Thomas perched on a barstool, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the bar. France agreed with him.
The family, ironically, insisted on a minimalist holiday, despite brining a full staff. This left Thomas plenty of free time, particularly at night when the footmen were off to bed and the valets could fend for themselves. Such is how he found himself in a hotel bar, this establishment being somewhat notorious for men of his sort.
The moment he set foot in the hotel he felt the urge to run. Memories flooded his mind of the speakeasy in York, of the bobbies rounding up the patrons. He may still be rotting in prison were it not for Richard. Thomas had to remind himself such locales, such men, had not been illegal in France for over a century. He may not be safe from the criticism of others, but the arm of the law at least could not reach him here.
A far cry from the hot swing of Turton's, the gentle melody of a piano fluttered through the bar like papillons on the wind. The pianist's voice joined the accompaniment, smooth and rich and… oddly familiar. Thomas recognized the song, a Mistinguett piece he'd heard during the war, but that wasn't all.
Par les homes
Dans les bals j'ai couru
Afin d'l'oublier j'ai bu
Rien a faire j'ai pas pu
The voice wrapped around the French lyrics unnaturally, like the singer didn't entirely know what the words meant, and the accent was faulty. The singer was not French, though he was doing his best to sound it. Perhaps it was a British singer, someone he might have heard at home on one of Lady Rose's records.
He turned to the barman and asked, "Say, who's the pianist tonight?"
The barkeep flashed a knowing grin. "English gentlemen, like yourself. Goes by Jimmy."
The name struck Thomas like a mortar explosion. He froze, waiting to see if perhaps the man would offer a surname. A surname that wasn't Kent. But he didn't, he turned to his other patrons and left Thomas in a world spinning much too fast.
The song is ended
But the melody lingers on
You and the song are gone
But the melody lingers on
Now, in English, the voice was sure and clear, and it was absolutely him. What was Jimmy Kent doing in a place like this? What was he doing in France at all?
Thomas thought, I should leave. Jimmy wouldn't want to be seen here by anyone who knew him. He was probably desperate for money, playing anywhere he could. He would be humiliated to know Thomas had happened upon him. Yes, he would leave immediately, before Jimmy could spot him.
What'll I do
When I am wondering who
Is kissing you
The croon of Jimmy's voice tugged at Thomas's heart, the lyrics piercing his ears as he entertained an alternative thought. Could Jimmy be playing here because he wanted to? Was Jimmy seeking the same thing Thomas came here for?
He banished the thought from his mind. Jimmy made it clear on several occasions where his preferences lay, and where they did not. Hell, the last Thomas saw the man he'd been sacked because he couldn't resist an entirely mediocre woman. No, the only circumstances that could bring Jimmy here must have been tragic and humbling. He should go.
Thomas pushed back from the bar and turned for the door. Hand on the door he paused and chanced a look over his shoulder. Sitting at the piano, slightly obscured but still recognizable, he saw the undeniable blond hair and sculpted features of Jimmy Kent.
Seeing him now still made Thomas's heart skip a beat and his breath hitch. On stage was truly where Jimmy belonged. The glow of the electric lights on his face made him seem something ethereal, Apollo gracing the mortals with his song.
I want to be loved by you
Just you
Nobody else but you
Jimmy's voice melted over the room as his eyes lifted from the keys to glance at his audience. Hazel irises swept over the dancing men, passing over Thomas once before snapping back to him.
Thomas prepared to bolt, grip tightening on the door, but to his surprise Jimmy didn't seem unhappy to spot him. On the contrary, his face broke into a wide boyish grin as he sang the closing verse of his number and gestured another man to take the piano. In a moment he was striding across the room.
"Thomas, whatever are you doing here?" he asked.
Searching for his butler's composure, Thomas mustered a response. "The family is on holiday. What brings you to Paris?"
"Came here just after I was sacked, Lady Anstruther referred me to a hotel in need of a pianist. Not this one, mind, found this on my own." Jimmy's smile didn't waver, if anything it grew. "Thomas it is truly wonderful to see you."
"You never wrote." It sounded spiteful, Thomas knew, but he could think of nothing else to say.
"Told you I was never much for letter writing," Jimmy said, his grin faltering.
"I know. I only meant, we've so much to catch up on," Thomas recovered.
"Of course, come let me buy you a drink." Jimmy ushered Thomas back to the bar where the barman poured them two glasses of red wine. "How've you been? I want to know everything."
"Everything? Well, that's quite a lot it's been three years," Thomas stammered. "I'm the butler at Downton now, Carson's retired."
"Congratulations," Jimmy exclaimed. "Always knew you'd make it to the top some time."
"I don't know about that." Thomas shifted in his chair. The question he most wanted to asked scratched at the back of his throat. Why are you here? Instead he continued, "Carson and Mrs. Hughes got married. So've Daisy and your replacement. And the Bates's have a son now."
"That so? And I saw Lady Mary and Lady Edith have both wed as well," Jimmy said.
"Indeed, they have, happy endings abound." Thomas tasted bitterness in his voice. Of course, he should have joyful tales to report for everyone else. Better Jimmy hear all that than how he spent the last three years.
