Crossings

by Danielle Steel

  “Papa! Papa! I want to see.” Elisabeth catapulted out of the Citroën first, and stood beside her father for a moment, her small hand clasped firmly in his. “Is that it?”

  “No.” Armand smiled down at his youngest daughter. “It is she. La belle Normandie, mon trésor. You will never see another ship like this one, little one. No matter what they build in years to come, there will never be another Normandie.” It was a sentiment already echoed by many. In the seven years since she had been launched, she had been traveled by the great and elite, the rich, the spoiled, the elegant, lovers of beauty and of the sea, and there was not a soul among them who did not agree. The Normandie was an extraordinary vessel, and totally unique, the most beautiful, most elegant, swiftest. A floating island of luxury in every imaginable way.

  Armand turned as he sensed his wife standing beside him. For a moment he had forgotten all of them. If he had allowed himself to, he might have cried. There was something about the Normandie that swelled the heart and made one particularly proud of France. What an accomplishment this ship was. What pride one had to feel just sensing the labor of love that had gone into her, from stem to stern, and hull to sky. She was a veritable beauty.

  Liane sensed Armand's emotions and silently agreed as she watched her husband's face, and when he turned to her, she smiled.

  “You look like a proud papa all over again,” Liane teased in a gentle voice as he laughed.

  But he nodded agreement, without shame. “What a victory for France.”

  By then Marie-Ange had joined her sister, and the two girls were hopping up and down with glee. “Can we go on board now, Papa? Can we? Can we?”

  Liane took them each by the hand, and Armand busied himself giving orders to the porter and the chauffeur, and five minutes later they passed through the enormous archway marked COMPAGNIE GÉNÉRALE TRANSATLANTIQUE, and stepped into an elevator that took them to an elevated section of the quay. There were three separate entrances for the 1,972 passengers who would come aboard, discreetly separate and labeled PREMIÉRE CLASSE, TOURISTE, and CABINE. “Premiére classe” was first of course, and there would be 864 passengers entering through that archway before the ship sailed that afternoon. And when Armand, Liane, and the girls stepped onto the Normandie's deck, it was shortly after noon. They had left Washington at 5:00 A.M., by train, and reached New York half an hour before. They had been met by a limousine from the Consulate in New York and whisked directly to Pier 88, on West 50th Street.

  “Bonjour, monsieur, madame.” The uniformed officer smiled down at the two impeccably dressed little girls in matching pale-blue organdy dresses with white gloves and straw hats and shining black patent leather shoes. “Mesdemoiselles, bienvenue à bord.” He looked pleasantly at Armand then. The young officer loved his job, and in the years that he had been assigned to checking passengers on board, he had met Thomas Mann, Stokowski, Giraudoux, Saint-Exupéry, movie stars such as Douglas Fairbanks, heads of states, giants of the literary world, cardinals and sinners, and crowned heads from almost every European country. It was exciting just waiting for them to say their names, if one did not recognize them at first glance, which, more often than not, he did. “Monsieur?”

  “De Villiers,” Armand said quietly.

  “Ambassadeur?” the young man inquired, and Armand confirmed it with a silent nod.

  “Ah, bien sûr.” Of course. He noted as he glanced at his passenger list again that the De Villierses would be occupying one of the ship's four most luxurious suites. He had no way of knowing that it was a courtesy of the “Transat,” as the CGT was called, and he was impressed to realize that the ambassador and his family would be occupying the Grand Luxe suite Trouville. “We will show you to your cabin at once.” He signaled to a steward who materialized at his side and immediately took Liane's small carrying bag. The rest of their trunks had been sent ahead several days before, and what they had brought with them on the train would meet them in their stateroom only moments after they reached it themselves. The service on the Normandie was supreme.

