AN: Apologies for the long intermission between the last chapter and this one – life can get crazy! But hopefully these two chapters together will do for now.
2. Apartments
There was no entry hall.
That was what struck Mary the first time she entered Richard's flat. Victorian row houses, country manors, ordinary cottages – they all had entry halls. But not here. The tall double doors, painted ink black in a matte finish with massive octagonal brushed brass handles, opened straight into the gracious living room; the only vestibule to speak of was the small area where two steps led up from the doors to the rest of the room. It was the pinnacle of informality, she had thought upon first sight, and she was not sure whether she liked it.
Where were guests supposed to wait while they were announced?, she had asked herself at the time, an innocuous enquiry, but one that carried tremendous implications for the kind of life that was to be lived in this home. The kind of life she was to live in this home. Though at this point she had to laugh silently to herself: no one would be announcing her arrival now, at two in the morning, creeping into Richard's apartment not as a guest but as – what? A lover? Mistress? Not-quite fiancé yet certainly future wife? Though perhaps they had no need of labels by this point, just as her new home had no need of an entry hall.
"What's funny?" Richard asked conspiratorially at her half-mirthful smile as he unlocked the front door, no butler or valet there to open it for them.
"What isn't funny?" she replied, sweeping through the door and up the two steps into the main room. Richard followed, dropping his weekend bag by the stairs, its thud muted by the deep carpet just as the clank of the shut door was muted by the slow-close mechanism and the buzz of the electric lights being turned on was muted by the noiseless dimmer switch. There were no echoes here, no creak of old floorboards or shutters banging from draft. "It's quieter here in the middle of the city than on the stillest night in Yorkshire," Mary continued, picking one irony out of many to illustrate her amusement.
"All the better for us to sneak around," Richard said with a smirk.
The room itself was long and wide; grand, in its way, though nothing compared to country house standards. The vast, plain ceiling was fairly low given its proportions, lending the room the more intimate feel of a lounge, or, Mary had thought critically at first, a department store. But unlike the double height rooms of Haxby, she realized, a secret could be whispered here without reverberating throughout the house - ideal for a man who traded in the information of others and required privacy for himself.
The pillar-less room seemed to go on forever in both directions, the longest wall taken up by rows of glass doors that stretched right up to the ceiling, the square windowpanes mimicking the grid of the city that lay sparkling in the distance beyond the terrace outside. The other two walls were clad in massive blocks of striated grey sandstone which reiterated the grid once more, affixed to the wall with small brass octagon pins that recalled the handles of the entrance, and every doorknob after that.
The effect was of a very deliberate room. Unlike Downton, with its timeworn, carefully mismatched furniture arranged to give the impression of bohemianism, the flat was very finished. Not that things were placed just so to the point of fastidiousness, but that everything cohered into a single impression, one of modernity and restraint. It should feel oppressive, but it did not. The room simply felt quite lush, for all its simplicity, the attention to detail and material offsetting the minimalism of the cool geometry.
"Change anything you like," Richard's voice invaded her consciousness as Mary surveyed the room. It was not her first visit to the apartment, but it was her first time seeing it as her own. "If you hate it," he amended.
"I don't hate it," she replied.
Because this was not a house for entry halls, where ladies paid polite afternoon visits, leaving their calling cards to collect on a tray on the front table - there was no front table. This was a house for an endless flow of people, for revelers to sweep in, grabbing a cocktail on their way to greet friends on the terrace, or to find themselves pulled immediately into a dance by a stranger taken by the jazz beat on the piano. On more sedate evenings it was a house for relaxed posture and conversation, drawing guests into the room without a second glance backwards or a thought to the formality of traditional greeting as the host and hostess reclined on low-slung sofas, expecting their new company to join them in leisure. And on quiet nights, like tonight, it was a house for two, the sparkling city in the distance the only reception either needed upon their return home.
In fact, Mary did not hate the flat the first time she saw it, either, though she had been expecting to dislike it intensely. The idea that she was being courted by a man who lived in an apartment was most abhorrent to her sensibilities. Not only that, but she had wondered at the time what she could contribute to the marriage if they were to live in such a modern way – she had been raised to preside over a grand house, and she hadn't the slightest idea how she could apply those skills to running a more limited household in a hotel.
They had discussed it on Richard's frequent visits to Downton after he had proposed, a time when he returned every weekend in hopes of an answer. Apartment or not, Mary had made up mind to accept, but she could not bring herself to tell him. His stunt writing to her father to force her hand only made her delay longer, and he looked at her with such eagerness – the same look she received from those twenty-year-olds she used to toy with before the war – that it reminded her of carefree times she was not quite ready to give up.
