Authors: Danielle Steel
Liane had no social life in Washington at all. The people who had invited her so constantly when they were stationed there, no longer knew whether or not to invite her. She was a woman alone, which made it awkward for them, and they promised themselves they would invite her eventually, but as yet no one had. Except, finally, Eleanor, who asked her to a small family dinner in the last week of September. Liane felt relieved when she arrived at the White House in a cab, and saw the familiar portico. She longed for intelligent conversation with someone. And she wanted to hear all the war news from Eleanor. She enjoyed the dinner to no end until Franklin took her aside quietly after dessert and spoke frankly to her.
“I've heard about Armand, my dear. And I'm very, very sorry.” For a moment her heart almost stopped. What had they heard that she didn't know? Had the Germans ravaged Paris after all? Was Armand dead? Was there a secret communiqué of which she was not aware? She grew deathly pale and the President touched her arm. “I understand now why you left him.”
“But I didn't leave him … not in that sense. …” She looked at him, confused. “I left because Paris was occupied and he thought we'd be safer here. I would have stayed if he had let me.”
The President's face went taut. “Do you realize that he's working with Pétain, in collaboration with the Germans?”
“I … yes … I knew that he was going to stay in Paris with—”
But Roosevelt cut her off. “Do you understand what that means, Liane? The man is a traitor to France.” He said it like a death knell over Armand, and Liane felt tears sting her eyes. How could she defend him? She could not tell anyone what she knew, not even this man. She could do nothing to clear her husband's name. And she hadn't realized that news of it would reach the States. She looked helplessly at the President.
“France is occupied, Mr. President. These are not … normal times.” But her voice faltered.
“Those faithful to France have fled. Some of them are in North Africa now. They're equally aware that the country is occupied, but they are not working for Pétain. Liane, you might as well be married to a Nazi. Can you accept that?”
“I'm married to a man I love, whom I have been married to for eleven years.” And for whom she had just given up someone she cared for deeply.
“You are married to a traitor.” And it was clear by the tone of his voice that she was now considered a traitor by association. As long as he had thought she had left Armand for good, then it was all right. But if she insisted on standing by Armand, then she was as guilty as he. It was written all over his face and in the way he said good night to her.
Eleanor did not call her again, and within a week word was all over Washington that Armand was a traitor to France, and working for Pétain and the Nazis. She was shocked at the gossip that she heard. Two or three troublemakers went out of their way to call and tell her. And she wasn't sure what she was more grief-stricken over, the gossip about Armand being a Nazi, or the news that on October 2, German U-boats sank the
Empress of Britain
, a British ship carrying a shipload of children to safety in Canada. She felt sick as she remembered the
Queen Victoria
and the bodies floating in the water a few months before, and now the bodies would be those of innocent children.
She felt as though she were living a nightmare underwater as she fought against her own depression over events, and her constant sense of loss. Somehow she managed to crawl from one day to the next, waiting for letters from Armand, and fending off phone calls from her uncle George, badgering her to move back to California. It had only taken him a few weeks to hear the gossip that was circulating like wildfire around Washington. There had even been a veiled slur in one of the gossip columns about the shipping heiress who now flew Hitler's flag over her Georgetown house.
“I always told you the man was a son of a bitch,” George roared into the phone from San Francisco.
“You don't know what you're talking about, Uncle George.”
“The hell I don't. You didn't tell me that was why he stayed in Paris.”
“He is faithful to France.” She was beginning to feel as though she were repeating empty words. Only she and Armand knew the truth. And there was no one she could tell. She wondered if by now Nick had heard it too.
“My ass he's faithful to France, Liane. The man is a Nazi.”
“He is not a Nazi. We're being occupied by the Germans.” She sounded as tired as she felt and she was near tears.
“Thank God ‘we’ are not occupied by anyone. And don't you forget it. You're an American, Liane. And it's goddamn time you came back where you belong. You've been living in international communities for so long that you don't know who the hell you are.”
“Yes, I do. I'm Armand's wife, and don't
you
forget that.”
“Maybe one of these days you'll come to your senses. Did you read about those children killed when the British ship sank? Well, he's one of the people that killed them.” It was a cruel thing to say and Liane's whole body went tense. She knew only too well what the sinking of a ship looked like.
“Don't you dare say that! Don't you
dare!”
She sat trembling and then without another word she hung up. The nightmare would never end. Not for a long, long time, and she knew it. And she had to remind herself every day of what Nick had said: “Strong people cannot be defeated.” But as she lay in her bed and cried every night, she no longer believed him.
fter Nick had got to the apartment in New York, and had been told by the maid that Hillary was in Cape Ann and Johnny was still in Boston, with his face grimly set, he had taken his car out of the garage, where it had sat for a year, and had driven the bottle-green Cadillac directly to Gloucester. He knew exactly where she was, or he guessed, and a few careful phone calls confirmed it.
