Crossings by Danielle Steel Page A

extremely dull. But as though to keep him intrigued, she smiled pleasantly as she made the slight, and then looked past him again to cast an eye at Armand. “I understand you're an ambassador.” She glanced then at Liane, and it was obvious that she was wondering if Liane was his daughter or his wife. “You're traveling with your family?”
    “I am. My wife and daughters. Your husband tells me that you have a son on board. Perhaps we can get the children together sometime to play.” Hillary nodded, but she seemed annoyed. It looked somehow as though children's games were not precisely what she had in mind. There was a predatory quality about her tonight, a woman looking for easy prey, and with a face and body like that, Liane thought to herself, it couldn't be very hard to find. She was amused at Armand's polite rebuff. She never worried about him, the only one she ever lost him to was Jacques Perrier. As it turned out, they had worked all afternoon, and he had come back to the Trouville suite just in time to bathe and get dressed, a circumstance Liane was accustomed to, although she had hoped to see more of him on the ship.
    “Perhaps,” she had threatened him as she ran his bath and handed him a kir, “I shall have to throw Jacques overboard.” Armand had laughed, grateful for an understanding wife. But he had not seen her earlier on their private deck, staring out to sea, with a look of sorrow on her face. She longed for the days of long ago, when he was a less important man, and there hadn't been a constant flow of memos and cables and reports to occupy his mind, and he had had more time for her. He so seldom did now.
    She wondered then what Nick Burnham was like. He seemed a pleasant man, but he offered very little of himself. He was polite, well-bred, he seemed to take in the entire scene with quiet eyes, but one knew him no better when dessert was served than one had known him when he had first sat down. She wondered if perhaps he adopted such a bland facade to counteract his more than startling wife. Liane had a feeling that she was out to shock. It was not that her dress was inappropriate, but it was designed obviously to catch the eye and keep it there. One thing was certain, Hillary Burnham was not shy.
    Nicholas was observing his wife through new eyes tonight. He had watched her from the moment they introduced her as his wife, to see how she would react, following her confessions to him that afternoon in the bar. Insanely he hoped that something in her would soften, but she was no different than before. The moment the captain said the fateful words “Mme. Nicholas Burnham,” she was out to prove something to them all. It almost made Nick sorry for her to see her chafe at the bonds she so ardently resented. But there was nothing he could do to help her. Even a kindly look from him annoyed her and she rapidly turned her attention to Armand, with a come-hither look in her eyes. But the ambassador appeared not to notice.
    “This isn't Boston or New York, Hil,” Nick whispered later as the entire group headed toward the Grand Salon. “If you give yourself a bad name here, it'll stick with you for the next five days.” He was referring to her unsuccessful attempt at flirtation with Armand, the captain, and two of the other diners.
    “Who gives a damn? They're a bunch of old bores.”
    “Are they? I rather thought you liked the ambassador.” It was his first truly cutting remark of the trip, but he was tired suddenly of her games. Even when he tried to understand her, inevitably she angered him or hurt him. And she was also straining obviously at the bit, and it worried him. He was never quite sure what she would do or say. “Do yourself a big favor while you're on board.”
    “What's that?”
    “Behave yourself.”
    She turned to face him then, stopping dead in her tracks with a wicked smile. “But why? Because I'm your wife?”
    “Don't start that crap again. As it so happens, that's exactly who