Crossings (12 page)

Bonjour, Madame … Monsieur l'Ambassadeur … Tout le monde a bien dormi?”
He inquired how they had slept, and he sat down with a mournful look. He was, as always, anxious to get to work, and Armand stood up with a sigh.

“I'm afraid, ladies, that duty calls.” He smiled into his assistant's eyes and went into the bedroom to get his own briefcase. He emerged a moment later with a sober look and his official face. “We're off.” He waved to the girls as they left, and suggested to Perrier on their way out that they go to the gentleman's
fumoir
on the promenade deck, two decks below. There weren't liable to be too many men there now, and they could get their work done in peace amidst the morocco leather settees and easy chairs in the enormous room without interruption. Perrier was quick to agree. He had spent the evening there himself the night before, having no particular interest in the dancing in the Grand Salon. Instead he had chosen to read his memos in the
fumoir
, and prepare for the next day's work. He had stopped at the adjoining Café-Grill on the way back to his room and had had a brandy and a late-night snack, and then he had gone to bed at midnight, before Liane and Armand had returned to their suite.

“Did you sleep well, Perrier?” Armand inquired as they descended the grandiose staircase in the smoking room. There were no women there. It was entirely reserved for men, and was meant to remind them of their clubs, but it was far more sumptuous than any club, with walls covered with gold bas-relief of Egyptian sporting scenes, and two-deck-high ceilings, which were characteristic of almost all the
Normandie's
gathering rooms. Armand selected a quiet corner with two large leather chairs and a desk and put aside the newspaper published on the ship. They had enough to do.

“I slept very well, thank you, sir.”

Armand looked around before opening the folders he had brought. “This is quite a ship, Perrier, isn't it?”

“Indeed, sir, she is.” Even he, with his lack of interest in frivolity, had been impressed since the moment he came aboard. There seemed to be startling beauty everywhere, breathtaking design, the finest that their country could produce, from boiserie to sculpture to delicately carved glass, the eye took it all in and the senses soared, even here in the smoking room. “Well, shall we get to work?”

“Yes, sir.” The familiar folders came out, and they worked quietly for hours, Perrier making careful notes and putting each folder aside as the matter was resolved. And by ten thirty they had begun to warm up. It was then that Armand noticed Nick Burnham come in. He was wearing a blazer and white slacks and a tie, which pronounced him an alumnus of Yale. He chose a quiet spot across the room, picked up the newspaper of the ship, and began to read, but he glanced at his watch once or twice, and Armand assumed correctly that he was meeting someone there. He wondered if he too had brought an assistant along. He knew that there were many businessmen who did, yet somehow Nick didn't seem quite the type. He seemed more the sort of man who would leave his business at the office at the end of a day, and concentrate on other things. He didn't have the driven qualities of many of his colleagues in the business world. Just then another man came in and looked around. Nick Burnham stood as soon as the newcomer came in. The man then strode across the room, with an almost military gait, and shook hands firmly with Nick and sat down. He ordered a drink from one of the fleet of waiters standing by, and the two men sat down and leaned toward each other in quiet conversation for a time, and Armand guessed that there was business being done. Nick nodded his head frequently and made several brief notes, and the older man he was talking to looked pleased when at last he sat back in his chair, nodding slowly as he looked at Nick and lit a cigar. Whatever it was that they had discussed, it had gone well. At last the second man stood up, they shook hands, and the man crossed the room again, exiting this time through the Café-Grill, as Nick watched, his lips pursed, his eyes following the man's every step until he was gone. Then Nick took out his notes again and when Armand glanced up, he was intrigued by the look on Nick's face. During his entire conversation with the other man he had seemed interested but casual, his body relaxed, his face intent, but not nearly as intent as he looked now, going over his notes. Perhaps he was more driven than he seemed.

