Neither Five Nor Three (Helen Macinnes) (11 page)

In the crowded elevator, lunch-going voices chattered, cutting across each other, forming a rattling pattern of broken sound.

“—I tried it on, and it fit perfectly, so I—”

“—funniest movie in months. Gave me a real yak.”

“—and she said, ‘I didn’t mean that at all.’ I said, ‘Well, it’s a fine thing you always never—’”

“The Yankees are much too big business for me. Now take the—”

“It looks fifty dollars at least. And blue’s my—”

“Sure, I read it in the paper. She’s getting married on—”

“—the new Prokofieff. Hope Liberty’s isn’t crowded. I want to hear some other records too.”

“Yes, he’s serious. Said his drive never brought him anywhere near the green until he changed his—”

“I’ve been trying for three months to get seats. Isn’t worth it.”

Paul Haydn broke away from the crowd and hurried out of doors. Joe, staring after him, said to the dispatcher, “Looks as if he didn’t get that job after all, Tony. See his face?”

Tony, timing the elevators, didn’t listen. “Better take it up again,” he told Joe in his rush-hour voice. “Feeding time at the zoo. They’ll start roaring like lions if you keep them waiting.”

In the busy avenue, Paul Haydn looked at the faces round him. Why didn’t I choose to be a buttonhole manufacturer, and then all I’d have to worry about would be the sizes of buttons? And my income tax. Why didn’t I stay in the infantry and learn about bazookas instead of psychological warfare? Why did I have to learn all the things I’ve learned? Why did I have to know either Brownlee or Weidler? Why didn’t I shut my ears and stay happy?

He began walking toward the Plaza. If he had to drown his worries, he might as well drown them in comfort.

6

Rona arrived early at the Tysons’ apartment on Friday evening. Peggy, in a neat blue dress, her hair slightly ruffled, a flush on her cheeks, an apron around her waist, came out of the kitchen for a moment to greet her sister in the dimly lit, long, narrow hall. Jon was helping Rona to take off her new white fleece coat.

“It’s darling,” Peggy said with an admiring glance, but she flinched at the thought of Rona’s cleaning bills. Then she lowered her voice, glancing warningly along the hall. “I’ve just got Bobby to bed, and he’s asleep, I think. Come and help me with the sandwiches. Honey”—this was to Jon—“do get your manuscript all cleared up or we won’t have a place for the beer.”

“I’ll have a look at the children first,” Rona said, trying to make the two packages she carried in her arms as inconspicuous as possible.

“Now, Rona, you really shouldn’t have—”

“I shan’t waken them,” Rona said quickly, and went toward the children’s bedroom.

“You’d better not,” Peggy said with a smile, and went back into the kitchen.

“Watch out for Bobby’s train,” Jon whispered as he and Rona stopped outside the children’s room. “The tracks are all over the place.” They listened at the door. Jon nodded and pushed it open gently. “Asleep, thank heavens,” he said.

Rona stepped in alone, and let her eyes become accustomed to the darkened room. Bobby lay quite still in his small bed, one pyjama-covered arm thrown above his head. Barbara, a round rosy dumpling of a child with fine fair hair pressed to her head by the warmth of sleep, lay with her feet on the pillow. The top sheet was twisted into a crumpled heap; the blanket was cast aside. A brown bear, worn with patting, stared glassily at the shadowed ceiling.

Gently, Rona moved Barbara right side up, straightened the pillow, smoothed out the sheet and blanket. Barbara stiffened, screwed up her small fat nose, and tried to rub it away with a vehement fist. Then she slumped still, her eyelids gave a last quiver, and she was deep into sleep once more. Rona placed one of the packages at the foot of the cot. It had no string around it. It could easily be opened in the morning by small fumbling fingers.

Then she moved across the room to Bobby and laid his parcel—tied in innumerable knots, for he enjoyed the mystery of opening them—between the mound of his legs and the wall. She stood looking down at him. By the faint light from the half-open door, she could see the outline of his smooth small face. His fair hair waved like Jon’s. (Barbara had straight hair, as if Nature had got mixed up in her gifts.) His eyelashes lay placidly over his pale cheeks. He looked thin and helpless, and somehow very touching.

One eye opened and looked at her gravely.

“I’m asleep,” he whispered.

“So I see.”

He whipped out a gun with the hand that had been hidden under the blanket. “I’m on guard,” he whispered loudly, opening his other eye. He lowered the gun. “But you’re all right.”

