Summer Storm by Joan Wolf Read Free Book Online Page A

impulse was to run. She went back to her cottage and set for a long time on the front porch, her hands clasped into tense fists, staring out at the pines. Two things finally got her on her feet and into the bedroom to unpack. One was the knowledge that if she backed out now, George Clark would be left without a teacher for his course. The other was her father’s advice about giving Yarborough a chance. Obviously he had known Kit was going to be here. And he had not told her, had let her come in ignorance of what she would find. Her father, she remembered, had always liked Kit.
    So she unpacked, showered and changed into a blue shirt-dress, and made her way slowly over to the dining hall. Sherry, George had told her, was served before dinner in the recreation room of the dining hall. She opened the door of the spacious, high-ceilinged room, stepped over the threshold and saw him immediately. He was surrounded by a pack of girls and seemed to be listening patiently to what one of them was saying. It was such a familiar pose to her: the turn of his head as it bent a little toward the favored person, the clear-cut profile.... He looked up and saw her. He dropped his fan club instantly and came across the room, moving like a panther with long, graceful, silent strides.
    He stopped in front of her and she said, “I didn’t know you were here.”
    “Yes,” he replied. “So George told me.” His eyes on her face were as black as coal. “Would you have come if you’d known?”
    “No.” She stared at him and her lovely full mouth tightened with temper. “Why, Kit? You knew I was lecturing here. There was a crowd of reporters at the gate when I came in. It’s going to be horrible.”
    “I thought it was time I tried something more serious,” he replied. “And I wanted to get back to the stage. When my agent called and told me the Yarborough Festival needed a Hamlet quickly, I took it. I knew you’d be here, of course, but as the truth of our relationship has already leaked, I didn’t see what harm could be done by my coming too.”
    She glared at him, her back rigid. “There’s no harm to you, of course, you’re probably used to people shouting at you and snapping your picture every time you go around the corner.I, thank God, am not accustomed to being perpetually hounded in such a fashion. And I don’t want to get accustomed to it. I am absolutely furious with you for doing this to me.”
    Her eyes shot blue fire at him. Infuriatingly, he grinned. “Now, now, don’t get your Irish up, Princess.” A man appeared at her elbow and he said, “I don’t think you know Mel Horner, my agent. This is Dr. O’Connor, Mel, of whom you have heard much.”
    Princess. He used to call her Princess when . . . “How do you do, Mr. Horner,” she got out and offered her hand. Somewhere a bell rang and they were all moving into dinner. She found herself between George Clark and Frank Moore, a nice boy from Kit’s old drama school who was to play Laertes. Kit was sitting opposite her, flanked by the pretty student who was to play Ophelia and a young art student who was working on the set. She was also very pretty.
    Everyone but Mary had been in residence for a week and they all seemed to be quite comfortable with each other. The girls were obviously overwhelmed by Kit and hung on his every word with breathless attention. Mary sat quietly and let the conversation flow around her.
    “What did you think of the costume sketches, Chris?” George asked.
    “I liked them.” Kit took a sip out of his glass. He was drinking milk. “I think not quite so much velvet, though? We may be in New England but it is summer after all.”
    “True,” George agreed. “And the lights can get pretty hot.”
    A little silence fell as Kit attacked his pot roast.Hehad always been a good trencherman, Mary remembered. He ate little breakfast and lunch, but he liked his dinner.
    “I’ve wanted to ask you something about your last picture, Chris,”