Two
.
From: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 8 March 9:51 AM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Press conferences
Why does no one tell you they're a complete pain in the arse when there are people that actually think they're important?
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 8 March 9:53 AM
To: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Subject: Re: Press conferences
There, there, I'm sure you can live up to the pressure; I always took you for a tough little thing. It's only the future of British democracy we're talking about here.
Also, my emails get FOI'ed a lot. Take this as a friendly suggestion not to put in an email anything you don't want to see splashed on the front of The Guardian one day.
.
From: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 8 March 9:58 AM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: Press conferences
I'll have you know, I am never would never dream of my emails being anything but proper and wholly appropriate for the workplace. I apologise in advance to The Guardian if that makes me a disappointment.
Oh, and tell Anna I just sent her John's speech notes. She wanted to double check them before the presser later.
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 8 March 10:01 AM
To: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Subject: Re: Press conferences
Take it from a posh girl Mr Crawley, too much propriety is over rated.
.
"What are you smiling at?" Anna asks from the doorway.
"Nothing."
"Of course..." She's far from convinced and whether or not she thinks it related, adds, "Your new friend just sent me through Bates' speech for today – did you also want to have a look before the thing this afternoon?"
"I don't appreciate your tone."
"I say it as I see it."
Mary ignores this, "Well, no, I don't need to look. I trust you and Alfie will make sure everyone's on message and saying all the right things."
"Fair enough," Anna turns to leave, "Oh by the way, your father's about this morning – I think he's looking to see you before he goes."
"Oh lord. Why is he here?" Mary groans.
"It might have something to do with today's big announcement, perhaps? The Cabinet has been floating around and I hear he has an interest when it comes to this sort of thing."
She smiles at Anna's sarcasm, "The perils of being related to the party Chairman, I suppose?"
"What perils? What are you talking about?" A booming male voice from the outer office sees Mary roll her eyes and Anna bite back a laugh.
She flaps for a moment, trying without words to get Anna to stay as some kind of defence mechanism against Hurricane Robert Crawley but her friend instead turns on her heels with an amused arch of an eyebrow, headed back the way she came.
Mary fixes a smile to her face, "Nothing, Papa."
"How's everything going for today?"
"Perfectly fine." Her response is shallow and designed to shut down too much further questioning – an inflection that obviously, her father ignores.
"I hear you've been working with Bates' Chief of Staff to set it all up; Matthew is it?"
A nod, "Matthew Crawley."
"Crawley?"
"No relation. At least none that I know of."
"Probably for the best. Could get awkward having one of their lot in our midst."
A familiar indignation and affront colours her response – he too often lets his inner snob show, "Papa!"
"Well it's true; we're a good Conservative family." The way his chest puffs out just a little makes Mary want to laugh. Her father is a proud man and a man whose position in life makes him feel more important than he really is.
For all her frustration and the careful distance she has long since maintained from her family, she mostly just feels sorry for him. Grappling for power, and even relevance, The Lord Crawley is more of a victim of his own misfortune and poor choices than he would care to admit.
"His party roots aside, he's good at what he does. You should be glad that he's saved your political skin."
This suggestion seems to rub him the wrong way, "Don't think that all this hasn't done them a favour as well. We've made Bates a key player with all this – and I'm sure this Matthew will enjoy the move to Whitehall as well; healthy pay bump, if I remember correctly."
"I don't think eight thousand pounds a year is the reason we're not facing a No Confidence vote the minute Parliament resumes."
Robert doesn't look convinced, "You'd be surprised."
Not willing to continue with their conversation, all too aware of the ridiculous direction it seems to be taking, Mary moves back behind her desk and sets about devoting her attention to anything other than her father, standing there in front of her desk.
Perhaps she ought to check her emails again...
"Patrick mentioned you saw each other on the weekend."
Oh great.
"Uh, yes. I think it was Sunday. We only saw each other briefly."
He came round. They had sex.
It was brief.
"Now Patrick – there's someone who's good at what he does. Patrick is going places, I'll tell you that much."
She looks back at her screen. It's a technique. "I'm sure he is."
"You know he likes you."
Urgh.
