Danielle Steel - Crossings

“Do you go back to San Francisco often?”

“No. It's really not my home anymore. I've been gone for too long and I only have my uncle now. We've never been very close and …” Her voice was very gentle as she spoke. “… my home is with Armand.”

“He's a very lucky man.”

“Not always.” She laughed. “Even fairy tales have their rocky spots. I'm as difficult as anyone else. He's a very good, very kind, wise man. I am fortunate to have known him for all these years. My father didn't think I'd get along as well with a younger man, and I think he was right. I lived alone with my father for too long.”

“Is your husband a great deal like him?” He was still curious about them, even more so now after hearing her tale.

“No, not at all. But my father had prepared me well. I ran his home, I listened to the business problems he and my uncle had. I wouldn't have been satisfied with much less.”

“Were you an only child?”

“Yes.”

“So is my wife. But she had less responsibility than you, less exposure to the real world. She grew up expecting Christmas every day, and birthday parties, and debutante balls. It's fun, but it's not exactly the essence of real life.”

“She's a very beautiful girl. It would be difficult for her not to be spoiled. Women who look like that often grow up expecting life to be something that it is not.” But as she said the words he found himself wanting to ask her “And you? Why aren't you like that?” Liane was lovely too, but in a different way. In a gentler, quieter, more womanly way than his wife. Instead, he thought of something else.

“You know, it's funny our paths never crossed, with our fathers doing business with each other, and we aren't that far apart in age.” And the elite from one end of the country to the other were a small group, as they both knew. Perhaps if she had gone to college in the East, he might have met her at some party or ball, but with her at Mills, and earlier he at Yale, their paths were never destined to cross, until now on the Normandie , on the high seas.

“My father was really a recluse for years. There were a lot of people I didn't meet, people my father knew or did business with. He never really recovered from my mother's death. It's a miracle I even met Armand and Odile, but I think he wanted me to meet them so I could show off my French.” She still remembered Odile's report of their first meeting with Harrison. She thought of it again now and had to pull her attention back to Nick. “Where is Mrs. Burnham, by the way?” It was not impertinent to ask, and yet when she saw the look in his eyes, she regretted the question almost at once. There was something smoldering quietly there.

“She wanted to have a massage. Which is why I came looking for you.” Liane seemed surprised at his words and put her book down on the bench. “I was wondering if I could talk you into that tennis game we talked about yesterday. Does that appeal to you right now? There's no one on the courts. I was just there. John wanted to take a look at the dogs. Anyway, could I tear you away from your book for a quick game?”

She hesitated for an instant and glanced at her watch. “I have to meet Armand for lunch at noon. He promised that today he'd break away.”

“That's fine. I'm meeting Hillary in the Grillroom at one.”

“Then let's.” She smiled at him. She hadn't had a male friend in years, not really since Armand. But it would be fun to have someone to play tennis with. “I'll hurry up and change and meet you there.”

“Ten minutes?” He looked at his watch, a handsome piece of black enamel and gold from Cartier.

“Fine.” They both rose and went up to the sun deck, where they lived, and met ten minutes later on the courts, she in a pleated tennis dress that exposed half of her slim thighs, and he in well-tailored white shorts and a tennis sweater over a shirt from Brooks Brothers. They played a relaxed, carefree game. He beat her twice, and she took him by surprise in the end, and beat him 6-2, with a whoop of victory and a handshake as he sailed across the net. Suddenly they both felt happy and free and young.

“You lied to me. You're very good.” She congratulated him, still out of breath from the three quick games, but it had been fun.

“I'm not. But you're not bad yourself.” It was just the outlet he had been longing for, and he felt better now. “Thanks. I needed something like that.”

She looked up at his considerable height with a smile. “You must feel awfully cooped up here. No matter how large the ship is, it's still a confining space. I'm lazy enough not to mind, but I suppose it's different for you.”

“Not really. I just get wound up sometimes. I have a lot of things on my mind.” She was reminded then of the contracts he had, both with Paris and Berlin, but she didn't mind as much now. He was a nice man, and there was something about him that suggested decency and integrity. Nick Burnham was a difficult man to dislike and she was growing comfortable with him. “Anyway, this helped a lot. Thank you again.”

“Any time.” She smiled. “Maybe this is the perfect antidote to all that food.”

He grinned. “Then let's play again. Tomorrow at the same time?”

“All right.” She glanced at her watch. “Now I really have to run, or I'll be late for Armand.”

“Give him my best,” he called out as she hurried back to the Trouville suite.

“I will. And enjoy your lunch.” She waved and disappeared and he stood for a long time looking out over the rail, thinking back on the things she had said. He liked the story of how they had met. And Armand was really the perfect man for her. She seemed to know it too, which was nice. Unlike Hillary, who watched him approach at one o'clock in the Grill with a sense of impending doom. He was wearing his blazer and slacks again and she had changed into a peacock-blue silk dress and high-heeled blue kid shoes.

“Have a nice massage?” He signaled the waiter and they both ordered a Scotch.

“Very nice.”

“Where did you say you get the massages?” He feigned innocence as he stirred his drink, his eyes boring into hers.

“Checking up on me, Nick?”

“I don't know, Hil. Do you think I should?”

“What difference does it make if I had a massage or not?” Her eyes drifted away from his, as though she were too bored to continue looking at him, but something inside her fluttered nervously. Now and then, dealing with Nick was truly like dealing with the man of steel.

“It makes a big difference to me if you tell me lies. And I told you before, what you do here will become common knowledge on the ship. I get the feeling that you're spending a lot of time in second class and I want it to stop.”

“Stupid snob. The average age of this group tallies up to Neanderthal man, for chrissake. At least downstairs there's a younger group, some people I can talk to. You forget, dear Nick, I'm not as old as you.”

“Or as smart. Keep that in mind. It would be embarrassing to have to lock you in your cabin.” His eyes were slowly beginning to blaze but she only laughed.

“Don't be an ass. All I'd have to do is ring for the maid. What do you want to do, tie me to the bed?”

“I get the feeling you've already taken care of that yourself. Who'd you meet on the ship, Hil? Some old friend from New York, or someone new?”

“No one at all. Just a bunch of young people traveling slightly less deluxe.”

“Well, do me a favor and kiss them good-bye. Don't make a laughing stock of yourself, playing poor little rich girl visiting the plebes.”

“That's not what they think.”

“Don't bet on it. That's an old, old game. I used to do it on the ships myself when I was young. But I was in college then, and I didn't have a wife. I hate to bore you, Hil, but you aren't single anymore, and you don't belong downstairs on A deck, you belong up here. Life could be worse, you know.”