"I've never met anyone who lived in a flat," she said on one such weekend as they strolled through the estate's outer gardens, at the edge of the lawn where formality gave way to wilderness. "I can't fathom it. All the things you must rely on – elevators, and electricity."
"You've managed to do quite well without that here," he commented dryly, alluding to the recent storm that had blacked out the house's power, forcing them to return to candlelight for two long weeks.
"We have electricity," Mary protested. "Finally. Sometimes…"
"You'd be amazed how easy it is to get used to the finer things in life, like lifts and light bulbs."
"I don't doubt it," she replied. "But living with people on either side of the wall from you. Strangers!"
"I think you're forgetting the two dozen or so people that you share Downton with, scurrying behind the walls to open the drapes and serve your tea," Richard reminded her.
"There's a difference between neighbors and servants."
Her remark sounded so much like something Granny would say that, in her surprise at the foreign voice emerging from her own mouth, she nearly let a rut in the rugged ground trip her up. Richard caught her arm at her stumble, and she quickly pulled out of his grasp in a stubborn rejection of the city dweller's aid in her native countryside. "And you have no garden!" she cried, moving on, pity evident in her voice at his plight.
He chuckled at her misdirected sympathy. "I have several terraces. They may not be wild pastures with horses and grain, but the view isn't bad."
"Stone terraces are hardly sufficient when one is accustomed to grass."
She looked back at him where he had paused to kick some mud off his shoe, wearing a vexed expression as he regarded the offending dirt with distaste. "You'd be amazed how easy it is to get used to the finer things in life," she echoed with a raised eyebrow.
His annoyed glower brightened, pleasantly surprised as she recalled his words. "Perhaps you're right," he allowed. "You may know someone who lives in a flat," he added as he caught up alongside her, returning to her earlier remark. "Aside from me, of course. Do you know Sir Thomas Dewar?"
Mary thought for a moment as they continued to walk. "The whiskey distiller?" At her companion's affirmative nod: "We've met a few times, at various dinners and so on. I seem to recall a rather enthusiastic introduction by Lady Talitha Fairbanks; although I was never sure if it was because she thought she was making a match, or ridding herself of a colossal bore."
"He can be resolutely plodding in his anecdotes," Richard conceded, "and I wouldn't normally say that of a fellow Scotsman." Both seemed to consider their separate encounters with the Sir Thomas briefly, Mary's eyes going blank in recollection of the tedium of a particularly lengthy story about Sir Thomas's voyage to Australia and his persistent runny nose. By the end of the evening she believed she knew more of his medical condition than his doctor.
"And this is the man you select to recommend apartment living?" she asked skeptically.
"Not exactly. But he is a neighbor of mine, and he is giving a party next week in honor of his new blend. Perhaps you would like to accompany me – you can see a hotel flat for yourself, and we can avoid him together."
Mary had agreed, her curiosity getting the better of her and Richard's squinting smile in the sunlight perhaps influencing her choice as well. She wanted to see if he had quite the same vaguely annoyed expression in the city as he wore on their country walks, as if each particle of nature were an affront to his hard-won civilization.
So she had arranged to attend the party with Lady Talitha and her husband, two acceptable chaperones who were well-acquainted with London's smart set – even those who lived in apartments. And though Mary had no idea what to expect, she got an idea when she and Talitha departed the quiet civility of Harrods' for the cacophony of Richard's part of the city. They turned off the main road, yet the bright and blinking lights of the Strand seemed to continue down the private drive of the hotel, right to the front door, and she could scarcely imagine a more garish approach to a home.
Aunt Rosamund's chauffeur had dropped them at the Savoy's glittering main entrance by accident, an error Talitha had not rectified because she was certain she knew a shortcut to the residences' elevators hidden off the lobby. As a result, the two women had wandered the ground floor from the restaurant to the bar several times in search of the correct lift, and Mary was already in a fit of pique even before she failed to reach Richard on the house telephone. Apartments were not off to a good start in her estimation.
Finally Mary surrendered and asked the front desk to direct them. A bellboy then escorted them to a back door veiled between two ferns behind the cigarette counter – this too was a bad sign, and Mary half expected to find herself in the laundry or the boiler room after such an inelegant entrance. However, the door led only to a small lobby with two brass-paneled sets of elevator doors, each with intricately designed half circles above and a needle to indicate which floor they were on. She saw that both elevators were currently on the fourteenth floor, so she pushed the call button and wondered how safe such a device really was that far up.
As they waited, she took in the environment – the little lobby was tiny by any standards, perhaps the size of a small bedroom at Downton. The materials were rich; from the thick red carpet to the diamond pattern of the marquetry wood paneling to the crystal of the chandelier that clung flush to the low ceiling. But it was not a space for lingering; it was barely a space for arriving. How peculiar, she thought as the elevator appeared and the boy took them up to the top of the building with alarming speed.
