Hi all! This week is so crazy for me, but I wanted to post a chapter today because it is Karine's birthday. She is such a gem and sends me the nicest messages after every chapter and tells me about her food adventures in Paris (which I'm always jealous of).
This chapter is one of my favorites in the whole fic so far (and I've written up to Chapter 10). I'm sure most of you know that I studied in Paris last year and I love it so much- so it was so so much fun to write about my favorite Paris locals. It was also a little tricky because last year when I was living in Paris I was on a very limited student budget, so my experience in Paris is quite different that what modern Mary Crawley's must be. Because of that I put in a lot of time figuring out what her apartment would look like. If you visit my tumblr and check out the TMBTM bonus features section, there is a link to what I imagine Mary's apartment looking like (or you can use your imagination).
Okay, sorry for so many notes, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I loved writing it :)
Chapter 5: Phase Five- Getaway in Paris
Mary definitely didn't have to greet Matthew at the airport. She didn't when her family visited or even Anna. Technically, they all knew where Mary lived and visited frequently enough that would seem laughable to go to such lengths to welcome them to Paris.
But, it seemed Matthew was different. She told herself that it would look good if a photographer happened to capture her greeting her sweetheart at the airport. In reality, she knew the reason behind it was much more complex than that.
So she was at Charles de Gaulle at the crack of dawn, far earlier than she'd ever be awake otherwise. She had worn a soft grey dress, with long sleeves- perfect for late April in Paris. She had a scarf to go with it and a pair of black flats. It was casual, but slightly nicer than she would ordinarily wear for something so informal at this time in the morning. She had a wristlet, black leather, self designed, dangling off her wrist.
Matthew's flight was still a bit away from landing when she got to the airport, so she'd gotten a café au lait and a croissant to eat as she waited in the arrivals area. The airport was so crowded and busy that she seemed to slipping from everyone's notice.
She pulled out her phone and scrolled through some headlines. People seemed to have posted a lot about her and Matthew in the last week. There were covert shots of them walking with William in Central Park. Luckily, no one caught pictures of Matthew's moment of panic and Mary was grateful for that. She, herself, had posted a picture of the tickets and program from the musical they saw on Instagram with a comment, "Thank you Matthew_Crawley and the cast for such an incredible night at the theater." That seemed to spread quickly across the internet. If anyone was questioning if Mary and Matthew were really together- they weren't anymore. There were articles speculating about how they got together so quickly. If maybe Mary had been seeing Matthew while she was ruining the Foyle-Lane Fox marriage. Or if Matthew had lost all of his morals when he was infected with the tropical disease. Mary was offended for Matthew about that one. She was just starting to read another vaguely presumptuous article, "5 Reasons Mary and Matthew are Going to Be Married by the End of Summer," when a voice interrupted her.
"Hello there," He said, and she looked up to see Matthew. He looked like something marvelous. His golden hair was almost glowing in the morning light. He looked a bit rumpled, his striped shirt creased from the trip and his eyes squinty from jet lag. But all the same, Mary felt herself falling a little bit harder with every moment she looked at him.
"Darling," She said, brightly, springing to her feet and hugging him. He rested his head on top of hers and she found herself letting out a sigh. It felt so right for him to be here.
"You must be exhausted," She said, "Let's go back to my place. You can get a shower and nap."
"That sounds lovely," He said, placing his hand on the small of her back as they made their way to the car.
They walked through the labyrinth of the airport, following sign after sign till they finally burst into the fresh air and early morning sunshine of the car pick up area. Mary inquired about his flight, "long, but comfortable," and the progress he'd made at work that week, "slow, but fulfilling." As she surveyed the line of vehicles looking for her driver, he asked about her and she filled him in on rift she'd gotten in with another designer, one she used to work with, who couldn't believe that Mary Crawley could actually run her own business. Typical.
"I'm quite sure if people underestimate me anymore they'll finally look more foolish me," Mary remarked, as they got into her car.
There was space between them in the car. Mary wondered if maybe she had imagined it all. Maybe in her head she'd over dramatized the events of earlier in the week. Maybe he wasn't falling for her, maybe he was just as good at acting as she was.
