Part 29 (1/2)
The lights went down and the theme music filled the room. More than ready for a time-out from her real life, Claire turned and fixed her attention on the screen.
SAMANTHA HESITATED IN THE HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE clubroom, not completely sure she had the nerve to enter. Her gaze skimmed over the sea of heads, none of which were moving, to the big-screen TV where Lady Cora lay sick in bed while an obviously guilt-ridden O'Brien tended her. Samantha knew exactly what that kind of guilt felt like.
Samantha's eyes moved to the sofa and she felt a small rush of relief when she saw that her spot between Brooke and Claire remained open. Her hand closed over the doork.n.o.b.
”Samantha.” Edward Parker's voice was low but near. Startled, her hand fell to her side. ”I wondered if you'd be back.”
She turned to face the concierge. Who had every right to tell her just what he thought of her.
”Yes,” she said. ”I came to tell you how sorry I am that Hunter trampled all over you and your business. I should have never talked you into taking him on. I never imagined anything of this magnitude.” Horrified by the way she was rattling on, the words she'd practiced in her head on the way down completely forgotten, she dropped her eyes, then forced herself to meet his again. ”I just hope that one day you'll be able to forgive me.”
”There's nothing to forgive in your actions,” he said. ”I'm glad you're here.”
She stared at him. There were new grooves etched on either side of his mouth and a furrow carved across his forehead; no doubt a result of Hunter's recent a.s.sault. A woman would have felt compelled to hide or fill in those lines, but they only made Edward Parker more distinguished.
”I'm glad you're speaking to me,” she said, still trying to understand why.
”Of course I'm speaking to you. I would have been speaking to you sooner if you hadn't disappeared,” he said. His smile was both sincere and sad.
”Thank you. But I . . . I am sorry.”
”Thank you,” he said quite formally. ”But Hunter's a grown man. And I believe we're all responsible for our own actions. Or for our lack of them.” His lips twisted. ”Sometimes what we don't do or choose can be even more telling.”
Samantha felt a piece of the load she'd been carrying lift from her shoulders. A tiny piece perhaps, but still she felt lighter for it. She turned her attention back to the clubroom. ”What do you think will happen if I go sit in my seat?” she asked, her eyes on the sofa. ”Do you think they'll throw me out?” She was surprised at how much it mattered. Most of her adult life the women she'd met, served on committees with, even Sylvie and Lucy whom she'd seen regularly for decades, had been kept at arm's length. She was no longer sure what she'd been afraid of.
”Only one way to find out.” Edward opened the door and held it wide for her to enter.
”I guess that makes it time to pull up my big-girl panties.” Thanks to her mother-in-law's advice those panties were La Perla. She stepped inside. ”Wish me luck. I'm counting on you to retrieve my body and prepare it for burial if things don't go the way I hope.”
She walked toward the front of the room bent double so as not to block anyone's view. There were murmurs but she stayed focused on her final destination. Squeezing past Claire's legs, she sidestepped to the right, then sat in the middle.
For a few long moments, which she spent staring straight ahead and trying to regulate her breathing, nothing happened. Just when she'd decided they intended to ignore her completely Brooke and then Claire turned from the screen to look at her. She met each of their eyes even as she attempted to brace for whatever might come. She was still working on this when Brooke and Claire turned their attention back to the screen without uttering a word.
Samantha had no idea what this meant, but it did nothing to slow her breathing or the too-rapid beat of her heart. They hadn't exactly thrown their arms around her and welcomed her. But so far no one had tried to toss her out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.
WHEN THE LIGHTS CAME BACK UP EVERYONE else streamed to the back for ”afters,” chattering away about the season's ending and the Downton Abbey holiday party that Edward Parker had announced. Claire, Brooke, and Samantha stayed where they were, watching each other warily, the air a shroud of discomfort around them. Still n.o.body spoke.
Samantha was ready to turn and flee when Edward arrived. He carried a tray that held an open bottle of brandy, three gla.s.ses, and a plate of a.s.sorted tarts.
He gave Samantha a steadying look as he set the tray on the coffee table, then pulled a high-backed chair over next to the sofa. Placing a gentle hand beneath Samantha's elbow he helped her up off the couch and into the chair.
