The Man in the Net Read Online Free PDF

belief that anyone could want anything but a martini mixed to the exact Carey formula. Except Linda, of course. Everyone in the Carey set knew that Linda didn’t drink. For Linda there was always the ritualistic tomato juice with a dash of Worcestershire sauce.
    Vickie said, “Darling, Linda’s got another of those migraines.”
    “Gee, that’s tough, poor kid.” Brad turned his straight blue gaze on John. “She was so crazy about the birthday party, too. You’re sure she couldn’t make it?”
    “I’m afraid so. When it hits her, it knocks her out completely.”
    In a loud voice, Mr. Carey, who had a ponderously flirtatious weakness for Linda, said to his wife, “Why do they say she’s not coming?”
    Mrs. Carey started, as she invariably did when her husband addressed her. “I think, dear, they say she has a headache.”
    “A headache!” Mr. Carey snorted. “What sort of an excuse is a headache for missing a birthday party?”
    “It’s migraine, Daddy,” called Vickie. “That’s much worse.” She unwrapped the tray and thanked John warmly.
    Mr. Carey said, “What have they given her?”
    “I think, dear,” said Mrs. Carey, “it’s a tray.”
    As John moved to pay his formal respects to the old Careys, there was the sound of voices in the house singing “Happy birthday, dear Vickie”, deliberately off key. Instantly the terrace was galvanized as Gordon and Roz Moreland erupted on to the porch with Timmie trailing behind them. Roz was carrying an enormous package and was stooping comically as if its weight was crushing her. Gordon had one arm uplifted, and looped on to an arched little finger by a pink bow was a tiny, contrasting package.
    The completed Carey set greeted each other with cries and kisses.
    “Vickie darling, open the packages. Quick. We brought them all the way from Europe, from a divine little shop in Taormina.”
    “Oh, Roz, you shouldn’t …”
    The large package turned out to be an embroidered Sicilian peasant dress on a hanger, the little one was a pair of silver earrings made like miniature donkey carts. Vickie was enchanted; old Mr. Carey guffawed. Everyone got their martinis. The Morelands were shown the present the Fishers had sent them from California and had Linda’s absence explained to them, not by John, but by Mr. Carey who had taken over the role of information bureau.
    Only Timmie was left out. The Carey set firmly believed that children should go everywhere their parents went, but, as Timmie was the only actual child involved and since the Morelands also believed that you shouldn’t let your children run your life, he hadn’t been given a present to bring Vickie and was now ignored. Inevitably, he gravitated to John. Tense and anxious, he was the least aggressive of the children’s quintet and John had a special protective affection for him.
    Timmie was telling him excitedly about the space-suit.
    “Daddy said he’d get it in Pittsfield today, but he had so much to do, he said, there wasn’t time. But I’m going to have it soon and it’s going to be a great big space-suit with a great big balloon thing for my head and maybe Buck’s going to get one too. He said that maybe …”
    “Now, Timmie darling, don’t be a bore. Poor Mr. Hamilton doesn’t want to hear about your space-suit.” Roz Moreland had swooped over, giving John a rueful “this mother-thing” smile. A long tortoiseshell cigarette holder was in her mouth. “Timmie, dear, go out and look for that cunning little colored boy who’s such a pal of yours. You know, Mr. Hamilton, Gordon and I think it’s absolutely absurd to put up barriers. In Marrakesh, winter before last, Timmie had such a cute little Arab side-kick. Abdullah, such an enchanting Arabian Nights name.”
    “His name is Ahmed,” said Timmie. “That’s his name. Ahmed.”
    Roz Moreland patted him absently on the head. “Now, darling, don’t be difficult. Just run off and play