The Hamlet Trap Read Online Free

the back door before either Gray or Laura had a chance to.
    â€œWhy don’t I just give you the key and let you roam by yourselves,” she said brightly. “You’ll have things to discuss about the house. I’ll wait here.”
    She watched them enter and then turned her attention to the view. It was spectacular day or night, just as the view was from her own house. The mountain dropped down to the valley floor, where the main part of town was, then there was a relatively flat area four or five miles wide, then foothills that rolled exactly the way Delaware countryside did, and beyond that, more mountains. Behind her the mountain continued upward, heavily forested, deep green summer and winter, with firs, pines, spruces, madrones—conifers and broad-leaf evergreens of a rain forest merging with trees of a drier climate. Everything was here together. It was nearly chanterelle time, she thought; she and Peter were going on a great mushroom hunt after a good soaking rain. Any day now it would rain, the start of the new season, but this day was brilliantly clear, the sky gloriously blue, with idealized clouds, the kind that children draw, glowing marshmallow clouds. There would be another breathtaking sunset later.
    Inside the house, Gray watched Laura examine the rooms. Too expensive, they both had said on entering, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe the owners were desperate to have it occupied during the winter. He would call. And meanwhile he didn’t give a damn about room size, or furnishings, or even the view. It was okay, good enough, if they could afford it.
    â€œYou going to tell me what’s bugging you?” he asked abruptly.
    â€œNothing.” She stiffened with the words in a way that meant: Don’t push, not right now, anyway.
    He understood her signals, maybe even better than she did. He did not push. He knew part of the problem: as he had become more and more excited and eager, she had become more anxious and withdrawn. What he had seen as the opportunity to meet colleagues, she had seen as the threat of an overwhelming mob. Already he was categorizing the people he had met, and she probably didn’t remember a single name, except for Roman Cavanaugh. He understood, but felt impatient with her sudden insecurity. This was his world in a way that the University of Connecticut had never been. Here he would be in charge, in control, not a part-time flunky serving at the whim of a jackass who had tenure. Laura had gone into the kitchen to check on cookware: apparently they would have to buy nothing, it was all in the house, except for linens, and they had packed hers in the trailer. Gray gazed out the window at the view across the valley, and wanted only to get on with it, to start his new job.
    Laura returned carrying a notebook. They would have to get the electricity turned on, and the phone, find out about garbage collection… . “It’s really a nice house,” she said uncertainly. It was, but it felt like someone else’s house. Wall-to-wall carpeting, soft beige plush, fine furniture, not quite antique, but not Grand Rapids either. A fully equipped kitchen, even a microwave, laundry room equipped… The problem was that she kept expecting the owners to enter momentarily and demand an explanation. Gray had walked to the front of the room and was looking out at the street, the driveway. She looked past him and saw the girl who had brought them here. The wind had started to blow, molding her jeans to her long legs, her hair against her cheeks. She glanced from her to Gray and thought clearly, of course, never an actress with her lovely face and body, but someone like that, someone loose-bodied and not beautiful and somehow free.
    â€œReady?” he asked, turning back to her.
    She nodded. She couldn’t tell if he had even been looking at the girl in the driveway, but if not now, later, another day. She did not try to rationalize her certainty. It came