Can we? Can we?”
Liane took them each by the hand, and Armand busied himself giving orders to the porter and the chauffeur, and five minutes later they passed through the enormous archway marked COMPAGNIE GÉNÉRALE TRANSATLANTIQUE, and stepped into an elevator that took them to an elevated section of the quay. There were three separate entrances for the 1,972 passengers who would come aboard, discreetly separate and labeled PREMIÉRE CLASSE, TOURISTE, and CABINE. “Premiére classe” was first of course, and there would be 864 passengers entering through that archway before the ship sailed that afternoon. And when Armand, Liane, and the girls stepped onto the Normandie's deck, it was shortly after noon. They had left Washington at 5:00 A.M. , by train, and reached New York half an hour before. They had been met by a limousine from the Consulate in New York and whisked directly to Pier 88, on West 50th Street.
“Bonjour, monsieur, madame.” The uniformed officer smiled down at the two impeccably dressed little girls in matching pale-blue organdy dresses with white gloves and straw hats and shining black patent leather shoes. “Mesdemoiselles, bienvenue à bord.” He looked pleasantly at Armand then. The young officer loved his job, and in the years that he had been assigned to checking passengers on board, he had met Thomas Mann, Stokowski, Giraudoux, Saint-Exupéry, movie stars such as Douglas Fairbanks, heads of states, giants of the literary world, cardinals and sinners, and crowned heads from almost every European country. It was exciting just waiting for them to say their names, if one did not recognize them at first glance, which, more often than not, he did. “Monsieur?”
“De Villiers,” Armand said quietly.
“Ambassadeur?” the young man inquired, and Armand confirmed it with a silent nod.
“Ah, bien sûr.” Of course. He noted as he glanced at his passenger list again that the De Villierses would be occupying one of the ship's four most luxurious suites. He had no way of knowing that it was a courtesy of the “Transat,” as the CGT was called, and he was impressed to realize that the ambassador and his family would be occupying the Grand Luxe suite Trouville. “We will show you to your cabin at once.” He signaled to a steward who materialized at his side and immediately took Liane's small carrying bag. The rest of their trunks had been sent ahead several days before, and what they had brought with them on the train would meet them in their stateroom only moments after they reached it themselves. The service on the Normandie was supreme.
The Trouville suite was on the promenade deck, and it was one of two suites available on that deck, with a promenade of its own, looking out over the handsome open air space of the Café-Grill. There were benches and lamps, and the stairways and railings formed a graceful design as Armand glanced down from their private terrace. Inside, there were four large elegant bedrooms, one for Liane and himself, one for each of the girls, and one for their nurse as well.
There were additional rooms available on the same deck for extra servants they might have brought along. One of these was needed for Armand's male assistant, Jacques Perrier, who was traveling on the ship as well, so that Armand could continue his work. But the rest of the “studios” would not be used by them, and would be kept locked. The only other inhabitants of this rarefied upper deck would be the family in the Deauville suite, which was identical to the Trouville in its grandeur and expense, but in no way similar to the De Villierses' suite of rooms. Each first-class cabin on the ship was done in an entirely different decor, with no repetitions from suite to suite. Down to the last detail, each single room was totally unique. And as Armand and Liane looked around their suite, their eyes met, and Liane began to laugh. It was so outrageously extravagant, so elegant, so beautiful, that she felt
Liane took them each by the hand, and Armand busied himself giving orders to the porter and the chauffeur, and five minutes later they passed through the enormous archway marked COMPAGNIE GÉNÉRALE TRANSATLANTIQUE, and stepped into an elevator that took them to an elevated section of the quay. There were three separate entrances for the 1,972 passengers who would come aboard, discreetly separate and labeled PREMIÉRE CLASSE, TOURISTE, and CABINE. “Premiére classe” was first of course, and there would be 864 passengers entering through that archway before the ship sailed that afternoon. And when Armand, Liane, and the girls stepped onto the Normandie's deck, it was shortly after noon. They had left Washington at 5:00 A.M. , by train, and reached New York half an hour before. They had been met by a limousine from the Consulate in New York and whisked directly to Pier 88, on West 50th Street.
“Bonjour, monsieur, madame.” The uniformed officer smiled down at the two impeccably dressed little girls in matching pale-blue organdy dresses with white gloves and straw hats and shining black patent leather shoes. “Mesdemoiselles, bienvenue à bord.” He looked pleasantly at Armand then. The young officer loved his job, and in the years that he had been assigned to checking passengers on board, he had met Thomas Mann, Stokowski, Giraudoux, Saint-Exupéry, movie stars such as Douglas Fairbanks, heads of states, giants of the literary world, cardinals and sinners, and crowned heads from almost every European country. It was exciting just waiting for them to say their names, if one did not recognize them at first glance, which, more often than not, he did. “Monsieur?”
“De Villiers,” Armand said quietly.
“Ambassadeur?” the young man inquired, and Armand confirmed it with a silent nod.
“Ah, bien sûr.” Of course. He noted as he glanced at his passenger list again that the De Villierses would be occupying one of the ship's four most luxurious suites. He had no way of knowing that it was a courtesy of the “Transat,” as the CGT was called, and he was impressed to realize that the ambassador and his family would be occupying the Grand Luxe suite Trouville. “We will show you to your cabin at once.” He signaled to a steward who materialized at his side and immediately took Liane's small carrying bag. The rest of their trunks had been sent ahead several days before, and what they had brought with them on the train would meet them in their stateroom only moments after they reached it themselves. The service on the Normandie was supreme.
The Trouville suite was on the promenade deck, and it was one of two suites available on that deck, with a promenade of its own, looking out over the handsome open air space of the Café-Grill. There were benches and lamps, and the stairways and railings formed a graceful design as Armand glanced down from their private terrace. Inside, there were four large elegant bedrooms, one for Liane and himself, one for each of the girls, and one for their nurse as well.
There were additional rooms available on the same deck for extra servants they might have brought along. One of these was needed for Armand's male assistant, Jacques Perrier, who was traveling on the ship as well, so that Armand could continue his work. But the rest of the “studios” would not be used by them, and would be kept locked. The only other inhabitants of this rarefied upper deck would be the family in the Deauville suite, which was identical to the Trouville in its grandeur and expense, but in no way similar to the De Villierses' suite of rooms. Each first-class cabin on the ship was done in an entirely different decor, with no repetitions from suite to suite. Down to the last detail, each single room was totally unique. And as Armand and Liane looked around their suite, their eyes met, and Liane began to laugh. It was so outrageously extravagant, so elegant, so beautiful, that she felt
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