shoulders began to shake, and he came to her, sensing her grief in his very soul. She collapsed in his arms then, sobbing almost as she had on the stairs when she'd first read Moulin's letter. “Oh, Uncle George … I killed him … he knew … he must have … about Nick. …”

“Liane, stop that!” He held her shoulders firmly with his hands and shook her gently. “You didn't kill him. That's absurd. The man did a very brave thing for his country, but it didn't just happen. He made a choice a long time ago. He knew the risks. He weighed all the dangers and in his own mind it must have been worth it. That had nothing to do with you. A man makes those kinds of decisions for himself, regardless of other people, even the woman he loves. And I think a hell of a lot more of him now than I did before. But the point is that whether you and Nick fell in love or not, the man did what he felt he had to do. You couldn't have stopped him, you couldn't have changed his mind, and you didn't kill him.” The wisdom of his words slowly got through to her and she eventually stopped crying.

“Do you think that's true?”

“I know it.”

“But what if he suspected? If he heard some change in the tone of my letters—”

“He probably wouldn't have noticed if you'd stopped writing entirely. A man who makes a decision like that, Liane, does it with his entire mind and soul and body. It's rotten luck that he got found out, it's worse than that, it's a tragedy for you and the girls and his country. But you had nothing to do with any of that, and neither did Nick. Don't do that to yourself, Liane. You have to accept it.” She told him then about Armand's last letter and the things that he had said, and she admitted that there were even times when she had wondered if he cared about her, or only his country. George nodded and listened to her late into the night until her head began to nod, and at last she fell asleep on the couch, and he brought a blanket from his room and covered her where she sat. She was totally drained and exhausted.

And when she awoke the next morning, she was surprised at where she was, and touched when she saw the blanket. She remembered talking to him until she drifted off, and she had had visions of Nick and Armand, walking arm in arm and stopping to talk to a man she didn't know. She shuddered to think about it now. She sensed that the man was Moulin. And she didn't want to think about Armand. Even if she never saw him again, she wanted Nick to live. He had a life to live and a son to come home to. And then she walked to the window and looked out at the bay.

“And what about us?” she whispered to the memory of Armand. “What about the girls?” She had no answers to her questions as she went upstairs to wake them.

n July, when Liane received the letter from Moulin, Nick was in the Fiji Islands with Task Force 61, doing a rehearsal for an assault on Guadalcanal. The Japanese had built an airstrip there, and Rear Admiral Fletcher had three carrier groups organizing to take it. And the Enterprise, the Wasp, and the Saratoga were preparing for battle. When the Lexington had sunk in the battle of the Coral Sea, Nick had been transferred temporarily onto the Yorktown, but within weeks he was moved to the Enterprise, to help coordinate marine and naval troops. He was one of the few marines of his rank aboard who was not a pilot. After the Coral Sea, he had been made a Lieutenant Colonel.

On August 6, 1942, the Enterprise entered the area of the Solomon Islands and the next day the Marines hit the beaches, and within days the airfield had been claimed and renamed Henderson Field but the battle around Guadalcanal raged on, and the Japanese maintained a strong grip on all but the airfield. The Marines paid a terrible price in the ensuing weeks, but the Enterprise held her own, even though she was badly damaged. Nick had been aboard when she took some of her worst blows, and he was ordered to stay with her when she went to Hawaii for repairs in early September.

