“I'm dreaming this.” She smiled in answer. “Aren't I?”

“Could be, Major. How have you been?” Her smile was warm but there was no invitation in her words. “It's been a long time.”

“What are you doing here?” He couldn't take his eyes off her face.

“I live here now. We've been here since last year.” He searched her eyes for all the things he ached to know, but there was nothing written there. They were as big and beautiful as before, but they were veiled now. She had seen pain and loss and it showed, and he wondered instantly about Armand, but when he looked, the plain gold band was still in place.

“I thought you were in Washington.”

“That didn't work out.” Her eyes met his, but she didn't say more, and then slowly he saw the old, familiar smile. He had dreamed of it for almost two years. He had seen that smile as she had lain in his arms. “It's good to see you, Nick.”

“Is it?” He wasn't so sure. She looked uncertain, almost frightened.

“Of course it is. How long have you been in town?”

“Just today. And what the hell are you doing here?” This didn't seem her kind of place, a cocktail party to meet military men. If she was wearing her wedding band, she couldn't be on the hunt, and that wasn't her style. Not the girl he'd left on the train in New York seventeen months before, unless everything had changed. Maybe her solitude had got to her.

“I work for the Red Cross. This is a command performance for us.”

He bent low and whispered in her ear. “It is for me too.”

She laughed at that, and then something gentle touched her face. She hadn't wanted to ask him at first, but she decided to now. “How's John?”

Nick took a quick breath and looked her. “He's fine. I don't know if you read about the trial out here, but Hillary and I got divorced about a year ago, and I fought her for custody and lost a few weeks ago. That was pretty rough on him.” And he glanced at his uniform. “And so was this.”

“It must have been rough on you too.” Her voice was smooth as silk, and she couldn't take her eyes from his, but she also knew that she had to keep the walls up. She could never let them down again. Especially not for him. She had done that once, and she was still fighting to keep that door closed. “And yes, I did read about the trial.” She spoke in the gentle voice he loved. “My heart ached for you.”

He nodded and took a sip of his drink. “The judge thought Johnny would be better off with her, since she's married now. And you know what that bastard did?” His face went taut as he told her about Markham and the gun. “I was going to file an appeal, but then Pearl Harbor was hit. I'll try again when I go back, by then she may be ready to give him up. My lawyer thinks she just wanted to get back at me.”

“For what?” Liane looked stunned. Had he told her about them?

“I guess for never loving me, crazy as that sounds. In her eyes, I kept her a prisoner for all those years.”

Liane remembered instantly the incident on the ship, as did he. “You were far more the prisoner than she.”

He nodded. “Well, that's all over now, for whatever it was worth. I got Johnny out of it, so I can't complain. Now all I have to do is get him back.”

“You will.” Her voice was quiet and strong. She was remembering his own words to her: “Strong people cannot be defeated.”

“I hope you're right.” He finished his champagne and looked at her. She was even prettier than she'd been before, but there was something quieter about her now, and more severe. The rigors she forced on herself had taken their toll, and yet her face was as lovely as it had always been, her eyes seemed even more blue, and her hair was wound into a smooth bun. She looked very chic, he decided, and smiled at his own thoughts. “Where are you living here?”

“With my uncle George.”

“And the girls?”

“They're fine.” And then, with lowered eyes, “They still remember you.” And with that two more men in uniform suddenly joined the group, and a woman from the Red Cross, and a little while later Liane left. She didn't see Nick to say good-bye and she decided it was just as well. She drove home in the car she had borrowed from George and walked slowly inside. It had been strange to see Nick again. It opened wounds she'd hoped had healed. But there was nothing she could do about that. She had always wondered if they would meet again one day, and they had. Everything had changed for him since they had last met, but nothing had changed for her. Armand was still struggling to survive in France, and she was waiting for him here.

“Did you have a good time?” George was waiting for her when she got back.

