Summer Storm by Joan Wolf Page B

all I had to do, really.” His eyes were black and inscrutable as he watched her face.
    “I know.” She looked at him very seriously. “Why did you take those parts. Kit? They surprised me. I thought, after The Russian Experiment, you would hold out for something more serious.”
    “Can’t you guess?”
    “No.”
    He smiled crookedly. “Money, my dear. Filthy lucre. I wanted to put enough of it in the bank so that I’d never have to worry about it again. And I’ve done that. I had ten percent of Raid On Kailis, you know.” He pushed his coffee cup away. “I’m not ashamed of those films. They were well done, they were fun, they were exciting without being violent. They weren’t terribly serious, I’ll agree, but they served a purpose. They entertained millions.”
    “Yes,” she said slowly. “I know that.” She gave him a worried look. “But you are going to have to come up with a helluva Hamlet to beat the image you’ve made for yourself. The critics won’t incline toward leniency.”
    “Are you concerned about me, Mary?” he asked softly.
    “Yes. I am. The rehearsal time is too short. You’re working with students. And Margot.” Her voice altered imperceptibly as she said that last name and he grinned.
    “She’s going to be all right. All George has to do is put her at center stage and she’s happy.”
    “How about you?”
    He looked sardonic. “I don’t need the center of the stage.”
    Her throat was suddenly dry. “Kit”—unconsciously she leaned toward him—”can you do it?”
    “I think so. If I want to.” His voice was soft and very deep. “Is it important to you that I succeed?”
    “Yes.” Her voice in return was barely a whisper. “Yes, it is.”
    “Mind if I join you?” said George’s cheerful voice.
    “Of course not,” returned Mary after a minute, forcing a smile.
    Kit turned his splendid raven head toward George and favored him with a cold stare. “You’re up late,” he said disapprovingly.
    “It’s Sunday,” replied George mildly, tucking into his plate of scrambled eggs. “My day of rest.”
    “Why don’t you go over and hold Margot’s hand for a while?” asked Kit disagreeably.
    “It’s not my hand she wants to hold.” George refused to be ruffled by his star’s evident bad temper. Kit gave up trying to intimidate him and turned to Mary.
    “How about a game of tennis?” he asked.
    “Tennis?” She looked at him incredulously. “You never played tennis before. You said it was a sissy game.”
    He grinned a little. “I was being defensive. I didn’t want you to teach me to play because I knew you’d beat me.”
    She gave him a long blue stare. “And now you think I can’t?”
    “I don’t know,” he returned frankly, “but at least it’ll be a contest.”
    “I’ll meet you at the courts in half an hour,” she said.
    “Fine.” He smiled pleasantly at George. “See you later,” he said and strolled casually out of the dining room. Everyone present, including George and Mary, watched him go.
    * * * *
    Half an hour later, dressed in a white tennis dress and carrying her racquet and a Thermos, Mary arrived at the tennis courts. There were four of them, each with a concrete rubberized surface and all four were presently in use. Mary went to sit next to Kit on the bench and looked at him appraisingly.He was wearing white shorts and a light blue shirt.
    “How good are you?” she asked speculatively.
    He glanced sideways down at her, his lowered lashes looking absurdly long against the hard male line of his cheek. “You’ll find out.”
    “We’re through now,” said Nancy Sealy as she came over to the bench with the girl she had been playing. “You can have our court, Mary.”
    “Thanks.” Mary flashed the girl a smile and bent her head to unzip her racquet cover. That look of Kit’s had disturbed her, and as she took the court she tried to ignore the suddenly accelerated beat of her heart.
    They warmed up for five minutes,