Part 23 (1/2)
They laughed as they filled in the bubbles and chattered amongst themselves. Edward, clearly pleased, watched from the head of the table. When the majority had finished, he asked for a first volunteer. Mimi Davenport raised her hand, then handed him her sheet.
”All right then, let's see about you, Mrs. D,” he said as he scanned her answers and compared them to what looked like some sort of answer key. ”My goodness, Mrs. Davenport. You're apparently Bates, valet to Lord Grantham.”
He smiled wickedly while laughter filled the room, then read the description from a sheet of paper. ”You probably have a secret ident.i.ty or are lying about your past to someone you care about, but at least you feel really bad about it. On the plus side, you're loyal and hardworking and you'd never rat anyone out to the boss, even when they really deserve it. n.o.ble and a bit mysterious, you're a genuinely decent person-and everyone's wondering when you're just going to tell that nice Anna girl how you feel.”
The group erupted with laughter as Mimi Davenport stood and took an exaggerated bow.
”Not my words, mind you.” Edward raised his hands in disclaimer. ”I downloaded these character descriptions from the WETA website.”
They pa.s.sed their tests toward Edward, all of them eager now to see which character they were. ”It's all right, Mrs. D,” Edward said as he sorted through them. ”I'll confess I wasn't who I expected to be. I a.s.sumed I'd turn out to be Carson, but I could hardly have been further off.”
”Who were you?” Samantha prompted.
”I don't know if I should say.” Edward feigned reluctance. ”It is a bit embarra.s.sing.”
There were hoots of encouragement.
”All right then. Here it is word for word from the WETA Television site.” He cleared his voice dramatically, amping up his accent. ”You are Violet, Dowager Countess of Grantham.”
He raised an eyebrow in elegant imitation and waited for the laughter to die down.
”You're the imperious, aristocratic head of your family who (almost) always gets her way, and you don't suffer fools gladly,” he read. ”Though you're often bossy and arrogant, you're surprisingly adaptable and exceptionally loyal to the people you love. By the way, you also get all the best lines, so we hope you're ready for immortality, but you should really look up the definition of 'weekend.'”
CLAIRE SIGHED AS EDWARD PARKER FINISHED reading the description, which was wonderfully phrased and hysterically funny. She felt total envy for whoever had penned it and the other character descriptions, which Edward began to read aloud as women handed in their papers. But then at the moment she envied the person who'd written the advertising copy on her box of Frosted Mini-Wheats. It seemed that everyone could express themselves better and more rapidly than she.
”What's wrong?” Brooke asked as the evening came to an end and they left the clubroom together.
”Hmm?” Both Claire and Samantha looked up and answered at the same time.
”You're both off,” she said as they lingered in the hallway. ”And I don't think it's because you ended up as...o...b..ien and Thomas.”
”Easy for you to say since you got to be Lady Cora,” Samantha said, but there was something in Samantha's voice that Claire couldn't quite identify.
”Well, I might have fudged the answers just a little,” Brooke admitted.
”Me, too,” Claire admitted. ”But I still ended up below stairs.”
”Well, at least you were female,” Samantha said. ”I mean Thomas is a fascinating character. But he hasn't got a shred of moral fiber or anything that resembles a conscience.”
The hallway had cleared. Edward Parker locked the clubroom door and said his good nights. They continued to linger.
”Why don't we go outside to the pool?” Claire suggested. ”It's really gorgeous outside tonight.” She led them out the door and over to a trio of chaises. The pool's surface rippled under a light breeze. A large magnolia tree that rose near a corner of the pool deck swayed softly. The night sky was dimpled with stars. ”The neighborhood pools out in the suburbs are emptied after Labor Day. I like that this one's heated and maintained year-round.”
They sat in the silence with just the occasional car horn or traffic noise to remind them that they were in the city.
”All right.” Brooke sat up straighter in her chaise and folded her arms across her chest. ”Are either of you planning to tell me what's wrong?”
Surprised by the note of command, Claire turned to look at Brooke. Samantha did the same. Neither of them spoke.
”I mean, you've both been holding my hand since Ken and Barbie moved into the building. Samantha took care of my children at a moment's notice and, I think, told Zachary off on my behalf. While you”-she nodded at Claire-”have offered to help, given me advice, and propped me up in general.” She paused, but she didn't stop. In fact, she seemed to be gathering steam. ”I'm not a charity case. And I hate that now when I can see that you're both struggling in some way, you're just blowing me off. I mean it's insulting. I appreciate your friends.h.i.+p and your support. But those things don't work when they're one-sided.”