Inwardly he raged to have to stay on the aircraft carrier as she went to Hawaii. He wanted to stay on Guadalcanal with the troops, but he was badly needed aboard the crippled carrier. And in Hawaii he cooled his heels at Hickam Base, aching to go back as he listened to the news. The battle at Guadalcanal was taking a tremendous toll and marines were dying on the beaches. But in the five months since he'd left San Francisco, he had seen nothing but action in the Coral Sea, at Midway, and then Guadalcanal, with scarcely a breather between them. It helped him keep his mind off Liane. This was why he had enlisted—to fight for his country. When Liane's letter had reached him, he had been stunned by what she said. The paroxysms of guilt had apparently only struck her after he left and there had been nothing he could do or say. He had begun a dozen answers to her letter and discarded them all. She had made a choice once again, and once again he had no choice but to respect it. And now he had the war to keep his mind off his pain, but every night in his bunk, he would lie awake for hours, thinking of their days in San Francisco. And it was worse once he reached Hawaii. He had nothing to do but sit on the beach and wait for the Enterprise to be battle ready again. He wrote long letters to his son, and felt as useless as he had in San Francisco. It was a beautiful summer in Hawaii, but the battles in the South Pacific raged on and he was anxious to get back. To help pass the time, he volunteered at the hospital for a while, and would talk to the men and joke with the nurses. He always seemed a good-humored, pleasant man to the nurses, but he asked none of them out.

“Maybe he doesn't like girls,” one of them joked. But they all laughed. He didn't look that type either.

“Maybe he's married,” another suggested. She had talked to him for a long time the day before, and she had had the feeling there was a woman on his mind, but he had said very little. It had just been the way he had said “we” that made her realize he hadn't been alone on the mainland before he sailed, and she sensed a deep pain somewhere in his soul. A pain no one could touch and no one could heal. Because he wouldn't let anyone near him.

The women talked about him a lot on the base. He was unusually attractive and strangely open about some things. He talked about his son a great deal, a little boy named John, who was eleven. Everyone knew about Johnny.

“Do you know who he is?” a nurse's aide whispered to a nurse one day. “I mean in real life.” She was from the hills of Kentucky but she had heard of Burnham Steel. She had put it together from something he had said. And she'd asked around and an officer had told her that she was right. “He's Burnham Steel.” The nurse looked skeptical and then shrugged.

“So what? He's still in this war like the rest of us, and his ship sank underneath him.” The nurse's aide nodded, but she was longing for a date. She made herself obvious whenever she saw him in the wards, but he talked to her no differently than he did to the others.

“Christ, you can't get near the guy,” she complained to a friend.

“Maybe there's someone waiting for him at home.” Not that that stopped the others.

It was not unlike the things they said about Liane at the hospital in Oakland.

“You got a boyfriend in the war?” a boy with a gut full of shrapnel asked her one day. They had operated on him three times, and still hadn't removed all the fragments.

“A husband.” She smiled.

“The one who was in the Coral Sea?” She had talked to him about that when he first came in, and he knew that she knew a lot about the battle. But a strange look came into her eyes as he asked.

“No. He was in France.”

“What's he doing there?” The boy looked confused. It didn't tally up with the rest of what he knew, or what she had said.

“He was fighting the Germans. He was French.”

“Oh.” The boy looked surprised.

“Where is he now?”

“They killed him.”

There was a long silence as he watched her. She was folding a blanket over his legs and she had a gentle touch. But he liked her because she was so pretty. “I'm sorry.”

She turned to him with a sad smile. “So am I.”

“You got kids?”

“Two little girls.”

“Are they as pretty as their mother?” He grinned.

“Much prettier,” she answered with a smile, and moved to the next bed. She worked for hours in the wards, smiling, emptying bed pans, holding hands, holding heads while the men threw up. But she rarely told them much about herself. There was nothing to tell. Her life was over.

It was September when her uncle finally asked her out to dinner. It was time for her to stop mourning. But she shook her head. “I don't think so, Uncle George. I have to be at work early tomorrow, and …” She didn't want to make excuses. She didn't want to go out. There was nothing she wanted to do, except go to work, and come home at night to be with the girls, and then go to bed.

“It would do you good to get a change of scene. You can't just run back and forth to that hospital every day.”

“Why not?” She looked at him with a look that said “Don't touch me.”

“Because you're not an old woman, Liane. You may want to act like one, but you're not.”

“I'm a widow. It's the same thing.”

“The hell it is.” She was beginning to remind him of his brother when Liane's mother had died at her birth. But that was crazy. She was thirty-five years old. And she couldn't bury herself with her husband. “Do you know what you look like these days? You're rail thin, your eyes are sunken into your head, your clothes are falling off your back.” She laughed at the description and shook her head.

