While We Were Watching Downton Abbey Part 18

Brooke glanced down at her watch. She'd arranged to meet Marissa and her father at Lenox Square mall at six thirty and reaching Buckhead during rush hour could be a long and agonizing process. "Okay then," she said. "Let's potty up and I'll take you upstairs."

There were no protests and so at five thirty she closed the apartment door behind them and didn't even scold when the girls raced down the hallway to be the first to push the elevator b.u.t.ton.

On the tenth floor Brooke found herself following the girls who, unlike her, knew exactly which door they were looking for. In front of number 1012 Natalie pressed a finger to the buzzer and went up on her tiptoes to try to see in the peephole.

n.o.body came to the door.

Natalie and Ava turned to Brooke.

"Go ahead and ring again, Natalie. Maybe they didn't hear the bell."

Natalie rang again, pressing harder this time. Brooke stepped closer and heard the peal of the bell inside. What she didn't hear were footsteps. Or the sound of a hand on the k.n.o.b.

s.h.i.t. Brooke glanced down at her watch. It was 5:42. "Let me call Daddy and see what's going on." Not wanting to upset the girls, she tried not to look as p.i.s.sed-or worried-as she felt. She'd spoken to Zach on Monday to confirm tonight's details and he'd raised no objections or concerns about the timing.

She stood in the hallway, her cell phone pressed to her ear, listening to the hollow ring of Zach's cell phone. Then she listened to his cheerful recorded greeting as she was routed to voicemail. After leaving a terse message to call her right away, she dialed his office, which had apparently already closed for the day.

She debated whether to call the emergency after-hours number, but she had no idea who was on call tonight. She only had a 30 percent possibility of reaching Zachary instead of one of his partners.

Ava tugged on her hand as Brooke tried to figure out her next steps. Both girls were staring at her, waiting for her to do . . . something.

Brooke's watch read five fifty; she'd planned to be in her car and on the road right now. The only thing predictable about Atlanta traffic was that it would be heavy. The rate-or lack of-forward movement was an unknown that would only be discovered when you were in the thick of it with no means of retreat.

s.h.i.t! She had no idea what to do. Fragments of ideas sprang to mind, none of them helpful. She thought about Claire Walker's offer to watch the girls if she had to work. She'd seemed sincere and had even insisted that Brooke put her number in her cell phone. But how could she just call at the last minute like this and expect her to drop everything to watch her children?

"Mommy," Ava crooned. "Where's Daddy?"

Brooke's armpits were damp and the waistband of her slacks dug into her waist. She'd felt obliged to dress as professionally as her wardrobe allowed, but now she regretted the long sleeves of the cotton b.u.t.ton-down shirt and the too-tight pants.

"I don't know, sweetie, he's probably on his way home right now." Or not. "But I need to go to work." Brooke had intentionally not told the girls that she was taking Marissa Dalton shopping, knowing they'd want to come along. Maybe she should call Bruce Dalton and see if she could bring the girls after all. But he'd be put on the spot and feel compelled to say yes. And how much could she focus on Marissa and make the trip all about her if she had the girls with her?

d.a.m.n Zachary and his girlfriend. They could be anywhere right now, doing anything. Even if she reached them she had no idea how long it might take Zachary to get back here. a.s.suming that he would even drop whatever he was doing.

Ava plopped down on the hall floor. Natalie slumped against the wall.

Should she call Bruce Dalton and at least let him know she was running late? Maybe ask if they could move their time back a bit? She looked down at her wrist.w.a.tch again and knew it was too late for that. He and Marissa would have already left their house. Just as she should have.

Swallowing back an oath, she dialed Claire Walker's number.

"'Lo?"

"Claire? It's Brooke. Brooke Mackenzie."

"Oh. Hi. What's going on?"

Brooke turned her back in an attempt to keep the girls from hearing. "I'm, well, I'm . . . you mentioned you might be able to watch the girls if I ever found myself in a pinch."

There was silence on the other end.