“Who were you expecting?”

“Underslung Dick has been raising a lot of trouble around here.”

“What, again?” Underslung Dick had been one of Rona’s inventions which everyone was now beginning to regret, everyone except Bobby.

He nodded. “But I guess he’s gone to sleep now.” He relaxed, stifled a large yawn. “And what did you bring me?”

Rona giggled. “You know you aren’t supposed to ask that question.”

“Only in front of Mummy! What is it? Can I see?”

“Sh-h! Your voice is getting louder.” Rona picked up the package. “Shall I open it? It’s too dark in here to see the knots.”

“What kind are they this time?”

“Mostly granny knots, I’m afraid. You’ll have to teach me all over again.” She began opening the parcel.

“But I’ve
shown
you! Aunt Rona, you’re
awful
dumb.” He looked at her affectionately.

“Yes. And I don’t know what we’re going to do about it.”

He gave her a sudden smile. “Aw, you aren’t so dumb,” he said comfortingly. He reached out his hand for his present. “Oh!” He sat bolt upright. “A cow-boy belt. White. Oh I... What’s those?”

“Rubies and emeralds. Sheriffs always have rubies and emeralds on their belts.”

“Gosh! Thanks...” He buckled it round his thin waist, and slipped the gun into the holster. “Just right,” he announced and lay down again, drawing the blankets up to his chin. “Sheriff’s sleep in their belts,” he told her.

“But I think they take their guns out. Might get rusty or something.”

“Oh!...” He thought over that. “Perspiration?” he asked. He handed over the gun to her.

“I’ll put it under the pillow, but don’t touch it. Rust is very bad for a gun, you know.”

He nodded, his eyes closed over the image of a white belt blazing with rubies and emeralds. “It’s tremendous,” he said sleepily. “Thanks, Aunt Rona.” He smiled and settled his head comfortably on the pillow.

She bent and kissed him, and pushed the hair gently back from his forehead. She left the door only slightly ajar, and went quickly toward the kitchen.

Peggy had buttered the slices of bread. She was now chopping up some hard-boiled eggs. She handed Rona an apron. “I’ve made the devilled eggs. You mash up the sardines and add some lemon juice. Are they really asleep at last? They were perfect little monsters this evening—one of those inciting-to-riot nights. It always seems to happen on a Friday. Jon’s getting the living-room cleared.”

Rona smiled. When Peggy was busy, her sentences were always busy too. “How’s Jon’s book coming along?”

“He’ll get it finished this summer, we hope. There isn’t much free time to do any writing during term, you know.”

“Then Jon has decided not to teach in summer school this year?”

Peggy nodded. No summer school meant they wouldn’t make eight hundred extra dollars. Still, the book had to be finished, and soon. Before anyone else published something new on Madison. “Jon’s at the War of 1812, now,” Peggy said, “but there’s still a long way to go.”

“And are you going to exchange the apartment for that cottage in New Jersey?”

“I think so. The people who own it seem civilised. He’s a schoolteacher and he wants to attend classes at Columbia this summer. So it could work out very well. It isn’t a very big cottage, but it would be easy to reach and it has a fine view and a garden. The children will love that. Bobby’s getting so wild. He chases around all day.”

“He’s thinner. I suppose he’s growing.”

“He’s shooting out of all his clothes. I don’t know why he is so thin, though. I keep pumping all my best cooking into him.” Peggy looked up, worried.

Rona said quickly, “Barbara looks like a butterball. An angelic butterball.”

“If you had seen her slinging the suds around the bathroom tonight when I was trying to wash some of her clothes in the hand basin, you wouldn’t think she was an angel.” That reminded Peggy to look at the socks and vests and sweaters drying on the wooden stand near the open window. She put down the bowl of chopped eggs, and went over to turn the clothes around and keep them from ridging as they dried.

Rona shook her head. “How do you do it all?” she asked.

Peggy gave a short laugh. “Most of us have to do it,” she said. “Six million new babies last year. One good thing—Jon says he and all the other teachers are never going to be out of work.”

“I wasn’t pitying you, Peggy,” Rona said. “In fact, I was envying you.” Strange as it might seem to Mr. Burnett or Mr. Weidler, she did envy Peggy. “You’re happy, aren’t you?”

Peggy stared at her. “Aren’t you?” she asked suddenly.

“Of course!” Then Rona’s voice lost its defensiveness, and she said shyly, “Scott was awfully sorry he couldn’t come here tonight. Because we’ve decided on the date.”

