Crossings (34 page)

She was furious at his words, and Markham didn't look pleased either. “I thought you were selling to the Germans. You were last year.”

“I canceled all my contracts, at a considerable loss, but the President was very pleased when I told him.” Not to mention his gift to Poland, which had pleased the President too. Checkmate, friends. Nick smiled at his audience. “So, desertion won't do, and adultery doesn't apply.” He forced the image of Liane out of his head as he spoke, although thoughts of her hadn't left him for an instant since he had walked out of Grand Central Station. “I'm afraid that leaves us still married, with a son waiting to be picked up in Boston. Let's go, my friend, the party is over.” The three of them stood there for a long moment, with Mrs. Markham watching and she decided to step in at last.

“Please go and get your things, Hillary dear. As the man says, the party is over.” Hillary turned to her and then Philip, with a look of total frustration on her face, and then she turned to Nick.

“You can't do this, damn it. You can't disappear for almost a year and then expect to pick me up like a piece of furniture you left somewhere.” She made a move as though to slap him and he caught her arm in midair.

He spoke in a clear, even voice. “Not here, Hillary. It's not pretty.”

And with that she stormed out of the room, and returned twenty minutes later with two large bags and her maid and a French poodle. Philip had left the room instantly on her heels and Mrs. Markham had invited Nick to sit down and have a drink while they were gone. They both had double bourbons, while he apologized for keeping her from her guests.

“Not at all. Actually”—she smiled—”I've enjoyed it. And you're doing me a great favor. I've been very worried about Philip.” They sat in silence again for a time, with their drinks, and she glanced at Nick again. She had decided that she liked him. He had one hell of a lot of balls, and she had to admire him for tackling that bitch he was married to. “Tell me, Nick … may I call you Nick?”

“Of course.”

“How did you get saddled with that little baggage?”

“I fell madly in love with her when she was nineteen.” He sighed, thinking of Liane, and then looked back at Mrs. Markham. “She was very pretty at nineteen.”

“She still is, but she's a dangerous woman. No,” the old woman reconsidered with a shake of her head, “not a woman, a girl … she's a spoiled child.” Her eyes met Nick's over their drinks. “She'll destroy my son if she gets him.”

“I'm afraid she'll destroy mine.” He spoke in a quiet voice and she nodded, as though she were satisfied about something.

“You won't let her. Just don't let her destroy you. You need a very different kind of woman.” It was the oddest half hour he had spent in years, and he had to smile as he thought of Liane. She was indeed a very different woman. And he almost wanted to tell Mrs. Markham that he had found her … and lost her….

And at that moment Hillary walked back into the room with her bags, the dog, the maid, and Philip. Nick politely thanked Mrs. Markham then for a lovely time, and Hillary said good-bye to her and her son, with another fulminating look of rage directed at her husband.

“Don't think this is for good. I just don't want to make a scene while they're having a party.”

“That's a new touch. Very thoughtful of you.” He shook hands with Mrs. Markham, nodded at her son, and took Hillary's arm as they walked to the door while a butler carried the luggage. Moments later it was stowed in the car, and Nick turned on the ignition and headed for Boston.

“You won't get away with this, you know.” She was sitting at the extreme other side of the car, practically steaming as the dog panted in the heat, its nails painted the same color as Hillary's.

“And neither will you.” The charming, well-modulated tone he had used at the Markhams' was no longer evident. “And the sooner you get it into your head, Hillary, the better for all of us.” He pulled the car over to the side of the road once they had left the estate, and looked at her with eyes that told her he was not going to take any more nonsense from her. “We are married, we have a son, whom you neglect shamefully. But we are going to stay married. Period. And from now on, you are going to goddamn well behave, or I'm going to kick your ass for you in public.”

“You're threatening me!” she shrieked.

But Nick roared, “You're goddamn well right I am! You've practically deserted our son for the last year, from what I hear, and you're never going to do that again. Do you understand me? You're going to stay home for a change and be a decent mother. And if you and Markham are madly in love, then terrific. Nine years from now, when Johnny is eighteen, you can do anything you goddamn well please. I'll give you a divorce. I'll even pay for your wedding. But in the meantime, my dear, this is it.” He lowered his voice. “For the next nine years, like it or not, you are Mrs. Nicholas Burnham.” It sounded like a death sentence to her and she began to cry.

When they reached Hillary's mother's house, Nick got out of the car without another glance at her, rang the doorbell, and rushed inside the minute the door was opened. Johnny was already in his room, in his pajamas, and he looked like the most forlorn little child Nick had ever seen, until he looked up and gave one wild whoop as he saw his father.

“Daddy! Daddy! … You're back! … You came back! Mommy said you were never coming back.”

“She did what?” He looked at the child in horror.

“She said that you liked it better in Paris.”

“And did you believe that?” He sat down on the bed as his mother-in-law watched from the hall, with tears streaming slowly down her face.

“Not really.” The child spoke in a soft voice. “Not when I read your letters.”

“I was so lonely there without you, tiger. I almost cried every night. Don't ever think that I'm happy anywhere without you, 'cause I'm not, and I'm never going to leave you again. Never!”

“You promise?” There were tears in Johnny's eyes too, and Nick's.

“I swear. Let's shake on it.” They shook hands solemnly and Nick pulled Johnny into his arms again.

“Can I go home soon?”

“How soon can you get packed?”

Johnny's face was ablaze with joy. “You mean now? Back to our house in New York?”

“That's what I mean.” He looked apologetically over his shoulder at his mother-in-law. “I'm sorry to do this to you, but I can't live another day without him.”