They made their way onto the peripherie and Mary was about to explain her apartment to Matthew, when she looked over, she saw him dozing. She smiled to herself and let her own eyes flutter. She wasn't sleeping per say, but she wasn't entirely conscious either.
When she opened her eyes again, they were in the middle of St-Germain-de-Pres. She smiled to herself- home. She then reached over to brush Matthew's arm.
"Matthew, we're very close," She whispered, as he blinked awake rather adorably.
He let out a little grunt and gave a yawn. "That was so fast," He muttered.
"More like forty minutes," She laughed, "You've been out for a bit."
"I dislike jetlag," Matthew said, "It always makes you a bit loopy."
Mary nodded, knowing that all too well. "Let's get you a nap and a shower," she said, "Then you'll be all sorted."
The car pulled to a stop in front of her building. The driver helped gather Matthew's luggage from the boot and they headed into the apartment building.
They stepped into the lift. It was a bit old, but it worked none-the-less. It arrived at her place and they walked out and took a few steps to her door. It opened to reveal her large space.
Mary's apartment was one of her favorite places in the world. For an old apartment in one of the oldest parts of Paris, it was fantastically modern. The door opened to a large open space with three huge windows that cascaded light on nice days, and made for a snuggly place to sit with a mug of coffee and a novel on darker ones. Beneath the first window was the sitting area. Here she had a sleek white sofa and another bright blue one. The color was vibrant against the ancient, natural wall. Underneath the next window was a simple chaise lounge covered in pillows. The kitchen and dining area found their home under the third window. Her own bedroom was in the loft above.
She looked back at Matthew, excited to watch his eyes take in the room. But when she looked back, he was simply struggling to keep them open.
"Here," she said, softly, placing her hand lightly on his to make sure he wasn't going to fall asleep standing up, "You'll have the whole downstairs to yourself."
She led him down a flight a stairs, careful that he wasn't going to trip over his own feet on the walk down. There was a table and chairs and a small living area at the foot of the stairs, but she led him past them to his room.
There was a low lying double bed with a white duvet. It was a nice, small dark space. Mary was fond of it. Sybil and Anna stayed there often when they visited.
"There is an en-suite there," she said, pointing at the adjoining bathroom, "But don't fuss too much over anything now. You need a good, long nap."
He nodded lazily as he slumped onto the bed.
"I'll be upstairs if you need me," she said, before turning to head back up.
She was fully intending on going up to the lofted part of the apartment, where her desk was. It was a Friday and Mary normally did work from home instead of at the atelier then. But today, she was so sleepy herself. Waking up at 6AM to greet Matthew had exhausted her. She figured if she didn't have a short nap, she would get nothing done.
So she instead settled on chaise lounge and wrapped herself in an old grey wool blanket. She lifted her phone and was able to start reading, "Actress Sarah Bunting on Mary and Matthew: 'Lavinia Never Would Have Wanted This.'" But before she could listen to herself be ripped to shreds again, her own eyes slumped closed and she let go into a much needed nap.
Matthew woke up in what almost felt like a cave. There were cool stonewalls and dim light, but he felt warmly snug under the thick white duvet. He had no clue where he was.
It took him a minute to place where he was.
Mary's. Of course.
He slunk out of bed, no longer afraid of being attacked by some sort cave dwelling animal. He founded the en-suite just as Mary had described. He turned the shower as hot as it got and he shuffled in.
As the water slowly woke him, he let his thoughts turn to Mary. He thought about how bright and happy she had looked to see him at the airport. Was she merely putting on airs? Was there some camera there waiting to take a picture of their reunion that he didn't know about? Or was she really that genuinely happy to see him? Everything seemed blurry for them. Where was the line between acting and reality? Was there one?
Matthew figured that they would soon find out. While they had previously only been together in public places, this was the first time that they would be together in private. Would that change things?
He wondered if he would go upstairs to find the surly woman from the elevator on their first date or the complex, but thoughtful woman he'd known since. There was only one way to find out.
He turned off the shower and stepped out. He toweled off and headed into his room to find his suitcase. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a button up shirt. He paused to brush his teeth and run a comb through his damp hair, before venturing upstairs.
When he crested the top step, the first thing he noticed was that late afternoon sun was shining into the large open first floor of Mary's apartment. He then noticed that Mary was stirring on the chaise lounge directly across from him.
