“He was.”

“Why didn't you tell us before?” Marie-Ange was quick to ask.

“Because it would have been dangerous for him.”

“Didn't anyone know?”

“Only the people he worked for in the Resistance.”

Marie-Ange nodded wisely. “Will we ever go back to France now?”

“One day.” But it was a question she herself hadn't yet answered. They had no home anymore, no place to return to after the war, no one to wait for. And she had no husband.

“I didn't like it very much,” Elisabeth confessed.

“It was a hard time. Especially for Papa.”

The girls nodded and she put them to bed at last. It had been a long night for them all. But she knew that she wouldn't sleep and she didn't want to go to bed. It was strange to realize that he had been dead for three weeks and she hadn't known. She had read his last letter after he had died, and she hadn't even known it. And all he had spoken of was his love for France … and for them … but for France above all. Perhaps to him it was worth it. But she felt an odd mixture of anger and despair as she walked into the library and sat down. Uncle George was still up, and worried about her.

“Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you.” She leaned back and closed her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Liane.” His voice was gentle. He felt so helpless as he watched her. As helpless as she had felt that day as she tended to the boy who'd lost his arms. “Is there anything I can do?”

She opened her eyes slowly. She felt paralyzed and numb. “Not really. It's all over now. We just have to learn to live with it.” He nodded, and in spite of himself he thought of Nick, and wondered if she would write to him now.

“How did it happen?” He hadn't dared to ask her before, but she seemed calmer now.

She looked him straight in the eye. “The Germans shot him.”

“But why?” He didn't dare add “Wasn't he one of them?”

“Because, Uncle George, Armand was a double agent, working for the Resistance.”

He opened his eyes wide and stared at her. “He what?”

“He appeared to work for Pétain as a liaison with the Germans, but he'd been feeding information to the Resistance all along. He was the highest-ranking official double agent they had in France. That's why they shot him.” There was no pride in her voice, only sorrow.

“Oh, Liane …” The things that he had said about Armand came to mind instantly. “But why didn't you tell me?”

“I couldn't tell anyone. I wasn't even supposed to know, and for a long time I didn't. He told me just before we left France.” She stood up and walked to the window and stared out at the bridge for a long time. “But someone must have known.” She turned back to look at her uncle. “The Germans shot him three days before he was to leave for England.” She had pieced that much together from his letter and Moulin's. And her uncle came to her now and took her in his arms.

“I'm so very, very sorry.”

“Why?” She looked at him strangely. “Because now you know he was on our side? Would you care as much if you still thought he worked for the Germans?” Her eyes were sad and empty.

“I don't know …” And then he wondered about something. “Did Nick know?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “What are you going to do now, Liane?” He meant about Nick and she understood him.

“Nothing.”

“But surely—” She shook her head.

“That wouldn't be fair to him. He's a human being, not a yo-yo. A few weeks ago I told him it was over, but now that Armand is dead we can dance on his grave? He was my husband, Uncle George. My husband. And I loved him.” And then she turned away and her shoulders began to shake, and he came to her, sensing her grief in his very soul. She collapsed in his arms then, sobbing almost as she had on the stairs when she'd first read Moulin's letter. “Oh, Uncle George … I killed him … he knew … he must have … about Nick. …”

“Liane, stop that!” He held her shoulders firmly with his hands and shook her gently. “You didn't kill him. That's absurd. The man did a very brave thing for his country, but it didn't just happen. He made a choice a long time ago. He knew the risks. He weighed all the dangers and in his own mind it must have been worth it. That had nothing to do with you. A man makes those kinds of decisions for himself, regardless of other people, even the woman he loves. And I think a hell of a lot more of him now than I did before. But the point is that whether you and Nick fell in love or not, the man did what he felt he had to do. You couldn't have stopped him, you couldn't have changed his mind, and you didn't kill him.” The wisdom of his words slowly got through to her and she eventually stopped crying.

“Do you think that's true?”

“I know it.”

“But what if he suspected? If he heard some change in the tone of my letters—”

“He probably wouldn't have noticed if you'd stopped writing entirely. A man who makes a decision like that, Liane, does it with his entire mind and soul and body. It's rotten luck that he got found out, it's worse than that, it's a tragedy for you and the girls and his country. But you had nothing to do with any of that, and neither did Nick. Don't do that to yourself, Liane. You have to accept it.” She told him then about Armand's last letter and the things that he had said, and she admitted that there were even times when she had wondered if he cared about her, or only his country. George nodded and listened to her late into the night until her head began to nod, and at last she fell asleep on the couch, and he brought a blanket from his room and covered her where she sat. She was totally drained and exhausted.

And when she awoke the next morning, she was surprised at where she was, and touched when she saw the blanket. She remembered talking to him until she drifted off, and she had had visions of Nick and Armand, walking arm in arm and stopping to talk to a man she didn't know. She shuddered to think about it now. She sensed that the man was Moulin. And she didn't want to think about Armand. Even if she never saw him again, she wanted Nick to live. He had a life to live and a son to come home to. And then she walked to the window and looked out at the bay.

“And what about us?” she whispered to the memory of Armand. “What about the girls?” She had no answers to her questions as she went upstairs to wake them.





On August 6, 1942, the Enterprise entered the area of the Solomon Islands and the next day the Marines hit the beaches, and within days the airfield had been claimed and renamed Henderson Field but the battle around Guadalcanal raged on, and the Japanese maintained a strong grip on all but the airfield. The Marines paid a terrible price in the ensuing weeks, but the Enterprise held her own, even though she was badly damaged. Nick had been aboard when she took some of her worst blows, and he was ordered to stay with her when she went to Hawaii for repairs in early September.