ST: Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys (obviously)

"Also, I'm planning on getting married."

Tommy barely felt his tired, battered body. For a second, he let himself be overtaken by a sense of sheer, soaring joy. "Who to?" Michael was incredulous. "Someone I love, Michael. You'll meet her soon enough. But," he coughed, "I have some things to do now so…" Michael's stunned amusement was missed as he nodded to himself and strode out. Tommy exhaled and leaned over toward the desk. He picked up the phone and spoke to the operator. "Ritz Hotel. London, Piccadilly."

"Hello?" A man's voice with a distinctly American twang.

"I need to speak to Grace."

"Who is this?"

"My name's Thomas Shelby."

"What do you want with Grace, Mr Shelby? It's very late"

"Would you please tell her I'm calling, sir."

"I'm afraid she's not feeling well Mr Shelby."

Faintly Tommy hears a woman's voice soft in the background. A sweet sound. "You'll take it? All right."

"Mr Shelby?"

"Grace."

"Can I help you?"

"What?"

"Things were made clear to me today, Mr Shelby."

"Grace. I had a busy day."

"Yes, I saw the evening papers. No doubt it will be for the best. I hear you have influence with the board."

Tommy hadn't foreseen this.

"Grace, we should talk." The cigarette burned out. The filter caught and gave the room an acrid smell.

"Go ahead."

"In person, Grace. Can we meet?"

"I leave on the fourth for New York. We've had some good news, Mr Shelby, my husband and I. There's a baby on the way."

Tommy passed his hand across his eyes and toyed with the crusted blood by his eye. The reopened wound started to drip freely. Thick white blotting paper soaked up bright splatters.

"Grace, you've read the papers?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll know that Field Marshal Russell was killed."

"I do."

"Grace, there are some things best not said over the 'phone. I'm sorry I didn't make it back. It was not for want of trying. Can I see you, please?"

"Tommy." Her soft voice cracked.

"I'll pick you up at midday."

"OK."

He rung off.

And picked up the receiver again. "Ritz Hotel. London, Piccadilly."

"What was that?" Clive was unconcerned and for a moment Grace wondered what she was doing.

"Oh, the family lawyer. Remember the one I told you about? Mr Shelby? An aunt has died and there's an inheritance for them all to squabble over. Some details needed sorting out." She smiled.

"An inheritance?"

"Pennies. She lived in a cottage in Kinvarra, kept herself to herself. We've no need for her money, darling. Let them worry about it."

"Well if you're sure."

"Positive."

"We don't need anything worrying you gorgeous, not the state you're in."

Grace smiled a secret smile as she slipped back between the sheets for a sleepless night.

ST: Soul Meets Body - Death Cab for Cutie

Sunlight streamed through the net curtains, casting mottled shadows. The first day of summer. Already his small room was unbearably hot. Tommy blinked in the bright light and inclined his head back to stare at the cracked ceiling. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. Reaching a practiced hand to the bedside table he took a Sweet Afton from the open packet. Lighting it, he drew deeply, enjoyed the sandpaper rasp of the day's first cigarette and let the exhale drift upward to join years' worth of yellow stains on the ceiling. It hung from the corner of his mouth as he swung around and planted his feet on rough boards. Stiffly, he walked to the mantlepiece and extracted a folded telegram from its home under the candlestick. Smoothing it out with gentle hands, he propped it up to savour the contents. Fluffy ash fell to the floor as he allowed himself a chuckle and started to prepare for the day.

He rinsed well at the washstand, appreciating the cold water. Drops fell rusty from his temple. He shaved closely in a cracked mirror. Resting another cigarette, he dressed with more than usual attention, taking the nicer pair of cufflinks, and selected a fat silk tie in cornflower blue for a slate-grey suit.

In the kitchen Arthur was reading the newspaper at the table as Finn looked on, bored. "Sabini's lost his licences. It's all over the papers." Arthur said with pride. Tommy poured himself a cup of lukewarm tea. "Where the fuck did you get to last night?"

"I had a busy day, brother. It was good work you did yesterday, Arthur. You and the boys."

"Yeah it's good to be out. Show them who's boss."

Arthur peered up and registered Tommy's appearance.

"Why the good suit, Tommy?"

"I'm heading to London. There are some things to do."

"Today, Tommy? What the fuck's in London? We just got back."

"Well, Arthur, I need to make sure that those licences end up in our hands. I need to talk to Mrs Carleton; I need to talk to Mr Solomons. I want to be sure things are in order." Tommy finished his tea. "You run the shop, it'll be busy today. Polly's back from London on the ten o'clock."

"All right, brother."

"Finn."

"I was good yesterday, Tommy, ask anyone."

"'Course you were. You're a Shelby, lad." Tommy laid a firm hand on his shoulder. "Look after Arthur today for me will you."

Finn smirked as the door banged shut behind his brother.

