“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 immaculate, 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.