Read Online Greenwich by Howard Fast - Free Book Online Page A

to reorient himself, and he was silent for a moment or two. He recognized the name and he recognized the voice, but it was different.
    â€œCastle!” the voice said. “Larry.”
    â€œYes, Congressman.”
    â€œCall me Larry.”
    â€œI just feel damn derelict, Larry. I should have called you long ago, I’ve been derelict.” Castle was pleased with the choice of the word.
    â€œBush,” Larry said, more gently and intimately, “you’ve been reading the New York Times ?”
    â€œYes,” Castle admitted. In his mind, Larry was coming increasingly into focus. “Yes, I have. I must say it worried me.”
    â€œNot one damn thing to worry about, Bush, not one blessed thing. But we have to talk.”
    â€œYes. Yes, I guess we should. You’re not worried?”
    â€œNot a bit,” Larry said cheerfully.
    â€œThank God for that. Where and when?”
    â€œI’m in New York at the Waldorf. How about tomorrow morning, early—let’s say eight A.M. —you’re awake by then?”
    â€œI’m awake, but getting into New York at that hour—”
    â€œI’ll come up to your place.”
    â€œDrive up here?” Castle hesitated.
    â€œI’m no stranger to your home. Give me the address again and I’ll find the place. You’re in what they call the Back Country, aren’t you?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œBush,” Larry said mollifyingly, “I wouldn’t put you through this bother, but I have to catch the shuttle at noon tomorrow. That squeezes me for time. I’ll spend a half hour with you, and we’ll put this together. It’s important.”
    â€œHey, come on, Larry. I know how important it is. As a matter of fact, I’m pleased you called, and I hope that after we talk, I can stop worrying. We have a long driveway, so I’ll be at the road gate, waiting for you. Just remember that you take the Hutchinson River Parkway into the Merritt. You get off at North Street and turn left where the service road meets Lake Avenue. We’re about a mile north of there.”
    Then Castle gave Larry the address and the off-road directions and returned to his guests. Evidently, his absence had cast no pall over the party. Muffy Platt, who had filled in for the seat of Harold Sellig’s wife, was the only one who appeared bored, but her face lit up when Castle reentered the room. Mary Greene sat with Sister Pat Brody and Sally, and the monsignor was listening to a discussion between Greene and Sellig. When Castle joined them, Sally rose and announced that she had to see about dinner. It was about seven forty-five then, and Sally knew that dinner at eight was proper.
    Abel Hunt considered Sally Castle to be one of the prettiest women he had ever seen, on the screen or off. As a well-educated, intelligent, race-conscious Afro-American, he knew quite well that it was his duty to denigrate the beauty of a white woman, but the innocence of Sally Castle broke through his most cherished vows. He rejected his son’s notion that Sally was stupid, explaining to Joseph that in the society they both inhabited, innocence and a high degree of intelligence do not exist easily in the same individual. This evening, when Sally entered the kitchen, he greeted her with a broad smile and said, “We are ready to go. Just sit them down at the table. Cooking is an art, Mrs. Castle, and this is state of the art.”
    â€œI know. I can’t fry eggs properly, so I know it better than most people.”
    â€œSomeday, I will come here—no charge—and spend a day teaching you. Absolutely.”
    â€œThat would be divine.”
    â€œAnd I gave instructions to Josie and Donna about the service. They will not screw up.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Hunt,” Sally said, taking two bills from her bodice. “This is my own gift—something extra—a hundred for you and fifty for your