“Or he without you,” she said sadly. “We did our best but—” She began to cry in earnest and Nick put his arms around Hillary's mother.

“It's all right. I understand. Everything will be all right.”

She smiled at him through her tears. “We were so worried about you. And when Paris fell, we were afraid you'd fall into the hands of the Germans.” She sighed deeply and blew her nose. “When did you get back?”

“This morning. On the
Deauville.”

“The ship that made the rescue?” He nodded. “Oh, my God …” Johnny had overheard a few words and insisted that his father tell him all about it. Nick thought about telling him that he had seen the De Villiers girls on the ship, but he decided not to. He didn't want Hillary to know anything about it.

They left the house half an hour later, amid tears and goodbyes and promises to call and write. But Johnny was so obviously ecstatic as he climbed into the car with the dog his father had given him in Paris, now full grown, that even the leave-taking wasn't overly sad. And his grandmother knew it was best for him to go home to his parents. The only further surprise was when he saw his mother in the car.

“What are you doing here, Mom? I thought you were in Gloucester.”

“I was. Your father just picked me up.”

“But you said you'd be there for three weeks …” He looked confused and Nick tried to change the subject. “Why didn't you come into the house to see Grandma?”

“I didn't want to leave the dog in the car, and she gets nervous in new houses.” The explanation seemed to satisfy Johnny. Nick noticed that there hadn't been so much as a kiss between them.

The boy fell asleep long before they arrived in New York, where Nick carried him upstairs to his own bed, and tucked him in as an astonished maid looked on. They had actually come home again, all of them. That night Nick walked around the house, pulling dust covers off the furniture and looking around, getting accustomed to his home. Hillary found him sitting quietly in the den, staring out at the New York sky and the bright summer moon, his thoughts so far away that he didn't even hear her come in. And as she stared at the man who had almost literally kidnapped her from Philip Markham in Gloucester that night, she didn't have the energy left to be angry with him. She simply stood there and watched. He was a stranger to her. She could barely remember what it was like being married to him. It seemed a hundred years since they'd made love, and she knew that they never would again, not that she cared. But she was remembering what he had said to her in the car before they picked Johnny up. The next nine years, he'd said … nine … and as she thought the word aloud he turned around to look at her.

“What are you doing up?”

“It's too hot to sleep.”

He nodded. He had so little left to say to her. And yet he knew that if he was with Liane, he could talk to her all night. “Johnny didn't wake up, did he?”

She shook her head. “He's all you care about, isn't he?”

He nodded. “But it didn't used to be that way. And in a lot of ways, I still care about you too.” In the ways that affected their son, but that wasn't the same thing. They both knew that.

“Why do you want me to stay your wife?” She sat down on a chair in the dark and he looked at her.

“For him. He needs us both. And he will for a long time.”

“Nine years.” She echoed his words again.

“I won't give you a rough time, Hil. As long as you're decent to him.” He wanted to ask her how she could have left him for almost the entire year. He ached to think of how lonely the child must have been. And to think of how lonely he himself had been in France, without Johnny.

“Don't you want something more than this for yourself, Nick?” He was a mystery to her, and she didn't want to be here with him. They both knew that. She didn't have to hide it from him anymore. She still couldn't believe he'd actually made her come back, but he was a powerful man, too powerful for her to fight. It was part of why she hated him sometimes.

He looked at her now, wondering who she was, just as she wondered about him. “Yes, I want something more for myself. But this isn't the time.”

“Maybe you just haven't met the right girl.” He didn't answer her, and for a moment she wondered—but that wouldn't be like Nick. She knew how faithful he'd been to her, not that it had ever meant much to her. In fact it annoyed her.

“Maybe not.” He answered at last and stood up with a sigh. “Good night, Hil.” He left her sitting in the darkened room alone, and went upstairs to the guest room, where he'd put his things. They would never again share a bedroom and hadn't since the night he'd moved out of their suite on the
Normandie
the year before. Those days were over.

He rented a house that summer in Marblehead, and took the month of August off so he could be with Johnny. Hillary came and went. He knew that she was with Philip Markham, but he didn't care. She was more discreet now than she'd been in the past, and once she saw that he wasn't going to stop her, she was less unpleasant when she was around. In a funny way, he sensed that Philip Markham was good for her. They were a great deal alike. And he wondered if Markham was responsible for calming her down.

Nick was happiest when he was alone with Johnny. He had longed for moments like these with his son, and during the long months in Paris he had thought of times such as this. And the days in Marblehead gave him a chance to think of Liane. He would take long walks on the beach, looking out to sea, remembering their trip, the rescue at sea, the hours they'd talked, the passionate lovemaking in the tiny cabin. It all seemed now like a distant dream, and each time he saw his son, he knew that she'd been right to set him free, yet they had both paid such a high price for their love. He thought often of calling her, to find out how she was, to tell her how much he loved her still and always would, and yet he knew that reaching out to touch her for even an instant would be cruel.

It was in the fall that he actually went so far as to pick up the phone, late one night in the apartment. Hillary was away for a few days, and Johnny was asleep, and he had been sitting in the living room for hours, thinking of the sound of Liane's voice, the feel of her skin. He knew that he'd never get over her. But perhaps by now, he told himself, she had got over him. And he put the phone down gently again, and went outside for a long walk. It was a cool, breezy September night, and the air felt good. He knew that the maids would hear Johnny if he woke up, and he was in no hurry to get home. He walked up and down the New York streets for hours, and then finally went back. He was still awake when Hillary came in at two in the morning, and he heard her bedroom door close. He remembered too well the days when something like that would have driven him mad, but it no longer did. He was going mad instead with loneliness for Liane.