Happy new year to all of you!

So, I've decided to give this story another chance. This is a modern DA AU, so if this isn't your cup of tea that's understandable. It focuses on my favourite characters Violet, Isobel, Dickie Merton, Igor Kuragin, Chelsie and Mary & Matthew. As a whole it's an ensemble piece and I try to add every character into it at some point.

Chapter 6 - Busy being fabulous

"I'll kill her!" Mary Crawley's scream was heard by every person present in the office. The same went for the crashing of the well-filled coffee mug against the door. Elsie looked up from her desk and shook her head. If someone gave her a quid every time Mary lost her temper she would be a rich woman.

She didn't care for Mary and her outbursts, what she cared about was Charles Carson. She worried for him. His pale complexion, his shaking hands, and the mysterious messages he received day after day made him look like a shadow of his former self. If anything she wanted to help him, but she didn't know if he wanted her help. He was the most reserved man she knew and even after all these years of working together she couldn't tell how he would receive her offer of help.

This morning he hadn't shown up at Tom's Diner for the first time in months. His apology about sleeping in late was as shallow as untrue and the dark spots under his eyes spoke volumes about his sleepless nights.

With all the courage she could muster, Elsie rose. She poured him a cup of coffee and added the perfect amount of milk and sugar before she placed it on his desk.

"Not now," he said unaware it was her who stood in front of him. When he finally looked up because she refused to leave, he cleared his throat. "Really not, but thank you," he added more kindly.

"In two hours in Regent's Park near the Open Air Theatre," was all she said. "I'll be waiting for you."

"I don't understand." He really didn't. She could tell from the look on his face that he was completely clueless. His facial expression was somewhat adorable.

"In two hours," she repeated patiently. "Promise me, you'll be there."

He swallowed. "If you wish."

"I wish," she stated and left his office as quickly as she had entered it.

"Don't you have anything to do, Miss O'Brien?" She asked as she passed the secretary who did her best looking busy while she was eavesdropping.

Fury didn't even begin to describe the emotion that was rushing through Mary's veins. She held the paper in her shaking hands and stared at the big headline and the even bigger photo that showed her together with Kemal Pamuk only hours before his death. The article itself was a collection of rumors without facts and its author was no one else than Edith Crawley. Her sister. Her own bloody sister.

Aside from the fact that the sole purpose of the article was to discredit her, Edith had been stupid enough to link the Russian government and the ambassador, Igor Kuragin, to Kemal's death and to the investigation of Irina Kuragin's murder. Did Edith even understand that she was playing with fire? Of course, she didn't. She was just a filthy, little journalist who did everything for a story - no matter who was hurt or belittled in the process.

"You will pay for this, you silly little girl."

Her phone started buzzing. It was her grandmother. Soon the whole of Fleet Street would be all over her.

"Hi Granny… Yes, I read it. Yes… Will you talk to Edith? I'm afraid I can do it without skinning her alive…"

Ambassador Igor Kuragin was on the phone while his limousine took him across London to the Shard. Last night James Crawley had invited him to a meeting in his office. Igor had suggested a neutral place for their meeting but James had insisted. Apparently he thought the office with the majestic view across the London city would make an impression on him.

"You are going where?" Violet asked exasperated.

"James invited me," Igor answered as if that would explain everything.

"Didn't you just tell the other day that he probably killed Irina?"

"I did. Do you think he's going to kill me in his own office?" Igor asked, amused by the idea. "My blood would ruin his carpet."

"To hell with his carpet! Don't go there."

"Please, calm down," Igor said. "I haven't met him face to face for almost ten years. It was one of your husband's boring New Year's Eve parties if I remember correctly. It's time we had a little chat."

"Don't think you can impress me with your nonchalant attitude," Violet replied and decided to change the subject. "Have you read today's paper?"

"You mean that stupid article of your granddaughter?" He wondered. "I have. It doesn't matter."

"Are you sure?"

"I am. This morning I got the results from the forensics. Kemal's autopsy has proved he died from natural causes. Of course, it's not ideal that Mary was seen with him, but that's a matter for tabloids, not the Secret Services of our respective countries."

The car stopped and Igo looked out of the car window. They had arrived at the Shard. "What about dinner tonight? I know a place where the food is delicious and the wine exquisite."

"You think it's wise to be seen out and about?"

"I was thinking about room service in the Savoy."

For a heartbeat Violet didn't know how to answer. "That sounds rather lavish to say the least."

"So, it's settled then. Eight o'clock. I'll send you the details."

He hung up and smiled. No matter how his conversation with James Crawley would turn out, his evening was going to make up for every inconvenience the man was about to cause him.

As announced Elsie Hughes was sitting on a park bench in Regent's Park and waited for Charles Carson. She was armed with two coffees to go from Tom's Diner and an umbrella in case the dark clouds above her head meant serious business. As expected by her, Charles appeared on time. He looked around as if he wanted to make sure no one had been following him before he sat down.

She gave him the coffee and waited for him to start talking. After a minute of silence, he cleared his throat. "I'm not sure what this is all about."

"Oh, I think you do," she replied. "So, you better start talking before I have to tell Mister Crawley about your little secret."

He gasped. "That's not very kind."

