The Girl from Summer Hill(12)

“Of course. Next!” he said loudly, then removed an envelope from his pile of papers, reached across Casey, and handed it to Olivia.

She opened it, began to pull out a photo, then quickly put it back inside.

“What’s that?” Casey asked.

“Nothing.” Olivia’s eyes were fixed straight ahead, on the stage.

Kit was also looking at the stage, where a girl was waiting. “Begin.”

The second audition was as bad as the first. The girl stuttered over her lines and tripped on her skirt.

“My kingdom for some popcorn,” Casey said.

It took two hours to get through all the auditions. They were mostly bad. The girls couldn’t seem to disassociate real life from the character they were playing.

As for the man—Casey learned his name was Devlin Haines—he was excellent. No matter how many times he said his lines, they were always with feeling.

“Studied in New York,” Kit said when Casey asked about him. “Gave up acting when he got married and had a kid. Said he needed the security of a regular job.”

“Married?” Casey’s voice showed that she didn’t like that news.

“I believe he is now divorced.”

“Interesting.” Casey turned her attention back to the next audition. This Lydia—who was thirty if she was a day—said, “Shouldn’t we kiss? That would make the scene more believable.”

“Not in Austen,” Kit said. “But maybe next time we’ll do Fanny Hill.”

“What’s that?” she asked, but Kit didn’t answer. Olivia and Casey had to bend forward to hide their faces so their laughter couldn’t be seen.

By noon everyone was hungry and wanted a break, but Kit said there was one more girl they should see.

The girl who’d taken the pastry and juice came onstage. She had on the costume but wore a big cardigan over it, and she still looked so shy that they wondered if she’d speak.

“You’re Lorraine Youngston?” Kit asked.

“Yes, and it’s Lori Young,” she answered rather timidly.

“She’s spending the summer with her grandmother at the lake,” Kit said to Casey and Olivia, then louder, “Begin, please.”

Lori took her time removing her sweater and putting it on a chair. The stage hadn’t been fully set but there were a few Regency-style props scattered about.

For the audition, Kit had written a scene that wasn’t in the book and wouldn’t be in the play—it was the first time Lydia and Wickham were alone.

Everyone watched as Lori walked across the stage to stand in front of Devlin. Then she changed. In a flash, she went from shyly slumping to shoulders back, her chest stuck out. When she smiled at Devlin, for a moment he seemed to lose his composure.

Her quick change in personality was similar to what Jack had done earlier. Casey looked at him, standing against the wall, and mouthed, “Like you.” Nodding in agreement, Jack gave a thumbs-up.

Lori’s performance was mesmerizing. She smiled and laughed—and tempted. Devlin, who had been so in charge in all the other auditions, so perfectly in control, twice stumbled over his lines.

When Lori finished, she abruptly put her concealing sweater back on, resumed her shy expression, and stood there looking at Kit.

He took a moment, then said, “Thank you, Lydia. Shall we break for lunch?”

Lori left the stage, smiling in a quiet, unassuming way.

As they were serving lunch, Casey realized that she’d left six pies on the counter at her house. They were already having to supplement with food and desserts from local stores, so they needed the pies. Besides, she’d promised some people a slice of her berry custard pie.

She saw that Gizzy and Jack were sitting close together in a corner, full plates on their laps. She asked him if she could borrow the truck and said, no, there was no need for him to drive her there and back.

Jack handed her the keys and as she headed for the door, Casey told Olivia that she’d be back in a few minutes.





Tate put his head back against the leather seat of the car and closed his eyes. Could this day possibly get any worse?

When he’d awakened early this morning, after a night of flopping around in bed, he knew he had to face his demons head-on. Even though it wasn’t yet full light, he knew he must go outside and look around. It’s what his sister, Nina, had been telling him to do for years.

Just three months ago, she’d again started in on him. “You spent all that money restoring the place but you’ve never even seen it. You have to go. Today. Now.”

“I know.” Tate was looking out the glass wall of his L.A. home. “I should go for a visit.”

“Right!” his sister said. “Mom would have wanted you to spend time there. She—”