The Birds of the Air Read Online Free PDF Page B

was growing late, and Hunter’s eyes were a little blurred.
    ‘I must get you back to the Savoy,’ he said to Mr Mauss.
    ‘That’s very good of you,’ said Mr Mauss equably, putting down his glass and looking round for the door.
    ‘Well, in a minute,’ said Hunter. ‘I must say goodbye.’
    ‘Oh, me too,’ said Mr Mauss, quite unruffled.
    Hunter kissed Barbara’s cheek – something he hadn’t done before. ‘It was a lovely party,’ he said. ‘I’m so looking forward to Christmas Day.’
    Barbara gazed at him silently, waiting for some explanation of this odd remark.
    ‘I’m going to Mary’s for lunch,’ he explained. ‘Your mother asked me.’
    Barbara smiled slowly. Somewhere in that area of the human mind where the wish is father to the thought activity was taking place. Hunter, Barbara decided, had wangled this invitation in order to be with her. Not even his description of her mother’s house as Mary’s annoyed her now. Hunter desired her, and Sebastian should be taught a lesson.
    She didn’t move or speak, merely smiled a slightly batty smile and watched him walk away.
    The smile alarmed Hunter. Being in the world of books he was familiar with lunacy in all its forms and that smile reminded him of something. He had last seen it, he remembered, on the face of an author who had written a book combining the basic principles of zoology with psycho-analysis which he believed beyond all doubt would change the course of the world. He shuddered. Sebastian was a tiresome fellow, he thought censoriously, and being lazy-minded about human relations he didn’t bother to ask himself why Sebastian’s infidelity should bring that particular look of loony expectation to Barbara’s face. Seizing Mr Mauss, he made for the door.
    Kate, flushed with praise and approval and quite above herself, rebuked her brother for making their mummy cry.
    Sam had remained at the party, prominently placed in the centre of the room, in order to save face. He hadn’t enjoyed it, and this was too much.
    ‘Fuck off,’ he said very loudly.
    Hunter had to intervene. Seeing Sebastian’s expression, he dropped Mr Mauss and stepped in front of Sam, wondering as he did so why it was that so many publishers were regarded by their authors as mother, father, guide, philosopher and friend (not to mention pimp, psychiatrist, midwife, bank) and, what’s more, so often felt it incumbent upon themselves to fulfil these expectations. He himself didn’t like authors much, especially Seb Lamb.
    ‘My dear,’ he said, seizing Sebastian by the upper arm. ‘Otis wishes to say goodbye to you.’
    ‘G’bye,’ said Mr Mauss docilely. ‘Seeya m’next trip. Come to Dallas.’
    Stepping thankfully through the front door into the cold air of the stone town, Hunter was yet again pounced on by a Lamb.
    ‘Sam’s gone,’ Kate gabbled excitedly. ‘He’s run away, and Mummy’s gone after him, without her coat.’
    Handing Mr Mauss back into the hallway, Hunter took off down the street. Barbara was wringing her hands on the next corner and peering despairingly to right and left. Twice before Sam had been brought home by the police and she was sick of it. She couldn’t bear any more . . .
    Hunter saw Sam first, across the road, standing in a bus queue with one or two old people who were talking to each other because it was so cold.
    ‘Sam,’ called Barbara. ‘Come here at once.’
    Sam stared deafly ahead.
    ‘Sam,’ repeated Barbara on the edge of hysteria.
    ‘A’right, OK,’ said Sam, loping nonchalantly across the road.
    The old people gazed, silenced, at their departing companion wondering perhaps whether this was an abduction, but not very interested.
    Mary awoke early to a sky the colour of writing paper, very high and blandly indifferent. She wished she could throw something human, something bad, at that pale and careless sky – beyond which, she suspected, the little gods were playing selfish games.
    The snow had gone in the