Crossings (37 page)

“It sure isn't.”

Uncle George and the chauffeur were waiting for them at the station, and they were escorted to his home in grand style, in a Lincoln Continental. It had just arrived from Detroit and the girls thought it a very luxurious car. She could tell that they were suddenly excited to be here. And George had brought them each a new doll, and when they reached the house on Broadway, Liane was touched to see the trouble he had gone to, to arrange rooms for the girls. They were filled with toys and games, and there were pictures of Walt Disney characters on the walls. And in Liane's old room, waiting for her, there was an enormous vase of flowers. Even though it was the first of December, the weather was balmy, the trees were still green, and there were flowers in the garden.

“The house looks wonderful, Uncle George.” He had made some changes after her father's death, but on the whole the place had actually changed less than she had feared, and everything was well run and well staffed. He had settled down in his old age, abandoning the wild party days of his youth. He had done well by Crockett Shipping too. And in a funny way it was nice to come home. After the painful rejection they'd met in Washington for nearly five months, it was a blessed relief to be here, or so she thought until after dinner. The girls had gone to bed and she was sitting in the library, playing dominoes with George, as she often had with her father.

“Well, Liane. Have you come to your senses yet?”

“About what?” She pretended to concentrate on the game. She was stalling.

“You know what I'm talking about. I mean about that fool you married.”

She raised her eyes to his, with a cold, hard look, which surprised him. “I'm not going to discuss that with you, Uncle George. I hope I make myself perfectly clear.”

“Don't take that tone with me, girl. You made a mistake and you know it.”

“I know nothing of the sort. I've been married for eleven and a half years and I love my husband very much.”

“The man is practically a Nazi. And maybe ‘practically’ is being too kind. Could you really live with him again after knowing that?” She refused to answer. “For God's sake, he's almost six thousand miles away and you belong here. If you filed for divorce now, they would grant it to you under special circumstances. You could even go to Reno and have it over in six weeks. And then you and the girls could start a new life here where you belong.”

“I don't belong here. I'm here because I have nowhere else to go while France is occupied. We belong with Armand, and that's where we'll be as soon as the war ends.”

“I think you're crazy.”

“Then let's not discuss it anymore, Uncle George. There are things about the situation that you don't know.”

“Like what?”

“I'd rather not discuss it.” As usual, her hands were tied. And she didn't thank Armand for that. But she was growing used to living in silence.

“That's crap and you know it. And there's plenty I do know. Like what drove you out of town on a rail—the girls were kicked out of school, no one invited you anywhere, you were a pariah.” Her eyes looked sad as they met his. What he said was true. “At least you had the sense to come here, where you can have a normal, decent life.”

“Not if you go around calling my husband a Nazi.” Her voice was tired and sad. “If you do that, the same thing will happen here, and I can't pull up stakes every five months. If you talk like that, the girls will pay for it just like they did in Washington.” She didn't ask him where he'd gotten his information, he had connections and associates everywhere, and it really didn't matter. What he said was true, but what she was saying now was also.

“What do you expect me to say? That he's a nice guy?”

“You don't have to say anything, if you don't like him. But if you do, mark my words, you'll cry, the way I did, when the girls come home with paint in their hair, and their dresses torn off their backs, with swastikas painted on them.” There were tears in her eyes as she spoke, and he looked at her with fresh compassion.

“They did that to the girls?” She nodded. “Who?”

“Other children in school. Little girls from nice families. And the headmistress said she wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it.”

“I'd have killed her.”

“I would have liked to, but that wouldn't have solved the problem. As she put it, parents talk and children listen, and she happens to be right. So if you talk, Uncle George, so will everyone else, and the girls will end up paying for it.” That she did by now seemed normal. He was pensive for a long moment after she had spoken and he nodded slowly.

“I understand. I don't like it, but I understand.”

“Good.”

He looked at her gently then. “I'm glad you called me.”