She deflects, deliberately obtuse and her tone carefully vacant, "We're very good friends Papa, as we always have been. We did grow up together."
"But you ought to think about the future, Mary."
"I just secured the fate of the British Government for the next three years. Isn't that enough future for one day?"
"You know fine and well that that's not what I'm talking about."
"Just because Mama is in America right now doesn't mean you have to assume her duty as a mother to nag."
"I am not nagging; I just want what's best for you." He tries to soften his words but Mary can't help but bristle at the implication that she can't decide what's best all on her own.
"Well you should know I'm quite fine."
Fine in spite of his efforts and not because of them.
"Patrick understands your situation, he knows how important your work is and he shares your background; you must understand how important all of these things are."
"And am I to believe that's all that matters? Do you really believe that this and this alone is the recipe for happiness?"
"You're very close minded about these sorts of things – you've always been so determined, always on your terms. I'm just asking you to be more open to possibilities."
Her utter frustration bubbles over. She knows she really, really shouldn't – knows that she'll regret the cold words but she can't help but aim a rather pointed barb in return, "I'd rather not take advice on love and relationship from you of all people. Have you spoken to Mama since she left for New York?"
His eyes go dark.
"Now that's just... That's-" He fumbles for the words in the face of his own fury.
Mary waves him off with the flick of a hand, her icy composure firmly back in place as she moves on without thinking on it all any further. "Is there anything else you needed?"
He opens his mouth, looking for whatever it is he wants to say but when the words don't seem to materialise it's closed once again. A moment later he admits defeat and replies, "No. That was all. Good luck with the press conference."
"Thank you."
She doesn't look up as he leaves, already typing an email.
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 8 March 10:15 AM
To: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Subject: Re: Press conferences
You know what's worse than press conferences?
Parents.
.
*** MEDIA CALL ***
The Right Honourable Charles Carson MP, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, will host a joint press conference today, Thursday 8 March in the Downing Street gardens with the Right Honourable Richard Clarkson MP, leader of the Liberal Democrat Party and John Bates MP.
The conference will begin at 2.00pm. Please allow additional time for security screening as this is a high security event.
The Prime Minister, the Deputy Prime Minister and Mr Bates will answer questions on the future of the British Government and the outcome of recent coalition talks.
Media accreditation will be required.
*** MEDIA CALL ***
.
"We really ought to stop meeting like this."
Matthew had seen her somewhere behind the fray of staff and when the PM had first arrived and had at the time earned himself a rare Mary Crawley smile through all the rush.
Calm and in control, she's been the quiet picture of authority as the press have swarmed, pushed and generally shown a little too much excitement about their respective bosses' announcement. Something about her careful little smile seems at odds with the composed Deputy Chief of Staff so efficiently overseeing her second joint press conference from the Downing Street garden in as many years, announcing a shaky solution to a shaky Government's number problem.
He quite likes that.
Now the much-awaited event is well underway – the nation's Prime Minister firing off answers to questions with practised ease, his deputy as usual fumbling through and Bates surprising him with his ability to keep up and to hold his nerve – Matthew has finally found her alone, alternating between watching the proceedings and checking her phone.
She's again bundled in a jacket, a nice and presumably expensive jacket, but Matthew can only conclude from this that with her slight form, she must feel the cold of early spring in London bitterly.
Mary smiles at his greeting, "I don't know. I think we ought to get used to it, if everything those two up there are saying turns out to be true."
"I suppose there are worse things in the world," he laughs.
"Oh! It's good to know you think so highly of me," but she's getting into the spirit and far from being offended, she lets go a brief laugh.
His words are softer when he holds her gaze and replies, "But I do."
It's a sort of thrill that runs through him as her expression falters, some indecipherable emotion taking its place for a brief moment. There's just something a little... more to it all.
Except this is work and she's Mary Crawley and he knows when he's getting away with himself.
He changes the subject, "So, have you solved your parental problems from earlier?"
She laughs again, but this time it's shorter and coarser. "Hardly. I'm afraid my family is the sort whose problems will never quite be solved."
"Ah, tortured rich people. They always make for the best kind of dysfunctional families."