“You sure paint a pretty picture.”

“Take a look in the mirror sometime.”

“I do my best not to.”

“See what I mean. Damn it, girl, stop waving that black flag. You're alive. It's a damn shame he's not, but there are a lot of women in the same shoes as you these days, but they're not sitting around with long faces, acting like they're dead.”

“Oh, no?” Her voice had a strange icy ring. “What are they doing, Uncle George? Going to parties?” That's what she had done before. Before Armand had died. And it had been wrong. And she wouldn't do it again. Armand had died. And men were dying all over the world. And she was doing all she could for the ones who lived through it.

“You could go to dinner once in a while. Would that be so bad?”

“I don't want to.”

And then he decided to brave the taboo subject again. “Have you heard from Nick?”

“No.” The walls went up and froze over.

“Have you written to him?”

“No. And I'm not going to. You've asked me before, now don't ask me again.”

“Why not? You could at least tell him Armand died.”

“Why?” Fury began to creep into her voice. “What good would it do? I've sent the man away twice. I'm not going to hurt him again.”

“Twice?” He looked startled and Liane looked annoyed at herself. But what difference did it make now if he knew.

“The same thing happened when we came over on the Deauville together after Paris fell. We fell in love, and I ended it because of Armand.”

“I didn't know.” She was a strange closemouthed woman in many ways and he marveled at her. So they had had an affair before. He had suspected it, but never been sure of it. “That must have made it much worse for you both when he left here.”

She looked into her uncle's eyes. “It did. I can't go through that again, Uncle George, or do it to him. Too much has happened. It's better left like this.”

“But you wouldn't have to put him through it again.” He didn't want to add that she was free now.

“I don't know if I could live with the guilt of what we did. I still think Armand knew. And even if he didn't, it was wrong. You can't build a life on two mistakes. So if I write to him now, what good would it do? He'd get his hopes up again and maybe I couldn't live up to what he will expect when he comes home. I just can't put him through that for a third time.”

“But he must have known how you felt, Liane.”

“He did. He always said that he would play by my rules. And my rules were that I was going back to my husband. Some rules.” She looked disgusted at herself. She had tormented herself for months. “I don't want to talk about it anymore.” She looked away into a forgotten time when there had been two men she loved, and now there were none, or none that she would see again.

“I think you're wrong, Liane. I think Nick knows you better than you know yourself. He could help you through it.”

“He'll find someone else. And he has Johnny to come home to.”

“And you?” He worried about her a great deal. One of these days she was going to crack from the strain she put herself under.

“I'm happy as I am.”

“I don't believe that and neither do you.”

“I don't deserve anything else, Uncle George!”

“When are you going to come down off that cross?”

“When I've paid my dues.”

“And you don't think you have?” She shook her head. “You've lost a husband you think you betrayed, but you stuck by him till the end. You even gave up a man you loved, and you kept Armand's secret for all those years even though I badgered you to death, and you were practically run out of Washington, tarred and feathered. Don't you think that's enough? And now you spend your every living breath comforting those men in that surgical ward every day. What else do you want, a hair shirt? Sackcloth and ashes?”

She smiled. “I don't know, Uncle George. Maybe I'll feel better about the world again when the war is over.”

“We all will, Liane. These are damn hard times for us all. It's ugly to think about Jews being dragged out of their homes and put in camps, and children being killed in London, and Nazis shooting men like Armand, and ships being sunk, and … you could go on forever. But you still have to wake up in the morning with a smile and look out the window and thank God you're alive, and hold a hand out to the people you love.” He held a hand out to her and she took it and kissed his fingers.

“I love you, Uncle George.” She looked like a girl and he touched the silky blond hair.

“I love you too, Liane. And to tell you the truth, I love that boy. I'd like to see you with him one day. It would be good for you and the girls, and I'm not going to live forever.”

“Yes, you will.” She smiled again. “You'd better.”

