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having a celebration. Francesca, this is Bill Denning, who’s one of our oldest friends.”
    “Yes, we came out of the Ark together,” Denning said, and took the strange girl’s politely outstretched hand. She was younger than he had thought at first, a pale blonde, too thin, with hair brushed severely back from a well-shaped forehead. The straight eyebrows looked puzzled for a moment, and then she smiled. The slender hand had closed round his, and he started with surprise. Her grip was as strong as a man’s. She let his hand go just as suddenly, saying in careful English, “How nice to meet you, Mr. Denning.” Her voice was soft and charming. Then she looked away, shyly, and studied the traffic on the street. A straight nose, a determined chin, and dark eyelashes, he noted.
    “Well, why don’t we stop obstructing traffic? Come and have lunch with us. Francesca is taking me to her favourite little place along here—the Café Henzi.”
    “And spoil your class reunion?”
    Paula ignored that. “It serves the most wonderful cheese fondue.”
    “I’d spend the afternoon sleeping it off. Actually, at the moment, I’m making up my mind between a ham and a chicken sandwich.”
    The girl with the Italian name looked at him sharply.
    “Andy will be here tomorrow,” said Paula.
    “How is he?”
    “Couldn’t be better.”
    “Give him my regards, won’t you?” He took a step away.
    But Paula was not ready to say goodbye. “He’s in Bonn at the moment. I came on ahead of him to look for an apartment. We’ll probably be here only a couple of months, but you know how Andy loathes hotels.” And then as she noted Denning’ssurprise, “Didn’t you hear? Andy’s been made European editor for Policy, and we’re doing a study of the capitals of Europe.” Her delight was infectious.
    Denning smiled in spite of his worry. “No, that’s what I like to see. Wifely pride bursting out all over.”
    Paula glanced at him quickly; almost nervously. “Where are you staying, Bill?”
    “At the Aarhof.”
    “We’re at the Victoria, meanwhile.”
    “Congratulations.” He had meant it well, but Paula’s frown deepened.
    The blonde girl stirred restlessly. “Paula, I’m afraid Mr. Denning’s ham sandwich will get cold.”
    Paula’s smile was determined. “I’ll call you,” she told him. “We must all get together. Andy will want to see you.”
    “That would be fine,” Denning said. But did he want to see Andy Waysmith? Not for the next few days, certainly. He took two more steps away. He bowed to the cold, calm blonde. “Goodbye,” he said to both of them. Then to Paula, “And I like your hat.” He gave his very best smile. He was fond of Paula. For one thing, she made Andy the happiest friend he had.
    “Not goodbye,” Paula called after him. “We’ll see you soon.”
    “Fine,” he said again, and walked away.
    But it wasn’t fine.
    “Didn’t you like him?” Paula asked.
    Francesca said, “Not particularly.”
    “Why not?”
    Francesca studied her American friend’s worried face. “Isthere any need for me to like him? You like him, and I like you, but that’s no reason why I should like him. Is it?”
    “I suppose not,” Paula agreed. But she was disappointed. “Do you think I can risk any more of this fondue?”
    “It has never killed anyone yet.”
    Paula giggled. “I know why you don’t like Bill.”
    Francesca shrugged her shoulders and looked round the oak-panelled room of the Café Henzi. It was crowded now, cheerful and warm and bustling. “It’s still better here in the evening,” she said. “People sing. When they feel like it. That’s the best way to sing.”
    “You don’t like him because you both talk the same way,” said Paula. “Almost.”
    Francesca stared at her.
    “Of course your phrases are different and your accents are different.” Paula went on. “But there’s the same—the same bite. Every now and again. Look, do you think this fondue is making me