Armand realized again what an important man Nick was, and that undoubtedly the deal being discussed in the smoking room was one that involved staggering sums. Yet the man had about him an apparently easy, relaxed manner. As Armand watched him now, he sensed that the casual ease was only a front, an air he had given himself long since to put those he dealt with falsely at ease. There was nothing relaxed about him now, and Armand could almost sense the wheels turning at full speed in Nick's head. He thought him a most intriguing man, and hoped that before the trip ended they would have time to talk. He caught Nick's eye as he left the room, and Burnham smiled pleasantly at him. He had liked the way Armand had handled Hillary's misbehavior the previous night. He had made it politely obvious that he was impervious to her charms, and Nick was relieved. He didn't particularly want to have to deal with one of her affairs in the close quarters of first class on the ship, and he sensed that Armand was a decent man. They sensed that about each other, and there was a kind of silent camaraderie as Nick smiled and then Armand went back to his work.

Nick went out on deck on the first-class promenade for a breath of air, and when he glanced up, he saw Liane on the terrace of the Trouville suite, her face turned toward the wind. He stood there watching her for a long moment. There was a lovely grace to the woman. She looked like an ivory sculpture in her white cashmere, and he remembered again how quiet and poised she had been the night before. But then he saw her daughters come onto the terrace to claim her attention and a moment later she followed them inside, not having noticed him standing there.

Liane walked the girls around the shops before they went to the pool, and they bought a present for Armand. Liane chose an Hermès tie, and Marie-Ange absolutely insisted that they buy him a little bronze model of the ship on a marble stand. He could put it on his desk in Paris, they said, and Liane agreed to let them buy the treasure for their father. They left it in their suite before going on to the pool with their mother and Mademoiselle.

The pool itself was an extraordinary sight. The enameled sandstones and bright mosaics were designed in intricate patterns everywhere, and the pool was over seventy feet long.

Even filled with the happy swimmers who cavorted in the deep end, it didn't seem crowded, and the girls were almost squealing with delight as Liane led them to the terraced shallow end. She had changed into a navy-blue knit swimsuit with a white belt, and she tucked her hair into a white cap before diving into the deep end of the water. She swam with long, skilled strokes back to the girls as they splashed about in their red bathing suits, beginning to make friends. There was a little boy in a red tank suit much like theirs, and Elisabeth had just learned that his name was John. When John looked up at Liane, she noticed his eyes were a brilliant emerald-green, in sharp contrast to his fair skin and almost jet-black hair. She had the feeling that she had seen him somewhere before. There was something familiar about his eyes, and his smile.

Liane then went for a swim, and as she swam she noticed that groups had begun to form, people were calling each other by their first names, and like the children, they had begun to make friends. But she saw no one she knew. With Armand so busy with Jacques Perrier, they had socialized less than most, and when she was alone, she felt a little strange about leaving their rooms. She took the air on their private promenade, or went on quiet walks, or as now, she did something with the girls. But she was not one of those women to hang around, chatting with the other women in shops, or picking up people over tea in the Grand Salon.

They swam for well over an hour, and then at last Liane urged them from the pool. She took them back to the suite to change for lunch, and escorted them to the children's dining room, decorated by Laurent de Brunhoff with Babars painted on the walls, holding each other's tails. The girls had fallen in love with it the night before, when they'd eaten there with Mademoiselle. And as Liane left she saw the little boy from the pool come in with his nurse. She smiled down at him and he waved at the girls, and then she returned to her suite to change. She had only ten minutes left to dress for lunch and she wondered if Armand would be back soon, but as she sat down on the couch to wait in a beige wool suit from Chanel, a steward rang the bell and handed her a note. Armand and Jacques had not yet finished their work, and he preferred to stick with it until they had, so he could at least spend the afternoon with her. For just a moment as she read his distinctive scrawl, she felt her heart sink, but she smiled at the steward anyway and went downstairs to the Grande Salle à Manger to eat alone.

