Summer Storm by Joan Wolf Read Free Book Online

had the car moving briskly forward. The reporters all jumped aside, and as the car moved up the drive another guard firmly slammed the huge iron gate shut.
    “My God,” said Mary faintly. “What was that all about?”
    The guard smiled briefly. “You’re Mrs. Christopher Douglas, aren’t you?”
    “Are they still harping on that?” she said incredulously.
    “They’ve been here for almost a week now, I’m afraid. Nasty lot.” The car came to a halt in front of a venerable old brick building and a slim, wiry man came running down the steps. “Here’s Mr. Clark,” said her escort.
    “Dr. O’Connor?” The director of the festival opened the door of the Buick and Mary got out and offered her hand.
    “Yes. Hello, Mr. Clark. What a fuss at the gate!”
    “Isn’t it terrible?” he replied, looking not at all distressed. “I’ve put you in one of the summer cottages we had built a few years ago especially for the festival. I’ll drive with you over there and we can unload your luggage. Then, if you like, I’ll give you a quick tour of the campus.”
    “That sounds great,” Mary agreed. The guard got out of the car and she and George Clark got in.
    “Turn left at the bottom of the drive here,” he said and she accelerated slowly.
    The cottage she had been allotted was charming: small and rustic, with a bedroom, a sitting room, and a screened-in porch. “Meals are served in the dining room,” Mr. Clark told her. “I’m afraid we all eat together: professionals and students alike. It’s supposed to be part of the charm of the program.”
    She smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure it is, Mr. Clark.”
    “George, please,” he answered. “We’re very informal here in the summer.”
    “Then you must call me Mary.” She looked around her. The row of cottages was set in the side of hill and surrounded by huge pines. The sparkle of the lake was just visible through the trees. “It’s like a summer resort,” she said, half humorously.
    “I hope you are going to enjoy yourself,” he replied with a warm smile. “We didn’t ask you here just to work.”
    They walked around the campus and Mary found herself liking George Clark very much. He was not precisely good-looking but his narrow face and quick, nervous hands, were oddly attractive. They talked about her lectures and she told him a little of what she had planned. He was pleased and encouraging and told her something about the students she would be working with.
    “How is the play shaping up?” she asked curiously. “You’ve been rehearsing for a week now, haven’t you?”
    “Yes. And the most damnable thing has just happened. We’ve lost our Gertrude.”
    “Oh no,” she said with sympathetic concern. Gertrude was Hamlet’s mother in the play and it was a central role. “You had Maud Armitage, didn’t you? What happened?”
    “She broke her ankle on the tennis court.”
    “Good heavens.”
    “That is putting it mildly. I have a New York agent scouring the earth for a replacement—hopefully an actress who has done the part before. Time is getting short. It’s only three weeks until we open. That’s the one great drawback of this summer school—there just isn’t enough time.”
    “Well, it’s Hamlet who is really important,” she said soothingly. “How is Adrian Saunders managing?” They were walking up the path leading to the building that housed the English and drama departments, and at these words of hers he stopped dead. “Is something the matter?” she asked.
    “Is it possible you don’t know . . .?” He was staring at her in stunned surprise.
    “Know what?” Her voice was sharp with alarm.
    “Adrian Saunders backed out at the last minute,” he said slowly. “He got a movie offer and of course he wanted to take it. So we got someone else to play Hamlet.”
    She felt a warning prickle of apprehension. “Who?” she asked tensely and was not surprised when the answer came.
    “Christopher Douglas.”
    Her first