The machine hummed as the black gold poured slowly out of the porter filter into the cup, dripping crème that swirled on the surface. As it finished Mary undid the arm and tapped out the spent grounds, the noise echoed through the cavernous room. She added sugar stirring briefly whilst moving out from behind the long mahogany bar, grabbing her pile of papers on the way to her table.
There was an hour before her meeting with her father and the new Manager, where the handoff would start, and the lessening of her responsibilities. She was loathe to feel anything except resentment to her father for wanting a male head for the restaurant, passing over his elder daughter who had worked to the bone for the last six years in the family business.
She sank into the high-backed lounge chair facing away from the rest of the room, and arranged her paperwork so that she could eat her lunch as well as go over all the bookings for that night making sure that tables were assigned properly, and that everything was in order for the retched new Manager to take over.
It could not really be called lunch as such, but in hospitality a meal was always when normal people had finished and food was usually hurried and at all extreme hours. She stabbed her fork into her 'adjusted' Waldof salad, Mary's usual, as Daisy the sous chef had learnt to indulge her. Goats cheese, not blue, and extra pear and a hint of spinach. She took a monstrous mouthful of greens, trying to get her head around moving tables to fit an extra ten seater, as she coasted her hand down her bare leg to hook her fingers in her heels to slide them off. At this time of day, no customers were in the restaurant, and half an hour of freedom for her toes would give her relief to last another eight to ten hour shift.
She sighed at what the night would bring. The usual performance of providing and entertaining guests with a night they could not forget. Mouthgasmic food that critics raved about, of which Beryl Patmore's cooking helped earn them three Chef's Hats, a spectacular setting for the performance of the dining experience, and some of the best wait staff in the city. Trained and honed not only by the Crawleys and Mary's cutting eye but also with years of experience. They did however attract some of the best, and therefore tried all that they could to keep them, as finding quality in hospitality was rare.
The sigh that hushed from her lips told a tale of a thousand hours hovering between the dance of lunch and the spectacle of dinner. She was imminently grateful for the trust that she had in her staff to be able to create yet another smooth running shift, one where worries really only centred on getting hot food to the table timely, making sure that the art creations that Patmore called food did not cascade all over the plate, and the right wines from the cellar arrived at the table not corked.
Thank God for Carson and his tuned nose, and his ability to snuff out some of the rarest vintages in all the country. Their bar and wine cellar was sought after, and very appreciated, even if only by those that flaunted their money or drank wine like water. And rightly a talking point in food circles.
Her salad done, her coffee downed, the angry red scribbles on her page showed just how many tables had to be relocated just to fit in the extra guests. Thomas would grumble, and Bates would stoically just get on with the job. Every day saw a changing to the puzzle, and every day saw the room reorganised slightly. A change, and yet still the same.
Her world revolved within this dining room, this space that was her home. Downton at the Abbey, where once nuns were enlightened, and now people from all walks of life, from the everyday layman, to dodgy businessmen, and those that classed themselves in either the rich or famous, or both, found that they lay worship to a whole different set of parameters.
Her world and her immediate and adopted family were here. For years she had told herself that this was all she needed in life. And yet she felt the growing emptiness of what years in the business had not been able to fill. A yearning for another course, the dessert, the aperitif to finish a fantastic meal, the satisfaction to a hunger that seemed to be rumbling around her chest wanting to be heard.
Shift work left no room for socialising, yet in her line of business there was never a shortage of men. Just a lack of time to get to know them.
And then there was of course, the risky business of fraternising with colleagues.
When she heard the front doors to the restaurant open, and the rush of air that carried with it the noise of people passing by, she felt the gust of intrusion into her world. Her brow crossed at the inevitable arrival, with sure footsteps down the short wooden floor of the hallway of the person who she would need to attend to.
She leant down to hook her heels on, her long chocolate hair hiding her face as she struggled to find them under the table. Finally she spied them and as she dragged her expensive shoes closer to pull on her eyes peaked between the folds and found him standing close to her table waiting for her attention.
The sight of him again so soon not only made her hands still, it also made her heart skip and her breathing falter. The physical reaction of her body at his close proximity surprised her, and she was left wanting in his presence. Her normal cool and very careful embodiment of the person who she wanted to be seen as, almost melted in front of him. Or rather, that persona had not even appeared upon standing before him. Twice.
Her mind whirled at all the possibilities of why he may be here again. There had been the slightest glimmer of hope that she might one day see him again, but so soon?
The sharp prickles of excitement rolled down her insides and turned her into smashed ice.
The smile crept slowly across her face, shy and beautiful. She had been caught with cracks in her walls and she could do little to stop the sun shining out.
Matthew returned her smile, he was expecting to see her today, but he registered her surprised.
"I'm afraid I have caught you rather unexpectedly."
"As is the moment when your hand is still in the biscuit tin and your mother comes into the room."
"I trust the sight of me is in no way a comparison to your mother."
"Let's just say that you are a more welcome sight. And it is Granny whose knack of knowing all things, seems to catch me out more than Mamma!"
They both laughed at their respective families, as some idiosyncrasies never changed.
"I trust our hospitality was not deemed lacking for what you desired last night?"
There played a wicked smirk at the corners of his mouth. "Quite the opposite in fact! For that brief moment I found it very desirable."
"Although you left quickly?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"And now?" She knew she was pushing what would otherwise be called forward behaviour but she felt reckless and cheeky. "What has you drawn back again so soon?"
You. I wish it was as simple as saying you.
Matthew had the urge to explain himself. "It may have proved auspicious to have introduced myself last night."
She nodded suddenly understanding where this was going, and feeling disappointment at the edge of her stomach. "You have a propensity towards formalities. Therefore I surmise you must be here on business. That's a pity," she almost sighed loudly, "as I would have asked if you had time for a coffee."
The slight sweep of her hand indicated where she had been sitting, her body righting itself to square her shoulders and her posture upright. Her arm extended to offer her elongated hand, "Mary Crawley."
Matthew reached for her hand with all the hesitation of one who had kept a secret from her. Their fingers melded together like ying and yang, and he allowed hers to stay on top in the power play, whether consciously or not. Her long fingers lay across his large palm, the hint of a caress, as their bodies talked.
Flesh spoke of wanting and knowing, of desire and the question of a promise to come. The echoes in Mary's soul shifted, came closer to the surface and tugged at memories not from this life.
The room imploded. The air sucked in to the point where their hands were joined. And then in the next instant the sparks of the new world were flung out to the edges of space.
They both felt the shift. It was new and unexpected, but not unwelcome.
Until Matthew slowly tore his eyes from where they were fitted together to find his grounding in the depths of her eyes, his mouth opened to speak his name.
"Oh good, you two have met. Hello and welcome to Downton Matthew Crawley!" The voice of Robert Crawley almost bellowed across the short space as he took the few steps to join them.
Mary snatched her hand away faster than would have been appropriate and the lightening behind her eyes struck through the cracks and her body became the arctic.