Danielle Steel - Crossings

“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.

n November 11, 1940, the Vichy government was officially formed, with Pétain as its President, and Armand de Villiers in its highest ranks. His alleged perfidy to the old France was no longer a secret anymore. By then, Liane was accustomed to being shunned. She had long since become a pariah in Washington. She never expected the phone to ring, there were no invitations anywhere. On many days now she just sat at home, waiting for the girls to arrive from school. In many ways it reminded her of the days in Paris after war was declared and Armand was at the office fifteen hours a day. But then at least, no matter how late, she knew that eventually he would come home to her. Now God only knew when they would be together again. There were times when she wondered if she had been mad to tell Nick they couldn't go on. What harm would it have done? Who would have been hurt by it? Who would have known? But she would have, and perhaps eventually the girls, and one day Armand. She had done the right thing, but it tasted bitter in her soul as she thought of Nick. She had been tormented now for four months over thirteen bright days on a freighter, following a zigzag course from France to the States.