It strikes him, however briefly, that this sort of comment might be crossing the line. He's never before felt the need to keep up a show on confidence the way he has since first meeting Mary– in the beginning it had been all about compensating for her obvious power and the prestige of the office of Prime Minster but the same burn, compelling him to always be ready with a quick retort has remained even now they have a deal and he knows Mary as someone he hopes to be a friend.
When she turns to him again, amused, the worry eases. "I'm glad to hear you are already well versed in the very serious problems of the wealthy."
"Oh, of course!"
"My father is unfortunately one of those people who once knew enough success earlier in his life that he forgot what it was like to not get what he wanted. Two adult daughters, a highly successful wife and a GFC later, he's beginning to learn it's not always that easy."
"I assume this means you've failed to comply with his wishes somehow?"
"Sometimes I wonder if to him, I'm just one big failure." Though her words are grim, she seems carefully unaffected by the suggestion.
"How could that be?"
"Because I work too hard, because I haven't settled down, because I never bring home any of the right kind of men, because... Because I was more interested in working for Carson than I ever was working for him."
By the time she adds her last reason, her eyes are again fixed firmly on the man in question, standing solidly behind his podium.
"That... must be hard."
"Not really. I made my choice for the right reasons and I don't regret it."
"What were your reasons?" It feels like an awfully personal question, but it also feels right to ask.
"It's all the things I told you yesterday; Carson is the kind of man who's meant to be Prime Minister. He's come up against some tough circumstances but he believes only in what he thinks is right and stands by those beliefs – that's what I wanted to be a part of. I never wanted to be part of my father's empire and I never wanted to spend my life at the Downton Group, bored to tears by executives and boardroom talk day after day."
"Well from what I've read in the papers these last couple of years, you've made the right decision between the two career paths."
"Because I ended up getting passed over for the job I actually wanted working for Carson or because Downton almost went belly up?"
He's struck by her weariness and her utter resignation. He supposes he hasn't known her all that long, but he can't imagine the strong and determined woman he's come to know often allows herself to indulge in either emotion.
"Well I definitely meant the latter, but if you wanted to talk about that first one, you know I'm always here."
"You're good at it, you know."
She smiles at him again, and for that he's glad.
"Good at what?"
"Listening. Making people talk about things they shouldn't."
"I don't think shouldn't is the right word. I think that everyone needs to take the time to share their troubles, even if it's only on occasion."
"And you don't mind having to listen to all my nonsense? My problems must seem... very small to you."
"Why would you think that?"
"The blatherings of an indulged rich girl and all that."
"I don't think you're blathering; far from it. And I mean it – I'm happy to listen if you ever need me."
"I'll keep that in mind."
She turns back to the press conference and Matthew feels a little bad that he appears to have completely missed the last ten minutes of what ought to be a very important moment in his career, so absorbed he was in their conversation. With special effort, he tries to focus on the words, once again reminding himself of the seriousness of the occasion.
It's not long though before she distracts him once again.
"Bates is doing well."
"Better than I thought. I thought he would drown standing next to Carson and that we'd have to hold out hope for another of Richard Clarkson's spectacular gaffes to make him look good by comparison."
"Now Matthew, have a little faith."
"I do! I can't help that the Prime Minister is an awe-inspiring sort of man. But like a very wise and principled woman once told me, you should work for someone for the right reasons and I do. I have every faith that Bates will do good things with his newfound power and authority."
"The Secretary for Communities and Local Government no less. It sounds like it should be a good fit for Bates."
"I hope so; I'm still getting to grips with what it all means. They're talking about swearing him in tomorrow and then we have to worry about a new office and new staff..."
She places a reassuring hand on his arm, "You'll be fine – it's not all as hard as it looks and if you need anything, you happen to have a friend inside the Prime Minister's office."
As her hand lingers in its spot and he smiles down on her gratefully, Matthew realises that this is the first time she's touched him like this.
The press conference finishes not long after and as soon as all three men step back from their line a rush picks up and a fair swarm of people seem to need Mary, all demanding her attention in different directions.
Just as she goes to turn away, she seems to remember, "Matthew?"
"Yes?"
"Come by my office later; I have a present for you."