“Very nice, thanks.” But she didn't look as though she had as she took off her coat.

“It sure doesn't look like you did.”

“Really, who?”

She smiled. “I met an old friend. From New York.”

“Nick Burnham.” She wasn't sure why she had told her uncle that, but it was something to say.

“Is he any relation to Burnham Steel?”

“He is. As a matter of fact, he is Burnham Steel.”

“Well, I'll be damned. I knew his father about thirty years ago. Fine man. A little crazy, now and then, but we all were in those days. What's the boy like?” Liane smiled at his choice of words.

“Nice. And a little crazy too. He's just reenlisted in the Marines, as a major, he got here earlier today.”

“You'll have to have him over some night before he ships out.” And then suddenly George had an idea. “How about tomorrow?”

“Uncle George, I really don't know….”

“It's Christmas, Liane. The man's alone. Do you have any idea what that's like in a strange town? Be decent to the man, for God's sake.”

“I don't even know how to get in touch with him.” And she wouldn't if she could, but she didn't tell that to him.

“Call the Marines. They'll know where he is.”

“I really don't think—”

“All right. All right. Never mind.” And then he muttered to himself, “If the man has any sense, he'll call you.”

And the man had a great deal of sense. He had gone back to his hotel, and sat in his room for a long time, staring down at Market Street and thinking of Liane, and the strange quirk of fate that had brought them back together again. If the little private from New Orleans hadn't knocked on his door that night … He grabbed a telephone book off the desk and began looking for George Crockett, and found the address on Broadway with ease, and then he sat staring at it. She lived there, at that phone number, in that house. He made a note of it, and the next morning he called, but she had already left for the Red Cross, and an obliging maid gave him the number there. He dialed the number once and she answered the line.

“You're already at work at this hour, Liane? You work too hard.”

“That's what my uncle says.” But her hand trembled at the sound of his voice. She wished he hadn't called her, but maybe her uncle was right. Maybe inviting him to dinner was the decent thing. And maybe by exposing herself to him as a friend, the old dreams would fade at last.

“What are you doing for lunch today?”

“I have to do an errand for Uncle George.” It was a lie, but she didn't want to be alone with him.

“Can it wait?”

“I'm afraid not.” He was puzzled by the tone of her voice, but maybe there were other people around. The walls were up, as they had been for almost two years, he reminded himself. There was no reason to pull them down because he had breezed into town, and he hadn't asked about Armand the night before. He knew how she felt about all that, but he had accepted that before. He just wanted to see her again.

“What about lunch on Friday?”

“I really can't, Nick.” And then she took a deep breath as she sat at her desk. “What about tonight? Dinner at my uncle's house? It's Christmas Eve, and we thought—”

“That's very nice. I'd like that very much.” He didn't want to give her a chance to change her mind. She gave him the address and he didn't tell her he'd already written it down. “What time?”

“Seven o'clock?”

“Great. I'll be there.” He hung up with a victorious grin and gave a whoop as he left the phone. He didn't feel forty anymore. He felt fifteen again. And happier than he'd been in seventeen months, or maybe ever.





The butler led him down the long, stately hall and into the library, where the family had already gathered around the tree. It was their second Christmas with Uncle George, and the stockings, which they knew he would fill, were hung over the fireplace. The girls momentarily forgot about the stockings as they opened Nick's gifts eagerly, as George and Liane looked on. He had bought them beautiful toys. Each little girl hugged him warmly, and then he handed a package to George, which was obviously a book for the senior of the clan, and then he turned to Liane and handed a small box to her. He realized then that it was the first gift he'd ever given her. During their thirteen days on the ship there had been no time when he could have given anything to her, and from there they had gone straight to the train. He had thought about it often at first, with regret, that he'd never been able to give her anything, except his heart. But he would have liked to have known that she'd had something to remember him by. Little did he know that the memories he had left instead were far more durable than any gift, and she carried them deep inside her still.