“So am I.” She smiled at him. They had never been close, but she was oddly grateful to be with him now. He was giving her shelter at a time when she desperately needed it. And here life seemed so civilized and so far away from the war, one could almost pretend that it wasn't happening. Almost. But not quite. But it seemed blissfully distant.

They chatted on for a little while then, on safer subjects, and at last they went upstairs to their respective rooms, and when Liane went to bed that night, she fell into her old bed and slept as she hadn't in years. “Like the dead,” she told George the next morning. And after he left the house, she made several calls, but not to old friends. She hardly knew anyone here anymore, and he had already arranged a school for the girls. They were going to Miss Burke's and they were starting the following Monday. But there was something else Liane had in mind, and by late that afternoon, she had arranged it.

“You did what?” George asked in consternation.

“I said that I got a job. Is that so shocking?”

“I think so, yes. If you're anxious to do something, why don't you join the Metropolitan Club, or a women's auxiliary or something?”

“Because I want to do something useful. I'm going to work for the Red Cross.”

“For money?”

“No.”

“Thank God.” That would have been too much for him. “I don't know, Liane. You're a strange girl. Why would you want to work? And every day?”

“What do you think I should do? Sit here and count your ships going by?”

“They're not just my ships, they're yours too, and it wouldn't do you any harm. You look exhausted and you're too thin. Why don't you rest, or play golf or tennis or something?”

“I can do that on the weekends, with the girls.”

“You're a nut, and if you don't watch out, in your old age you'll turn eccentric!” But he was secretly proud of her, as he told a friend at his club the next day. They were playing dominoes at the Pacific Union Club, and he was boasting about Liane over a Scotch and soda.

“She's a hell of a woman, Lou. Intelligent, quiet, poised, she's a lot like my brother in some ways, and smart as a whip. She's had a very rough time in Europe.” He explained that she had been there during the fall of Paris, but heeding Liane's words, he refrained from saying that she'd been married to a man who turned out to be a Nazi.

“Is she married?” His friend looked at him with an interested eye. And George recognized it as an opening. He wanted to help Liane. He had been thinking about it for days, and he knew just how he wanted to do it.

“More or less. She's separated. And I think in a while she'll be going to Reno. She hasn't seen him in six months”—it was true, after all—”and she has no idea when she'll see him again.” That was true too. And then the biggie. “I'd like to introduce her to your son.”

“How old a woman is she?”

“She's thirty-three, and she has two lovely children.”

“So does Lyman.” George's friend won the game and sat back with a smile. “He's thirty-six, thirty-seven in June.” And he was one of the best attorneys in town and handsome as hell, or so George thought. He was from an excellent family, had gone to Cal, was respectable, and lived in San Francisco. He was perfect for her, and if she didn't agree, there were plenty of others like him. “I'll see what I can do,” Lou said.

“Maybe I'll arrange a little dinner.” George spoke to his secretary the next day, and a few days later he made some calls, and that night he told Liane when she got home from the Red Cross. She liked her job and she was in good spirits, and she had gotten a letter from Armand that day, it had been forwarded to her from Washington the day they had left. He sounded well, and didn't appear to be in any immediate danger. For her, it was a constant worry.

“How was your day, Uncle George?” She kissed him on the forehead and sat down to have a drink with him. Life was so easy here that she almost felt guilty, particularly when she thought of Armand, precariously perched between the two hostile governments he served. She knew what a toll it was taking on him, and here she sat, in a splendid house, with a lovely view, surrounded by servants and a doting uncle.

“My day was pretty fair. How was yours?”

“Interesting. We're coordinating additional locations for some of the British children.”

“That's a nice thing to do. How are the girls?”

“Thriving. They're upstairs doing their homework.” And the best news for them was that in ten days they would have Christmas vacation.

“You know, I had a thought today. Would you mind helping me give a little dinner? You used to be awfully good at that, when you lived with your father.” She smiled at the memory, and it brought thoughts of Armand back to mind—everything did—for she had done it for him too after Odile died, and for the eleven years they'd been married.

