Free Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances by Dorothy Fletcher Page A

shelving, one hadn’t expected that. “Thank you, Mr. Allerton, I say, thanks a million. Oh, I must write
you
a check now. Three fifteen, right?”
    “Unanticipated but welcome,” Allerton said, pocketing the check. “I think I’m as glad to get you people settled and off the hook as I am to see the money again. As I said, I know what it means. We’re a frantic fraternity, we apartment hunters. I’ve seen the same people frequently.”
    “It’s terribly wearying,” Christine agreed. “But thanks to you we’re taken care of, no more trudging all over creation. I feel like buying you flowers, Mr. Allerton. You saved the day after all.”
    “All’s well that ends well.”
    “As for you, Rodney, congratulations. You’re a homeowner! You must call your mother tonight and let her know.”
    “I shall. And now let’s celebrate, a smashing lunch, with champagne.”
    “Lunchtime’s about two hours away, it’s only ten.”
    “Oh. So it is.”
    “And Mr. Allerton, now you have to get yourself back to your own apartment, don’t you? Please, I insist on paying for your cab back there.”
    “Now listen,” he said. “I know I protested I couldn’t afford to pay much for my digs, but I’m not on Welfare. But I’d like to take you both to lunch, that is if you can manage to do without the champagne, which I confess might strain my resources a bit too far.”
    “Well, wonderful! Instead of buying you flowers I’ll buy you lunch. Oh, please. If it weren’t for you — ”
    “Not at all,” Rodney said expansively. “I’m in a celebratory mood, this will be my treat. And not another word said. Well, though, as it’s only tennish, what shall we do until then?”
    “Maybe you wouldn’t mind coming back with me to admire my own acquisition? I wasn’t there very long so I didn’t have much of a chance to gloat.”
    “Fine. Let’s go back to your own acquisition and help you gloat. We’ll start our rounds of furniture stores tomorrow, Rodney. Today we gloat. Lock the door. Got it? It’s a good Medico, but do you think he should have the bolt changed, Mr. Allerton?”
    “I don’t think it’s called for, no. I’m not going to replace mine. By the way, please call me Jack.”
    “Okay, call me Christine.”
    “Would you like to walk down? It’s a nice day.”
    “I’d love to walk down.”
    “And now I really feel I belong here,” Rodney said, pocketing his key. “Now I’m really a resident.”
    • • •
    If she was a trifle uneasy about Rodney’s reaction to Jack Allerton’s much larger place she needn’t have worried, Christine was glad to see, as they went through his newly-acquired apartment. There was abundant praise but no envious glances, Rodney was clearly preoccupied with his own plans. He had a kind of vacant look, as if he were present only in the flesh. He had found what he had set out to find, and nothing could distract him from his complacency.
    Christine herself enjoyed wandering along with Jack through this empty, high-ceilinged apartment, their footfalls echoing, voices as well. The bedroom was not a plyboarded L, but a real room, even if small and with a not very roomy clothes closet. “It will do,” Jack said. “I’ll have to make it do. There’s a better one in the hall between the rooms, and there’s a broom closet. I’ll manage.”
    He opened a door. “Do you think this bathroom’s tacky? I was stunned when I looked at it. All these multicolored tiles. Like a circus. I wonder what smartass dreamed this up?”
    “I don’t know, I feel it’s rather jolly. It’s certainly cheerful. And it looks clean as a whistle.”
    “I suppose I’ll get used to it.”
    “You’re being overcritical. I like it. I think it’s fun.”
    He shrugged. “Anyway, it’s a minor point. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
    They went back to the living room. “This,” he said, and swept his arm in an arc. “This is what you hope to find and rarely do. These ceilings, the room