  The Trouville suite was on the promenade deck, and it was one of two suites available on that deck, with a promenade of its own, looking out over the handsome open air space of the Café-Grill. There were benches and lamps, and the stairways and railings formed a graceful design as Armand glanced down from their private terrace. Inside, there were four large elegant bedrooms, one for Liane and himself, one for each of the girls, and one for their nurse as well.

  There were additional rooms available on the same deck for extra servants they might have brought along. One of these was needed for Armand's male assistant, Jacques Perrier, who was traveling on the ship as well, so that Armand could continue his work. But the rest of the “studios” would not be used by them, and would be kept locked. The only other inhabitants of this rarefied upper deck would be the family in the Deauville suite, which was identical to the Trouville in its grandeur and expense, but in no way similar to the De Villierses' suite of rooms. Each first-class cabin on the ship was done in an entirely different decor, with no repetitions from suite to suite. Down to the last detail, each single room was totally unique. And as Armand and Liane looked around their suite, their eyes met, and Liane began to laugh. It was so outrageously extravagant, so elegant, so beautiful, that she felt as excited as their girls.

  “Alors, ma chérie.” He smiled at her as the steward left them in the main foyer, standing beside the promised baby grand piano. “Qu'en penses-tu?” What do you think? What could she think? It was a miraculous place to spend five days, five weeks … five months … five years…. One would like to stay aboard the Normandie forever. And she could see in her husband's eyes that he thought so too.

  “It's incredible.” All around them, on their way aboard, they had noticed the lavish art deco motif, the rich woods, handsome sculptures, enormous glass panels everywhere. It was beyond being a floating hotel, but more like a floating city of perfection, where absolutely nothing was out of sync, and everything one saw was a caress to the eye. She sat down on a dark-green velvet couch and giggled at Armand. “Are you sure I'm not dreaming? You won't wake me up, and we'll be back in Washington?”

  “No, my love.” He sat down beside his wife. “It's all true.”

  “But this suite, Armand, I cringe to think what it must cost!”

  “I told you, they upgraded us from the deluxe rooms I had reserved.” He looked victorious again as he smiled at his wife. It pleased him to make her happy, and it was obvious that she was as overwhelmed as he. In her years of traveling with her father, she had seen great luxury, but this was something more, something totally remarkable and unique. Just to be on the Normandie, for a moment, one felt like a part of history. It was easy to believe that there would never again be a ship quite like this, and that people would be talking about it for years and years. “Would you like a drink, Liane?” He opened double wood-paneled doors to reveal an enormous well-stocked bar, and Liane stared at it and then him.

  “Good God! You could float the ship on all of that!” But as she spoke he opened a bottle of Dom Pérignon champagne. He poured her a glass and held it out, turning to pour one for himself as well, and then while standing looking at his beautiful wife, he raised his glass, his eyes on hers, and toasted her. “To two of the world's most beautiful ladies … La Normandie … et ma femme.“ The ship, and his wife. Liane looked happy as she took a sip of the sparkling wine, and then she came to stand beside him. It felt like a honeymoon again, and she had to remind herself that the girls were in the next room.

  “Shall we take a walk and look around?” Armand asked.

  “Do you think the girls will be all right?”

  He looked at her in amusement and then laughed. “Here? I think they'll manage.” And Mademoiselle was already helping them to unpack their toys and dolls, as the trunks had been waiting in their rooms.

  “I know exactly what I want to see.”

  “And what is that?” He watched her run a comb th
rough her long blond hair, and felt a pang of lust for her. He had been so busy in recent weeks, he had scarcely seen her. It seemed as though they never had time to be together. But hopefully, on the ship, they would have time to stroll, wandering from deck to deck, and to chat as they had enjoyed doing so much for the past ten years. He felt lonely when he didn't have enough time to talk to her. But on this trip, he had promised himself, he and Jacques Perrier would only work from nine to noon, and the rest of the time he would be free. The trip was of course a rare opportunity for Perrier as well. A young man of about Liane's own age, he would normally have traveled back to France on a lesser ship, and in second class. But this time, as a reward for his five years of devoted work, Armand had intervened on his behalf, a special discount was obtained, and it was possible for him to make the crossing on the Normandie with them. Liane had been pleased for Jacques at the news, but now she hoped that he would find his own pursuits. Like Armand, she was hungry for them to have some time alone together. And she knew that the girls would have plenty to do, with the swimming pool, the children's recreation rooms, the kennels, where they could visit the traveling dogs, the puppet theater, and the cinema. There was lots for them to do, and, hopefully, for Jacques too. Liane asked Armand as they left the suite if he thought Jacques might already be on board.