"It's as kind as I can get," she said in a low voice. "You need help and I'm willing to give it to you, but you have to be honest with me."

"You can't help me," he said crestfallen. "No one can."

"You really enjoy being everyone's doormat, don't you?" She turned the paper cup in her hands. "Or it's that you enjoy being her doormat."

He swallowed. "What do you know?"

"Someone's blackmailing you with nude pictures of a woman known as Alice Tindall - though that's not her real name, just an alias. She's one of Britain's best known models from the 80s. I don't know much about fashion but the tabloids tell me in her days she was a real trendsetter. What makes me wonder…. What do you know about such things…?" She broke off and took a closer, dismissive look at his dark blue tie. "What am I missing?"

He took his tie and plugged it back under his jacket. "I've known her for over fifty years. We grew up in the same neighbourhood."

"I see… puppy love."

He ignored her sarcastic comment and continued. "We haven't talked in ages."

"Well, I assume she was too busy being fabulous to stay in contact with you."

"I have no idea who sent the photos and why I'm the one who's being blackmailed. But I know I can't let them be published."

Elsie sighed. He truly was a hopeless case - one she happened to like a bit too much. "So, how can I help?"

"I need to find out where she is these days. Perhaps she knows who's behind all this."

Elsie grinned and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "She's in London. I found out she owns one of these new monstrous apartments near Embankment. She can't be too poor, if she can afford to live there."

"How did you…" He was speechless and utterly confused. How did she find out - and more importantly why?

"You can thank me later," Elsie answered. "You can buy me dinner once this is all over."

Oxford

After a day of exploring the inner city of Oxford, Isobel arrived at a pub near the river. She and Dickie had agreed to meet there for a drink after his engagement in the college was over.

With hurting feet and a real thirst for cold cider she had picked up at the bar, sank on a chair and watched the people passing by and around her. She overheard laughter and gossiping, approaching cars, and singing birds. It was the sound of spring, the beginning of a new saison with all its promising details.

It was like a sign for the restart of her relationship with Dickie. After the ups and downs of their love in the past year she was finally realizing that they were back on track and getting along better than ever.

On the chair next to hers she found an issue of today's paper and picked it up. The screaming headline covered Mary Crawley and the dead Kemal Pamuk. The message it sent was obvious. Had he been Mary's latest lover? Who knew? She didn't bother reading the short article underneath and put the paper aside. What would Matthew say? Did he already regret returning to London? His relationship with Mary - whatever it was - had always been filled with conflict and heartbreak. Lavinia's untimely death had been the bleak crescendo of the difficult dynamic of the friendship. Until today neither Matthew nor Mary had ever spoken of the night Lavinia had died and the circumstances that had led to her death. Why did she leave the party early and alone? How did the cocaine end up in her car and her blood stream? For the police it had been an accident and no one had ever been interested in investigating her death any further. Isobel was convinced that the money and reputation of the Crawleys had a lot to do with the way the investigation had been handled.

Isobel drank from her cider and let her eyes travel among the guests. Dickie was running late, but absent-minded as he used to be, that came as no surprise. She contemplated getting a second pint when a man approached her table.

"Isobel Crawley?" He asked and sat down opposite her without awaiting her permission to do so.

"Reggie," she greeted him a little breathless. The whole day she spent watching out for him. Behind every corner and in every shop she had entered she had feared running into him and just when she started to let go of the worry, he showed up.

"What a surprise," he said. "I didn't expect you to come to Oxford again."

He looked exactly like seven years ago when she had last seen him. She remembered the snowy New Year's day with nothing but disdain and self-loath. Their heavy argument before she had fled his small house hadn't been one of her finest hours. His salt and pepper hair was still a bit too long and his shirt hadn't seen an iron in years.

"You look well," he complimented her. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine," she replied and took a look at her watch. "I'm waiting for someone." She hoped he would understand the hint and he did - and ignored it. He stayed where he was and asked, "How's Matthew? I've read he's returned to London and is part of the firm now. Funny how times change."

"He is back in London and doing well."

"And he's not married?"

"No." Her phone started buzzing in her handbag. Glad for the interruption she pulled it out and answered it. It was Dickie.

"I know I'm late, but I'm on my way."

"Don't worry. Why don't we meet in the restaurant?" She asked without taking her eyes from Reggie. He was absorbing every gesture and every word. It annoyed her and she had to leave before she told him to get lost forever.

Dickie seemed a little confused by her suggestion, but agreed. "If that's what you want…"

"It's exactly what I want," she informed him and ended the call. "I have to go!" With her handbag pressed against her belly she rose.

"Since it's you, I assume your relationship with him is 'complicated'," Reggie said unimpressed by her quick exit. She knew it was a mistake to reply but she couldn't help herself. Delivering a punchline, having the last word was her olympic sport. It came with being Violet's best friend.

"Actually, it's fairly easy," she snapped as she turned to him. "No strings, no regrets."

"So that's what you associate with me? Regrets?"

"You name it."

She felt his eyes on her back all the way down the street, but every time she turned around he wasn't there. He didn't follow her and she scolded herself for her weak nerves. The next time Dickie suggested a weekend trip to Oxford, she would vote for Cambridge instead.

-tbc-