Neither Five Nor Three (Helen Macinnes) Read Online Free PDF

up like that when you talk about him.”
    “He’s a wonderful guy,” she said softly.
    Paul Haydn studied a cleaner’s shop with interest. Then he said, “I’m glad, Rona.”
    She said, as simply as she had spoken when she had shown him Scott’s ring, “I’m glad you’re glad, Paul.” And with that, she buried their past completely.
    “What about your job at Trend ?” he asked suddenly. “I heard you were practically running the Architecture Department. Good for you.”
    “Just more gossip. I’m only an assistant to Mr. Burnett. I imagine what should go inside a room once he has decided its shape. I’m not fully qualified yet, you see.”
    “You mean as an architect?” He was surprised. “Still following that idea? Then you got a college degree?”
    “Yes, I made it. Part-time work and night classes. That sort of thing.”
    “Not as much fun as Vassar, I’d imagine.”
    “No.” She smiled. “Still, it was either that way or nothing.” She halted, looking up at the quiet brownstone house in front of them. She pointed out the green window boxes on the top floor. “My apartment. Now, I’ll have to dash in and start spreading canapés like mad.”
    “Sorry I kept you late. But it was good to see you again.” He held out his hand and gripped hers.
    “That’s the strange thing about this city—the way you meet people so unexpectedly.”
    “Yes. Now I really know I’m back in New York.”
    She looked along the familiar street, and she saw it as it must seem to him: a tight wall of houses, busy at this hour, yet lonely, with strangers hurrying to their homes. She said impulsively, “Paul, why don’t you come to the party? Jon Tyson will be there.”
    “Jon?” He was delighted to hear the name again. “And how’s Jon?”
    “He married Peggy—my sister, remember? He teaches history up at Columbia University. Yes, and they’ve two children. Didn’t you know?”
    “I’m a bad letter writer,” he reminded her. Especially, he thought, when I wanted to cut myself off from everything I remembered.
    “You’ll know quite a lot of the other guests, too. They’d love to welcome you home. Why not come? It would save you a lot of telephoning in the next few days.”
    Paul Haydn hesitated. He looked at the lonely street. “Swell,” he said. “I’d like to see them all.”
    “I said six o’clock.” She glanced at her watch. “Heavens!” She waved and ran up the steep flight of steps, with the same light graceful movements he now remembered so well. He saluted and turned away. Behind him, an elevated train rattled over Third Avenue. He avoided two children shakily trying out their new roller skates, a dog straining on a long leash across the sidewalk toward a hydrant.
    On Lexington Avenue, he went into the first bar he could find, a small place blazing with neon signs outside, stretching its capacity to the last inch inside with booths for eating, welcoming its customers with a blast of music and cold air-conditioning. The early clients were gathered round the bar near the entrance. Uninhibited tweed jackets, Paul noted, and ties strong enough to knock you over. There were some women too. A blonde with pointed breasts and good legs looked at him haughtily. Soldiers are out of favour, he thought, for he hadn’t had time yet to catch up on the new poses in the fashionable magazines. He decided that it was a pity though that a pretty girl’s hair should be so ragged—as if mice had been gnawing at it overnight—and he chose a seat at the far end of the bar where his uniform wouldn’t annoy her.
    He looked at the men; they seemed prosperous and well-fed, a peaceful crowd. Even the arguments were good-natured, and the loud voices had no harsh sneering edge. It would be easy for someone coming in here as a foreigner to start generalising: easy to forget that most of the men here must have been just the right age for the war. When we demobilise, we demobilise, he thought. In one