"Oh, Matthew," She said, her voice thick with sleep, "Sorry, I think I dozed off when you did."
"That's no bother," Matthew said, "I think we all deserve more rest in our lives."
Mary smiled thoughtfully, "Maybe that's true."
She was sitting up slowly. Her cheek was creased with the pattern of the chaise lounge. Her hair was sticking up and her dress was stuck to her other places. She blinked a few times, clearly a bit out of sorts.
"What time is it?" She asked.
Matthew felt for his phone, but realized he'd left it downstairs. He glanced towards the kitchen and noticed the clock reading 16:34 over the oven.
"Four thirty," He said.
Mary shook her head, "Sorry, that was much longer that I planned to sleep. Are you hungry?"
Matthew thought about it and realized he was. He nodded.
"Well my mother has hired for a photographer to take a bunch of pictures of us gallivanting around Paris tomorrow, but tonight is up to us," she explained, as she ran a hand through her hair.
"What shall we do then?" Matthew asked, his voice soft. He was wondering how this went. How were they when the camera's were off?
"I'm going to take a shower and change," Mary explained, "Then we can maybe get some food, drink the by the Seine, or quelque'chose comme ça."
Matthew nodded. It sounded good if Mary wanted to spend time with him, even if she was sleep addled.
"I like that," He agreed.
"Good," Mary said, smiling delicately, "I'll be right back. Just hang out here. There is a TV over there. And snacks over in the kitchen if you are really hungry."
She stood and headed up to the loft. Matthew decided to go find his phone. He trotted back downstairs. Mary had left the wifi password on one of the tables in the entry. When he retrieved he phone he went back and added it, watching his phone fill with e-mails, as he slid onto one of the sofas.
Mary's apartment was a true curiosity to him. He had expected her to have the sort of plush, boutique cliché apartment that he had seen in every Parisian movie. But her space was more modern, more minimalistic. Mary had clearly hand picked each detail of the space. She had an eye for those sorts of things, which was probably why she was faring so well in the handbag business. He wondered how she had come to acquire the unique apartment.
He scrolled through his e-mails, checked a few other social apps, but then heard the sound of Mary moving around upstairs, so he moved back up to the main floor.
She was dressed leggings that hit her mid calf and a white flowey shirt. She was rummaging in the kitchen.
"Perfect," she said, her face lighting up, "There you are."
Matthew felt a shiver go through him, hardly able to believe she was so delighted to see him.
"I'm just grabbing some nice red wine and a corkscrew," she explained, "What do you say to grabbing some falafel and wandering around?"
"That sounds marvelous," He remarked.
"Good," Mary said, tossing a bottle of wine into her large tote. She looked up before explaining, "In case you worried, the wine goes in a different section than Daisy does, so she won't get hurt."
Matthew laughed and they headed out the door.
Paris was alive in the evening. They wandered down the Boulevard St. Germain. The streets were full of couples mingling, business people heading home from work, and groups of kids out with their friends. The city seemed to breath with the arrival of the weekend.
"Paris gets a bit batty around this time of year," Mary was explaining, "They have this notion that every weekend is some sort of bank holiday, so there are constantly people jetting off for little vacations."
They turned at the Boulevard St. Michel and headed towards the Seine. There was the iconic fountain, tiny tourist restaurants, and a smattering of bookshops. They turned again and Matthew tried not let his jaw drop at the fact that Cathedrale de Notre Dame was right in front of them. He'd seen it before, but it was so very massive that he felt a thrill just looking at it. When Matthew admitted he'd never actually had time to go inside, Mary dragged him in.
"It's free you know, and it hardly takes time to peak in and out," she explained.
He continued to let his eyes take in the details of the cathedral. The rose windows were magical. But perhaps, most magical of all was Mary. She looked angelic, with the foggy, dim air of the cathedral surrounding her, her white blouse floating around her as she led the way. Matthew was falling hard, and though Paris was wonderful, that wasn't what he was falling for.
They went from Notre Dame across a bridge into a neighborhood Mary called the Marais. "It started out as the area for misfits of Paris- gays, Jews, but now it's become one of the chicest parts of the city." They stopped at a falafel stand, which was on a block of falafel stands, and despite having the longest line, Mary insisted it was the best.