She shoots him her cryptic, gorgeous little smile before being swallowed by the crowd.
As he sucks in a lungful of air and tries to rearrange his features into something a little more serious, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Pulling it out and checking the name, he turns off the ringer.
It can wait.
Right now he has better things to think about.
.
He isn't expecting a knock on his door a little after eight and it takes him longer than usual to stumble from his couch to the door.
And when he opens it, he also isn't expecting who he finds standing on the other side.
"Mary!"
"I hope you don't mind me dropping in." There's a soft confidence to her greeting that's almost contagious.
With a smile and a questioning look, he waves her into his flat.
"And to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"
"I thought you might quite like to have this." From her hand drops a key card on a lanyard.
A security pass.
It's not been four hours since he left her office, "That was awful fast."
"I may have rushed it through."
As he closes the door behind her, he points out, "You know, as much as I appreciate you stopping by, I don't recall ever telling you where I live."
"Oh Matthew, we at the PM's office have our ways." She pauses dramatically before adding, "Also, you had to put it on the application form and I saw it when I handed it into security."
When he had called into her office earlier in the day as she'd asked, she'd brandished at him the forms for a Downing Street security pass. It wasn't exactly the sort of 'present' he'd been expecting but there was something about the way she'd gone about it that left him far from disappointed.
"I think you'll be needing it now. You can come and go from Number 10 as you please."
"You mean, come and go from your office?"
"Now, Matthew, I'm a very practical woman and I'm merely trying to make your life a little easier. If my helpfulness to you also means I can summon you here at any time, or perhaps allow you to greet me in the mornings with coffee as you see fit, then that's just a handy by-product."
"Oh, really?"
Reaching to take the pass from her, he smiles once again, "Ought I to take this as a hint about your desire for a caffeine hit upon your arrival at work tomorrow?"
"I knew you were a fast learner."
He offers her a drink out of courtesy more than anything but finds himself urging her to stay when she wavers.
"It's been a long week." Her words are unavoidably weary and he encourages her to sit on his couch while he searches for a half decent bottle of wine.
When he comes back around, she's sitting carefully on one end, delicately rubbing at tired eyes.
"At least you're used to this sort of thing. I've spent the whole week surrounded by the same insanity and with absolutely no idea what I'm doing."
"If it makes you feel better, you did an admirable job. Everyone I've spoken to on my side of things thinks you're quite the operator."
"They're talking about me?"
"Darling, it's politics. They're always talking about you."
This catches him for a moment and not for the first time, he finds himself wondering what Mary Crawley might have to say about him in the company of others.
With his thoughts elsewhere, Mary takes in their surroundings – his television, muted since he'd heard the door and his glass already filled.
"I hope I haven't interrupted anything."
"Not at all. I was going to watch mindless television and eat some frozen lasagne that my mother made and foisted on me at the start of the week – I'm in my thirties and she thinks I can't fend for myself. I can assure you, I'm not missing out on very much at all."
Something occurs to her and a knowing smile plays on her lips, "...Just how much of that lasagne do you have?"
.
Mary is aware it's a possibly dangerous situation, but she's almost half asleep on Matthew Crawley's couch, three glasses of wine and slightly too much lasagne later, a mixture of far too relaxed and far too exhausted to care. Her heels, long since kicked off are by the couch beside her and her feet are tucked under a cushion for warmth.
Tonight, she's had fun.
She's not sure what she expected when she'd made the impulsive decision to catch a taxi out to Matthew's flat. There had still been life buzzing around their office in Number Ten when the security officer she'd sweet talked for a rush job on a pass had come in and dropped it on her desk. It had played on her mind as she'd finished with her work for the day and the idea had finally occurred to her as she'd gone to leave.
It would at least save him a trip in the morning, right?
She'd felt a little nervous when she'd knocked on his door – it had struck her in the moment how it might look that she'd come all this way; or worse, what she might be interrupting. As a woman usually prepared for all eventualities, Mary wasn't used to the uncertainty that came alongside impulsivity.