He did not call to tell her he was coming. He arrived, like an expected guest, on the enormous handsome old estate. He walked with determination up the front steps and rang the bell. It was a beautiful July night, and there was obviously a party in progress. A black-uniformed maid with a cap and lace apron appeared and smiled as she opened the door for him to enter. She was a little surprised at the grim set of his face, but he very pleasantly asked to see Mrs. Burnham, who he understood was a guest there. It was clear by then from his lack of formal attire that he wasn't planning to stay for dinner. He handed the maid his calling card, and she disappeared with it immediately and, returning a moment later, looking even more nervous than before, she asked him to come into the library with her, and there he found the formidable Mrs. Alexander Markham, Philip's mother. He had met her many years before, and knew her immediately as she glanced at him through a lorgnette, her hands littered with diamonds, and her long elegant frame in an ice-blue evening dress. Her hair was so white, it was almost the same color as the dress.
“Yes, young man, what do you want here?”
“How do you do, Mrs. Markham. It's been many years since we've met.” He was wearing white linen slacks, an impeccable white silk shirt, his blazer, and a bow tie, and he very properly shook her hand and introduced himself. “I am Nicholas Burnham.” Beneath the powder, she blanched slightly, but her eyes gave nothing away. “I believe my wife is here for the weekend. You've been very kind to have her.” He smiled and their eyes met, each knowing exactly what was going on, but he was willing to play the game, for the old woman's benefit at least, if not Hillary's. “I've just returned from Europe at last, a little later than expected. She doesn't know I'm back, and I thought I'd drive up here and give her a little surprise.” And to prove that he was not malicious, he added, “I'd like to drive her to Boston tonight so that we can pick up my son. I haven't seen him since I put them on the
Aquitania
in September.” There was a moment of silence in the room as the old woman watched him.
“I don't believe your wife is here, Mr. Burnham.” She sat down with the utmost grace and total composure, her rigid spine never touching the back of her chair and the lorgnette never flagging.
“I see. Then perhaps your cousin made a mistake. I called her before I came up.” He knew how close the two women were. They had married brothers. “She mentioned that she saw Hillary here last weekend. Since she hasn't arrived home, I assume she's still here.”
“I really don't know how—” But before she could finish her sentence, her son burst into the room.
“Mother, for God's sake, you don't have to—” He stopped but he was too late. He was going to tell her that there was no need for her to trouble herself with Nick Burnham. Nick turned where he stood and looked Philip full in the face.
“Hello, Markham.” There was total silence among all three, and Nicholas proceeded. “I came to pick up Hillary.”
“She's not here.” He said it with pure derision in his voice as his eyes glittered.
“So your mother tells me.”
But Hillary proved them both liars. She was the next one through the door to the library, in a gossamer-thin gold-and-white evening gown made of Indian sari fabric. And she was a vision to all eyes, with her dark hair swept up, her deep tan, and long dangling diamonds at her ears and on her neck. She stood still and stared at Nick. “Then it is you. I thought it was a bad joke.” She made no move to approach him.
“A very bad joke, Hillary dear. Apparently you're not even here.” She looked from Philip to his mother at Nick's words and then shrugged her shoulders.
“Thank you anyway. But it doesn't matter. Yes, I'm here. So what? The point is, why are you here?”
“To take you home. But first we're going to pick up Johnny. I haven't seen him in ten months, or had you forgotten?”
“No, I haven't forgotten.” Her eyes began to blaze like the diamonds hanging from her earlobes.
“And how long has it been since you've seen him?” Nick's eyes burned into hers as he asked the question.
“I saw him last week.” Her words gave away nothing.
“I'm very impressed. Now, go and pack your bags and we'll leave these nice people to their party.” He spoke to her in a smooth, even tone, but it was clear that he was on the verge of exploding.
“You can't just yank her out of this house.” Philip Markham stepped forward, and Nick stared at him evenly.
“She's my wife.”
The elderly Mrs. Markham watched them all and said nothing. But Hillary was quick to speak up for herself.
“I'm not leaving.”
“May I remind you that we're still married. Or have you filed for divorce in my absence?” He saw Hillary and Philip exchange a quick nervous glance. She hadn't, but had meant to, and Nick's sudden arrival would hamper their plans. They were practically ready to announce their engagement. Mrs. Markham was unhappy about it. She knew what Hillary was and she didn't like her. Not at all. And so she had told Philip. The girl was worse than any of the wives he had had, and she would cost him a fortune. “I asked you a question, Hillary.” Nick pressed the point. “Have you filed for divorce?”
He heard the old familiar petulance in her voice. “No, I haven't. But I'm going to.”
“That's interesting news. On what grounds?”
She glared at him. “Desertion. You said you'd come back at Christmas, and then in April.”
“And all this time, poor love, you've been pining for me. Funny, I never got an answer to any of my letters or cables.”
“I didn't think you could get mail—with the war on and all.” Her voice faltered and he laughed.
“Well, I'm home, so now it doesn't matter. Get your things and we'll leave. I'm sure Mrs. Markham is very tired of us.” He looked at the old woman and for the first time saw a smile.
“Actually, I'm quite amused. It's rather like an English drama. But more entertaining because it's real.”
“Quite.” Nick smiled pleasantly and turned to his wife. “For your information, although we can discuss it later, what has kept me in France all this time were matters of national defense. Major contracts that affect the economy of our country, and defense matters that involve us against the Germans, should they ever become a threat to us directly. You would have a very hard time convincing any court that you'd been deserted. I rather think they'd sympathize with the reasons for my staying so long.”