The drive south was easy. Roads were quiet and the cool, rushing air calmed his nerves. Tommy made good time to central London, bordering Regent's Park as he headed east. He pulled up in Holburn and completed a small errand before driving back to Mayfair. He strolled through the Burlington Arcade to Piccadilly, where he leaned, nonchalant, against a pillar that gave him a clear view down the long colonnade to the Ritz' door. He checked his watch; nearly eleven o'clock.

"I've a few gifts to buy before we leave, but that's all. We're practically ready! I might go over the road and find some silver for people." Grace filled the air with meaningless conversation.

Clive kissed her. "OK, love. I'm off."

"I'm sure you'll sort it all out."

"Yes, but there's still a lot to get through. The Pound's dropping fast against the Dollar and the value of those bonds is a problem for us. It will take all afternoon, might go into the evening."

"That's why I made late reservations at The Ivy - 9 o'clock," she said breezily.

"You think of everything, baby!" Clive winked jovially from the doorway.

ST: Bombast - The Fall

A tall, dapper man in cream linen stepped from the hotel entrance. Tommy chucked his cigarette. Swinging himself around towards the street, he reached into his jacket and stepped unassumingly into the man's path. He bent over after the assured collision. "Excuse me, you dropped this." Tommy presented him with a pen. The man felt his pockets. "It's not mine, pal." The drawl nearly confirmed Tommy's suspicions. "Well, finders keepers, I s'pose." "Sure," said the man. "Good day." But he was talking to air as the deeply shaded arcade swallowed the dark suit. Tommy flipped the card over as he walked on, a light-fingered childhood still sometimes paid off: Clive Macmillan, J. P. Morgan & Co, 23 Wall Street. Now he knew.

Grace watched the door snap shut and listened intently to Clive's footsteps fading to the end of the corridor. She sighed relief. The drone of engines, clattering footsteps, horns, shouting infiltrated the room, breaking through the closed window from the street below. She crossed the suddenly huge yet stifling space and looked out over the bustle. A shaft of sunlight fell on her neck and she closed her eyes to its warmth, momentarily lulled. She cast her eye over the room she'd called home for several months. All the luggage stood in the corner and it was once again free of personality: impassive, muted, functional luxury. A flash caught her eye and she turned to the mirror. She had chosen her favourite dress. A pale peridot Vionnet that fell just below the knee with soft scarf detailing around a v-neck. It was hardly explicit but the silk draped revealingly around her lean, willowy body. She took a moment to make sure her hair was in place, and put a little extra powder on her nose. Smooth movements disguised her inner turmoil. There was the flash again. Stilling her breath, she looked her reflection in the eye. A quick, almost imperceptible nod. She strode to Clive's bedside table, pulled the rings from her finger and placed them on its glossy surface. She took a cigarette from an tooled-silver case and went to put them in her bag. Her H&R's trusty, cold nose snubbed her palm as she dropped them in, bringing back visions of fierce eyes and angry faces, dark streets and hard-won victory. She needed it then. She needed it still.

A crisp, gentle knock at the door startled her. She forced cheerfulness, "Forget your keys again, darling?"

"No, I didn't forget me keys."

Gathering composure, Grace opened the door. Tommy's deep blue eyes met hers and stripped her bare. He removed his cap and twisted the fabric viciously behind his back with hands that didn't know what to do. Neither noticed long seconds passing in silence. "Hello, Grace." He broke the spell.

"You're early! How did you find this room?"

"The manager, Steven, used to run a few pubs in Saltley. He's made something of himself in London. First at The Savoy, now here." Grace was frustrated and pleased by how self-evident that was. "You'd better come in."

"No. I have plans. Come with me." Tommy reached for her hand.

"What are you doing?"

"We need to talk, Grace."

Grace shook her head. "Words work as well here as anywhere. Tell me about May Carleton."

"Don't bring her into this."

"I didn't think I did," Grace's agitation shifted her dress across her shoulder revealing a pale amber strap, "you lied to me." Tommy's jaw dropped. Aghast, he snapped. "What do you want me to say, eh? That I've been seeing someone? What'd you think would happen? We are standing at the doorway of the fucking room you share with your fucking husband. Now, please, Grace. Fucking come."

Grace had fought herself to even ask, but she needed to know. May's entirely unexpected appearance at the Derby threw her. She had risked a lot laying all her cards on the table for Tommy, ensuring he knew she loved him as she thought he did her. And now, as his eyes bored into her soul she knew nothing would ever change. She held out her hand.

They stepped into the lift. Tommy nodded to the attendant who cranked the lever as they headed upwards. The cramped space was awkward. Grace stood facing the door, Tommy's hot breath on her neck. The firm stitching that edged his jacket rasped her back in an odd staccato. Her scent filled his nostrils - bright perfume, soap, hair - and she swayed with the clunking mechanism. He lit a cigarette and the smoke unfurled around them.

They stepped out several storeys higher on the fifth floor. Tommy led the way to the end of a long corridor, where he opened a door and held it for her. Grace got the sensation of being underwater as she stepped into a lounge, the first of a suite of rooms. Bright light bounced from pale furnishings and polished wood, caught itself and glowed in myriad vases. On every surface was a display of fragrant, white summer flowers. Gardenia, magnolia, jasmine, lily of the valley made the atmosphere heady, heavy, lush as a jungle. She took a deep breath of the gauzy air and nearly swooned.