Her fears had mostly been dispelled when he'd opened his door. Though surprised, a smile had lit up his features and as he'd ushered her inside, a rush of sly confidence had appeared – the same kind she'd perfected after a few too many years in her line of business and a lifetime of Crawley family insanity – and she'd all but invited herself in, and then again to stay for dinner, with an unfamiliar buzz in her veins encouraging her all the while.
She'd learnt his mother was an excellent cook, heard an exasperated fondness in Matthew's voice as he'd spoken of her and offered a little about her own high-powered American CEO Mama who seems now to spend more of her time in New York than in London.
They'd watched mindless television for no reason other than it was there in front of them, eaten too much as they'd made fun of whatever it was they were watching and inched closer on his sofa with every pointless argument about content and quality and moral decline.
And several hours later, she knows it's got to be late.
"I don't think I can move."
"I'm not sure I can either."
"It's very improper of me, you know, half asleep on a stranger's couch. My granny would be horrified."
"I wouldn't say I'm a stranger..."
"I did only meet you on Monday. I didn't know where you lived until four hours ago."
"That didn't stop you showing up at my door."
"I suppose that was improper of me as well."
"Perhaps. But that doesn't mean I wasn't glad."
It's sometime around this point in the evening that Mary realises just how close they've come, sitting together on his couch. Her face is turned in towards his and her arm brushes his as they talk.
There's a softness to her voice as she can't help but remark, "It doesn't really feel like just a week."
"No. Not really."
"It has been a particularly historic week."
"I can't disagree with you there."
It all sort of hangs in the air between them for a long moment.
"I should go." Mary gives him a small smile.
"You don't have to. My couch is yours as long as you should want it."
"I should go home and sleep," she laughs softly, "I should show up to work tomorrow wearing different clothes to the ones I wore today. That's about the fastest way to start a rumour in Westminster."
"Well I suppose then I shall let you go, in the hope of protecting your good name."
"Aren't you a gentleman?"
It takes some time to fumble for her shoes and he offers her his arm as she attempts to peel herself from her well established spot on his sofa.
And when she steps over the frame of his door, she turns back for just a moment to place a careful kiss on his cheek, as a sort of farewell.
The door closes behind her and she has to lean against it for just a moment to catch her breath.
.
New Cabinet Ministers sworn in
Three new ministers were sworn in by the Queen this morning after the Prime Minister, Charles Carson, announced a reshuffle as a result of Ian Laming's controversial resignation and John Bates' elevation to the cabinet as part of a coalition deal.
Bates was the first to take the Oath before the Queen and after the short ceremony to appoint him as the Secretary for Communities and Local Government described the moment as an 'incredible honour'.
Mr Bates also took the time to acknowledge his Chief of Staff Matthew Crawley, a man believed to have been integral to establishing a deal between Bates and the Carson Government, ensuring Bates' promotion to this new cabinet position. It is not known whether Mr Crawley has any connection to the Crawley family that have played such a big part in Westminster over the last 30 years – the likes of which include former PM Violet Crawley and Member of the House of Lords, Robert Crawley who is also the Conservative Party Chairman.
As Communities and Local Government Secretary, John Bates has inherited a number of complicated issues...
.
From: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 13 March 3:27 PM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Her Maj
I actually met the Queen today. The Queen!
Nice lady.
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 13 March 3:31 PM
To: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Subject: Re: Her Maj
Isn't she just? I have some very fond memories from my childhood with her & Granny. She's very motherly.
.
From: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 13 March 3:37 PM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: Her Maj
You just had to play the Violet Crawley card, didn't you? Here I am, just wanting to bask in my tiny moment of royal glory and you lord it over me.
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 13 March 3:39 PM
To: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Subject: Re: Her Maj
Oh poor Matthew. I shall remember in future not to remind you how fabulous and well connected I am.
Want to come for dinner tonight? A bunch of us go out for dinner on Tuesdays when the Parliament is sitting. Interesting mix of people, lots of wine consumed.
.
From: Crawley, Matthew (J. Bates, MP)
Sent: Tuesday, 13 March 3:37 PM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: Her Maj
I don't think it's something I'll ever need reminded of.
Dinner sounds good. When and where?
.
It's the second time now he's come to one of these dinners and the second time that some guy called Patrick has given him the death stare.