Ten minutes later, when they were sitting in a small garden-park a few blocks away, munching on the tangy chickpea concoction, Matthew decided he agreed.
He talked about the progress his new charity was making as they walked to the Ile-St-Louis. They stopped for ice cream at a small shop, which had without a doubt, the best ice cream of his life. He watched Mary adoringly as she ate frambois-à-la-rose from her cone. He had to fight the urge to lick it off her lips himself.
He wondered, as they crossed the bridge back to the Ile-de-la-Cité, a street performer cheesily playing La Vie en Rose, if he would ever kiss Mary. He figured that had to be part of it right. They couldn't pretend to be dating for four months and never kiss in public. When would that happen? Would it come as an e-mail from Robert Crawley, CEO? He could imagine it totally- "Dear Matthew, Please kiss Mary. Let me know if you have an questions or concerns…"
He didn't want that. He realized in a sudden, sweeping moment that he wanted Mary to know he cared for her. He needed to tell her. How or when or what- he wasn't sure. But he knew that she need to hear the words from his mouth before her father could tell him to say it, before he felt pressure from a lurking pap to drop words. It had to happen.
Just then, as these thoughts swirled so powerfully in his head, Mary took his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. He let out a sigh. She was so perfect here in the moment, the sunlight and the ice cream and the music. He wanted to melt from the overwhelming feeling of it all.
But then they were on the other side of the bridge and the moment had slipped through his fingers before he grasp it. Mary was chatting about how she had discovered the ice cream parlor.
"My best friend Anna was visiting me. I was doing my year abroad in Paris and she was doing her's in Rome," Mary was babbling. He loved to listen to her babble, "She and Giovanni had just their first big break up and Anna was completely heart broken. So we got her some Berthillion therapy."
"Seems like excellent therapy. What of Giovanni?" Matthew asked.
"They were back together before she was back in Rome," Mary explained, "They spun circles around each other for ages before they got together. First one problem, then another. But they were meant to be, so they found their way back together. Sometimes, I think those sorts of romances are the best. What is the fun if it easy?"
Matthew wondered if she was implying something about them. So he asked instead about her sister, "Is that how Sybil and Larry were?"
Mary shook her head, "Everything comes easy for Sybil. Larry was speaking at her university. She came up to him after and asked him a few more questions about running for office so young. He suggested that they get coffee to discuss it in more detail. Eight months later they were engaged."
"And you don't approve?" Matthew said, following her tone.
"She's so young," Mary said hesitantly, "I want her to have all the happiness. But she's twenty-one. Her last boyfriend was in middle school. How is she supposed to know what she wants for the rest of her life?"
Matthew bit his lip, "It's hard, isn't it? You want her to make her own decisions, but you are pretty sure she's making the wrong one."
"Exactly," Mary said.
They were crossing over to the left bank again.
"Come lets, go in Shakespeare and Co," Mary said, leading to a green façaded bookshop that he remembered seeing in a Woody Allen movie and maybe a couple other places.
"It's kinda of touristy," Mary admitted, as they crossed the street, "but I have a secret weakness for it."
The bookshop was warm and packed tightly with people. The building seemed old and every inch of it was covered in books or displays. Around him, people chatted in English and French, and a smattering of other languages. He could see people flipping through books, perusing through the winding shelves for tomes. The entrance was filled with displays of books on modernists.
"This is where the whole lost generation gang hung out," Mary explained, "I rather like the idea of this group of creatives all feeling a little bit lost, but very much alive in Paris."
Matthew smiled at Mary's musing. It was beautiful.
They wandered farther into the shop. They paused in front of another display.
"The Mirror by Edith Crawley," Matthew murmured. "Have you read it?"
"I have," Mary confessed, "I would be a pretty awful sister if I hadn't. It's very good."
Matthew turned it over in his hands. "My mother keeps raving about it, but I can't bring myself to crack the spine."
Mary raised her eyebrows in question.
"The whole fiancé dying young thing," Matthew whispered, tightly, "It- it hits a bit too close to home."
Mary put a delicate hand on his arm. He felt a rush of comfort, but also complexity. Whenever he thought about Lavinia, how she died, his guilt- he felt full on confusion. He wasn't sure Mary deserved someone like him. He wasn't sure Lavinia deserved to ever be replaced. His thoughts of telling Mary his feelings fluttered away. He wasn't ready to tell her if he hadn't sorted them out himself.