“No, I won't. Think about what I said. You owe it to yourself. And to him.” But she didn't heed his words, she just went back to the hospital in Oakland every day, killing herself in the wards, and then she'd come home to give whatever she had left to him and her daughters.

And on October 15, the Enterprise headed back toward Guadalcanal, with Nick aboard, aching to reenter the battle. The two months in Hawaii had almost driven him crazy.

The Enterprise reached Guadalcanal on October 23, and she joined the Hornet, with Rear Admiral Thomas Kinkaid in charge now. There were four Japanese aircraft carriers in the area, and they were still attempting to reclaim what was by then Henderson Field, and the Americans were holding their ground.

On October 26, Admiral Halsey, the Naval Commander-in-Chief in the South Pacific, ordered them to attack the Japanese and they did. It was a horrendous fight and the Japanese were stronger than the American troops. They set the Hornet ablaze and crippled her until she sank, with thousands of men killed. But despite brutal blows, the Enterprise survived. She continued the fight, much to everyone's delight, and in the States everyone sat glued to their radios, listening to the news. And George found Liane sitting there, listening to it too, with a look of terror in her eyes.

“You think he's over there, don't you?”

“I don't know.” But her eyes said that she knew it.

He nodded his head grimly. “So do I.”

n the morning of October 27, the Hornet was still ablaze and sinking slowly, and the Enterprise had taken a series of ferocious hits, but she was still in action. Lieutenant Colonel Burnham was on the bridge watching the crew man the guns when the Japanese hit them with full force; a 550-pound bomb hit their flight deck and passed through the port side, spraying fragments in all directions. And suddenly there were fires everywhere and men were lying all over the deck, either dead or wounded.

“Jesus Christ, did you see that bomb!” The man standing next to him was gaping in disbelief, and Nick ran for the stairs in one leap.

“Never mind that, we're on fire. Get the hoses.” Troops from all over the ship were trying to fight the blaze while others manned the guns and continued to spray the Japanese as dive bombers zoomed toward them, dropping bombs. One Japanese pilot crashed on the deck, setting off a ferocious explosion. And then suddenly, as Nick stood holding the hose, he saw two men crawling toward him, and he dragged them out of the fire one by one, spraying water on their clothes to put out the fires that were devouring their flesh. And as he looked down into the face of the second one, there was suddenly an enormous explosion behind him. He had a sensation of sunlight and lightness in his limbs as he flew through the air, watching pieces of bodies. He had the oddest feeling that he was suddenly weightless … and as he thought of Liane he knew he was smiling.

he men continued to pour in from the battle of Guadalcanal all through November. Many of them had been kept at Hickam for a few days first, others had come straight through to Oakland. There were no longer facilities to care for them anywhere else. They had to be kept on ships until they returned to the States, and many of them died on the way. Liane watched them come in day by day, their bodies torn limb from limb, with hideous wounds and burns. And she heard the story of the 550-pound bomb over and over and over.

It was grim work watching them come in, and as she assisted the stretchers coming from the ships, she was once again reminded of the Deauville, but this was much worse than anything she'd ever seen then. The men were returning in pieces.

And once she had thought that someone was talking about Nick. The man had been half delirious and he was talking about his buddy who'd been killed beside him on the deck, but when she asked him about it later, the man's name had been Nick Freed. And he wasn't the Nick she knew. And the man died in her arms two days later.

It was the night of Thanksgiving when her uncle finally turned to her, unable to stand it any longer. “Why don't we call the War Office and find out?”

She shook her head. “If something happens to him, we'll read about it in the papers.” It would be worse to know where he was, she would be tempted to write to him and she was determined not to. And if he was wounded, sooner or later she'd know it. And if the head of Burnham Steel had been killed, the papers all over the country would carry items about it. “Let it go, Uncle George. He's all right.”

“You don't know that.”

“No, I don't.” But she had her hands full enough with the men that she knew weren't. She was working twelve-hour shifts now, right alongside the nurses.

“They ought to give you a goddamn medal when this bloody war is over.”

