serious, Chris?”
“I am perfectly serious. It’s the only way to put all these unfortunate rumors to rest. I do not,” he said with devastating simplicity, “want the press to disturb my wife.”
Chapter Five
Tuesday morning Mary delivered her first lecture. . There were thirty-five students in the festival program, some of them members of the cast and the rest involved in other aspects of the production. She knew that the young eyes watching her so assessingly were more interested in her relationship to their leading man than they were in her academic record. Well, she thought grimly, they were damn well going to be in for a shock.
The first thing she did was to hand out a reading list. Eyes popped open and a male voice asked incredulously, “Do you really expect us to read all these books?”
. The speaker was the tall, broad-shouldered, blond boy who was playing Fortinbras. Physically a good foil for Kit, she thought, before she answered, “Certainly I do. You are all receiving six graduate credits for this summer school. I rather imagined you would expect to work for them.”
“Well, we are working,” replied the boy. He gave her a lazy, charming grin. “I don’t at all object to sitting in class with you,Dr. O’Connor. In fact, it’s a pleasure. But between rehearsals and daily lectures, I really don’t see how we can possibly get all this reading done.”
Mary looked severely into the handsome, boyish face. “That, Mr. Lindquist, sounds to me both unscholarly and insincere. Are you quite sure you wish to remain enrolled in this summer school?”
There was absolute silence in the classroom. Then Eric Lindquist said quietly, “Yes, I’m sure. I apologize, Dr. O’Connor.”
“Your apology is accepted.” She glanced around the class. “Are there any further questions? No? Good. My topic for today is the place of drama in Renaissance England.” The students obediently picked up their pens.
* * * *
The press conference was held that afternoon in the recreation room of the dining hall. Mel Horner, taking full advantage of his client’s unusual mood, had made a few telephone calls, and as a result there were representatives from the New York press and the wire services as well as the usual fan and scandal sheets. George Clark served as a general host, and while they were waiting for Kit to arrive, he and the other cast members circulated among the press, answering questions about the production and even more questions about Mr. and Mrs. Douglas.
“I don’t know much about her at all,” Frank Moore said cheerfully to an inquisitive reporter. “She’s supposed to be a terrific Renaissance scholar. I haven’t read her book yet, but it made quite a stir in the academic world. If today’s lecture is anything to go on, the reputation is deserved. She knows her stuff. What’s more—she makes it interesting.”
George Clark, the only one besides Kit and Mel Horner who knew the real circumstances behind Kit’s presence at his festival, lied gamely. “No, it was a complete accident. Neither of them realized the other was coming to Yarborough.”
“How do they act toward each other, Mr. Clark?” shot an eager woman reporter.
“As two civilized people,” snapped George in return. He was beginning to realize why Kit did not give press conferences. He noticed a small movement at the door and then Kit came quietly in. He was dressed casually in a navy golf shirt and tan pants and he stood in the doorway, making no sound and slowly looking around the room. Gradually, without his seeming to do anything at all to attract it, the attention of the room swung his way and the place erupted into chaos. George Clark suddenly found himself a little shaken at the thought of directing Christopher Douglas. Magnetism like that was something that came along perhaps once in a generation.
Mel Horner stepped to the mike that had been set up and spoke into it. “Now, ladies and gentlemen. Mr.
“I am perfectly serious. It’s the only way to put all these unfortunate rumors to rest. I do not,” he said with devastating simplicity, “want the press to disturb my wife.”
Chapter Five
Tuesday morning Mary delivered her first lecture. . There were thirty-five students in the festival program, some of them members of the cast and the rest involved in other aspects of the production. She knew that the young eyes watching her so assessingly were more interested in her relationship to their leading man than they were in her academic record. Well, she thought grimly, they were damn well going to be in for a shock.
The first thing she did was to hand out a reading list. Eyes popped open and a male voice asked incredulously, “Do you really expect us to read all these books?”
. The speaker was the tall, broad-shouldered, blond boy who was playing Fortinbras. Physically a good foil for Kit, she thought, before she answered, “Certainly I do. You are all receiving six graduate credits for this summer school. I rather imagined you would expect to work for them.”
“Well, we are working,” replied the boy. He gave her a lazy, charming grin. “I don’t at all object to sitting in class with you,Dr. O’Connor. In fact, it’s a pleasure. But between rehearsals and daily lectures, I really don’t see how we can possibly get all this reading done.”
Mary looked severely into the handsome, boyish face. “That, Mr. Lindquist, sounds to me both unscholarly and insincere. Are you quite sure you wish to remain enrolled in this summer school?”
There was absolute silence in the classroom. Then Eric Lindquist said quietly, “Yes, I’m sure. I apologize, Dr. O’Connor.”
“Your apology is accepted.” She glanced around the class. “Are there any further questions? No? Good. My topic for today is the place of drama in Renaissance England.” The students obediently picked up their pens.
* * * *
The press conference was held that afternoon in the recreation room of the dining hall. Mel Horner, taking full advantage of his client’s unusual mood, had made a few telephone calls, and as a result there were representatives from the New York press and the wire services as well as the usual fan and scandal sheets. George Clark served as a general host, and while they were waiting for Kit to arrive, he and the other cast members circulated among the press, answering questions about the production and even more questions about Mr. and Mrs. Douglas.
“I don’t know much about her at all,” Frank Moore said cheerfully to an inquisitive reporter. “She’s supposed to be a terrific Renaissance scholar. I haven’t read her book yet, but it made quite a stir in the academic world. If today’s lecture is anything to go on, the reputation is deserved. She knows her stuff. What’s more—she makes it interesting.”
George Clark, the only one besides Kit and Mel Horner who knew the real circumstances behind Kit’s presence at his festival, lied gamely. “No, it was a complete accident. Neither of them realized the other was coming to Yarborough.”
“How do they act toward each other, Mr. Clark?” shot an eager woman reporter.
“As two civilized people,” snapped George in return. He was beginning to realize why Kit did not give press conferences. He noticed a small movement at the door and then Kit came quietly in. He was dressed casually in a navy golf shirt and tan pants and he stood in the doorway, making no sound and slowly looking around the room. Gradually, without his seeming to do anything at all to attract it, the attention of the room swung his way and the place erupted into chaos. George Clark suddenly found himself a little shaken at the thought of directing Christopher Douglas. Magnetism like that was something that came along perhaps once in a generation.
Mel Horner stepped to the mike that had been set up and spoke into it. “Now, ladies and gentlemen. Mr.
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