  “He'll find us after we sail, I'm sure.” He had spent two days in New York on his own, seeing some friends, and was undoubtedly having some sort of party in his room. “Now, what is it that you're so anxious to see, Liane?”

  “Everything!” Her eyes shone like a little girl's. “I want to see the bar with the varnished pigskin walls, the winter garden … the main salon …” She smiled up at her husband then. “I even want to see the gentleman's fumoir. It looks incredible in the brochure.” She had done her homework well, and Armand was amused.

  “I don't think you'll get in to see the gentleman's smoking room, my love.” His eyes took her in again in the pretty red silk suit. It was difficult to believe that they had been married for ten years. She didn't look a moment over nineteen. From his vantage point of twenty-four more years, she always looked somewhat like a child. And now, as she strolled along on his arm, they made an extremely handsome pair as they wandered down to the boat deck, to the forward promenade, from where they could see New York in the heat of the bright June day. But here, on the ship, there was a slight breeze. They went back indoors a few moments later and down to the promenade deck, where they took a quick tour of the first-class lounge and glanced into the theater, and Liane spoke to him about the pool.

  “It has a terraced shelf for the girls, so they'll be safe.”

  “Those two little fish?” Armand smiled down at his wife. “They would be safe in any pool.”

  “I still feel better knowing there's a protected area of the pool for them. Do you suppose it's open now?” She wanted to see everything at once.

  “I suspect they keep it closed until the ship sets sail.” The Normandie was famous for its rather elaborate farewell parties, and undoubtedly it would have occurred to some to visit the pool with a bottle or two of champagne. They never would have got the visitors off the ship in that case. It was difficult enough as it was. Everywhere, they could see people visiting the ship, glancing into staterooms, peeking into elegant lounges and suites.

  Once past the theater, they wandered on to the library, a handsome, serious-looking room, and it was just past it that Liane discovered the winter garden she'd read about, and she almost gasped as they stepped inside. There was a tropical jungle of greenery everywhere, marble fountains delicately splashing water, and tall glass cages filled with exotic birds, and there was an open-air sensation due to the fact that they had reached the forward of the ship. Liane thought it was the most exotic room she had ever seen and she turned to her husband with a look of happy disbelief. It seemed more than ever like a dream.

  “It's even prettier than the photographs in the brochure.” In fact, the whole ship was. Even from these first glimpses, there were treasures everywhere, touches that could not be portrayed adequately in a photograph or sketch, and could barely even be described. It was all like an exquisite fairyland, filled with extraordinarily handsome, interesting-looking people in a setting more spectacular than Versailles or Fontainebleau. They both agreed that they had never seen anything anywhere to rival it, and as they made their way back to the other end of the ship, to the sun deck, where they would live for the next week, other voices echoed their thoughts in whispered tones: “Extraordinary … extraordinaire … un miracle … incroyable … incredible … remarkable … she's every inch a queen.” People constantly compared her to other ships, yet there was no comparison to be made. She stood alone. The Normandie. A solitary work of art. A crown of jewels in France's fleet.

  “Shall we see if Jacques is here, Liane?” They were walking past the studios, approaching their rooms, and for just an instant Liane felt her heart give a tiny tug. She didn't want to see Jacques yet, didn't want to see him here at all. She wanted Armand to herself, to share the voyage with only him. She was almost sorry they had brought the girls. It would have been so wonderful to have had the next five days alone with him.