Brooke stopped talking but her words hung in the October air as if written there in capital letters, impossible to ignore. Claire cut her eyes to Samantha, who had gone still, the expression on her face far less certain than Claire had ever seen it.
”Nothing's wrong in my world,” Claire finally said, feeling oddly protective of Samantha. ”If you don't count the fact that I've started dodging calls from my agent and my editor, which believe me is unheard of for someone at my lowly rung on the publis.h.i.+ng ladder. I'm also lying to my daughter-who has her act far more together than I do. I've been pretending I'm actually writing a book when I haven't written the first word. In fact the only thing I'm writing in is my journal-lots of Claire Walker and friends present day-and almost no great love story in the Scottish Highlands. It feels like ancient history . . .”
This got a laugh as she'd intended. She only wished that it was actually funny and not so frightening. ”I just don't seem capable of doing what I came here to do.” She hesitated. ”And I'm not even sure anymore that I want to.” The truths spilled out of her mouth without benefit of editing. ”I'm running through my money twice as fast as I expected. And I have absolutely nothing to show for it.” She was embarra.s.sed to feel tears gathering behind her lids. All those years of staying strong for Hailey blown to bits.
”You've got us,” Brooke said quietly.
Samantha nodded. But she didn't quite make eye contact.
”Thanks.” Claire expelled a breath of air, drew one in. ”That would make you my silver lining.”
Their eyes turned to Samantha, who s.h.i.+fted uneasily on her chaise. Her forehead creased slightly as if she were conducting some sort of internal debate. In the end she shrugged. ”Sorry,” she said apologetically. ”All I have to throw in the pot is that Jonathan's out of town a little longer than usual.” She looked out over the wall at the magnolia while the two of them waited for her to go on.
”That's it?” Brooke asked. ”That's all you've got?”
Samantha shrugged, but Claire couldn't help thinking that the casual gesture seemed to take an awful lot of effort. ”That's it.”
”So, it's just Claire and I who are battling right now? Everything in your world is just hunky-dory?” Brooke tried again.
”I didn't mean it like that,” Samantha said. ”I just wasn't raised to air my dirty linen in public. And believe me, there's been plenty of it.”
”Oh, so you're above all that?” Claire asked.
”I didn't mean it that way, either,” Samantha said.
”Why don't you tell us how you do mean it,” Brooke said. ”So we can understand. And maybe even help?”
”I appreciate the offer, but . . .” She shook her head. ”Sometimes putting things into words makes them almost too real, you know?”
Claire did. ”Yeah. At the moment I'm pretty horrified at all the things that came out of my mouth. I mean, I turned my whole life upside down to come here and write this book. I have the gift of a year-a chance to finally fulfill a dream-and I can't even seem to get started.” She looked straight at Samantha. ”I may not be able to summon them at will, but I understand how potent words can be.”
Brooke smiled sadly and looked down at her watch. ”Well, I guess it's getting kind of late. We should probably head in now.”
As they rose, Claire studied Samantha, she of the perfect life and the marriage that had lasted for more than a quarter century. She wasn't sure what ”longer than usual” meant and couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Jonathan Davis in the building. But Claire didn't want to pry into something Samantha so clearly didn't want to talk about. Life in a suburban swim-and-tennis neighborhood had often felt like living in a fishbowl; that constant scrutiny had been one of the things she'd been eager to escape.
They walked inside and stopped in front of the elevator. But this time as Samantha pressed the elevator call b.u.t.ton Claire knew that Brooke had been right. Like a duck who appeared to float serenely on the lake's surface, there was a lot of frantic paddling going on beneath Samantha Davis's perfect surface.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.
EDWARD'S OFFICE PHONE RANG AT PRECISELY FIVE fifteen p.m., which made it ten fifteen in England. Edward didn't need the caller ID to know who was calling. Leaning back in his chair, Edward propped his shoes up on his desk and answered.
”h.e.l.lo, lad,” his great-uncle Mason's voice sounded firm and fine with no hint of the number of pints he might have consumed at the Hungry Fox that night. ”How are things?”