"And you?" Jimmy asked.
"What about me?" Thomas asked.
"Happy endings? You're the butler now and that's loads to be proud about, of course. Anything else to report? Surely, you've found some new footman to torment or a maid to tease? Some nugget of joy?" Jimmy pried.
Thomas pursed his lips at Jimmy's obvious snooping. "There is someone, if you must know…"
Jimmy leant in. Was he really so curious? Thomas debated telling him about Richard for a moment but dismissed the idea.
"Daisy's husband is a real piece of work. I was shaping him into a fine footman before they were wed. Unfortunately, he's gone off to work on Mr. Mason's farm now, so the entertainment is sparse." Thomas smirked as Jimmy's posture relaxed and his face fell. "What did you think I was going to say?"
"I don't know, sounded for a second like you were going to say something serious." Jimmy shrugged. "I thought perhaps you'd met some bloke."
"Would you even want to hear about that?" Thomas asked.
"Of course, I would."
The question surged forward again and this time Thomas asked, "Jimmy, why're you playing piano in a place like this? Are you…do you need money or something?" He knew it was rude, but Jimmy was too comfortable. After all they'd been through at Downton, he had to know what had changed.
Jimmy laughed, "Money? No. I play here because the pay is fair and the drinks are free. Not to mention, a lot of men in the business frequent this hotel. I played the Moulin Rouge last month!"
"It doesn't put you off? Working among men like…" Thomas gestured between himself and the other patrons.
Realization clouded Jimmy's face, "You thought…no, sorry, Thomas, but I'm afraid I've not had a change in nature since we last met."
"I didn't think you had; it's why I was worried. I thought the only way you'd be caught dead here is if you were desperate," Thomas said.
Jimmy shook his head. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm not desperate. I'm evolved. And that's thanks to you."
"Me?"
"You showed me I needn't be afraid of men like you, not anymore than women need be afraid of me. I tried to tell you before but I couldn't find the right words. I treated you badly before, I know that, and it's because I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?" Thomas asked, already knowing the answer. Afraid of me.
"A bit of everything. Of what people would think. Of God, even if I don't fully believe in him. Of myself and what it meant if I thought a homosexual was a good friend. But I get it now, it doesn't mean anything, except that you're a good man."
A lump rose in Thomas's throat. For a moment he wondered if he was dreaming. Perhaps he really had left the hotel and then been struck by an automobile and knocked unconscious. It seemed more believable than this.
"You came up with all that on your own?" He asked.
"Parts, the rest with the help of a few forward-thinking Parisians I've become acquainted with." Jimmy sipped his wine and shot a wink at Thomas.
"You seem happy," Thomas mused.
"I am, I hope you are too," Jimmy said sincerely.
Thomas pondered this. It had been a long while since he or anyone else asked if he was happy. Perhaps because for so long they all knew the answer, no.
Thomas's hand slipped into his pocket, fingers grazing over metal. He traced the markings of the locket Richard gave him the day they parted, unable to stop his mouth curling up. "I am, truly."
"What's his name?" Jimmy asked.
"What do you mean?" Thomas said, more on instinct than anything else.
"I've seen that smile plenty when a friend's got a new lass. That's not a smile over a job promotion or mid-life peacefulness."
"Mid-life?"
"Do not change the subject, Mr. Barrow. What is his name?"
Thomas couldn't help but laugh at Jimmy's stern tone. "You're drunk."
"All the same," Jimmy persisted.
"His name is Richard." Thomas yielded. "He's a valet who came to Downton as part of the royal visit."
"Not the King's valet?" Jimmy gaped.
"One of them." Thomas nodded. He hadn't spoken of Richard out loud to anyone. He'd written letters to the man, made a few late night phone calls. But talking about him out loud, to another person, was different. Thomas's whole face split into a silly grin so wide his cheeks ached. His heart beat quickly as it had when Richard stole that final kiss. Gods, he was a fool.
"I daresay, is Thomas Barrow in love?" Jimmy asked.
"Thomas Barrow needs to be heading home," he deflected. "I've still got to work in the morning."
"Come now, you really won't tell me more about him?" Jimmy whined.
"I will, another time." Thomas pulled a pen and a small notepad from his breast pocket. "Write your address there. Even if you're not one for writing, I am. I'll write to you."oTHhoh
"I'll write back. I mean it this time." Jimmy wrote his address in his chicken scratch writing. Thomas hoped he'd be able to read properly it when the time came.
Jimmy clasped Thomas on the shoulder as they both stood, Thomas to leave and Jimmy to return to work. "It's been a real treat seeing you."
"Likewise."
With Jimmy's hand on his arm, their eyes locked, Thomas remembered a time when all he wanted was for Jimmy to touch him like this. To look at him like that.
What was it Jimmy had said in his room that dreadful night? There's nothing between us.
It only took three years and a country of separation, but Thomas felt closer to Jimmy than ever before. And looking at him, there was no pain, no longing, only happiness.
Even when the moment ended and their final goodbyes were said, Thomas Barrow walked home lighthearted.