"You look rather glum," Mary said, drawing him from his reverie. "Let's go booze."
They went back outside, leaving the warmth of the bookstore and headed toward the Seine. They took steps to sit down by its side. Matthew looked up in awe at the fact that they sat here drinking when Notre Dame loomed over the Seine. You could see the profile of it perfectly- the top of the towers to the elegant arches of the buttresses.
"What about Edith, then?" He asked, "Do approve of her situation?"
"I don't know of it," Mary explained, taking a seat on the quayside. "I assume she lives on her own. She could have some sort boyfriend, or girlfriend really, that's how much I know about her. Just text messages in a crisis and she'll pop into town for a holiday, but then pop away as soon as she gets there," Mary rambled.
She shrugged as she took out the bottle of wine and uncorked it.
"Why don't you visit her?" Matthew asked.
"Sybil used to," Mary said, "but then she sort of stopped. Edith says she likes it better that way. She doesn't want to be associated with us and I don't blame her."
She paused, holding the open bottle before, "Oh shit. I've forgotten cups. We'll just have to drink from the bottle. It'll be fine. We have to kiss in the photo shoot tomorrow, so we might as well get used to exchanging germs."
Matthew froze. There the answer he was waiting for. They would kiss tomorrow. That meant that even if he wanted to kiss Mary on his own, he had to do it before tomorrow. Even if he wasn't ready for it, he was going to miss any chance to show her how he felt.
Mary's eyes searched his face, trying to read his emotion. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. It was mentioning germs. Did it spook you?"
She put the wine bottle down and put a hand on his face, preparing to calm him.
"No, Mary, it's fine," He said, taking her hand from his cheek, putting a light kiss on it, before giving it back to her.
"Are you sure you are okay?" She asked, tentatively.
Matthew shook his head and nodded, "I'll be fine. Don't worry over me."
"Well I will be seeing quite a bit of you of you for the next few months, I am your fake girlfriend," Mary laughed, "Don't mind me if I worry over you. All good fake girlfriends do it."
The word fake hit him in the stomach. Maybe it was better to not say a thing to her. Maybe she wanted to keep things this way. She was being kind to him sure, but did that mean she had feelings for him? Matthew had flip-flopped his thoughts so much in the last two hours, he hardly knew what to think.
He grabbed the wine bottle and took several large gulps.
"Careful there," she said, her hand on his, easing it from his grasp, "that is rather nice wine. Not that I can't afford another bottle of it, but it is the sort of thing that is meant to be savored."
They fell into amicable silence. They passed the bottle between them, enjoying the fine wine, the spring breeze, and the boats floating past. At some point Mary put the bottle down and leaned over to rest her head on Matthew's knees, pressing her back against his chest. Without thinking, he let his hand card through her hair.
"Wine makes me so sleepy," Mary hummed.
Her voice sounded melodic. Paris felt a little fuzzy with so much wine, but Paris seemed like the sort of place you wanted to be a little fuzzy. Maybe that was how Mary stayed in love with it.
"We should head back," She said, minutes, decades, sometime later.
They rose from their spot. Matthew helped her up, and they started making their way back up to the street level. Mary took his hand, leaning on him.
The wandered back down the Boulevard St. Martin. Matthew was prepared to turn at the Boulevard St. Germain, but Mary pressed them forward.
"Let's stop by the Luxembourg before we got home," she suggested, "It's still nice out and we've a bit of time before I completely fall asleep."
"Lead the way," Matthew said, still reveling at how gorgeous Mary looked as her blouse swirled around her in the evening sun.
They walked past a bunch of teen clothing stores, as Mary explained that this where a lot of lycées and universities were. She pointed out the Sorbonne. "You have heard of that, yes?" She asked, as Matthew rolled his eyes. There were lots of little food shops, some Parisian ones with long baguette sandwiches and other more familiar fast food joints. "That's where I go when I miss the English home comforts," Mary nodded at Marks and Spencer grocery store.
"Here we are," Mary announced as they crossed the street to the park. "Have you been before?"
"The Luxembourg Gardens?" Matthew replied, "No never."
