Crossings (15 page)

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

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

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

“That's right.”

“I'll never do that.”

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

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

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

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

“Do you care?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Were you expecting someone else?”

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

“What's the matter, my love?”

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

“Did someone get hurt?” He looked concerned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I doubt that.”

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

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

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

“I thought maybe the red moiré.”

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

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

“More or less.” He was deliberately vague.

“What does that mean?”

“We'll see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I thought I would.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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