“Thank you, Uncle George. I enjoyed it.”

“Would you mind helping me out? I've fallen a little behind with some of my entertaining.”

“Not at all. Did you have something special in mind?”

“I thought a little dinner next week.” He didn't tell her that everyone had already accepted. “How does that sound? About eighteen people. And we could have a few musicians, and a little dancing in the library after dinner.” “Dancing? Isn't that rather elaborate for a ‘little dinner’?”

“Don't you like to dance?”

“Of course.” And then she smiled. She had forgotten what a gay blade George used to be, and apparently still was, although he was seventy-three years old, for he was spry for his age. She suddenly wondered if he had an ulterior motive, maybe some dowager he was wooing. “I'd be happy to help. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“I'll invite the guests, you handle the rest. Get yourself a pretty new dress, order
some
flowers. You'll know what to do.” Of course she did, and on the night of the dinner party she came down to check everything out. The entire group of eighteen was being seated at the large oval Chippendale table. There were three large arrangements of white and yellow roses on the table, tall ivory tapers in the elaborate silver candelabra, and she had used one of the lace tablecloths that had been her mother's and that she had left behind when she left the house. She had hired musicians, just as her uncle wanted. They were already playing gentle strains in the enormous living room before the guests arrived. She looked around and decided everything looked all right, when she caught a glimpse of Marie-Ange and Elisabeth peeking over the banister.

“What are you two doing?”

“Can we watch?”

“For a little while.” Their mother smiled and blew them a kiss. She was wearing a pale-blue satin evening dress she had bought at I. Magnin the day before and it was exactly the color of her eyes. Her hair was swept up and she felt more elegant than she had in years.

“You look like Cinderella!” Elisabeth whispered loudly from the stairs and Liane ran up to give her a kiss.

“Thank you, my love.”

And then Uncle George came down, the guests began to arrive, and the party got under way. Liane thought that it went very smoothly. George had done the seating himself, since he knew all the guests, and Liane sat between two very pleasant men, a stockbroker named Thomas MacKenzie, who was about forty years of age and was divorced with three sons, and an attorney named Lyman Lawson, whom she guessed to be about her own age, and who was also divorced and had two little girls. And as she watched her uncle watching her a little later, she suddenly understood. He was trying to introduce her to the bachelors around town. She was shocked at the thought. After all, she was a married woman.

It was a beautiful dinner, and the musicians were marvelous, but she was suddenly terrified about what George was trying to do, and very gingerly she brought it up at breakfast the next morning.

“Well, my dear, how did you enjoy last night?” He looked immensely pleased with himself, and she smiled at him over her coffee.

“Very much. It was a beautiful evening, Uncle George. Thank you.”

“Not at all. I've been meaning to reciprocate a number of invitations for quite a while, but with no woman in the house …”He tried to look mournful but didn't succeed, and Liane laughed.

“I'm not sure I believe that.” And then she looked quietly at him and decided to take the bull by the horns. “Uncle George, may I ask you a very rude question?”

“That depends how rude it is.” He smiled at his niece. He was liking her better than he had in years. She had a lot of spunk, even if she had made a miserable choice of a husband. But that would be remedied soon enough. He knew she'd come to her senses. She was a sensible woman, and she had the girls to think of. “What did you want to ask?”

“You aren't trying to launch me with … er … ah … the single men around town, are you?”

He feigned innocence and looked amused. “Do you prefer married ones, Liane?” Personally, he had always had a weakness for married women.

“No, Uncle George. I prefer my own husband.” There was a sudden silence at the table.

“I don't think there's any harm in your knowing a few of the men around town. Do you?” But that was a loaded question.

“That depends on what they know of my marital status. Do they think I'm married or divorced?”

“I can't remember what I said.” He cleared his throat and picked up his newspaper. But she very gently took it out of his hand and looked him in the eye.

“I'd like an answer. I think this is important.”