She bent and kissed his cheek, smiling, and then she stood up and looked at her watch. “I have to go, Uncle George.”

“Now? Where?” They had just finished Thanksgiving dinner and the girls had gone to bed a little while before. It was nine o'clock at night and she hadn't gone out in months.

“We're shorthanded at the base, and I said I'd go back.”

“I don't want you driving out there alone.”

“I'm a big girl, Uncle George.” She patted his arm.

“You're crazy.” Crazier than he knew, crazy with fear and longing and aching. Crazy from wondering if Nick was dead. Day after day she listened to the tales, wondering if the dead man beside the man she tended had been Nick, or if he'd even been there at all. There was a constant look of anguish in her eyes. And on Monday morning George Crockett took matters into his own hands and for the second time in a year he called Brett Williams.

“Look, I've got to know.”

“So do we.” Brett Williams wondered at the old man. He knew who he was or he wouldn't have taken the call. But he wondered why he wanted to know. Maybe he had been a close friend of old man Burnham's. “We haven't heard a thing.”

“But you can find out, for chrissake. Call the White House, the State Department, the Pentagon, someone.”

“We have. It's such a mess over there that they have very inaccurate records. Men have drowned, gone down with the Hornet, they're in hospitals all over the place. They say it'll be another month or two before they know much more.”

“Well, I can't wait that long,” the old man growled.

“Why not?” Brett Williams had had enough and they were shouting at each other. For a month now he'd been a nervous wreck not knowing where the hell Nick was. And Johnny had called him too, almost every day. And there was nothing to say to the boy, or this old man on the West Coast. Hillary had even called. She was actually worried that Johnny would lose his father. She was ready to give his son back now. “If we're sitting here, chewing our nails, goddamn it, so can you.”

“My niece can't. She'll worry herself to death if we don't find out where he is.”

“Your niece?” Brett looked blank. “Who in hell is she?”

“Liane Crockett, that's who.” She hadn't been that in thirteen years, but in the heat of the moment he forgot that.

“But—” And then slowly he understood. “I didn't realize before he left. … He didn't say anything to me. …” He wondered if the old man was telling the truth, and yet knew he had to be. Otherwise, why would he be calling?

“Why the hell should he tell you? Anyway, she was married at the time, but she's a widow now—” He faltered, wondering why he was telling this man, but it was a relief to tell someone. It was killing him to watch Liane dying behind her walls. “Look, we've got to find him.” And then he grabbed a notepad and a pen. “Who have you called?” Williams reeled off a list of names. He was beginning to like the old man. He had guts and he obviously cared about his niece, and Nick Burnham. He began trying to think who they could call that they hadn't, and the old man made a number of invaluable suggestions. “Will you do it, or shall I?” He knew full well that it didn't matter. Burnham Steel and Crockett Shipping were equally important.

“Let me give it another try, and I'll call you back.”

And two days later Brett did. He didn't have much. But he had something. “He was on the Enterprise when she was hit, Mr. Crockett. And apparently he was wounded pretty badly. We don't know much more than that except that he was shipped to Hawaii. And they just found out this morning that he was at Hickam.”

“Is he still there?” The old man's hand shook on the phone. They had found him … but was he still alive? And how badly had he been wounded?

“They shipped him out last week on the USS Solace. It's virtually been turned into a hospital ship, and it's heading for San Francisco. But, Mr. Crockett …” He hated to dampen his hopes, but they all had to be realistic, even the unknown niece, maybe most especially she. He didn't realize that she knew nothing of her uncle's inquiry. George had wanted to wait till he had concrete news. “We have no idea at all what condition he's in. He was critical when he got to Hickam and we don't know how he was when he left, and apparently on those ships … a lot of them don't make it.”

“I know.” George Crockett closed his eyes. “We'll just have to pray.” He was wondering if he should wait, or if he should tell Liane. But maybe she'd find herself looking into his face at that damn hospital. He opened his eyes then. “How did you find out?”

Brett Williams smiled. “I called the President again and told him you had to know.”

