Neither Five Nor Three (Helen Macinnes) Read Free Page B

complimenting himself on his speed and efficiency. (He would have time, after all, for a cup of coffee. He might even walk to the office.) He closed the door and double-locked it, leaving behind him the disordered room with yesterday’s shirt and stray socks and the bed-covers still lying abjectly on the floor. Marija, who came in to pick up and clean each day, would have everything in order for his return. She was a quiet Esthonian who had never learned enough English to be able to take out her citizenship papers. She was a reliable woman. Orpen had recommended her: he knew her husband.
    I must see Orpen tonight, Scott Ettley was thinking as he reached the street. It was a cool, fresh morning. The small trees spaced along the sidewalk were in bud, their black thin branches dusted with green. He skirted an empty ash can, a couple of milk bottles, a dog straining at the end of a leash. I must see Orpen. This waiting and wondering is getting me down. Tonight, I’ll see him.
    Then he remembered Rona’s party. After it, no doubt, his father would insist on taking Rona and him to dinner. Her sister and brother-in-law would be drawn in, too. One of those family evenings with Duty raising her ugly head. And every time his father made a tactful allusion to weddings, Rona would try not to look embarrassed, yet her cheeks would colour and her eyes would find something interesting to watch on the other side of the room. But getting married wasn’t so easy, not at the moment. Perhaps by Thanksgiving, perhaps by then. Rona would wait another six months: she was his, she trusted him. Some day he could explain to her, and that would make everything clear to her. She would understand. They could be happy together, in spite of what Orpen said.
    He stopped for a moment at the corner newsstand and read the morning’s headlines. He didn’t even bother to buy a paper. Just the same old stuff, ground out day after day. And then he went into Schrafft’s, sat at the counter, and drank a cup of strong black coffee. He caught sight of himself in the mirror behind the bubbling coffee-pots—a fair-haired man, well-fed, well-dressed, with a look of prosperity about him. He turned sharply away from the mirror, paid the clerk, and left.

2
    Rona Metford left the office just after half-past four.
    “Where’s she going?” the new typist asked, catching a glimpse of Rona as she passed the open door of the large room where fifteen tables and fifteen typewriters stood in neat rows.
    Mrs. Hershey, In Charge, looked up with a frown. She did most of the important typing for the Architecture Department, and so she felt she had to defend Rona. Besides, she liked Rona Metford and she didn’t like new girls who thought they were running the magazine after three weeks on its staff. “When you’ve been working here nine years and become assistant editor of the Architecture Department and learned to finish your job by half-past four, no doubt Mr. Burnett will let you leave early whenever you are giving a cocktail party.”
    “Nine years. Good grief!” the new typist said in disgust. “And she isn’t even married yet.”
    Miss Guttman looked up from the filing cabinet. “We don’t all rush to grab the first man that asks us.” She exchanged a small smile with Mrs. Hershey—just a couple of old-timers putting Miss Pert in her place—and came back to her desk. Talking of Rona Metford though... “Guess who I saw in the street today?” she asked in a lowered voice.
    Mrs. Hershey couldn’t.
    “Paul Haydn! He didn’t see me...too busy looking at a windowful of ties.”
    Mrs. Hershey was impressed enough to stop her work, even if it kept her late. “Paul Haydn in New York? Well!”
    “I heard rumours that the magazine wants him back here.”
    “There have been plenty of rumours. But will he come?”
    Miss Guttman shrugged her thin shoulders. “He was in uniform, a general or something, perhaps he’s staying in the army.”
    “It might be