The week before had been a lot of fun; Mary had seemingly been wary of the fact that he was new to the group and had stayed pretty close at his side the whole night. They've developed this sort of ease about them since the night in his flat – they have a comfortable banter and there's a new familiarity to the way they interact. He's fairly certain this much has been obvious to this odd mix of people they now find themselves out to dinner with on another dreary Tuesday night.
He leans into her space in order to getting her attention and she turns her whole body towards him as he asks, "You want another drink?"
She shakes her head, "I'm fairly certain it's my turn. You've done the last couple of rounds."
"Well then, maybe I ought to let you buy me a drink then."
Smiling warmly, she grabs her purse from below the table and heads for the bar, leaving Matthew alone at the table with the man clearly trying to stare a hole through his forehead.
She's only just out of earshot when her friend asks, "So you and Mary, eh?"
"I'm sorry?"
Ignorance, he decides, is the best policy.
"Well, you're going out of your way to let everyone know here that you're shagging her. Someone had to ask."
Matthew responds slowly and carefully, "I think you've maybe gotten the wrong idea."
"So just friends then?"
"I suppose."
"You should be careful with Mary." Patrick's suggestion feels a little more like a threat.
"I think I'll be fine, thanks."
"She'll let you down in the end – you're not the right type for the long term, trust me. She likes to have a bit of fun though, so like I said, you should be careful."
"You know, for someone who's supposed to be her friend, you're awful quick to throw her over."
"It's just a bit of friendly advice."
He decides at this point that he has no desire to continue this conversation and finds Mary at the bar, still waiting to order.
"Don't worry about that drink. I might, ah, call it a night."
"What? But it's so early!"
"Only by your standards; I'm boring and old. Besides, I don't want to ruffle any feathers out with your own little crowd, I'll just duck out quietly."
"Don't be silly. If you want to call it a night, I'll come with you. It'll be no fun otherwise."
He tries to say all the right things and to encourage her to stay with her friends but he has to admit there's part of him that's pleased when she waves them all goodnight, tucking her arm into his as they manoeuvre their way out of the busy restaurant.
And if Patrick Gordon wants to eat his heart out as he watches them go, well so be it.
They're weaving under the overhangs of restaurants, her arm still under his as they try to stay out of the London rain when she primly informs him, "Patrick's a wanker."
He laughs, "What?"
"He said something to you in the restaurant. Whatever it was, you shouldn't listen because he's a class A wanker."
"You know, I don't think I've ever heard you use language like that before."
"I use it when it counts."
"I see that. Way to rise to the occasion."
"So, he did say something?"
Matthew sighs, "Of a sort."
"What was it?"
"Nothing worth repeating." But she still seems to be waiting for more of an explanation and he feels obliged to add, "He seems to think you'll chew me up and spit me out."
"Ha!" She throws her head back in her amusement, "Just because Patrick happens to be thoroughly digestible doesn't mean that he ought to warn off everyone that somehow makes him feel threatened."
"That sounds... sort of wrong."
Mary laughs, "You know what I mean."
He feels a little inelegant asking, "Is there something going on there? Does he maybe have... feelings?"
"He has feelings for the idea of me – broadly selfish ones I'm sure," she explains evenly, "He likes the notion of The Crawleys and he has grand ideas for himself – that's all."
Matthew tries to take this in, "Right."
"You don't have anything to worry about with Patrick, Matthew."
It seems like a fairly loaded statement and he's not really sure what side of the line he's supposed to be on.
Eventually he settles on a simple, "Okay."
"Good."
He walks her home and she doesn't let go of his arm.
.
From: Smith, Anna (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 5 April 8:12 AM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Military speech
I've attached the speech for Carson's announcement tomorrow. The stuff on military spending is going to get tricky, so as always, your well-honed political eye is appreciated.
And don't think we're not going to talk about what I walked in on last night. Namely what you were doing on your sofa.
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 5 April 8:14 AM
To: Smith, Anna (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: Military speech
I don't know what you're talking about.
And that should teach you to let yourself in.
.
From: Smith, Anna (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 5 April 8:18 AM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: Military speech
It's not my fault that you gave me a key.
