Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks Read Free Book Online Page B

early and went downstairs to find something to eat in the kitchen. He walked along the passageways of the ground floor, his footsteps alive in the closed air. There were still rooms in the house he had not visited and others which, having once glanced into, he could not refind. From the doors of a small sitting room he let himself into the cool of the garden and walked down to the end of the lawn. Beneath a chestnut tree there was a bench, where he sat chewing on the bread he had taken from the kitchen, looking back at the house. The night before he had taken his knife and made a small sculpture from a piece of soft wood he had found in the garden. He took it from his jacket pocket and examined it in the fresh, damp air of the morning. It was the figure of a woman in a_
    _long skirt and little jacket; close indentations in the wood indicated her hair, though the features could only be represented by marks for the eyes and mouth. He took the knife and trimmed a few shavings from around the feet, to make them look more realistic where they emerged from the skirt. He saw some shutters being opened on a first-floor bedroom. He imagined the sound of voices and running water and door handles being turned. When he judged that the whole family would be dressed and downstairs, he returned to the house.
    The children were not excited by the prospect of the trip round the water gardens. Madame Azaire leant across Grégoire to stop him tapping his spoon on the table. She was dressed in cream linen with a blue sash and a panel in the dress with a row of buttons that neither opened nor held anything together.
    Lisette eyed Stephen flirtatiously. "So are you coming to the famous water gardens?" she said.
    "I don't know if I'm invited."
    "Of course you are," said Madame Azaire.
    "In that case I will, with pleasure."
    Lisette said, "Well, that might make it a bit less boring."
    "It's very kind of Monsieur Bérard to invite us," said Madame Azaire. "You must be very polite to both of them. And I don't think that dress is quite right, either, for a girl of your age. It's too small."
    "But it's so _hot," _said Lisette.
    "I can't help the weather. Now run and put on something else."
    "Run, run, run," said Lisette sulkily as she pushed back her chair. Her arm brushed Stephen's shoulder on her way to the door. The dress in question emphasised the plump swell of her breasts, of which she was clearly proud. The five of them set out toward eleven o'clock, with Marguerite, the maid, helping Stephen and Madame Azaire to carry the various baskets of food, parasols, rugs, and extra clothes that had been deemed necessary. It was only a short walk to the edge of the water gardens. They went down a flight of steps to the landing stage, where Bérard was waiting in a straw hat. Madame Bérard was already installed in the stern of a flat-bottomed boat that was shaped, after long local tradition, like a punt with a raised and squared-off end.
    "Madame, good morning! What a lovely day." Bérard was at his most expansive. He held out his arm to help Madame Azaire down into the boat. Gripping his proffered arm with one hand, she raised her skirt with the other and stepped lightly into the low craft. Grégoire, no longer bored as he had been, pushed excitedly past the others and jumped in, making the boat rock. Madame Bérard let out a little scream, "Oh, Papa!"
    Bérard laughed. "Women and children first."
    Lisette embarked with his help and sat next to Madame Azaire.
    "I shall be the helmsman in the stern of the craft," said Bérard impressively,
    "so you sit facing Lisette and you, Monsieur," he said to Stephen, "if you sit next to Grégoire, and Madame Bérard would like to go here, opposite you, Azaire--that's right--then we shall have perfect balance."
    Stephen settled opposite Madame Azaire, as instructed, and found room for his feet on the floor of the boat while trying not to touch hers.
    Bérard let out a nautical cry and clambered into the stern, pushing