The Man in the Net Read Online Free PDF Page A

I can hardly wait. It’ll be such an event for me. Then I’ll feel I really do belong.”
    He turned into the highway which skirted the lake and soon swung into the Careys’ drive and down it to the old gravel parking area at the back of the house. The old Careys’ Cadillac was already there, parked by the young Careys’ Buick and their old convertible, but the Morelands’ Mercedes, brought back from a recent foray into Germany, had not yet arrived. John climbed out of the car, carrying the tray, and rang the doorbell. As he did so, there was an insistent tinkling behind him. He turned to see Leroy Phillips, very neat in a white shirt and grey shorts, appearing through a stone archway on a bicycle. Leroy’s parents worked as cook-butler for the young Careys and, sticklers for etiquette, made a point of keeping Leroy out of their employers’ eye. John had scarcely ever seen him at the Careys’ before The little boy pedaled determinedly up and smiled his dazzling smile.
    “Hi, Mr. Hamilton.”
    “Hi, Leroy.”
    Leroy looked down at his handlebars, overcome by bashfulness. “We went swimming. We all went swimming, Emily and Angel and Buck and—and Timmie.”
    “You did?”
    “Yes, we did. And”—Leroy glanced up from under long black lashes—“Emily and Angel have a secret.”
    “What sort of a secret?”
    “A great big terrific secret. Do you think they’d tell me, Mr. Hamilton?”
    “They might.”
    “But they said they wouldn’t. They said they wouldn’t tell anyone. Timmie … he’s getting a space-suit from his father, and Timmie said if he’d let Angel wear his space-suit would she tell him the secret. But Angel said no. She said …”
    The door opened and Alonso Phillips, in his white butler’s coat and black pants, beamed at John.
    “Evening, Mr. Hamilton.” He saw Leroy and bent down, scowling a ferocious mock scowl. “What’s the matter with you? You know better’n to bring that bicycle around here. Scat, you—disappear.” He beamed back at John. “It is you, Mr. Hamilton. He’s been hanging around waiting ever since he knew you was coming. That boy’s just crazy about you. I guess all the kids are—just nuts about you. Come in, sir. They’re out on the terrace taking their cocktails. Mrs. Hamilton not with you tonight?”
    “No. I’m afraid she’s got a bad headache.”
    “My! That’s a shame. And a birthday party too.”
    John followed him through the living-room and then went out on to the paved fieldstone terrace.
    It stretched the whole length of the house and looked across Lake Sheldon which, although its north shore belonged to the township, was considered by the Carey set as their own private lake. The Carey family was seated around a cluster of wrought-iron porch furniture and blue-and-white-striped umbrellas. Old Mr. Carey, bland, vigorous and formidable, sat holding a martini in his hand like a gavel, as if the party were a board meeting at which he had indulgently condescended to preside. His wife, faded and fluttery, was seated at his side in her perpetual role of handmaiden. Brad Carey, very much the respectful son and heir, was mixing drinks at a glass-and-iron bar. Vickie was ensconced at a central table which was loaded with birthday gifts.
    When they saw John, the old Careys, as always, pretended they hadn’t seen him. Unless you were a real member of their court, you were given the royal dead-eye until the formal moment of presentation. Brad waved from the bar. Vickie jumped up and hurried toward him.
    “Hello, John. How nice to see you. But where’s Linda?”
    Her odd, irregular face was almost homely but its spontaneous smile always warmed John. As he presented the gift and made his explanations, she shook her head.
    “Poor dear Linda. How miserable.”
    Brad, crew-cutted, smooth and cheerful, joined them with a martini for John. In the Carey set you were never asked what you wanted to drink. It was beyond