Danielle Steel - Remembrance

“That's silly.” She was smiling and blushing faintly in embarrassment. “If I hadn't told you, you'd never have known.”

“I certainly would.”

“You would not.” She was teasing him now and he set down his glass and took her in his arms in the beautiful blue velvet and mahogany cabin, and he kissed her hard on the mouth, and then swept her into his arms with one powerful gesture and deposited her on the room's large handsome bed.

“Don't move. I have to fix something.” She smiled at his retreating back as he marched to the door of the cabin, took off the Do Not Disturb sign, opened the door, and slipped it on the knob on the other side. “That ought to take care of the maid.” He turned to her with a broad grin, closed the curtains, and began to loosen his tie.

“And just what does that mean, Colonel?” She looked at him archly from the bed, every inch a princess, except that there was laughter bubbling over in her eyes.

“Just what do you think it means, Mrs. Fullerton?”

“In broad daylight? Here? Now?”

“Why not?” He sat down on the edge of the bed and kissed her again.

“Good God! I'll get pregnant.”

“Terrific. We'll have twin girls.”

“Oh, don't say—” But he never let her finish her sentence. His mouth was pressed down hard on hers and a moment later they had pulled back the handsome blue satin covers, to reveal white linen sheets with the monogram of the French line neatly embroidered in blue. The sheets were smooth and cool against her flesh, and his hands were warm on her breasts and her thighs as he pressed against her and she found herself hungering to feel him inside her. She moaned his name softly, and he ran his lips across her mouth and her eyes and her hair as his hands worked magic, and then suddenly, lunging toward her, he took her almost by surprise.

“Oh.” It was a single prolonged sound of astonishment and then pleasure, lost in a symphony of soft murmurs and moans, as the ship slowly left the dock and they began their voyage home.

17

The days on the Liberté flew too quickly. The weather was unusually good on the Atlantic, and even the usual June breezes never came up to plague them, as they lay in deck chairs side by side. Serena was only troubled once or twice by some vague queasiness before breakfast, but by the time they had eaten, taken a turn around the deck, played shuffleboard once, or chatted with some of the people they had met, Serena had always long since forgotten her malaise by then, and spent the rest of the day in total enjoyment. They usually lunched alone, retired to their cabin for a nap, and returned to the deck, before going in to change for tea, when they invariably met new people, spoke to some they had met in the days before, and listened to the chamber music. It all reminded Serena very much of her grandmother and their friends, the music they liked, the food they loved best, the grand meals, the formal dress, the gray lace dresses with pink satin underslips, with several rows of pearls and perfectly plain pumps of gray satin. It was none of it alien to her, and appeared to Serena to be part of a life she had once lived. But it was not unknown to B.J. either, and time and again they seemed to meet people whom his parents had known, or his uncles, or with whom they had mutual friends.

On the whole it was an easygoing, relaxed, delightful trip, and they were both sorry on the last night at the prospect of seeing their journey come to an end when they reached New York.

“Maybe we should just stow away and go back to Paris.”

“No.” She said it decidedly, propped up on one elbow in their bed after they made love. “I want to go to New York and meet your family, and then I want to see San Francisco, and all the cowboys and Indians. I think I'm going to like the Wild West.”

B.J. laughed openly at the visions she conjured. “The only thing wild about it is your imagination.”

“No cowboys or Indians? Not even one or two?”

“Not in San Francisco. We'll have to go to the Rockies to see cowboys.”

“Good.” She looked delighted as she kissed his neck. “Then we'll go there on a trip. Right?”

“And when do you plan to do all this, madame? Right up until you have the baby?”

“Of course. What do you expect me to do?” Now she looked amused. “Stay home and knit booties all the time?”

“Sounds about right to me.”

“Well, it doesn't to me. I want to do something, Brad.”

“Oh, God, save me.” He fell back among his pillows with a groan. “It's a Modern Woman. What do you want to do? Go out and work?”

“Why not? This is America. It's a democratic country. I could get involved in politics.” Her eyes twinkled a little and he held up a hand.

“That you could not! One woman like that in my family is enough, thank you. Figure out something else. Besides, dammit” —he looked only faintly annoyed as he knit his brows—”you're going to have a baby in six months. Can't you just relax and do that?”

“Maybe. But maybe I could do something else too. At least while I'm waiting.”

“We'll find you some nice volunteer work.” She nodded slowly in answer, but lately she had been thinking a great deal about San Francisco. Neither of them knew anyone there, and Brad would meet people on the base, but she wanted to be doing something too. She didn't want to just sit there, with her big belly, waiting. She said as much to him a minute later. “But why not?” He looked perplexed. “Isn't that what women do?”

“Not all women. There must be women who do something more than that while they're pregnant. You know”—she looked pensive for a moment—”the poor women in Italy work, they go out and work in the fields, in stores, in bakeries, at whatever they normally do, and one day, boom, out comes the baby, and that's that, off they go with the baby under their arm.” She smiled at the thought and he laughed again at the image.

“You have a certain way with words, my love. Is that what you want to do? Boom, out comes the baby, while you're working in the fields?”

She looked at him strangely then. “I was happy when I was working with Marcella.”

“Good God, Serena. That was awful, for chrissake, working as a maid in your parents' own home.”

“The idea was awful, but the work wasn't. It felt good. I felt as though I accomplished something every day. It wasn't that what I was doing was important, it was that I was doing a lot, and I was doing it well.” She looked like a proud little girl as she glanced at him. “I had a lot of responsibility, you know.”

He kissed the tip of her nose gently. “I know you did, little one. And you worked damn hard. Too hard. I don't ever want you to have to do something like that again.” He looked pleased at knowing that that would never happen. “And you won't. You're married to me now, darling. And about the only good thing about the Fullerton name is that it comes equipped with enough comfort to keep not only us but our children safe from that kind of hardship, for always.”

“That's nice to know.” But she didn't look overly impressed. “But I would have loved you even if you were poor.”

“I know you would, darling. But it's nice not to have to worry about that, isn't it?” She nodded slowly and snuggled into his arms, before they both fell asleep. Just before she did, she thought once more of her life in San Francisco, and knew that she wanted to do something more than just have a baby. The baby was wonderful and exciting, but she wanted to do something else too. She hadn't figured out what yet, but she knew that in time she would.