Crossings by Danielle Steel Read Free Book Online Page B

man, except that he had his mother's jet-black hair.
    “I'm home!” Nick's voice rang out in the hall as it did every night, and as he put his straw hat on a table in the hall, he listened for familiar sounds, of John running down the hall to greet him perhaps. But tonight there were none. A maid in a black uniform and a white lace apron and cap came out of the pantry instead, and he smiled at her. “Good evening, Joan.”
    “Evening, sir. Mrs. Burnham is upstairs.”
    “And my son?”
    “I believe he's in his room.”
    “Thank you.” He nodded and walked down a long, thickly carpeted hall. The apartment had been entirely redone the year before, and everything was done in white and beige and cream. It managed to look both soothing and expensive at the same time, and had cost him an arm and a leg, particularly after the three decorators and two architects Hillary had hired and fired one by one, but the end result was one that he could live with and that he imagined had pleased her. It wasn't exactly the kind of place where one would expect to find a little boy, nor the kind of home where he could run his fingers along the wall or bounce a ball, but at least in the child's room, Nick had prevailed. There, everything was done in reds and blues, the furniture was comfortable old oak, the children's paintings on the wall were still a little overdone for Nick's taste, but at least he knew that these were rooms where John could have a little fun. There was a bedroom for his nurse, a large room for him, a little sitting room with a desk, which had been Nick's when he was a boy, and a large playroom filled with toys, where he could entertain his friends.
    Nick knocked softly on the door of the hall that led to John's rooms, and instead of an answer, the door was instantly yanked open, and he found himself looking down into the smiling face of his only child. He swept him up in his arms with a happy smile, and a gurgle of laughter greeted his ears, as it did every night.
    “You're crushing me, Dad!” But he didn't really seem to mind.
    “Good. How's my favorite little boy?” He set him back on his feet, and John grinned up at him.
    “I'm fine and my new bat is great.”
    “That's good. Break any windows yet?”
    “Of course not.” John looked offended as his father rumpled the blue-black hair. He was an interesting cross between Hillary and Nick, her creamy skin, Nick's green eyes, her hair. The two looked as entirely different as two people could, Hillary dark and small and delicate, Nick powerful and blond and strong, and yet the boy combined the best of both, or so everyone said. “Can I take my bat on the ship?”
    “I'm not so sure about that, young man. Maybe if you promise to leave it in your trunk.”
    “But I have to take it, Dad! They don't have baseball bats in France.”
    “Probably not,” Nick agreed. They were going over for a year, or six months, if things got too tense. Nick had so many contracts over there this year, that he had decided to run the Paris office himself, and leave his right-hand man in charge in New York. And of course he was taking Hillary and John. He wouldn't consider staying there for that long without them, and it was important that he go. At first Hillary had wailed and moaned and complained to him every day, but for the last month she had seemed resigned, and John had decided that it would be fun. They were putting him in an American school just off the Champs-Élysées, and Nick had rented them a handsome house on the Avenue Foch. It belonged to a French count and his wife, who had moved to Switzerland the year before, during the panic before the Munich Accord, and now they were happy in Lausanne and in no hurry to return. It was a perfect arrangement for Nick, Hillary, and the boy.
    “Want to come to dinner with me, Dad?” The nurse had just signaled John that it was time to go, and he turned hopeful eyes up to Nick.
    “I think I'd better go upstairs to see your