Danielle Steel - Crossings

“It sure doesn't look like you did.”

“Really, who?”

She smiled. “I met an old friend. From New York.”

“Nick Burnham.” She wasn't sure why she had told her uncle that, but it was something to say.

“Is he any relation to Burnham Steel?”

“He is. As a matter of fact, he is Burnham Steel.”

“Well, I'll be damned. I knew his father about thirty years ago. Fine man. A little crazy, now and then, but we all were in those days. What's the boy like?” Liane smiled at his choice of words.

“Nice. And a little crazy too. He's just reenlisted in the Marines, as a major, he got here earlier today.”

“You'll have to have him over some night before he ships out.” And then suddenly George had an idea. “How about tomorrow?”

“Uncle George, I really don't know….”

“It's Christmas, Liane. The man's alone. Do you have any idea what that's like in a strange town? Be decent to the man, for God's sake.”

“I don't even know how to get in touch with him.” And she wouldn't if she could, but she didn't tell that to him.

“Call the Marines. They'll know where he is.”

“I really don't think—”

“All right. All right. Never mind.” And then he muttered to himself, “If the man has any sense, he'll call you.”

And the man had a great deal of sense. He had gone back to his hotel, and sat in his room for a long time, staring down at Market Street and thinking of Liane, and the strange quirk of fate that had brought them back together again. If the little private from New Orleans hadn't knocked on his door that night … He grabbed a telephone book off the desk and began looking for George Crockett, and found the address on Broadway with ease, and then he sat staring at it. She lived there, at that phone number, in that house. He made a note of it, and the next morning he called, but she had already left for the Red Cross, and an obliging maid gave him the number there. He dialed the number once and she answered the line.

“You're already at work at this hour, Liane? You work too hard.”

“That's what my uncle says.” But her hand trembled at the sound of his voice. She wished he hadn't called her, but maybe her uncle was right. Maybe inviting him to dinner was the decent thing. And maybe by exposing herself to him as a friend, the old dreams would fade at last.

“What are you doing for lunch today?”

“I have to do an errand for Uncle George.” It was a lie, but she didn't want to be alone with him.

“Can it wait?”

“I'm afraid not.” He was puzzled by the tone of her voice, but maybe there were other people around. The walls were up, as they had been for almost two years, he reminded himself. There was no reason to pull them down because he had breezed into town, and he hadn't asked about Armand the night before. He knew how she felt about all that, but he had accepted that before. He just wanted to see her again.

“What about lunch on Friday?”

“I really can't, Nick.” And then she took a deep breath as she sat at her desk. “What about tonight? Dinner at my uncle's house? It's Christmas Eve, and we thought—”

“That's very nice. I'd like that very much.” He didn't want to give her a chance to change her mind. She gave him the address and he didn't tell her he'd already written it down. “What time?”

“Seven o'clock?”

“Great. I'll be there.” He hung up with a victorious grin and gave a whoop as he left the phone. He didn't feel forty anymore. He felt fifteen again. And happier than he'd been in seventeen months, or maybe ever.

ick arrived promptly at seven o'clock at the Broadway house, looking very dapper in his uniform, his arms laden with Christmas gifts for the girls. He had realized quickly what life in San Francisco was going to be like for him. There was virtually nothing for him to do. He had been assigned a desk and put in charge of some unimportant supplies, but basically, like the others, he was biding time until he shipped out, which gave him plenty of time to wander around and see friends. Now that he had found Liane and the girls, he was glad for the free time.

The butler led him down the long, stately hall and into the library, where the family had already gathered around the tree. It was their second Christmas with Uncle George, and the stockings, which they knew he would fill, were hung over the fireplace. The girls momentarily forgot about the stockings as they opened Nick's gifts eagerly, as George and Liane looked on. He had bought them beautiful toys. Each little girl hugged him warmly, and then he handed a package to George, which was obviously a book for the senior of the clan, and then he turned to Liane and handed a small box to her. He realized then that it was the first gift he'd ever given her. During their thirteen days on the ship there had been no time when he could have given anything to her, and from there they had gone straight to the train. He had thought about it often at first, with regret, that he'd never been able to give her anything, except his heart. But he would have liked to have known that she'd had something to remember him by. Little did he know that the memories he had left instead were far more durable than any gift, and she carried them deep inside her still.

“You shouldn't have.” She smiled, the small box still wrapped in her hand.

“I wanted to. Go on, open it. It won't bite.” George watched them with an interested eye. He had the feeling that they knew each other better than he'd realized, and perhaps better than they wanted him to know. And he watched Liane's eyes, as did Nick, as she opened the box, which held a single gold circlet for her arm, unbroken, without a catch, just a wide gold band. She slipped it over her arm now, but Nick reached out for it and spoke in a husky voice for no ears but hers. “Read what's inside.” She took it off again, and there was a single word. “Deauville.” And then she put it back on and looked at him, not sure if she should accept the gift, but she didn't have the heart to give it back to him.

“It's beautiful. You really shouldn't have, Nick …”

“Why not?” He tried to make light of what he felt, and said in a voice only she could hear, “I wanted to do that a long time ago; consider it a retroactive gift.” And then Uncle George opened his book, and exclaimed with delight. It was one he'd been anxious to read, and he shook Nick's hand. George regaled them all with tales of Nick's father, and how they'd met, and an outrageous caper they'd embarked on once, which had almost got them both arrested in New York. “Thank heavens he knew all the cops.” They had been speeding up Park Avenue and drinking champagne with two less-than-respectable women in the car, and he laughed at the memory, feeling young again, as Liane poured Nick a drink and another for herself. She sipped it as she watched him talk to Uncle George and felt the bracelet on her arm. She felt the weight of the gold almost as much as the single word written inside. “Deauville.” She had to fight back the memories again as she sipped her drink, and force herself to listen to what was being said.

“You made a crossing together once, didn't you?”

“Twice, in fact.” Nick smiled at her and she caught his eye. She hadn't told George that Nick had been on the Deauville .

“Both times on the Normandie?” He looked confused and Nick shook his head. It was too late to lie and they had nothing to hide. Anymore.

“Once on the Normandie , in thirty-nine. And last year on the Deauville when we both came back. I'm afraid I stayed over there a little too long, and got caught. I had a hell of a time getting out. I sent my son back on the Aquitania when the war broke out, but I didn't leave Paris until after the fall.” It sounded innocent enough, and when George glanced at Liane, he saw nothing there.