Crossings (19 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hear it's a nice post.”

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

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

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

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

“Perhaps they're afraid to see.”

“But how can they not?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Time will tell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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