Part 5 (2/2)
Brooke glanced at the other woman's face, trying to judge her sincerity. Experience had taught her just how easily a certain type of southern woman could charm you even while they were laughing at you inside.
Brooke waited for Samantha to pull away and signal the end of their conversation. Instead she said, ”I've heard the first program starts with the sinking of the t.i.tanic. I don't think I can take watching people freeze to death. This isn't a tearjerker, is it?”
”G.o.d, I hope not,” Brooke said. ”Although I may not be the right person to ask since apparently even exercise equipment can make me cry.”
There was a small, but encouraging, hiccup of laughter from a pair of lips she didn't think even Zachary would try to improve on.
”I haven't seen the opening episodes,” Brooke replied. ”And what I have seen was out of order. But it was really well done.”
”All right, ladies,” Edward Parker said, holding white and red wine bottles aloft. ”Last call for alcohol until after the program. Who's ready for more?”
”I'll have another gla.s.s!” A gray-haired woman off to the side yelled.
”Me, too!” said the woman next to her.
There were some cackles of laughter. A happy sort of hum filled the room.
Brooke realized as she watched their concierge in action that she'd been expecting some sort of prim and proper evening-but Edward Parker clearly knew how to handle a crowd of women. She felt her body begin to loosen slightly-no doubt a result of the two and a half gla.s.ses of wine she'd drunk. Which was two and a half more than usual. She'd learned how dangerous it was to deal with Zachary if her senses were the least bit dulled; if she weren't careful she and the girls would be living out on the street in a cardboard box from one of his pieces of fancy equipment.
”I don't know, Mrs. Mackelbaum,” the concierge said to a gray-haired woman who hooted at him. ”I may have to cut you and Mrs. Hopewell off.”
There was laughter.
”Don't forget I practically grew up in a pub. I know how to handle the likes of you!” the concierge teased.
The mood in the room grew more buoyant with laughter and expectation. With a nod from Edward Parker the lights dimmed. ”All right ladies. Sit back, relax, and enjoy. You are now about to enter the luscious and thrilling world of Downton Abbey.”
He aimed the remote at the hundred-plus-inch screen. Brooke leaned forward in her seat as the television flickered to life and the PBS logo filled the screen. Laura Linney welcomed them to Masterpiece Cla.s.sic.
Brooke barely breathed as she watched a finger tap out a message on a Teletype. A train whistle sounded. The train cut through the countryside while an unknown man stared out the window. Scenery swept by. Music played lightly. The hum of the telegraph wires that ran along the track could be heard, an urgent clacking. The message arrived at a British telegraph office, but it was too early to deliver it.
The music swelled and a magnificent castle loomed large, framed in blue sky and green gra.s.s. Brooke leaned toward the screen to better breathe in the stunning opening visuals as the servants began their day and the fateful telegram arrived. Beside her Samantha Davis went still as Robert, the Seventh Earl of Grantham and his rich American wife awoke to discover what the sinking of the t.i.tanic would mean to all of the inhabitants of Downton Abbey.
CHAPTER NINE.
THERE WAS SILENCE AS THE PROGRAM ENDED with Matthew Crawley receiving the fateful message from Lord Grantham. The silence continued as the music swelled and the closing credits began. Then someone, Samantha wasn't sure who, began to applaud. Brooke who hadn't seemed to move so much as a muscle during the program joined in. There were whistles and one ”woo-hoo!”
”Wow,” Brooke said.
”Yeah,” Samantha agreed. It was odd to be so transported, inserted so cleanly into such a different time and place.
People stood, but no one made a move for the door.
”Just as I feared,” Edward said. ”You absolutely hated it.”
There was laughter and conversation. An angular woman with s.h.a.ggy blond hair walked over to Brooke and Samantha.
”This is Claire Walker,” Brooke said. ”Claire, Samantha Davis. Claire and I met the day my dog and my daughters mowed her down in the lobby.”
Samantha shook Claire's hand. ”Yes, I think I witnessed the tail end of that encounter.”
Brooke smiled apologetically. ”I seem to have a special talent for memorable introductions,” she said. Samantha was glad Brooke didn't elaborate about their first encounter in the fitness room. It still made her uncomfortable.
”So what did you think of Downton Abbey?” Claire asked.
”It was fun. It reminds me a little bit of Dallas and Dynasty only with fancier accents, better breeding, and no shoulder pads,” Samantha said. ”Well, except on the men.”
”It's a soap opera all right,” Claire agreed. ”But it's so well done and offers such a great glimpse into the time period and the life of the n.o.bility that it feels far more enlightening.”
”The clothes and the house are unbelievable.” Brooke sighed.
”They are spectacular,” Claire said. ”But I'm not sure you're allowed to call it a house.”
Edward clapped his hands to get everyone's attention, with no discernible effect.
”We'll have to ask Edward,” Samantha said. ”I suspect he'll know.”
”Ladies, before we do anything else, I'd like to get a photo of our very first Downton Abbey gathering.”
The chatter continued as Edward directed them. ”That's right, move in a bit there. Good. Um, Mrs. Mackelbaum, can you . . . yes that's just right.” He gestured and coaxed until they were in something that resembled an intentional grouping. ”Okay now, let's put Isabella on one end and James on the other so we can see their uniforms and get a bit of atmosphere going. That's good. Squeeze in a bit, Mrs. Davis. That's right. That's Mrs. Hopewell next to you. Say h.e.l.lo, will you? I don't think she bites. You don't, do you, Mrs. Hopewell?”
The concierge lowered the camera. ”Actually, maybe we should just sound off with our names in case there's anyone who hasn't met everyone and all that.”
”Egad!” Isabella said. ”Ees a bit of a tyrant, ee is!” She looked expectantly at Edward.
”That was a bit ED, I'm afraid,” Edward said.
”Erectile dysfunction?” one of the Ritchie girls asked in surprise.
Edward winced as if in pain but couldn't quite hide his smile. ”That's what comes of so many v.i.a.g.r.a commercials on the air. No, love. The ED I was referring to was Eliza Doolittle. Before Professor Higgins turned her into a lady.”
”Ahh,” Isabella replied quite cheekily. ”Then I guess I should be telling you to 'move your bloomin' a.r.s.e!'”
”Only if you don't want to work here anymore.” Edward laughed. ”In my experience it's almost never a good idea to call your employer an 'a.r.s.e.'”
There was laughter. Samantha could tell she wasn't the only one surprised by the wicked sense of humor that dwelt inside the proper Edward Parker.
”Okay, ladies, sound off. Just give us your name and a brief bit about yourself. We'll start in the back corner and work our way forward.”
”Anna Bacall, RN. I live on the sixth floor.”
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