Summertime
Florence A. Watson

They were getting worried. It was, after all, almost time for the summer prompt.  Little groups had begun to gather in odd corners of the clubhouse grounds, though not in the clubhouse itself—at least not in the main part of the clubhouse.  She encountered them daily; she avoided them assiduously.

The lazy sultry sounds of Leontyne Price floated out across the lawn to the Secretary who sat leaning against a willow by the stream.

One of these mornings
You're going to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky

But till that morning
There's a'nothing can harm you
With daddy and mammy standing by

She had a perfect line of sight to the front porch on which lounged my_cnnr and trueriver, tall frosty glasses of iced coffee beside them.  They’d been visiting for the last month, clearly enjoying the company of characters, enjoying one another’s company too.  But visiting without purpose.

It had definitely unsettled the characters.  At first none had thought anything of it.  After all, community members popped in all the time, some lingering for days as they immersed themselves in the depths of a novel (often one they were reading for the first time, in glee, having finally acquired it after a long search through the dusty shelves of secondhand bookshops), while others merely visited briefly while they reacquainted themselves with favourite passages from a much-loved novel.  And, of course, from time to time, there was a huge influx of visitors when some special celebration was on.  She remembered the flurry of excitement—and crowds—for the five year celebrations a couple of years ago.  Then there had been that odd occasion several months back when greerwatson and fawatson had exchanged suitcases.  (She still wasn’t quite sure what that had been about.)  But—until now—no one had ever lived here, so to speak, for weeks at a time.  And they showed no sign of leaving any time soon, either.  Not that they were not welcome.  As moderators they were always welcome.  But it was just a tad odd.

A little group of characters came round the side of the clubhouse, passing under the archway of wisteria that marked the edge where patio gave way to lawn, carefully passing to the right of the cricket game, with one side captained by Ralph, while the other was led by Hephaistion.  They were clearly making a beeline in her direction.  The Secretary sighed and put away The Hobbit:  Bilbo would just have to wait; she wouldn’t get much more reading done today.

“We have been thinking,” began Mr Straike, as soon as he reached the trees, “and we believe it really is time you said something to the Moderators.”

No preamble, she thought (though she was careful not to say it), not even a polite greeting.  It was a measure of the increasing anxiety amongst the characters, that someone like Gareth Straike—normally extremely old-fashioned in his insistence on polite niceties—should fail even to say ‘hello’.  Though of course, as one of the less popular characters (even though from a much loved book), he might be wondering if his own existence was jeopardised by how quiet the community had become the last few weeks.  Some of the lesser characters from the more obscure novels had faded away to quite alarming translucency due to recent neglect.  She supposed he was wondering if he would be next.  (She could but live in hope.)

“What would you have me say?” she asked.

“Well, I think we just have to give them a little reminder,” said Lucy eagerly.  “After all, it is almost time for the summer prompt.  They must just have lost track of the time, that’s all.  They won’t want to miss the summer challenge.”

“But what if...,” Olive’s voice faded to a whisper, “I mean, it would be dreadful if....”

“Nonsense, Olive,” declared Lucy forthrightly, “I’ve told you not to go scaremongering.”

“Yes, but if....”

“If?” asked the Secretary wonderingly.  Whatever was Olive on about?

“If they’ve lost interest...and want to disband the community.”  Once again Olive’s voice dropped to a whisper, albeit a horrified one.  “One does hear of it happening sometimes.  And so many of the usually active community members have been...inactive...of recent....”

“They wouldn’t forget about us.”  Mr Straike spoke portentously.

“Heavens no!” exclaimed Lucy.  “They just need to be roused from their holiday—that’s all; and reminded of their duty.  They do stand in positions of responsibility, after all.”

“Perhaps...,” the Secretary spoke slowly, thinking furiously even as she formed the words.  She knew the Moderators had come for a well-deserved break, and could well imagine their responses if lectured about duty by the Straikes.

“Perhaps, what we need to do is develop our own prompt.”

Hmm...yes,  she liked that idea more the more she thought about it.  Why not have the characters set the summer prompt this year?  Or prompts?  After all—they didn’t have to have just one prompt this August.  Why not several suggestions—one from each character?

“Our own prompt?  Oooh, yes!”  Olive sounded breathless with excitement.

“Our own prompt.  Yes indeed; that would provide an excellent opportunity to refocus those writers who display somewhat frivolous tendencies onto more suitable subject matters,” Gareth Straike proclaimed heavily.  “My dear,” he turned to his wife, “perhaps you could organise a suitable committee to vet suggestions for us to forward to the members for their inspiration.”

The Secretary looked rather startled at this suggestion, and hastily intervened.  “Perhaps,” she said, “you should leave it to me to raise the matter with my_cnnr and trueriver.”

These interviews, conversations, and stories are written purely for entertainment, and as a tribute to the creator of the characters and author of The Charioteer, Mary Renault.   No copyright infringe­ment is intended.

“Summertime” was originally posted to the maryrenaultfics community, 27 July 2011, by fawatson.