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Danielle Steel: Crossings

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Crossings: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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“That doesn't even sound like you.”

“Oh, doesn't it? And what exactly do you mean by that? Am I usually rude to you?”

“No, you usually tell me that I haven't given the butler the right set of fish forks from the safe … or the Limoges is too formal for lunch … or—”

“Stop! I can't bear it. Do I say all that to you?”

“Not lately, although I confess, I miss it. Are you getting on all right?”

“Not half as well lately. They don't even know which Limoges I mean, with you …” For a moment he wondered at what she had been saying. What she had been describing sounded like a marriage, but he couldn't have been like that with her … or could he? Was he so accustomed to Odile knowing all, that he had simply expected Liane to step into her shoes? How extraordinary of him, and how totally insensitive, but how much more extraordinary still that Liane had actually done all that she had for all those months. Suddenly it made him realize more than ever that he had missed her terribly since she had turned her attention back to school, not so much for the selection of the right Limoges, but because it had been so comforting to talk to her after a luncheon, or a dinner party, or in the morning, on the phone.

“A penny for your thoughts.” She was teasing him a little, and his hand felt suddenly clumsy on her tiny waist.

“I was thinking that you were quite right. I have been very rude.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I'll come back and help now, as soon as all this debutante nonsense is over with next week.”

“Haven't you anything better to do?” He seemed surprised. As lovely as she was, there had to be a dozen suitors waiting in the wings. “No boyfriends, no great loves?”

“I think I'm immune.”

“Now, that's an intriguing thought. A vaccination you've had, perhaps?” He teased and the music changed, but they stayed on the floor as Harrison Crockett watched. He was not displeased. “Tell me about this fascinating immunity of yours, Miss Crockett.”

She sounded matter-of-fact as they danced. “I think I've lived alone with my father for too long. I know what men are like.”

Armand laughed aloud. “Now, that's a shocking statement!”

“No, it's not.” But she laughed too then. “I just meant that I know what it's like to run his house, pour his coffee in the morning, walk on tiptoe when he comes home from the office in a bad mood. It makes it difficult to take any of the young cubs seriously, they're so full of romance and ridiculous ideas. Half the time they have no idea what they're saying, they've never read a newspaper, they don't know the difference between Tibet and Timbuktu. And ten years from now, they'll come home from the office just as disagreeable as Daddy, and they'll snap at their wives over breakfast in just the same way. It's hard to listen to all that romantic gibberish and not laugh, that's all. I know what comes later.” She smiled up at him in a matter-of-fact way.

“You're right, you've seen too much.” And he was sorry really. He remembered all the romantic “gibberish” he had shared with Odile, when she was twenty-one and he was twenty-three. They had believed every word they'd said and it had carried them for a long time, through hard times and into rugged, ghastly countries, through disappointments and a war. In a way, because of her life with her father, Liane had lost an important piece of her youth. But undoubtedly, in time, someone would come along, perhaps someone not quite so young as the rest, and she would fall in love, and then the complaints over the morning coffee would be outweighed by what she felt, and she would be carried off on her own cloud of dreams.

“Now what are you thinking?”

“That one of these days you'll fall in love, and it'll change all that.”

“Maybe.” But she sounded both unconvinced and unconcerned. The dance ended and Armand escorted her back to her friends.

But something strange had happened between them during the weeks of her debut. When Armand saw her again, he looked at her differently than he had before. She seemed more womanly to him all of a sudden, and it didn't really make sense to him. But the rest of the girls at the parties had all been so girlish, such children. In comparison, Liane was so much more grown-up, so much more poised. He felt suddenly awkward with her, less comfortable than he had before. He had taken her for granted for a long time, assumed somehow that she was just a very charming child. But on her twentieth birthday she looked more mature than ever, in a mauve moiré gown that turned her hair to spun gold and turned her eyes to violet as she smiled at him.

Her birthday came just before the summer, and Armand was almost relieved when she went to Lake Tahoe for the summer months. She was no longer helping him at the Consulate, he was on his feet now, and he didn't want to take advantage of her. He saw Liane only when her father gave a dinner party, which was still very rare. And by sheer force of will Armand managed to stay away from Lake Tahoe until the end of the summer, when Harrison absolutely insisted that he come up for the Labor Day weekend, and when he saw her, he sensed instantly what Harrison had known for so long. He was deeply and passionately in love with the girl he had known since she was scarcely more than a child. It had been a year and a half since Odile died, and although he still missed her terribly, his thoughts were now invaded constantly by Liane. He found himself staring at her all through the weekend, and when they danced on a warm summer night, he led her back to the table quickly, as though he could not bear to be that close to her without pulling her deeper into his arms. And oblivious of what he felt, she cavorted near him on the beach, her long, sensuous limbs cast across a deck chair on the sand. She rattled on as she had in years past, and told him funny stories, and she was more enchanting than ever, but as the weekend drew to a close, she began to sense his mood and his eyes upon her, and she grew quieter, as though being drawn slowly into the same spell.

When they all returned to town, and Liane to college, Armand fought himself for several weeks and then finally, unable to bear it any longer, he called her and berated himself afterward for doing so. He had just called to say hello and see how she was, but she sounded strangely subdued when he called her, and he worried instantly that something might be wrong. Nothing was, she assured him in gentle tones, but she was feeling something she didn't quite understand and wasn't sure how to handle. She felt guilty toward Odile, and unable to talk to her father about the confusing emotions she felt. She was falling in love with Armand as desperately as he was falling in love with her. He was forty-five years old and she was not yet twenty-one, he was the widower of a woman she had loved and respected deeply, and she still remembered her parting words: “Take care of Armand for me … Liane … he will need you …” But he didn't need her that much anymore, and surely Odile had never meant for Liane to take care of him like that.

What ensued was an agonizing three months. Liane could barely keep her mind on her studies, and Armand thought he would go mad at his desk. They met again at a Christmas party given by her father, and by New Year's both of them had given up the fight. He took her to dinner one night, and afterward, in an agony of tension and emotion, he told her all that he was feeling, and was stunned when her emotions cascaded out with the same force as his. They began seeing each other weekly, on weekends, and kept to quiet haunts so as not to become the center of gossip around town, and at last Liane told her father, expecting some resistance, and possibly even fury, but what she got from him instead was delight and relief.

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