Free Windmills of the Gods by Sidney Sheldon Page B

kind of trouble at all. As far as I know,” she added lamely.
    He was watching her with obvious skepticism.
    “Didn’t they tell you why they were asking questions about me?”
    “No. As a matter of fact, I was asked to keep the conversation in strict confidence. But I have a loyalty to my staff, and I felt it only fair that you should be informed about this. If there is something I should know, I would prefer to hear it from you. Any scandal involving one of our professors would reflect badly on the university.”
    She shook her head helplessly. “I—I really can’t think of anything.”
    He looked at her a moment, as though about to say something else, then nodded. “So be it, Mrs. Ashley.”
    She watched him walk out of her office and wondered: What in God’s name could I have done?
    Mary was very quiet during dinner. She wanted to wait until Edward finished eating before she broke the news of this latest development. They would try to figure out the problem together. The children were being impossible again. Beth refused to touch her dinner.
    “No one eats meat anymore. It’s a barbaric custom carried over from the caveman. Civilized people don’t eat live animals.”
    “It’s not alive,” Tim argued. “It’s dead, so you might as well eat it.”
    “Children!” Mary’s nerves were on edge. “Not another word. Beth, go make yourself a salad.”
    “She could go graze in the field,” Tim offered.
    “Tim! You finish your dinner.” Her head was beginning to pound. “Edward—”
    The telephone rang.
    “That’s for me,” Beth said. She leaped out of her chair and raced toward the telephone. She picked it up and said seductively, “Virgil?” She listened a moment, and her expression changed. “Oh, sure,” she said disgustedly. She slammed down the receiver and returned to the table.
    “What was that all about?” Edward asked.
    “Some practical joker. He said it was the White House calling Mom.”
    “The White House?” Edward asked.
    The telephone rang again.
    “I’ll get it,” Mary said. She rose and walked over to the telephone. “Hello.” As she listened, her face grew grim. “We’re in the middle of dinner, and I don’t happen to think this is funny. You can just—what?…Who? The President?” There was a sudden hush in the room. “Wait a—I—oh, good evening, Mr. President.” There was a dazed expression on her face. Her family was watching her, wide-eyed. “Yes, sir. I do. I recognize your voice. I—I’m sorry about hanging up a moment ago. Beth thought it was Virgil, and—yes, sir. Thank you.” She stood there listening. “Would I be willing to serve as what ?” Her face suddenly flushed.
    Edward was on his feet, moving toward the phone, the children close behind him.
    “There must be some mistake, Mr. President. My name is Mary Ashley. I’m a professor at Kansas State University, and—You read it? Thank you, sir… That’s very kind of you… Yes, I believe it is…” She listened for a long time. “Yes, sir, I agree. But that doesn’t mean that I…Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I see. Well, I’m certainly flattered. I’m sure it’s a wonderful opportunity, but I…Of course I will.I’ll talk it over with my husband and get back to you.” She picked up a pen and wrote down a number. “Yes, sir. I have it. Thank you, Mr. President. Good-bye.”
    She slowly replaced the receiver and stood there in shock.
    “What in God’s name was that all about?” Edward demanded.
    “Was that really the President?” Tim asked.
    Mary sank into a chair. “Yes. It really was.”
    Edward took Mary’s hand in his. “Mary—what did he say? What did he want?”
    Mary sat there, numb, thinking: So that’s what all the questioning has been about.
    She looked up at Edward and the children and said slowly, “The President read my book and the article of mine in Foreign Affairs magazine, and he thought it was brilliant. He said that’s the kind of thinking he wants for his