“He's a good man.” He grinned. “I voted for him in the last election.”

Brett Williams smiled. “So did I.” But it was a moment of relief in a sobering time.

“Do you know when the ship is scheduled to dock?”

“They weren't sure. Tomorrow or the day after.”

“I'll keep an eye on it from here, and as soon as I know something, I'll call you.” He hung up and called the Navy after that. The Solace was due to come in at roughly six o'clock the next morning. It gave him a lot to think about that afternoon before he saw Liane again. And when she came home at ten o'clock that night, she was pale and exhausted.

He watched her eat a sandwich and drink a cup of tea, and he thought of telling her then, but he just couldn't. What if Nick had died on the ship? And then he thought about it some more. What if he hadn't?

She was still awake when he knocked on her bedroom door an hour later. “Liane? Are you up?”

“Yes, Uncle George. Is something wrong? Don't you feel well?” She was wearing a pale-blue nightgown and she looked very worried.

“No, no, I'm fine, dear. Sit down.” He waved her to a chair and sat down on the bed, and she felt an instant chill run through her. She had the feeling that he was going to tell her something she didn't want to know. Her last shred of hope died as she watched him. “I have something I want to say to you, Liane. I don't know if you'll be angry or not.” He took a breath and went on. “I called Brett Williams a few days ago.”

“Who's that?” And then suddenly she remembered, and she felt her whole body grow stiff. “Yes?” It was like falling down a dark hole and dying as she waited.

“Nick was in Guadalcanal.” He tried to tell her quickly. “He was wounded … pretty badly, they think. But he was alive at the last report.”

“When was that?” She spoke in a whisper.

“Over a week ago.”

“Where is he?”

Her uncle watched her eyes as he spoke. She was in pain, but she was alive again. “On a ship coming to San Francisco.”

She began to cry softly and he went to her and touched her shoulder.

“Liane … he may not make it on the ship. You've seen enough of that to know.” She nodded, and looked up at him.

“Do you know which ship he's on?”

He nodded. “The Solace. They're coming in at six o'clock tomorrow morning, in Oakland.” She sat very still as she closed her eyes and thought. Six o'clock … six o'clock …in seven hours it would be all over … she would know…. She looked up at her uncle again. “We'll find out as soon as they arrive.”

“No.” Her voice was strong as she shook her head. “No. I want to go down there myself.”

“You may not even find him.”

“If he's there, I will.”

“But, Liane …” What if he was dead? He didn't want her to face that alone. And then he had a thought. “I'll go with you.” She kissed his cheek softly.

“I want to go alone. I have to.” And then she smiled at the memory of Nick's words so long ago. “I'm a strong woman, Uncle George.”

“I know that.” He smiled through damp eyes. “But that may be too much for you.” She shook her head, and a little while later he left the room. And all that night she sat in the dark and watched the clock, and at four thirty she showered and got dressed. She wore a warm coat, and when she left the house at five o'clock, there was a thick fog swirling around her.

t five fifteen Liane was on the Bay Bridge and there was not a single car ahead of or behind her. Only two lone trucks in the distance. And the fog lay on the bay and on the bridge overhead. And when she reached the naval base, it was thick on the water. There were ambulances lined up to take the men off the ship, and teams of medics, blowing on their hands to keep them warm. They knew that the ship was already under the Golden Gate Bridge. It wouldn't be much longer. And then she saw a familiar face from the hospital where she worked, a young naval doctor.

“They've got you working down here now, Liane? I think you work harder than I do.”

“No. I came to see … to find …” He saw the look in her eyes and nodded. She was not on duty here. He understood instantly why she stood shivering in the chill morning.

“Do you know where he was?”

“Guadalcanal.” And they had seen the results for months, streams of wounded and dead and maimed.