”There,” he said as if that took care of everything. ”Now you can look at each other while you talk.”
They watched him pour the brandy and position the plate of tarts where they could all reach it. ”Just so you know, none of you are leaving this room until you've talked. It's not really any of my business what you say.” He didn't look happy about this. ”But you need to get past this ridiculous, childish silence. I'm sure we all agree that Hunter has a lot to answer for, but as far as I'm concerned it has nothing to do with my relations.h.i.+p with Samantha.” He looked meaningfully at the three of them then walked back to the rest of the group, many of whom were eyeing them surrept.i.tiously.
Samantha clasped her hands in her lap to keep them still, but she felt like the accused on the witness stand waiting for cross-examination. The silence spooled out between them. ”All right,” she said finally. ”I get it. If you're not going to speak to me, I guess I'll just get going.”
”Were you planning to apologize first?” Claire asked.
Even though this was exactly what she'd come to do, the question hurt. Edward had told her she had nothing to apologize for. But then Edward had not shared the kinds of confidences these women had before her brother ripped them off.
She felt the pinp.r.i.c.k of tears against her eyelids as she realized how much Claire and Brooke had come to mean to her and how much she would miss them. Their friends.h.i.+p, her marriage, everything she cared about had collapsed around her, and she had no idea how to put any of it back together. She looked both Claire and Brooke in the eye and began. ”I am extremely sorry that Hunter took your money under false pretenses.” She swallowed, her mouth dry and cottony as if all of her despair had settled there. ”I hate that he abused Edward's trust and that he stole from you.”
They watched her carefully but neither of them said a word.
”I've told him he has to pay back any investor who wants their money.” She paused, waited for some sort of reaction, got nothing. ”But, of course, I have no control over him. I don't know what made me think I ever did.”
Still they didn't speak. At the back of the room the crowd had thinned. Isabella and James had begun to pack up the food and drink. Edward stood near the door carefully not watching them.
Claire and Brooke exchanged a look.
Claire said, ”That's not good enough.”
”I agree,” Brooke said. ”That's really not going to cut it.”
”Is that right?” Samantha swallowed back the lump of hurt that rose in her throat. She unclenched her hands, which were slick with sweat. She'd known an apology wouldn't solve everything but she'd never imagined they'd throw it back in her face. ”And that's because . . .” she asked tersely, ready to get the h.e.l.l out of there.
”Because we thought we were friends,” Claire said.
”Yeah,” Brooke added. ”Good friends.”
”We are. I mean, we were,” Samantha said not following. ”At least as far as I was concerned anyway.”
”Well you have a weird way of showing it,” Claire said. ”Because friends don't blow each other off as soon as something goes wrong.”
Samantha didn't understand where this conversation was going. Or what it was they wanted from her.
”Which means that when your friends ring your doorbell or call you on the phone-and especially when they do this repeatedly-you have to answer,” Claire said.
”Yes,” Brooke agreed. ”I'm fairly certain that's a key requirement. I mean you don't hurl on a potted palm or cry on an elliptical machine in front of just everyone.” Her lips twitched up at the corners.
”No,” Samantha said as she drew her first easy breath. ”You don't.”
”And not everyone will tell your a.s.sholiness of an ex-husband off for you,” Brooke added.
”No,” Samantha said. ”Everyone won't.”
”Which is why when you find people who will do those things you don't shove them away when things get difficult,” Claire said quietly. ”Friends.h.i.+p can't be one-sided. You can't only give. You have to accept comfort and support when it's offered.”
Brooke nodded. She placed one of the brandy gla.s.ses in Samantha's hand. ”Are we freaked out about what Hunter did?” she asked. ”You betcha. Are we royally p.i.s.sed off at him and dying to see him punished? Absolutely.” She poured brandy into Samantha's gla.s.s and then into her own and Claire's. ”But it's not your fault. No matter what you think, your brother is a grown man and no one-but you-is holding you responsible for what he's done.”
Tears threatened again, but this time they were tears of relief. Claire picked up her gla.s.s. No one bothered to make a toast. They simply raised them to their lips and drank.