Her father came to visit twice during their first six months there, unable to stay away. He had no business in Europe, but he longed for his daughter, and during his second visit she could no longer keep the news from him, although she had predicted accurately to Armand how he would react. She was having a baby the following summer, and her father responded with sheer terror, insisting privately to Armand that she had to be brought back to the States, had to have the best doctors, had to stay in bed, had to … He was haunted by memories of Liane's mother, and his agony when he had lost her. He was almost in tears when he went back to the States. And Liane had to write him daily to assure him that all was well. In May he arrived six weeks before the baby was due, and he almost drove them crazy with his worry, but Liane didn't have the heart to send him back to the States. When she went into labor, it was all Armand could do to subdue Harrison and to keep him busy, but fortunately the baby came quickly, a fat, angelic-looking girl with wisps of blond hair and round cheeks and a little rosebud mouth, born at 5:45 P.M. in a hospital in Vienna. When Harrison came to visit Liane three hours later, he found her eating dinner and laughing, as though she had spent the afternoon at the opera with her friends. He couldn't believe it, nor could Armand, who gazed at his wife as though she had wrought single-handedly the miracle of all time. He loved her more than life itself, and thanked God for this new life he had never even dreamed would be his. He was totally crazy about the baby, and when their second daughter was born two years later in London, he was just as excited all over again. This time they had convinced Liane's father that he could wait in San Francisco and that they would cable him the moment the baby was born, which they did. Their first child they had named Marie-Ange Odile de Villiers, which they had both thought about with great seriousness before doing. They both decided that it was what they wanted, and they knew that Odile would have been pleased. The second baby was named Elisabeth Liane Crockett de Villiers, which pleased Liane's father no end.
He came to London for the christening, and gazed at the baby with such rapture that Liane teased him afterward about it, but she also noticed on this trip that he didn't look well. He was sixty-eight years old, and had always been in good health, but he seemed older than his years now, and Liane was worried when she saw him off on the ship. She said something to Armand about it, but he had his hands full with a difficult diplomatic negotiation with the Austrians and the English, and afterward he felt guilty for not paying more attention. Harrison Crockett died of a heart attack on the ship on the way home.
Liane flew home to San Francisco without the children, and as she stood beside her father's casket she felt a loss she almost couldn't bear, and she knew that life would never be quite the same without him. Her Uncle George was already preparing to move into Harrison's house, and his shoes at Crockett Shipping, but her uncle was like a very dim star in the orbit of the bright planet that had been her father. She was glad that she didn't live in San Francisco and wouldn't have to see her uncle living in their house. She couldn't have borne watching the gruff, ornery old bachelor living her father's life and changing all the old ways. She left San Francisco within a week, with a feeling of grief that exceeded only what she had felt when Odile had died, and she was grateful to return home to Armand, to her babies, and to throw herself back into her life as Ambassadress at his side. From that moment on she always felt less of an allegiance to her own country. Her tie to the States had been her father, and now all of that was gone. She had the fortune her father had left her, but she would have much preferred to have her father living, and all that mattered to her now were her daughters and her husband and her life with them.
Two years after that they left London. Armand was reassigned as Ambassador to Washington. It was the first time in five years that Liane would be living back in the United States. It was an exciting time for them both, filled with the prospect of an important post for Armand and lots of responsibility for Liane, and the only thing that marred it was the fact that Liane lost a baby, this time a little boy, shortly after their arrival in the States. It had been a rough crossing, and she had had a hard time from the first. But aside from that, the years in Washington were a time they both remembered fondly, filled with spectacular dinners at the Embassy, glittering evenings amongst heads of state, nights at the White House, and acquaintances with important politicians who filled their lives with interesting events and fascinating friendships. It was a time they would miss now, and it seemed as though it were ending much too quickly. It was hard to believe that the Washington years had already come to a close. They would both miss their friends, as would their daughters. Marie-Ange and Elisabeth were respectively nine and seven now, and they had never known schools other than those in Washington. Armand had already made arrangements for them in Paris, and they both spoke perfect French, but still it would be a big change for them. And with a war possibly coming in Europe, God alone knew what would be in store. Armand had already discussed that possibility with Liane, and if anything happened, he planned to send the three of them back to the States. Liane could stay with her uncle in San Francisco, in her father's old house, and at least he would know that they were safe there. But for the moment, that didn't enter the picture. For the time being, as much as one could know that sort of thing, Armand knew that there would be peace in France, though of course there was no way of knowing for how long.
At present he had to ready the Embassy for his replacement, and he turned his attention back to the work on his desk, and it was almost ten o'clock when he looked up again. He stood up at his desk and stretched. He had been feeling so old lately, despite Liane's amorous protests, but at fifty-six he had led a very full life.
He locked the door to his office behind him, bidding good night to the two guards posted in the hall. And then he inserted his key in the lock of the private elevator at the rear that would take him to their apartments, and he stepped in with a tired smile and a sigh. It was always good to get home to Liane after a day's work, even after all these years. She was a wife any man would be lucky to even dream of having. She had been devoted and understanding and patient and humorous and loving for all of their ten years. As the elevator reached the fourth floor it ground to a halt, and he opened the door into the ornate marble hall that led to his study, their large paneled living room, and their dining room, and he could smell something delicious still being prepared in the kitchen beyond. And as he glanced up the marble staircase to the top floor, he saw her, still as lovely as she had been ten years before, her blond hair in a handsome pageboy on her shoulders, her blue eyes unlined, and her skin as fresh as it had been the first time he had seen her in his garden at fifteen. She was a rare beauty, and he cherished every moment with her, although these days the moments they shared were fewer than they had been in a long time, he was so damnably busy.
“Hello, my love.” She slid her arms around his neck as she reached the bottom of the stairs, nuzzling his neck in the way she had for the past ten years, and as it always did, the gesture warmed him to his very soul.
“How was your day, or shouldn't I ask?” He smiled down at her, proud of her, still proud that she was his. She was a beauty, and a rare, rare gem.
“I think I've almost finished packing. You won't recognize our bedroom when you come upstairs.”