Summer Storm Read Free

over the country were given the opportunity to work in a theatrical production with a few noted professionals. Each year the festival did one play and concentrated on one period of theatrical history. A prominent scholar of that period was always invited to lecture and the college gave graduate credit to all the drama students who attended.
    “They’re doing the English Renaissance this year,” she said, “and as you know that’s my period. So, for the price of a few lectures, I’ll have a lovely New Hampshire vacation.”
    “What play are they doing?”
    “They’re being very ambitious. It’s Hamlet.”
    “Hamlet! And who is to play the lead?”
    “Adrian Saunders,” she said, naming a young English actor who had made a hit in a recent British series run on public television.
    “Ah.” He smiled at her, the famous devastating smile that was calculated to turn every woman’s bones to water. “It sounds like fun.”
    She rose to her feet and he rose also. “I think it will be.”
    He stood for a moment, looking down at her. “I’m afraid you’re going to be bothered, Mary. Just refuse to answer all questions. Don’t worry about being polite. Refuse all interviews. It will all die down in a short while, I promise you.”
    “I suppose so.” She sighed and then suddenly became very formal. “Good-bye Kit. It was kind of you to have come.” She did not offer him her hand.
    “I’m sorry it was on this particular business,” he replied gravely. “Do you know, no one has called me Kit for years.” He turned and walked swiftly out the door.
    She heard his car door slam and the engine start up.In a minute he had backed out of her driveway and had disappeared up the street. Mary sat down in her pine rocker and looked blindly at the sofa where he had sat. She had not felt so upset since the last time they had met.
    She would have been even more upset if she had heard the conversation Kit had with his agent early the following day. “Chris!” said Mel Horner genially when his secretary informed him who was on the phone. “What are you doing in New York?”
    “Never mind that Mel,” Kit replied. “I want you to book me into the Yarborough Festival this summer.”
    “What!”
    “You heard me,” Kit replied testily. “I want to work at the Yarborough Festival. They’re doing Hamlet, with Adrian Saunders.”
    “But if they have Adrian Saunders for Hamlet, what will you ...” The agent’s voice trailed off in bewilderment
    “I’ll play whatever they’ve got left.” His client’s voice was clear as a bell over the three-thousand-mile connection. “Laertes, Claudius, the gravedigger—I don’t care.”
    “But Chris,” his agent expostulated, “that is exactly the sort of thing you always avoid like the plague. The media will swamp you, wanting to know why you're taking such a small role...”
    “Goddammit, Mel,” Kit said savagely, “I don’t want a lecture. I want you to get me into that festival. I don’t care what I play, or how much money they offer. I just want in. Is that clear?”
    “Yeah,” said his agent faintly. “I’ll get on it right away.”
    “Good,” said Kit, and hung up the phone.
    * * * *
    Four days after Kit’s visit the storm broke over Mary’s head. Personality hit the stands with a picture on the cover of her standing on the steps of Freemont Hall. “ CHRIS DOUGLAS MARRIED !” screamed the headline. “Wife University Professor!”
    “Huh,” said Mary when she first saw it. “I wish I were a professor.” Then her phone started to ring and it didn’t stop until the end of the term when she fled the campus and went into seclusion.
    She went to Nantucket, where her oldest brother had a summer cottage. Her sister-in-law was in residence with the three children and Mike came out from Boston on weekends. Kathy was a warm and intelligent person who had the tact to leave Mary to herself and not burden her with unwanted sympathy. Mary played tennis with Kathy