"I've just brought the girls up to Zachary's because I have a job for Private Butler. Only neither Zachary or Barbie, I mean Sarah, are here."

She felt the girls' eyes on her and turned so that she could see them. Ava dropped her head into her hands. Natalie opened her overnight case and began to paw through it.

"Oh, gosh," Claire said. "I'm so sorry, but a friend from my old neighborhood is actually here in Midtown and I'm on my way right now to meet her for dinner. If she weren't already here, I'd cancel so I could keep the girls. Really, I'm . . ."

"No, don't apologize." Brooke was embarra.s.sed even to be asking, but she didn't know what else to do. The girls looked up at her through eyes that reflected their disappointment. "That's all right, I'll just . . ." What? Call Bruce Dalton and tell him she wouldn't be able to make it after all? She didn't want to disappoint Marissa. Or Edward Parker, who had a company's reputation for reliability to maintain.

"Why don't you try Samantha?" Claire said interrupting Brooke's thoughts. "I ran into her in the elevator just a little while ago. I'm pretty sure she's home."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly . . ."

"I don't think she'd mind at all," Claire said.

"But it's dinnertime and the girls haven't eaten and-"

"I'm sure the woman has food in her apartment," Claire said, cutting her off. "And the worst she can say is no."

"But . . ."

"It's a job, Brooke. It's important. If Samantha's at home, I'm sure she'll be glad to help you out. Wouldn't you do the same for her?"

The answer, of course, was yes. But unlike Brooke, Samantha had a husband and a social life. Even if she were at home she was probably getting ready to go out.

"Just ask," Claire said. "And if she can't, she can't."

It sounded so logical but Brooke couldn't even imagine asking. Or Samantha agreeing. And how would the girls feel about being left with someone they barely knew? "Okay. Thanks."

Brooke hung up without thinking to ask for Samantha's number. She began to punch in Claire's number to ask for it, then caught a look at her watch. It was ten after six.

"Oh, what the h.e.l.l." Brooke grabbed each of her daughter's hands, pulled them to their feet, and sprinted for the elevator. The Davises only lived two floors up.

AS QUIETLY AS SHE COULD, SAMANTHA PUT THE leftover spaghetti and meatb.a.l.l.s into the refrigerator. With Natalie Mackenzie's help she loaded the dinner dishes into the dishwasher. Both of them listened to the rise and fall of Jonathan's voice as he read a bedtime story to Ava on the family room couch.

"Thanks," Samantha said to Natalie when the kitchen counter had been wiped down. "Do you want to go lie down until your dad or your mom can get here? We have an extra bedroom with two beds in it."

Natalie shook her head, a none-too-gentle movement that sent her mushroom cloud of red hair brushing across her st.u.r.dy shoulders. "Could I maybe just go listen to the story Mr. Davis is reading Ava?"

"Sure," Samantha said. "We'll both listen."

They moved quietly toward the couch where Jonathan was in the middle of what Samantha thought might be his second time through Ava's dog-eared copy of Stellaluna. Ava's head kept nodding downward and jerking back up as she fought to remain awake.

Each time he stopped, Ava dragged her chin off her chest, opened her eyes, and asked if he'd please read some more.

Each time he complied without so much as a sigh or a word of complaint, her heart did a strange little summersault in her chest. He'd been the perfect host, welcoming the children in when Brooke arrived with them so unexpectedly, entertaining them through dinner, and then readily agreeing to read Ava the book she'd dragged out of her My Little Pony overnight case.

But then he'd always had an affinity for children. Even at twenty-seven when he'd married Samantha and taken on the role of father to the eleven-year-old Meredith and nine-year-old Hunter, he'd had a gentle patience with them that exceeded Samantha's.

He smiled as she and Natalie settled on his other side and he became more animated, acting out the parts of the lost fruit bat and the baby birds as he read. The curtness with which he'd been addressing Samantha since they'd discussed Hunter's latest financial debacle had disappeared.