“Oh, Rona!” Peggy put down the salt shaker. “That’s wonderful news. When is it to be? Before we go to New Jersey for the summer, I hope.”

Rona’s cheeks coloured. “September.”

“Why wait until September?”

“It will be early in September.”

“When?”

“Oh, Scott isn’t quite sure yet when he can get his vacation this year—sometime early in September.” Rona went on spreading the sardines carefully over the buttered bread, trying to make them stretch as far as possible. “We are starting to look for an apartment next week,” she said. “His studio is too small—there’s only one room and one closet for clothes, so it would be hopeless.”

“What’s wrong with your apartment?”

“Scott doesn’t like the idea of coming to live there, somehow.”

“But he would be paying the rent,” Peggy said. “And he could add some of his furniture.” Then, as she saw that Rona was still more embarrassed, she said quickly, “Well, I hear it’s a little easier to find a place nowadays. Rents are high, of course. But I think you could get two or three rooms in this district for about eighty or ninety dollars a month.” Rona’s apartment was more than that, she remembered. So that was the reason Scott didn’t want to live there. What on earth did he do with his money? His salary wasn’t at all bad, and his prospects were good, but he never seemed to be able to save anything.

Rona’s cheeks had coloured again. (Scott wouldn’t live in this district. “Too far away,” he had said, “no one ever comes to see you, and you can’t get anywhere quickly.”) But the doorbell rang, and Peggy was looking in alarm at the clock—it was exactly eight—and then at the half-finished sandwiches. She took off her apron and left the kitchen, and Rona didn’t have to give any evasive answers. From the hall, she heard Jon’s voice and then Paul Haydn’s. She was staring at the closed kitchen door when Peggy returned.

“Yes, it’s Paul!” Peggy said, her voice a mixture of consternation and amusement. “He’s just gone into the living-room with Jon. My fault, honey: I told Paul that Friday was always a good night to find us at home. He came early to talk to Jon before the others arrive.”

“Well, why shouldn’t he come to see Jon? Before the war, they went around a good deal together.” Rona was smiling, now that the first surprise was over. “Look, darling, I’m quite inoculated against Paul’s famous charm. He’s just another nice guy, that’s all.”

Peggy began to trim the sandwiches. “Why did you break your engagement to him? You never gave me any real reason, you know. And I’ve tried to keep off the subject ever since. Of course, you were really too young at the time.” She looked questioningly at her sister. “Paul felt that, too, didn’t he? He thought he was cradle-snatching. And then he was much older than you were—almost seven years.”

“Yes. I was too young. And too rigid in my ideas. And I had far too much pride.” Rona tried to laugh. “I was an awful little prig, you know. I took everything so seriously. When I think of the high tone I adopted in my last letter to Paul—he was over in London, then—I could really scream with laughter. No wonder he got mad and took me at my word. Probably congratulated himself on escaping the neatest little man-trap he had ever got caught in.”

“Now, Rona! You were just so sure that your ideas about life were the only possible ones.”

Rona smiled. “That makes me sound worse than ever.”

Peggy said quickly, “You were only very inexperienced, that’s all.”

Rona began to laugh.

Peggy said more quickly, “Besides, he was much
too
experienced if you ask me. Now, don’t get me wrong. I like Paul. But—”

“A lot of the stories that went around were just gossip. I know that, now. He’s the kind of man who finds himself in—well, situations.”

“Such as Mary Fyne at your party?” Peggy asked teasingly.

“Such as Mary Fyne,” Rona said seriously. “And we pushed him into that.”

“We did what?”

“We stood looking at him in horror—just a couple of outraged females. He saw me saying to myself, ‘That’s Paul, trust Paul to pick the prettiest redhead in sight.’ So he left. With Mary Fyne.”

“That’s what Jon said. Yes, he defended Paul. We argued practically all evening over it.”

“You argued?” Rona was amazed.

“Almost a quarrel,” Peggy said cheerfully. “But you know what Martinis are! I expect there are more married squabbles after cocktail parties than you’d normally get in a month of Sundays. You see, Jon began telling me the kind of girl Mary Fyne was—and just to prove his point, he repeated what she had been saying to him. He meant to reassure me, I suppose, but I nearly slept on the living-room couch that night. She did concentrate on him for almost half an hour, you know. My fault, too. I rescued Jon from the harridan in the Pinot Noir hat and told him to go and enjoy himself for a change.” Peggy began to laugh.