Or that you and Matthew were CUDDLING on the couch.
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 5 April 8:24 AM
To: Smith, Anna (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: Military speech
We were watching television – it's hardly unusual, we do it all the time.
At best, his arm was along the back of the sofa. That's all you've got.
.
From: Smith, Anna (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 5 April 8:26 AM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: Military speech
His arm was along the back of the sofa right behind where you were sitting. And your head was remarkably close to his shoulder.
I can't believe we're almost 30 and we're having this conversation.
.
From: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 5 April 8:30 AM
To: Smith, Anna (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: Military speech
Then by all means, let's not have it.
Finally got a dress for the state dinner with the Aussie PM – are you ready for the madness that's about to ensue?
.
From: Smith, Anna (C. Carson, MP)
Sent: Thursday, 5 April 8:35 AM
To: Crawley, Mary (C. Carson, MP)
Subject: Re: Military speech
A whole week at the mercy of a foreign leader? I can't wait.
And don't you think I'm letting this one go – there is something going on and I am going to get to the bottom of it.
.
The week of his first state visit is not one Matthew will easily forget. Even working for Bates, who only had a comparatively small amount to do with the visiting delegation from Australia, Matthew has seen his week dissolve into chaos – an endless stream of event invites, joint announcements and planning for the next media fanfare just waiting to creep up on them.
Most of the excitement has been focussed on a state dinner to be hosted by the Queen and for the second time in almost as many weeks, he finds himself star stuck at Buckingham Palace in the presence of royalty.
And Mary in a seriously gorgeous dress.
He's not too big to admit that the latter is making him just as nervous and as lightheaded as the former.
They've spent a lot of time together these last few weeks and have danced along this line of propriety – they're a little too familiar with the way they interact, he's probably been a little too reckless with his affections but in spite of it all, there is something about her that is still a mystery to him. For as long as he's known her, Mary Crawley has been a master of her emotions and temperament and while he gets the impression that he's been fortunate enough to have seen a little more than she offers to the masses, she's still reserved enough to leave him wondering.
But now he's somewhere so much bigger than he ever dreamed, dining somewhere in the vicinity of some of the world's most powerful people trying to avoid the attentions of the waiters who keep coming around to refill his wine glass because without a doubt, his head is buzzing enough already.
He has to admit that he wasn't exactly looking forward to the dinner before he'd arrived. It had been such a long week of rewriting speeches, of ministerial briefing and trying, still, to get up to speed with the enormous amount of work that comes with being charged with a portfolio. He still doesn't have someone in the new communications director position that he's happy with and he's fairly certain that if he has to ask them one more ill-informed question, the public servants running Bates' department will try to kill him in his sleep.
There was also the matter of a tuxedo.
Having only worked in the complete insanity that happens to be Westminster politics since the start of the year, Matthew had, until this week, not quite understood the importance of owning a tuxedo. When he'd made the mistake of mentioning to Mary three days before that he'd yet to sort one out for the dinner a horrified sort of look had settled on her features and he'd found himself on a painfully long lunch (a staple in their business, he's assured) with she and Anna, trawling the streets on London for a suit.
("See? This is why we brought Anna. She is more practical when it comes to the financial side of things."
"You mean, she won't try to convince me to spend four thousand pounds on a tuxedo?"
"I'll have you know, that was a nice tuxedo!"
A snicker, "For James Bond, perhaps."
"Shh Anna! You're supposed to be my friend! Even you said he looked nice in that one."
"Thank you Anna."
"Shut up Matthew."
"Can we please go back to work now?")
Now he's here though, it's been a fantastic night. The whole menu may have been in French, the plates may have been so many hundreds of years old he was afraid just what damage his too-shiny knife might do to them if he leans just a bit too hard and his new tuxedo might make him feel a tad silly, but he's had a good time.
And not just because of a certain woman who looks all kinds of stunning in a lacy black dress and whose eyes keep finding his across the room. She appears almost weighed down by something as she moves from table to table but each time she catches him, something about her seems to lift – eyes brightening, smile widening.
It makes him try that bit harder to seek her out whenever he gets the chance.