As she listened to the rise and fall of his voice, Samantha felt a keen pinch of regret that she'd never been able to give him the children they'd both wanted. He'd never thrown her infertility up at her or used it against her in any way. But he hadn't supported Samantha's desire to adopt. He'd caved to his mother's horrified objections at the idea of someone without Davis blood carrying the Davis name, even as she'd complained over the lack of an heir to carry it on.

A rueful smile tugged at her lips. If this were Downton Abbey, Hunter would undoubtedly be arguing in favor of an "entail" and angling to land the part of Matthew Crawley.

It was after nine, and both girls crumpled in sleep on either side of Jonathan when a quiet knock sounded on the front door. The flickering light from the television cast light and shadows over their sleeping faces.

"I'll get it," she whispered as she eased off the sofa and gently repositioned Natalie's now-heavy limbs.

Brooke was already apologizing when Samantha opened the door. "I'm so sorry," she said as she stepped inside. "I finally heard back from Zachary at eight thirty. He and Sarah drove up to Highlands to play golf with friends and to see the foliage and were invited to stay for dinner." She drew a deep breath of outrage, her body practically vibrating with anger. "I just can't believe he did this to them. Or me." She grimaced. "I'm so sorry we intruded on your evening."

"It's all right," Samantha said. "Really. They were a pleasure."

"Oh, I'll bet your husband just loved the whole thing." This was accompanied by an eye roll.

"You'd be surprised," Samantha said. In many ways the girls' presence had smoothed out the rough edges of their disagreement. It was hard to be angry or distant with such sweet neediness right there in front of you. "How did the shopping trip go?"

"I know Marissa enjoyed it. I got her completely outfitted, including some winter things and this adorable red winter coat." She dropped her eyes. "And I think Bruce was happy with how happy Marissa was."

"And you?" Samantha asked noting the way Brooke flushed every time Bruce Dalton's name was mentioned.

"Well, it would have been great if I hadn't been so worried about where Zachary was and why he hadn't even called. And then I kept picturing the girls here driving you both crazy. I'm sure the last thing you expected to do tonight was babysit." She said this as if it were akin to being flayed alive.

"Like I said, it was no problem." Samantha led Brooke through the kitchen and into the family room. From there they could see the back of Jonathan's head. It looked as if he sat alone on the couch. "We like children."

Brooke came to a halt as they rounded the sofa. Her mouth dropped open as she caught sight of her daughters on either side of Jonathan, collapsed against him like little redheaded bookends. The book he'd been reading lay open-faced across one muscled thigh. Jonathan winked at Brooke in welcome and laid a warning finger against his lips. "Let's not wake them up if we can help it," he said softly. "I like Stellaluna as much as the next man. But after the first time through it's kind of hard to get the bat and bird voices right."

When Brooke and the children had gone, Samantha locked the front door and turned out the foyer light. Not waiting for an invitation, she settled next to Jonathan on the sofa.

"Thanks," she said. "You're a good man, Jonathan Davis." She laid her head on his shoulder and rested her hand on his thigh. "And you read a mean Stellaluna." His thigh tensed beneath her hand, and she was afraid for a moment that he would shrug away from her. But she felt him expel a breath of air as his arm slipped around her. He pulled her tighter against him.

"We aim to please," he said quietly, and she thought she heard an uncomfortable note of irony. But then he shifted and pressed her back into the cushions. When his lips found hers and he began to undress her, she almost convinced herself that she had imagined it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

EDWARD ARRIVED AT THE ALEXANDER ON Thursday morning to find Hunter Jackson in the lobby flirting with a clearly enamored Isabella. Edward looked the young man over and could find no fault with his sharply creased gray pants and blue blazer, which he'd paired with a crisp white collared shirt and red tie. His demeanor when he spotted Edward fell shorter of the mark. Rather than "snap to," he gave Isabella a last overly familiar wink, straightened quite slowly, then sauntered toward Edward.

"Good morning." Jackson's tone was friendly enough, but the bob of the head was regrettably casual for someone reporting for his first day on a brand-new job.

