While We Were Watching Downton Abbey Read Online Free PDF

What’s the special today?”
    “What would you like the special to be,
cara
?” he asked as he always did.
    “Well, I was aiming for saltimbocca alla Romana. I’m still thinking veal, but Jonathan will be home by seven and I’d like to have everything, um, in the oven warming before he gets here.”
    “Yes, of course.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “How many are you serving?”
    “There are four of us, but Jonathan and Hunter can eat enough for two. And it would be good to have leftovers.”
    “Perfect. Let me see what I can whip together, hmm? How about a mozzarella and tomato—an insalata Caprese—to start? And perhaps chocolate chip cannoli or tiramisu for dessert.”
    “Tiramisu.” She hesitated for a second. “I’ll tell them I stopped to pick up dessert, but can you make sure the rest is . . .”
    “Not too perfect.”
    “Right.” She began to relax. “You know that I’m in love with you, right?”
    “The feeling is most mutual,
signora
. The only thing is I have no one available for delivery and a large party due in when we open.”
    “No problem,” she said quickly eyeing the clock and planning it out in her mind. “I’ll have someone there at six thirty if that’s all right with you.”
    “Certainly,” he replied. “Tell them to come to the back door. And send your cookware as we did last time.”
    “Grazie.”
    “Per niente,”
he said gallantly. “It is my great pleasure.”
    With a far less harried smile, Samantha pressed speed dial for the concierge. Edward Parker had a wonderful British accent, but the man was a veritable sphinx.
    “Edward?” she said when he picked up. “Do you have time to take care of something for me?”
    * * *
    SAMANTHA’S YOUNGER SISTER MEREDITH WAS THE first to arrive that night for dinner. At thirty-six, the years of partying and serial dating had begun to take their toll. She was athletic with a swimmer’s shoulders, a strong, straight body, and wavy dark hair that frizzed around a square-jawed face that didn’t make the most of its individual parts. Her temperament was mercurial—one minute sweet and confiding, the next prickly and confrontational. Worse, she was often jealous of what she saw as Samantha’s cushy life and Hunter’s blinding beauty and effortless magnetism; traits he’d inherited from their father and which he wielded with abandon.
    After dropping her purse on the counter, Meredith walked directly to the drinks cart where the alcohol and mixers awaited. Samantha had opened a bottle of red wine earlier and left an unopened Chardonnay chilling in ice. “Can I pour you something?” Meredith asked.
    “No. I’ve got a glass, thanks.” Samantha set out the Caprese salads that Giancarlo had drizzled with a special balsamic vinaigrette. A loaf of crusty Italian bread waited in the warming oven. The veal was in an oven-to-table pan from which she could fill their plates. At the moment, all felt right with the world.
    “I haven’t seen you for almost a week,” Samantha said. “What’s going on?” Meredith lived in a Buckhead condo that Jonathan had bought for her. Hunter preferred Midtown and lived just a few blocks away from the Alexander in a unit that had once belonged to Jonathan’s law firm.
    “I heard from Fredi Fainstein.” Meredith named a friend from college. “She’s working up in New York now, and she invited me to come visit.”
    “For how long?” Samantha was careful not to mention Cynthia’s intention to refer her to the Atlanta Preservation Board in case it didn’t work out, but she didn’t want to see Meredith miss out on the opportunity.
    Meredith shrugged her shoulders, which looked even broader in the striped boatneck sweater she wore. It was an unfortunate choice, but Samantha had learned long ago to never comment on any article of Meredith’s clothing, unless it was to tell her how wonderful she looked. “What difference does it make? It’s not like I’m employed at the