It's Anna though, who finds him first. She's been flitting around all night, knowing all the right people to talk to and evidently, saying all the right things. She too looks very elegant in her long black dress and he's seen more than a few heads turned tonight as she's passed by.
"Having fun?" she asks, sliding into a now-vacant seat beside him at his table.
"Of a kind. How much fun can you have when you're scared half to death of damaging the 200 year old sweet plates?"
"Isn't that part of the challenge? Look as classy as you can in positively ridiculous circumstances?"
"You sound like an old pro."
"I had to learn quickly. In this job you've got to be able to keep up, even if you're just a middle class girl from Yorkshire."
Matthew smiles, "Well, we from the middle class should stick together then. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two."
"Anything you need."
She leaves him pretty soon after that, but not without a pointed compliment about his suit. He likes Anna, he decides; she's practical and genuine and so unlike the many 'political' operatives that he's come across since taking the job with Bates. Despite her position and the very people she works for, Anna has kept her head above all the political mess – it's something he can only hope he'll be able to achieve after a few years.
The night rolls on and though the people at his table are nice enough, he can't help the way his eyes dart around the room every so often, looking...
He finds her in the corner, alone for the first time in the evening. When she sees him looking she tips her head in invitation and he makes his way across the room.
"Come on." She takes him by the arm and ushers him out a side door.
"Where are we going?"
"We're escaping."
Matthew can only laugh as she pulls him along, through another door and then into an empty courtyard.
"You know where you're going."
"I've been to more than a few of these things. There so often comes a time when you just need to get some air."
He thinks of the shiny cutlery, the incessant conversation and the way his suit is beginning to feel all tight around the collar and he has to agree, "It can all get to be a little much, yes."
They settle standing close together in the cold, staying huddled near the door where the open space is still covered in by the overhang of the balcony above and Mary begins, "I'm sorry I haven't paid you more attention tonight – with these dinners I always feel like I'm getting pulled in so many directions; so many people wanting so many things."
"I think I'll survive. As much as I enjoy your attentions, I think I can be man enough to understand that you're in demand."
"Urgh," she rubs at her forehead in tired frustration, "I'm only in demand because all these people want something from me; they just want to talk to me because of my family connections or because I work for Carson. It's my job, I know, but it can be very tiring."
"You carry it well."
"Do I? I'm not sure." She takes a long breath, "They all think me some kind of Ice Queen – Mary Crawley who doesn't have a heart; the reporters, the staff around the Parliament, even the party types – they all say it."
"Well then they're idiots. Idiots who are probably just jealous and who don't know you at all."
She takes a moment, her hand reaching out and then balling into a fist. Eventually she sighs and gives him a tight smile, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to weigh you down with it as well. I'm usually much better at dealing with it all."
"I really don't mind."
She plays with the sleeve of his jacket. "You get stuck with all my problems. I've told you about my father and about working for Carson, and yet, I haven't seemed to be able to return the favour."
"You've certainly helped me to find my feet in all this. I couldn't have done it without you."
"That's different." She pulls herself in front of them so they're properly face to face, her hand sliding down to find his, "Don't you have any demons, Matthew?"
This catches him a little by surprise.
"I... I suppose." He swallows, suddenly compelled to offer a little of himself, "I was in the army before I worked for Bates, spent some time in Afghanistan. When you deal with everything that happens over there, you do come home with some demons."
Her grip on his hand tightens, "Oh, Matthew..."
"It's okay. Really." His free hand drifts up towards her cheek. There's an unavoidable crackle of tension between them and he feels like he's not fully in control of his actions as the enormous size of moment takes over him, "I'm a lot better off than some of the people who came back, I count myself lucky."
She leans into his touch and pulls in a shaky breath. "You're so strong, so... good. You're too good for me."
"No." He's adamant, "No, if anything it's the other way around."
Because she's Mary Crawley – smart and well-bred and successful and just... gorgeous. Inside and out.
And he's pretty sure he's falling for her, harder and faster than he could ever imagine.
She reaches up and he can't do anything at all to stop it. He closes the space between them at the same time her arm reaches up to pull him closer.
They meet in the middle and he loses himself in her kiss.
.
