Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances by Dorothy Fletcher

to? God, I’m sorry to keep you hanging around here all this time. You must both be starved. As a matter of fact so am I. Now. Where would you like to have lunch?”
    “Rodney? If it’s your treat you should decide.”
    “No, no, just wherever you’d like.”
    “I guess it’s up to you, Jack.”
    “There’s a place quite near here I go to a lot. Sure you have nothing special in mind? Well then, I’ll just lock up and we’ll get going.”
    Christine noted his smile of satisfaction as he gave a last look at the rooms that were now his. Turning, his eyes met hers. He laughed sheepishly. “Yeah, the cat that swallowed the canary,” he said as they went down the stairs. “If you could see the place I’m leaving you’d know why. A building that used to be good, but now they’re milking it, doing nothing, just letting everything fall apart, practically brick by brick. A recurring leak in my bathroom ceiling, the plaster hanging down like someone’s skin peeling. Insufficient heat in the winter and as often as not none at all. I had to go to the Hyde Park Hotel two nights this past February, otherwise I probably would have frozen to death. Never reimbursed for it, of course. Twenty-one degrees and cold radiators. When Gristede’s, which was on the corner, closed its branch there, all the Gristede roaches scrambled to find other quarters, which needless to say were the nearest houses, including mine. It was a day by day skirmish between me and the roaches, the survival of the fittest.”
    “Jack, how gruesome. Rent controlled?”
    “No. Low, admittedly. I know it’s next to impossible to maintain a building for rents that haven’t kept pace with the economy, but they could have some kind of landlord-tenant discussions. I for one would have been glad to pay an increase, and I think most of the others would have. You know what’s happening these days. These old brownstones aren’t bringing in any profit, so they hang on to them until such time as some developer buys up a whole block of them, tears them down and puts up a highrise. What are you gonna do?”
    Out on the street, he directed them toward Third. “Then we’ll head for Lex,” he said. “We’re going to Anthony’s. It’s quiet, leisurely and they have good drinks.”
    It was in the Fifties and it looked like a saloon from the outside, but then so did Clarke’s, and when they went in Christine felt comfortable right away. It was cool and dim and hospitable, with a big, weathered, dark oak bar and comfy chairs around fair-sized tables. A few booths. They sat in one of the booths, Rodney sliding in beside Christine and Jack opposite. It was a man’s place, you knew that immediately, but it was not raffish in any way, and there were two young women at, one of the tables. They looked like office girls on their lunch hour. “I’d like a martini,” she said, when a waiter came over.
    “One martini for the lady. Olive, twist, onion?”
    “Olive, thanks.”
    He greeted Jack by name. “Hi, Jack, Canadian Club for you?”
    “As always. Rodney?”
    “I’d like a gin and tonic, please.”
    “This is nice,” Christine said when they had their drinks. “I must have passed it a lot of times and never noticed it.”
    “It’s a respectable watering hole and the food’s really very high quality. Well, shall we heft a glass to our respective good fortune?”
    “Here we go. To you both, gentlemen, and all the best. Jack, an additional toast to you, and heartfelt thanks.”
    “I second the motion,” Rodney said, grinning. “You’re the undisputed hero of the day.”
    “Okay, enough already, you’d think I saved you from drowning. You’re British, Rodney, what brings you to these parts?”
    “Just thought I’d pop over and see how the Colonies were doing.” He shook his head. “No need to worry about them, they’re in great shape. Actually, I’m here on a visit, a bit of a holiday, that’s all. What do you do, Jack? You said you ditched