Part 22 (2/2)
”But still it's a great opportunity,” Samantha cut in when she saw Cynthia stiffen in her seat. ”You're very fortunate that Cynthia had connections there.”
”Yes, that's true,” Meredith agreed, though nowhere near as speedily as Samantha would have liked. ”Very lucky.”
”And how is that young man in New York?” Cynthia inquired casually. Except that Samantha knew it for the jab that it was. ”Do you think he'll be coming down to visit?”
”Maybe later this fall,” Meredith said. ”It doesn't look like he'll be able to get away from work as soon as he'd hoped.”
Hunter raised an eyebrow at his sister, a silent taunt.
”Oh, and your relations.h.i.+ps are so significant?” Meredith's chin shot out mulishly. ”When's the last time you dated anyone with enough brain cells to carry on a conversation?” She paused briefly as if the question were something other than rhetorical. When she got no reply she continued. ”And frankly, your current job is driving and errand running. You have no room to talk.”
”That shows what you know,” Hunter retorted. ”I've already spoken with Edward about the concept of franchising Private Butler. The service sector is the only one on the rise in this economy. There's real money to be made for the smart investor.”
For once Samantha let the barbs fly without any effort to stop or soften them. In truth they barely registered. For the moment her siblings were employed and not in crisis mode; which was more than could be said for her.
”I ran into Sylvie Talmadge the other day and she told me how impressed she was with the company Hunter's with,” Cynthia said. ”What is it called again?”
”Private Butler,” Samantha said. ”Edward Parker, the Alexander's concierge owns it.”
”Hmmm,” Cynthia said. ”Private Butler. It has a nice ring to it.”
”Well, I ran into Shelby Holcomb,” Meredith said naming Sylvie's daughter. ”She told me Hunter took her daughter Riley to Mommy and Me.” She laughed derisively. ”And didn't you drive some ninety-year-old man to his tailor?”
”That ninety-year-old man has a major stake in Coca-Cola and the Home Depot,” Hunter shot back. ”He understands investments.” Hunter laid down his fork and knife. ”Edward and I agreed I'd get the feel of the day-to-day of the business first as a prelude to building the brand and other . . . opportunities.”
Samantha was relieved that Hunter seemed so positive about the work he was doing. Maybe this a.s.sociation with Edward Parker and Private Butler would be just what her brother needed. Her eyes strayed to Jonathan's empty seat and she wished again that her husband were here. As she moved the food around on her plate, she reminded herself that the phone worked both ways. She could call Jonathan from the car on the way home and at least hear his voice. Except that she was afraid he wouldn't answer; or worse, fail to return her call.
Samantha looked up, caught her mother-in-law watching her, and slid a large bite of egg and grits into her mouth, then tried to look happy-and hungry-while she chewed it.
”You willingly escorted that little terror to a playgroup and hung out with the other mothers?” Meredith asked Hunter in disbelief.
”Research, my dear sister. Research. That's the key to finance and business development; an important step, which is so often overlooked. And which you clearly know nothing about.”
”Well, then,” Cynthia said, turning her attention back to the others, ”if you'll bring me some cards, Hunter, I might begin making some referrals when it seems appropriate.” She smiled quite regally. ”Now that we've sorted all that out, perhaps we should have some of Doris's peach cobbler?”
With the meal finished and the plates cleared, Hunter and Meredith kissed Samantha and Cynthia good-bye and departed. Samantha stood in the ma.s.sive foyer preparing to do the same. Her mother-in-law laid a hand on her arm as Samantha reached for the door. ”I hope you'll forgive my b.u.t.ting in,” Cynthia said in an apologetic tone that was most unlike her. ”But I heard from Jonathan yesterday. I've never heard him so uncertain about his travel plans.”
”Yes.” Samantha searched her mother-in-law's face for some sign of what Jonathan might have said even as Cynthia searched hers.
”I know from personal experience that it can be dangerous to leave even the most steadfast of husbands too long on their own,” Cynthia finally said as if Samantha had been invited and refused.
