“I can do that on the weekends, with the girls.”
“You're a nut, and if you don't watch out, in your old age you'll turn eccentric!” But he was secretly proud of her, as he told a friend at his club the next day. They were playing dominoes at the Pacific Union Club, and he was boasting about Liane over a Scotch and soda.
“She's a hell of a woman, Lou. Intelligent, quiet, poised, she's a lot like my brother in some ways, and smart as a whip. She's had a very rough time in Europe.” He explained that she had been there during the fall of Paris, but heeding Liane's words, he refrained from saying that she'd been married to a man who turned out to be a Nazi.
“Is she married?” His friend looked at him with an interested eye. And George recognized it as an opening. He wanted to help Liane. He had been thinking about it for days, and he knew just how he wanted to do it.
“More or less. She's separated. And I think in a while she'll be going to Reno. She hasn't seen him in six months”—it was true, after all—”and she has no idea when she'll see him again.” That was true too. And then the biggie. “I'd like to introduce her to your son.”
“How old a woman is she?”
“She's thirty-three, and she has two lovely children.”
“So does Lyman.” George's friend won the game and sat back with a smile. “He's thirty-six, thirty-seven in June.” And he was one of the best attorneys in town and handsome as hell, or so George thought. He was from an excellent family, had gone to Cal, was respectable, and lived in San Francisco. He was perfect for her, and if she didn't agree, there were plenty of others like him. “I'll see what I can do,” Lou said.
“Maybe I'll arrange a little dinner.” George spoke to his secretary the next day, and a few days later he made some calls, and that night he told Liane when she got home from the Red Cross. She liked her job and she was in good spirits, and she had gotten a letter from Armand that day, it had been forwarded to her from Washington the day they had left. He sounded well, and didn't appear to be in any immediate danger. For her, it was a constant worry.
“How was your day, Uncle George?” She kissed him on the forehead and sat down to have a drink with him. Life was so easy here that she almost felt guilty, particularly when she thought of Armand, precariously perched between the two hostile governments he served. She knew what a toll it was taking on him, and here she sat, in a splendid house, with a lovely view, surrounded by servants and a doting uncle.
“My day was pretty fair. How was yours?”
“Interesting. We're coordinating additional locations for some of the British children.”
“That's a nice thing to do. How are the girls?”
“Thriving. They're upstairs doing their homework.” And the best news for them was that in ten days they would have Christmas vacation.
“You know, I had a thought today. Would you mind helping me give a little dinner? You used to be awfully good at that, when you lived with your father.” She smiled at the memory, and it brought thoughts of Armand back to mind—everything did—for she had done it for him too after Odile died, and for the eleven years they'd been married.
“Thank you, Uncle George. I enjoyed it.”
“Would you mind helping me out? I've fallen a little behind with some of my entertaining.”
“Not at all. Did you have something special in mind?”
“I thought a little dinner next week.” He didn't tell her that everyone had already accepted. “How does that sound? About eighteen people. And we could have a few musicians, and a little dancing in the library after dinner.” “Dancing? Isn't that rather elaborate for a ‘little dinner’?”
“Don't you like to dance?”
“Of course.” And then she smiled. She had forgotten what a gay blade George used to be, and apparently still was, although he was seventy-three years old, for he was spry for his age. She suddenly wondered if he had an ulterior motive, maybe some dowager he was wooing. “I'd be happy to help. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“I'll invite the guests, you handle the rest. Get yourself a pretty new dress, order some flowers. You'll know what to do.” Of course she did, and on the night of the dinner party she came down to check everything out. The entire group of eighteen was being seated at the large oval Chippendale table. There were three large arrangements of white and yellow roses on the table, tall ivory tapers in the elaborate silver candelabra, and she had used one of the lace tablecloths that had been her mother's and that she had left behind when she left the house. She had hired musicians, just as her uncle wanted. They were already playing gentle strains in the enormous living room before the guests arrived. She looked around and decided everything looked all right, when she caught a glimpse of Marie-Ange and Elisabeth peeking over the banister.
“What are you two doing?”
“Can we watch?”
“For a little while.” Their mother smiled and blew them a kiss. She was wearing a pale-blue satin evening dress she had bought at I. Magnin the day before and it was exactly the color of her eyes. Her hair was swept up and she felt more elegant than she had in years.
“You look like Cinderella!” Elisabeth whispered loudly from the stairs and Liane ran up to give her a kiss.
“Thank you, my love.”
And then Uncle George came down, the guests began to arrive, and the party got under way. Liane thought that it went very smoothly. George had done the seating himself, since he knew all the guests, and Liane sat between two very pleasant men, a stockbroker named Thomas MacKenzie, who was about forty years of age and was divorced with three sons, and an attorney named Lyman Lawson, whom she guessed to be about her own age, and who was also divorced and had two little girls. And as she watched her uncle watching her a little later, she suddenly understood. He was trying to introduce her to the bachelors around town. She was shocked at the thought. After all, she was a married woman.
It was a beautiful dinner, and the musicians were marvelous, but she was suddenly terrified about what George was trying to do, and very gingerly she brought it up at breakfast the next morning.
“Well, my dear, how did you enjoy last night?” He looked immensely pleased with himself, and she smiled at him over her coffee.
“Very much. It was a beautiful evening, Uncle George. Thank you.”
“Not at all. I've been meaning to reciprocate a number of invitations for quite a while, but with no woman in the house …”He tried to look mournful but didn't succeed, and Liane laughed.
“I'm not sure I believe that.” And then she looked quietly at him and decided to take the bull by the horns. “Uncle George, may I ask you a very rude question?”
“That depends how rude it is.” He smiled at his niece. He was liking her better than he had in years. She had a lot of spunk, even if she had made a miserable choice of a husband. But that would be remedied soon enough. He knew she'd come to her senses. She was a sensible woman, and she had the girls to think of. “What did you want to ask?”
“You aren't trying to launch me with … er … ah … the single men around town, are you?”
He feigned innocence and looked amused. “Do you prefer married ones, Liane?” Personally, he had always had a weakness for married women.
“No, Uncle George. I prefer my own husband.” There was a sudden silence at the table.
“I don't think there's any harm in your knowing a few of the men around town. Do you?” But that was a loaded question.
“That depends on what they know of my marital status. Do they think I'm married or divorced?”
“I can't remember what I said.” He cleared his throat and picked up his newspaper. But she very gently took it out of his hand and looked him in the eye.