She was seated at a table for eight, and two of the couples had opted not to dine. The other couple was from New Orleans, a pleasant older pair who made easy conversation about the ship. Liane noticed that the wife wore a diamond ring the size of a sugar cube, and she didn't have a great deal to say. The husband was in oil, he said. They had lived in Texas for years, and Oklahoma before that, but in their twilight years they had moved to New Orleans. She and Armand had been there once. She spoke to them for as long as she could, but they all fell silent over dessert. And before the coffee came they excused themselves to go and take a nap, and Liane sat alone, looking over the dining room and the animated tables everywhere. She felt lonely for Armand, wishing that he would finish his work. And after eating some fresh fruit and a cup of tea, she stood up and walked outside, where she almost immediately ran into Nick Burnham with his son, and then she realized where she had seen the boy before. He was the child she and the girls had met at the pool, and then again in the dining room. He looked very much like Nick, which was why he had looked so familiar to her. She smiled at the child and then at Nick, before talking to the boy.

“How was your lunch?”

“Very good.” He beamed, he looked happy holding on to his father's hand, happier than he had looked before. “We're going to the puppet show.”

“Would you like to come?” Nick smiled, and Liane hesitated. She wanted to wait in the suite for Armand, but she could leave him a note and take the girls, and when he came, she could always leave them there. Mademoiselle could pick them up when the show was over.

“Yes, I would. I'll go back and get my girls and meet you there.” She wondered briefly, as she hurried back to the Trouville, where Hillary Burnham was, but she didn't look the type to spend much time with her son, Liane assessed, and she was quite right. In their suite she found Marie-Ange and Elisabeth playing a game in their rooms. Mademoiselle wanted them to take a nap, but Liane rescued them and left a note for Armand. “Gone to the puppet show with the girls. Meet us there. Love, L.” And then the three of them ran off to the children's playroom on the same deck. There was a carousel, and a Punch and Judy show about to begin. She spotted Nick and John sitting in a row of empty seats, waiting for them. Liane and the girls sat down just as the lights began to dim, and the next hour flew by as the children laughed and screamed and answered the questions they were asked by Punch, and applauded heartily when the show came to an end.

“That was fun.” John looked up at Nick with a broad grin. “Now can we go on the carousel?” It had just been turned on and stewardesses were assisting the children to climb up, as a row of waitresses prepared generous portions of ice cream. The
Normandie
was like a fairyland for grown-ups, and the children as well. As grandiose as the rest of the ship was for the adults, this was every bit as wonderful for the smaller folk. Elisabeth and Marie-Ange disappeared rapidly from their mother's side and selected horses on either side of their new friend, and all three of them waved happily as the carousel began to turn.

“I just don't believe this place.” Nick smiled at Liane. “I think I like their playrooms better than ours.”

Liane laughed. “I think I do too.” For a moment they stood there watching the children giggling and talking on the carousel. “We saw your son this morning in the swimming pool, and I thought I knew him from somewhere.” She smiled at Nick. “Except for his hair, he looks just like you.”

“And the girls are the image of you.” In truth, Liane thought Elisabeth looked more like Armand, but they both had her blond hair. Armand's hair had once been as dark as little John's, but it had been white now for years, but one could see that his coloring had not been fair, unlike Nick, who seemed almost Viking-like with his broad shoulders and green eyes and blond hair. “This is going to be a fun trip for them.” Liane nodded, lost for a moment in her own thoughts, wondering if it would also be a fun trip for herself and Nick. She was beginning to feel that she had scarcely seen Armand since the trip began, and she hadn't seen Hillary with Nick for lunch. She wondered to herself what a woman like that did for fun. She looked like the kind of woman who had fun only when surrounded by men, wearing slinky gowns and covered with jewels and furs. It was hard to imagine her sitting by the pool, or reading a book on deck, or playing tennis. And as though he had read her thoughts, Nick turned to her again. “Have you played any tennis yet?”

“No. I'm afraid I'm not very good.”

“Neither am I, but if you have time for a match sometime, I'd love to play. I saw the ambassador hard at work today in the smoking room, and if he wouldn't object, I'd enjoy a game of tennis very much.” There seemed to be no ulterior motive in his voice, and Liane suspected that he was a lonely man.

“Does Mrs. Burnham play?” There was no catch in her voice, but he wondered if it was a reproach.

“No, she doesn't. She played a lot in Newport as a girl, but she hated it.” And then, “You're from San Francisco, aren't you?”