"They are really lovely," Mary told him as they went into the park.
The wandered through a gate into a lane lined with trees. There were people mingling around, some sitting on benches, others on chairs. Ahead, Matthew could see a massive fountain with people sitting around it. Faintly, he could hear a choir singing.
"Oh look," Mary said softly, "Sometimes in the evening on the weekend they have little concerts here."
They walked over to the gazebo that was acting as a bandstand for the choir there. The choir was singing a song so heartbreakingly beautiful, it stilled him. Both sorrowful, but brimming with sweetness. Matthew recognized it at once. A different place, a different time, a different him.
"It's Rutter," Matthew muttered.
"The Lord is my Shepherd, from his Requim, right?" Mary replied.
"How did you know?" Matthew asked, his mouth opening in gentle awe.
"I sang it as a schoolgirl," Mary explained, blushing, "I used to be in the school choir."
"You sang?" Matthew asked softly.
Mary shrugged, with a little grin, "Oh Matthew darling, I think you are forgetting that I am the daughter of Cora Levin, one-hit-wonder."
Matthew let out a small chuckle. The space seemed sacred with the beautiful music surrounding them. The sun was just beginning to set and Mary looked radiant in it's dying light.
"How do you know it?" Mary asked.
Matthew bowed his head, the space between them becoming serious; "A choir sang it at my father's funeral."
"Oh Matthew," Mary said, reaching out to hug him.
Her thin arms wrapped him, curling up his back. He let his own arms settle low on her back, his head ducking to nestle into her neck.
He couldn't take it anymore. He had to kiss her. To kiss her here, where the beautiful music swirled around them. Where the sunset made her glow like a cherub herself. Where the air smelled sweet and he knew her lips would taste of wine and ice cream.
So he did.
He lifted his head from her shoulder to angle his face into a kiss. Her eyes were closed as if expecting it. Her lips however, remained still for a moment in surprise.
Matthew was afraid that he made the wrong move. But then, a second later, they were moving against his. Her lips were small and delicate. He worried that his own might be crushing hers, but her arms moved up his face, to run through his hair, before settling on his cheeks.
He pulled back to meet her eyes. Her face wore a smile. She seemed happy. God, he hoped she was happy with him.
"Mary," He said, "I want you to know that I'm doing this now. Not tomorrow when the camera man tells us to, or when your father will write me an e-mail telling me to orchestrate a dramatic moment- But here and now because I am choosing to. Because I am choosing you."
Mary said nothing in reply, settling her own head back into his neck into a hug. Matthew figured that wasn't a negative response, but wasn't entirely sure it was positive.
The song gave way to the final movement in the requim. They listened to the rest of the concert in each other's arms this way. Matthew's arms resting on her lower back, his fingers slowly finding their way under her shirt to make small circles on her hips. He pressed kisses into her raven locks as the show went on.
When the concert ended, the musicians made their way into the crowd to be greeted by friends. The sun was lower now, nearly dark. Around them the audience was stirring, the whimsical magic of the moment fading.
"We should go back," Mary whispered, "Tomorrow will be a long day."
They walked back to her apartment, his arm around her back, Mary's head resting on his shoulder. It felt so real. He had kissed her. It was real. They were real.
They reached her apartment, taking the lift back up to her floor. He still marveled at its eclectic elegance. The space was darker now without the streams of sunshine to fill the room with light.
"I'm going to bed," Mary announced, as she hung up her bag and took Daisy out. "You should too. Tomorrow is going to be draining."
Matthew nodded, watching Mary ascend the stairs to the lofted area. He assumed that it truly would be draining. If Cora Levin was sending a photographer, it would without doubt, be full on.
"Oh and Matthew?" Mary said, turning towards him with a smile.
Was she going to mention the kiss? Her feelings? His heart fluttered in anticipation of what she had turned around to say.
Mary hesitated for a moment before saying, "Make sure to dress nicely. These photos will be seen everywhere."
Matthew nodded again, as he watched Mary disappear above, wondering just what had happened.
Thanks so much for reading! I am so grateful for every review I've gotten so far and I can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter!
(And before you mention "wow that was so easy how they got together- why isn't there more angst first?"- there is loads of angst coming in the next chapter. Because I agree, that was a little too easy. Just you wait friends.)