“Thank you, ma'am.”
He paid the check and took her back to work, and the afternoon seemed to fly by. She was happy to get home to see George and the girls. Her uncle noticed the look on her face and didn't say a word. And that night, she casually mentioned to him that she was going out for dinner with Nick on New Year's Eve.
“That's nice.” He knew her well by now, he dared not say more, but he hoped that there was something afoot with “the Burnham boy.” He buried his nose in his book, and she went upstairs to talk to the girls, and at dinner that night, not another word was said about Nick.
Liane didn't mention him again until she came downstairs on New Year's Eve, in a dress she'd bought four years before in France, but it was still beautiful and so was she. George looked her over with a happy grin as she waited for Nick, and whistled softly though his teeth as she laughed.
“Not bad … not bad at all!”
“Thank you, sir.”
The dress had long sleeves and a high neck, it was black wool and reached to the floor, but it had tiny jet-black bugle beads sewn all over the top and a tiny cap to match, and it sat on her blond hair, swept up in a simple knot, and on her ears she wore tiny diamond clips. The outfit was simple and elegant and ladylike, and perfect for Liane. Nick thought the same when he arrived. He stood in the entrance hall for a moment and stared at her. And then he whistled, echoing George. It was the first time in years that she'd felt like a lady admired by men and it felt good. Nick said hello to George and Liane kissed him good night.
“Don't come back soon, it would be a shame to waste that dress. Go show it off.”
“I'll do my best to keep her out.” Nick winked broadly and all three of them laughed. The girls had already gone to bed. There was a festive feeling to the night as they left the house in the car Nick had borrowed. “I'm afraid I don't look half as elegant as you in my uniform, Liane.”
“Want to trade?”
He laughed at her and they reached the Fairmont in high spirits. Nick had reserved a table in the Venetian Room, and they went inside, where he ordered champagne, and they toasted each other and a better year to come before Nick ordered them steaks, preceded by shrimp and caviar. It was a far cry from the exotic goodies of the Normandie, but it was a fine meal and they were both relaxed. They danced several times after dessert, and Nick felt happier than he had in a long time and so did Liane.
“You're easy to be with, you know. You always were.” It was one of the first things he had noticed about her, in his days of misery with Hillary. He mentioned her now, and Liane smiled.
“You're well out of that, you know.”
“Oh, God, yes! I knew it then. But you know why I stayed.” It was because of John. “Anyway, those are old times, and this is almost a new year.” He glanced at his watch. “Are you making any resolutions this year, Liane?”
“Not a one.” She looked content as she smiled at him. “And you?”
“Yeah, I think I will.”
“What?”
“Not to get killed.” He looked her in the eye and she looked back at him. It brought home the point that at any moment he would be going to war, and that the casual dinners were only for a little while, and it suddenly made her stop and think, about him, about Armand, about the others around them going to war. The room was filled with uniforms. Overnight San Francisco had become a military town.
“Nick …” For an instant she wasn't sure what to say.
“Never mind, it was a dumb thing to say.”
“No, it wasn't. Just see that you live up to it.”
“I will. I still have to get Johnny back.” It was something to look forward to when he got back. “And in the meantime, would you like to dance?”
“Yes, sir.” They circled the floor to the tune of “The Lady's in Love with You,” and it seemed only moments later when the horns sounded and there was confetti everywhere in the air, and suddenly the lights were dim, people kissed, the music played, and they found themselves standing in the middle of the floor, looking at each other, their arms around each other, and he pressed her close just as she turned her face up to his and their lips met, and as they kissed, the rest of the room disappeared and they were on the Deauville again … lost in each other's arms … until at last they came up for air, and Liane didn't pull away.
“Happy New Year, Nick.”
“Happy New Year, Liane.”
And then they kissed again. They hadn't drunk enough champagne to blame it on that, and they stayed on the floor and danced for a long time, until at last he took her home and they stood outside her uncle's house as Nick looked down at her.
“I owe you an apology, Liane. I didn't play by the rules tonight.” But the truth was for the last two years he would have given his right arm to have what he had just had tonight. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean—” But she put up a hand and touched his mouth with her fingertips.
“Nick, don't … it's all right. …” Something he had said had touched a place in her heart, about making a resolution not to be killed. And suddenly she knew that they had to take the moments while they could. They had learned once before that the moments might not come again. And they had been given this second chance as a gift. She couldn't turn it back now. She no longer wanted to. She only wanted him.
He kissed her fingertips and then her eyes, her lips. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” She pulled away and smiled at him. “We don't have a right to waste that now. We did what we had to before, and we will again … but right now—” He pulled her close to him with a fierceness that took her by surprise.
“I'll love you all my life. Do you know that?” She nodded.
“And when you tell me to go away again, I will. I do understand what has to be.”
“I know you do.” She touched his face as he held her close. “Then we don't have to talk about it again.” She pulled gently away from him then and opened the door with her key. He kissed her good night, and she watched him drive away. There was no stopping the tides now, and neither of them wanted to. They had held them back for almost two years, and they couldn't now … couldn't … and she had no regrets. She walked quietly upstairs and took off her dress and went to bed, and tonight there were no dreams of anyone. There was a strange weightless feeling of peace and light and joy as she slept on dreamlessly until morning.
“Hi, Uncle Nick.” Elisabeth threw her arms around his neck and cast her mother a guilty smile. “Do we still have to call him Mr. Burnham?”
“That's not up to me.” She smiled at them both. It was nice seeing him with the girls. It had been so long since they'd had a man around, aside from Uncle George, and she knew that he did them good.
“Well, Uncle Nick?” Elisabeth turned to him now. “Can we?”
“I don't see why not.” He stroked the silky blond hair so much like her mother's. “Actually I'm flattered.” Marie-Ange followed suit and then they ran out into the garden again to play and Uncle George came downstairs.
“I just finished my book. It was excellent.” He smiled at his benefactor. “I'd be happy to lend it to you, if you have time to read.”
“Thanks very much.” As usual, within moments, the men began discussing the war news. The world was still shocked at the Japanese sinking the British battleships the Prince of Wales and the Repulse, off the coast of Malaya four days after Pearl Harbor. The loss of life on both ships had been shocking, and the Prince of Wales had sunk with her admiral. She had been the battleship that Churchill had been on in Argentia Bay, when he met Roosevelt to sign the Atlantic Charter. “I don't suppose you know what ship you'll be assigned to yet?”