Now at the open window, she looked out over the park below, towards the grey roofs of Belgravia. "Not bad, eh?" Tommy had moved up behind her. "Steven?" She asked, aqua eyes glinting amusement.

"Yes." Tommy was impassive and his movements self-contained, but she could see the the effort he was putting into the effect.

"It's an impressive view," she smiled. "Now, tell me about yesterday. What the hell happened to you?" Her eyes fell on his temple. "Take a seat," he gestured. Grace perched herself on the edge of a capacious armchair. Tommy offered her a cigarette from the casket on the table which he lit before taking one for himself. He took the chair opposite. "Well, you need to know, and I trust you, Grace." His words fell thick into the dense air. "See, our old friend Mr Campbell thought it would be convenient for the Field Marshal to be removed from the face of this earth. I was chosen for the task. My family were threatened to make sure I couldn't back out. All I could do was make sure it was done somewhere where I had a chance of getting away with it. That's why I chose the races."

"Tommy!"

"Mmmm. With the police guarding the King there was a chance. But that bastard, that bastard" he spat, "enlisted some of his UVF mates to do away with me. And they got me, Grace. I found meself miles away by an open grave waiting for the kiss of a Webley. It's good the red right hand can't trust itself. I was saved and two others shot. I got lucky."

"So did I." Tommy looked sharply at her, her eyes were steady.

"Grace, I've carried death on my shoulders for a long time. I've been ready for him to twist my neck and send me on, but yesterday, something changed. I had a moment where things were clear. He was gone and it was you there. I heard your song. I saw your face."

ST: For a Nightingale - Fionn Regan

"I want to do this properly." Tommy knelt, "Grace, I need you. There's a child on the way. I know there are obstacles, but would you do me the honour, the greatest honour, of becoming mine? Will you marry me? I think there is a future here." She reached out and traced her fingers to the back of his velvet head, pulling him closer as she leaned in and kissed him, yes. Tommy grinned and withdrew a ring from his inner pocket. "It's beautiful." "Hatton Garden this morning," he explained, a little smug. As ever, he was presumptuous but right. Grace extended her finger. Three large diamonds sat along a platinum band that fitted her perfectly. Unconsciously she held her arm out and admired how well it looked. Tommy drank in her appreciation and kissed her tenderly. She returned the kiss with force before breaking from him. "I love you, Tommy Shelby."

"Shall I open that Champagne now then?" He grinned.

"What Champagne?"

"There's some in the cupboard." Tommy walked across the room and brought a silver ice bucket from the marble-topped sideboard, it glimmered with condensation.

"It'll keep." She went to where he stood, took the bucket from his hands and put it on the carpet, where a dark patch started to bloom. His taste had sent a jolt through her body. She needed him to envelope her, suffocate her in his embrace. Every day part of her remembered him. The flesh at the small of her back. her cheek, her forearm. Years' longing. She pressed her lips to his tenderly, insistently, with so much desire he staggered. Tommy's need for her had haunted him. Sometimes when the moon was full, he'd watch it from the banks of the cut all night. It's distance brought her closer and the night's sharp cold dulled the pain. Now her warm soft mouth was opening to him, promising everything, asking for him. His hands found their way to her neck, over her shoulders, grazed her breasts as they moved around her waist to her back. She began to undo his buttons, threw his waistcoat to the floor and pulled off his tie. Her dress bunched in his fists as he lifted it over her head in a single movement and caressed the cool silk underneath, dragging her closer as she pushed his shirt from his shoulders. Her fingers traced calico skin down his spine, skidded at a pool of sweat at its base to ease off his undershorts. Grace's slip glided from her body and she wrapped herself around him as he carried her to the bedroom. They dissolved into each other, gasping breaths between kisses. Her sensitive fingers instinctively sought his wounds, his scars; he was ecstatic, caught in bliss between his dreams and reality, drowning in her. She clasped her ankles behind his back as if to enclose him whole, and swallowed his moan as he pushed deeper into her. Her breathing became ragged, he felt her stiffen and gave in to his pleasure as she quaked beneath him. The most beautiful thing he'd ever known. She clung to his shoulders, quivering. He smudged gentle kisses on her neck, her cheeks as the climax subsided. Weightless, he felt for a second that he was looking down at them; two people, quietly rapturous, entwined on a huge white bed in the sunshine. She felt his compact, solid body pressing her into the now damp sheet and felt finally earthbound, tethered to hard rock.

She forced heavy eyelids to open. He was watching her intently. "Tommy."

"Yes, Grace."

"I could never truly leave you. Believe that."

"I do," he ran a rough thumb along her satin cheek. She leaned into his hand and pressed it against her skin.

"But there's something you should know."

"Something I should know?" He chewed over the words.

"I can't stay." His soft eyes drew the words out of her in a flurry. "I'm working. I still have to get back to New York. I'm sorry, Tommy."