  “If you like, Armand.” Ever obedient, she knew how much Armand needed Jacques. Yet it would have been nicer if they hadn't had to do any work on board. But such was the existence Armand led. Responsibilities above all. They stopped and knocked, but with relief, Liane noted that there was no response. A steward approached them at once.

  “You're looking for M. Perrier, Ambassadeur?”

  “I am.”

  “He is in the Café-Grill with friends. Would you like me to show you the way?”

  “No, no, it's quite all right.” Armand smiled pleasantly at the man. “There'll be plenty of time after we set sail.” At least he knew the young man was on board. He had felt sure he would be by now, but he had wanted to be absolutely sure. There were still some very important memos they had to get out, in preparation for Armand's arrival in France. “Thank you very much.”

  “Not at all. I'll be your chief steward for the trip. Jean-Yves Herrick.” He pronounced it Err-eek, and Armand had known from his accent that he was from Bretagne. “I believe you'll find a message from Captain Thoreux in your suite.”

  “Thank you again.” Armand followed Liane inside, and beside an enormous handsome basket of flowers on the piano and two baskets of fruit from their Washington friends, there was indeed a letter from Captain Thoreux, inviting them to watch the ship set sail from the bridge, a rare privilege granted to few, and Liane was pleased.

  “Do you suppose he'd let us bring our camera?”

  “I don't see why not. Do you want to check on the girls before we go?” But when she did, she found that they had disappeared. Mademoiselle had left the De Villierses a note, informing them that the girls wanted to see the kennels and the tennis court on the upper sun deck, and Liane knew that they would be safe with Mademoiselle. There was lots for all of them to explore, and she followed Armand now, back in the direction they had come. The bridge, they discovered, was on the sun deck at the front of the ship, and directly over the winter garden that had so enchanted Liane a little while before.

  Two officers quietly stood guard outside the wheelhouse, keeping the curious from getting inside, and Armand handed them the note Captain Thoreux had sent, and they were rapidly ushered inside to meet him themselves. He was a wiry, white-haired man with deep creases around deep-set blue eyes, and he kissed Liane's hand and then shook Armand's, welcoming them aboard his ship as they sang its praise.

  “We're all very proud of her.” He beamed. The Normandie had just won the Blue Riband again, for speed records across the Atlantic, but she was equally remarkable for her beauty as well, as they all knew.

  “She's even more beautiful than we dreamed. An extraordinary ship.” Armand looked around at the perfectly regimented order of the bridge. It looked like the insides of a Swiss clock. Everything was immaculat
e, hushed, in perfect order. Charts were spread out on a large table, the view from here was superb, and there was an elevated platform where the captain and his first officer stood, ruling the movements of the ship, which Armand had heard for several years were also the smoothest of all ships afloat. There had been some talk of unpleasant vibrations at first, but even that problem had been overcome in the Normandie's early days. And because of the remarkable design of her hull, it was also said that she had almost no wake. She was in every possible aspect beyond even her designer's and builder's dreams.

  From a quiet corner, where they would not get in the way, Armand and Liane watched the ship get under way, pulling out slowly from Pier 88, assisted by tugs until she left the port, and then turning slowly east, pointing her nose toward France, until at last the port of New York slowly disappeared, and they were at sea. Armand was once again impressed by the swiftness of the ship's maneuvers and the smooth workings of Captain Thoreux's team.

  “We hope that you will both have a very pleasant journey.” Thoreux smiled again at Liane. “And it would be my great honor if you would join me for dinner tonight. We have some very interesting people on the ship. We always do.” He was too proud of his ship not to boast a bit, but he had every right to do so, and Armand accepted the invitation with pleasure, wondering who else was on board, and who they would meet at the captain's table. He hoped that Liane might have a little fun, make some friends, and find some people to keep her amused while he worked with Jacques. They thanked the captain again and returned to the Trouville suite.