“Do you know how badly he was wounded?” She shook her head and he touched her arm, and then he spoke softly. “We'll patch him up.” She nodded, unable to say more, and then she wandered away to watch for the ship. But in the thick fog it was impossible to see anything. And then slowly, in the distance, a light appeared, and a horn sounded, and she noticed a group of women on the dock, waiting tensely. And she looked into the fog again as slowly the lights appeared, and then suddenly the Solace came out of the fog, like a vision. Her entire side was painted white with a red cross on it. And Liane stood in the cold, holding her breath. It seemed to take them hours to tie up, and the medics were getting ready. Men moved forward with stretchers and at last she tied up at the dock, and suddenly all was action.

The worst cases were brought off first and suddenly the ambulance sirens screeched into action. It seemed ironic to Liane as she watched. The wounded had drifted across the Pacific for days, and now they were being rushed to a hospital with a siren. But for some, even a moment lost could make the difference between life and death, and knowing that she had no choice, she moved forward and tried to see faces, but some had been blown off, or were hidden, or were so badly burned, they were beyond recognition. Her stomach began to churn as she moved along the dock, waiting, watching. This was different from her hospital work. She was looking for Nick, and each man she looked at counted, each time she braced herself for the worst. And then the young doctor called out to her.

“What's his name?”

She shouted back. “Burnham … Nick Burnham!”

“We'll find him.” She nodded her thanks and he moved among the injured men, and she moved among others but Nick was nowhere in sight, and then slowly the walking wounded began to come up, and there were shrieks from the small group of women. And men limped forward with tears streaming down their cheeks, and suddenly in the fog she heard a roar, and as they looked up at the decks from the dock, they saw thousands of men hanging there, bandaged and crippled and wounded and maimed, but saluting their homeland with a mighty cheer. And an answering cheer went up from the dock as Liane cried for them and for Nick, and for herself … and Armand … There were so many who would never come home again. And she wondered now if Nick would be among them. Perhaps the information Uncle George had got was wrong … maybe he had died after all …or wasn't on the ship … or had died in transit. It was an unbearable wait as slowly the men streamed off. It was after seven thirty, and the fog was lifting slowly, and still they came and she hadn't found Nick. Many of the other women had left, and the young doctor still moved as quickly as he could among the stretcher cases as the ambulances traveled back and forth to the hospital. She knew that that morning the surgery would be blazing.

“Nothing yet?” The young doctor stopped next to her for only a moment, and she shook her head. “That may be a good sign. He may walk off yet.” Or not at all, she thought to herself. She was chilled to the bone, and numb inside. And then she saw him. He was moving slowly through a group of men, and there were others in front of him. His head was bent, and his hair was long, but she knew him at once, even in the sea of men around him. And she saw as he approached that he was on crutches.

She stood deathly still as she watched, wondering suddenly if she should have come. If it was wrong. If by now he wouldn't want to see her. And as her eyes bore through the crowd he turned to say something to a man on his right, and then he stopped where he was, as he saw her. He moved not at all, nor did she. They just stood there, with the crowd moving steadily past them. And then, as though there were no turning back, she moved slowly toward him, through the men as they jostled her to get home. They were moving more quickly now, and there were still shouts and cheers, and for a moment she lost him, but he was still standing where he had been when the crowd parted again and she began to run, and laugh through her tears, but he bent his head and he began to cry too and he was turning his head from side to side, as though to say no, as though he didn't want to see her. Her steps slowed and she saw, his left leg was gone, and then she ran toward him on the dock, shouting his name. “Nick! Nick!” She flew on and he looked up, with a thousand years in his eyes that hadn't been there before, and then with a sudden lunge he grabbed the crutches and moved toward her and they stood there on the dock as he crushed her to him. They were much the same as they had been before, and very different. A thousand years had passed, and men had died all around them, and the fog lifted slowly over their heads. Nick was home at last and Liane was his now. He had been right long before. Strong people cannot be defeated.

Published by

Dell Publishing

a division of

Random House, Inc.

1540 Broadway

New York, New York 10036

Copyright © 1982 by Danielle Steel

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, New York.

The trademark Dell® is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

eISBN: 978-0-307-56639-3

v3.0

a cognizant original v5 release october 14 2010