”I'm sorry?” Wherever this conversation was headed, Samantha was pretty certain she didn't want to go there.
”Yes, dear, so am I.” Her tone had turned alarmingly sincere. ”I never wanted him to take on so much responsibility at such an appallingly young age and certainly not after your father practically destroyed the firm,” she said. ”Jonathan never could resist an injured animal. Or a pretty girl in distress.” She sighed. ”But still, one hates to see any marriage founder.”
Founder? Jesus. Samantha focused on keeping her breathing regular and the fear off her face. Had Jonathan told his mother he was unhappy? Had he confided his feelings in her? Or had his extended absence and the vagueness of his return sent her on this fis.h.i.+ng expedition?
She looked her mother-in-law in the eye. Samantha had no idea what to say any more than she knew how to rectify the situation. But one thing she was not going to do was discuss her marital problems with Cynthia. That would be way too much like inviting the fox into the henhouse. ”Thank you for your concern and for brunch,” Samantha said. ”Everything was delicious.”
With what she hoped would pa.s.s for a gracious smile, Samantha let herself out. But all the way home she replayed her last conversation with Jonathan. He'd said he wanted to know what he was to her, how she felt.
Samantha would have laughed if it hadn't been so tragic. The thing was she'd just begun to realize what she wanted from Jonathan, was almost shocked at how much she wanted it. But she wasn't at all certain what he wanted from her.
Or if, in fact, he wanted anything from her at all.
THAT NIGHT WHEN THE FIRST EPISODE OF SEASON two ended Claire, Brooke, and Samantha picked up plates of raspberry tarts and snifters of brandy and joined the rest of the group around the table.
”Thank G.o.d Bates proposed to Anna,” Brooke said as they took their seats.
”And I love that Branson proposed to Sybil!” Samantha added.
”That was so Ashley Wilkes of Matthew to ask Mary to look out for Lavinia if he dies,” Claire observed. ”Do you think they mean for Mary to be an Edwardian version of Scarlett O'Hara?”
Edward Parker looked on like a proud father as the group debated this question without his prompting.
”I can't believe Thomas intentionally shot himself in the hand so that he could leave the front,” Brooke said, squinching her face in disgust. ”Ugh.”
”I guess he didn't think of dressing up like a woman to try to get a discharge like Corporal Klinger did on MASH,” Claire said. ”I used to love those reruns.”
”The British think dressing up like a woman is funny, not crazy,” Mimi Davenport observed. ”My husband loved that English comedian Benny Hill's show. He used to dress up all the time.” She looked at Edward. ”No offense intended,” she said with a bob of her white head.
”None taken.” Edward smiled. He waited while the conversation played out, then motioned to Isabella and James, who began to hand out sheets of paper and pencils. ”Now that we've all had a bite and quenched our thirsts I think the time is ripe for a little quiz.”
There were groans at this.
”Oh, no, I always freeze up on tests,” Brooke said.
”I guess it's a good thing we had our marathon last weekend,” Claire said. ”It'll be fresh in our minds.”
”I don't think anyone's going to be flunking out of Sunday-night screenings,” Samantha said.
”No, no one will be flunking out,” Edward said with a smile. ”The quiz is quite clever. I found it posted on the WETA Television website. It's designed to tell you which Downton Abbey character you are. The results can be quite . . . surprising.
”Please let Isabella and James know if you'd like more to eat or drink as they come around. Then I'll give you time to take this small, but illuminating quiz.”
Edward began to pa.s.s out the questions and Claire felt Brooke relax beside her. There were giggles as the tongue-in-cheek nature of the quiz became apparent.
”As you can see it's impossible to fail this quiz,” the concierge said with a smile. ”But I'll read the first question aloud, just to help you get started.” He held up the list he'd printed from the WETA website. ”All you need to do is fill in the correct bubble.”
”I have a whole weekend to myself!” he read, ”I'm going to: What's a weekend?
Find some poor soul to help Attend a political rally Make plans to ruin my rival's life Stay alone in my room and read Attend a jolly good foxhunt, followed by billiards and cigars Get ahead on next week's work.”
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