Danielle Steel - Crossings

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.”

“I won't.” She walked to the bar and poured herself a double Scotch. “How was Berlin?”

“Do you care?”

“Not really.” They were remarkably honest with each other these days. In some ways it was a relief.

“How's Johnny?”

“Fine. I'm taking him to Cannes in a few days.”

“Are you? May I ask with whom?”

“I met some friends while you were gone, from Boston, and I'm leaving for Cannes this weekend.” Her eyes were defiant as she looked at him over her glass. If he wanted separate lives, he would have them, but he wouldn't stop her.

“May I ask for how long you plan to be there?”

“I don't know. It's too hot for me in Paris. I feel sick here.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. But I'd like some idea of how long you plan to be gone.” She scarcely recognized her husband in the tone of his voice. He had gotten immeasurably tougher in the past month, and she would almost suspect him of having a mistress, but she couldn't really believe he'd do that. He didn't have the balls, she would have said if he'd asked her, but he didn't, and she didn't volunteer. He sat now and waited for her answer as she tapped her foot and stared at her drink.

“A month. Maybe more. I'll come back in September,” she decided as she answered.

“Have a lovely time.” He smiled coolly. “But don't plan to take Johnny.”

“May I ask why not?”

“Because I'd like to see him, and I have no desire to travel to Cannes every week to see you.”

“That's good news at least. But you can't leave the child in the city.”

“I'll take him away myself.” She hesitated for a moment, about to answer him sharply, and then suddenly he could almost hear her thinking. She didn't really want to take the child and he knew it.

“All right. I'll leave him here.” That had been an easy battle, Nick thought to himself, and he'd have to give some thought now to where he'd take Johnny. He had wanted to take some time off anyway that summer, and this would be the perfect excuse. Despite the atmosphere of power and aggression one sensed building in Berlin, he still felt confident that war wouldn't come too quickly and it would be nice to take Johnny somewhere in France, particularly if they were going to be alone.

“When did you say you were leaving?” Nick stood up at the desk and walked around it, and she glared at him, every ounce of her hatred showing. It was a marriage gone so sour, they could both taste it, and the taste was exceedingly bitter.

“In two days. Is that soon enough?”

“I just wondered. Will you join me here for dinner tonight?”

“I have other plans.” He nodded and went out into the garden to see Johnny. The little boy squealed with delight as soon as he saw his father, and ran into his arms as Hillary watched from the window, and turned and walked out of the library and went upstairs.