Crossings (16 page)

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

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

“I'm sorry, Captain, I didn't hear …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She laughed aloud. “So did I.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You might.”

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