“It's not that. It's hard to know who's right. Maybe you have greater foresight than they, or perhaps they've lived with the threat of war for so long that it no longer worries them so much, and they think it will never come.”

“Time will tell.”

She nodded quietly, and rolled away their tray. “Why don't you forget about it for tonight. You take it all too much to heart.” She rubbed his neck gently, and a little while later he undressed and went to bed and fell into an uneasy sleep. But tonight Liane wasn't tired and she sat quietly alone in the living room of their suite. She still missed the ship, and wished that she could go out on the deck to look out at the peaceful sea. She felt far from home suddenly, although she knew Paris well from her frequent visits with Armand, but there was something different about it for her now. It didn't feel like home yet. They weren't living in a house yet, they were living in a hotel, she had no close friends here, and thinking of that reminded her suddenly of Nick. And she found herself wondering how the Burnhams' arrival had been. It seemed years since they had stood on the deck and talked, only two nights ago. She remembered Nick asking her to call anytime she needed a friend, but she knew that that wouldn't be appropriate here. It was harmless on the ship, but here as Armand's wife, she couldn't make friends with a man.

The suite was silent as she returned to their room, and Armand was snoring softly in the large double bed. Perhaps, despite his disappointment, the news had all gone well. If the situation in Paris was not as acute as he feared, maybe she would see more of him, and that thought appealed to her a great deal. Maybe they would have time for some walks in the Bois de Boulogne, or strolls in the gardens of the Tuileries … maybe they could even go shopping together … or take the girls for a boat ride. Cheered by the prospect, she got into bed and turned off the light.





“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.