"Good morning," Edward said smartly, hopefully demonstrating the importance of one's demeanor. "Shall we?" He motioned his head toward his office and kept walking, expecting Hunter Jackson to follow.

Edward did not remove his jacket but motioned Hunter into the supplicant's seat before taking his own behind his desk. "I appreciate your punctuality," he said without preamble. "My plan is to expose you to the different levels of service we provide our clients. I have chosen a number of tasks for you to perform that should help ill.u.s.trate this range."

"Yes, well, I have some ideas for raising Private Butler's profile. I've also made a list of potential corporate clients I can approach." Jackson's words were businesslike and well thought out, but he was slouching in his chair as if hashing something out with a colleague. Only the telltale leg movement gave away his nervousness and/or irritation. Edward wasn't certain which.

Edward folded his hands on his desk as his uncle Mason often did before imparting an important point of clarification. "Good. We'll take a look at that together after you've had some time to get acclimated to our services and company philosophy."

"I'm sorry?" Jackson said, looking genuinely confused.

"You won't be calling on people until you have a clear understanding of the services we offer and the manner in which all employees of Private Butler conduct themselves. I'll also want to make sure you completely grasp the underlying philosophy on which the company is based," Edward explained.

"Really?"

"Yes," Edward replied. "Really."

They stared at each other for several long moments. Long enough for Edward to note the flare of anger and astonishment that sharpened Jackson's features and see him hide the reaction in the depths of the green eyes. Jackson looked away first. "But isn't that a waste of my connections and experience?"

"For the moment it may seem that way," Edward conceded. "But it's hard for even the most accomplished salesperson to sell or market something he doesn't fully understand."

"With all due respect," Jackson said. "Your business isn't all that complicated."

As usual, any sentence that began with "with all due respect" included almost no respect at all. Edward shrugged off his irritation and kept his tone pleasant. Just as Hunter Jackson needed to learn to do.

"I promise you there are things to be learned. Important things."

"I'm all ears, then."

"Very well," Edward said, even though Jackson seemed more insolence than ears. "This is how we shall begin. For the next week you'll take on small tasks for a variety of our clients. No matter how small the task, it will be treated as if it were of the utmost importance, because to us, to this company, it is.

"We are time-savers. Convenience givers. We make our customers feel good about spending money for others to do what they could, in fact, do for themselves if they had the time or the inclination." He paused to allow the message to sink in. "We make people's lives easier. Period. There's nothing we won't do-as long as it's legal and ethical."

He paused again both for emphasis and because he wanted to make sure Jackson heard what came next.

"This morning you'll handle these requests for two of our long-term clients. After lunch you will explore these travel-related issues for Emily Redding." He handed Hunter Jackson a typed form with the pertinent names and addresses.

"You actually expect me to pick up and deliver someone's dry cleaning?" Jackson asked.

"Yes, of course."

"And take a package to the UPS Store?"

"You'll also be hiring a cleaning company for the Ritchies. There's a potential list attached. And picking up Grace Anthony's dog from the groomer's.

"But these are errands." The horror in Jackson's voice indicated that this was a veritable crime against nature.

"Yes." Edward maintained eye contact. "And quite menial ones at that. For which we are paid." He watched Jackson process this shocking turn of events. "If you handle these a.s.signments without any trouble, tomorrow you'll keep an appointment with James Culp to select a gift for his wife Alicia's sixtieth birthday. I have a questionnaire I often use to elicit enough information about the recipient to make it truly special."

"You're kidding."

"No." He had in fact been planning to give this a.s.signment to Brooke Mackenzie, who wouldn't need a form or prompting of any kind, but the point here was to teach Hunter Jackson the scope of what Private Butler offered from the seemingly insignificant to the mundane to the life changer. To make him understand that no request from a client was more important than another. And perhaps to make him stop and think about what it meant to give thought to another human being's needs or wants above his own, which Edward suspected would be the hardest lesson of all.