"I know what you're thinking," Talitha said with her usual insight as they ascended. "Shouldn't you be enjoying the peace of the country instead of this nonsense?"
"Exactly," Mary replied, not so much a retort as a sincere agreement.
Mary always liked Talitha, more than most people in their London set. She was intelligent and unafraid to hide it; beyond that, she refused to waste her time with the petty diversions of society gossip. Ten years her senior, the innately stylish woman was the daughter of a merchant banker who had been knighted for his trouble, and she had married far above this station to Lord John Fairbanks, Earl of Ashby, whom she affectionately called Ash. Putting her prodigious talents and intelligence to good use, Talitha was a well-known London figure, serving as a sort of fixer, as Mary understood it, arranging introductions and brokering deals in an informal manner. It was an open secret that most major deals that went on in the British Empire's financial world originated at Lady Ashby's dinner table. The couple was then compensated by preferential stock options, which is how they ended up with such a large stake in the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation. It may also explain Talitha's passion for all things Asia, including tonight's daring Chinese-inspired frock.
"Just keep in mind that Sir Thomas is a bad example," Talitha warned when they had arrived at his wide-open front doors. "Though perhaps not much worse than those country bores you have to entertain at Downton." Mary had to admit this was true; the Crawleys had to import guests from London in order to have a proper party, and the rest of the time they were relegated to entertaining the unglamorous and generally elderly Yorkshire elite. So perhaps London would not be so bad in comparison.
Still, she entered the flat with trepidation, already disliking the casual entrance and the type of guest, all crowded packed in to the small space of the living room so it was difficult to see the flat beyond the people. Appraising the crowd, she glanced around for Richard but did not see his tall frame in the din.
"These bachelor's parties are always useless," Talitha observed as she too looked over the diverse groups of people, "no one to make introductions, no one to keep people mingling. The only thing that's properly managed is the liquor!"
Nearly everyone had a glass of whiskey in their hand. "No surprise," said Mary, "given this particular bachelor's profession."
"I'm just about ready to hire myself out as hostess – I'd probably do better than Ash with his banks, and goodness knows I do it anyway. I might as well be compensated," Talitha joked as she waved across the room to someone she knew. "The perfect example," she continued, indicating a footman circulating with hors d'oeuvres. "He is walking around with one canapé left on that enormous platter. Pardon me," she called, beckoning the man over, "you really should restock your tray – no one would be rude enough to take the last bite." The footman murmured an apology and dashed off down the hallway to follow the order. "You see? I've no idea how Dewar manages anything at all."
"And here he comes," Mary said in a stage whisper as Sir Thomas approached, his comical mustache unmistakable, extending beyond the border of his face and taking over the room in a way the man wished his personality might someday achieve. There were happy greetings all around, before Dewar immediately launched into a detailed explanation of the distillation process of his new product, his thick Scottish accent an almost comical imitation of a real one. Mary wondered if he exaggerated it, for marketing purposes, and resolved to ask Richard about it should he ever appear.
As the whiskey baron talked, Mary took the opportunity to examine her surroundings; at least, what she could see beyond the many people. And the only word she could come up with in response was 'ghastly.' Dewar's apartment was so ghastly she could scarcely believe it, the textbook definition of home décor errors. There appeared to be many rooms, but they were small and boxy, and to add to the cramped feeling the ceiling was low, feeling like it descended on the partygoers in ever increasing intervals with each sip of drink. The apartment was plain – flat walls and flat ceilings with no moldings or embellishment whatsoever. Worst of all was Dewar's Victorian imitation furniture, the dark carved mahogany and red velvet a true crime against good taste, even twenty years ago when the style was in vogue. Now it merely pointed up the dreariness of the rest of the room, like a gilt picture frame around a photograph of a tenement. If this was the kind of environment Richard flourished in, then Mary was apt to reconsider his proposal. No amount of money or power could compensate for living like this.
Lady Talitha nodded and smiled at one of Dewar's unfunny jokes, and Mary could see her eyes scanning the room for potential exit strategies; neither girl had to look far as Richard appeared behind Dewar, putting a temporary halt to the man's interminable monologue.
"Forgive me," Richard said as he grasped her hand in greeting, "I just found out you arrived. I was down looking for you in the lobby, thinking perhaps my directions were not as clear as they should have been."
"Indeed they were not," Mary replied, relieved to see him and thinking his rather fetching appearance in evening clothes improved the aesthetics of the room enormously. "But a kind front desk manager guided me in my quest."
"I'm glad you didn't give up," he said low in her ear as he came up beside her.
"I haven't yet," she commented, letting her eyes drift past his dapper evening attire to the unpleasant yellow-beige walls of the claustrophobic room. "But that doesn't mean I won't," she said with a smirk.