I'm so flattered and pleased that people continue to read this story! I was at the Cannes Film Festival last spring when I began to think up some faint ideas that would eventually turn into this fic. The whole time I was there, I could just imagine Mary and Matthew staying in the fancy hotels, walking along the Croisette, and mingling among the rich and famous. In this chapter (and the next), I loved getting to turn those imaginings into writing :)
Chapter 7: Phase Seven- Crawleys Take Cannes
"Ah yes, Mr. Crawley, you'll be with Ms. Crawley in the Suite de Oliviers," said the man at the desk. "François will take you up there."
A man instantly sprung to his side to take his bags. Matthew had stayed in many nice hotels for business (something he thought was rather excessive for a humanitarian organization, but essentially had no say in), but this hotel was a different level of luxury. The whole thing was rather extravagant. It was evident from the small army of photographers camped outside that it must be one of the nicest hotels along La Croisette. The lobby matched that impression with its golden columns and Greek sculptures.
He followed François to the lift and rode up to the floor. There were few doors on the floor, evidence of exclusivity of this floor. François led him to a door and opened it for him. On entering, he could head distant voices from somewhere in the suite.
"I think that Ms. Crawley is on the terrace with friends," François explained, his voice thick with a southern French accent, "I will show you around the suite and then take you to her."
Despite it being a inordinately large suite, there was a single bedroom in it. Matthew was confused at first. Maybe Mary was truly pissed at him and decided he was sleeping on a couch (Not there was a lack of couches- Matthew discovered in the multiple living rooms in the suite).
Then it hit him, even though his relationship with Mary was chaotic, even though they hadn't spoken all week, even though he was dreading facing her right now- the rest of the world was to know none of it. There was a single bed because of course they were sharing a bed. Of course they were in love. Of course they were sleeping together.
François left Matthew bags in the bedroom and led Matthew out to the terrace. It was large. There was a Jacuzzi and a row of lounge chairs. There was a table covered in food, Mediterranean salads and French appetizers, and drinks, white wine and several colorful cocktails. Beyond that were a few sofas and chairs that looked out over La Croisette. There were probably ten or so people scattered across the terrace. He recognized a few- Sybil and a man who must be her fiancé if he remembered the campaign commercials right, there were other actors and musicians he seemed to recall having seen on TV before. He blinked into the sunshine and looked around to figure out where Mary was.
"Matthew," Mary's bright voice exclaimed, so entirely different than how it had sounded the last time they were together. She was springing up from one of the couches at the other end. He took a few steps in her direction, but she crossed the space quickly to get to him.
His eyes couldn't resist taking in how beautiful she was. She was dressed in a black bikini, her skin still wet from evidently using the Jacuzzi recently. She had a white sheer cover up draped around herself, but it still allowed him to take in more details of Mary's body than he had before. Her hair hung in loose waves around her face, a huge grin plastered on her face as she greeted him.
She reached up to him and pulled him into a deep kiss, her tongue teasing his, her hands sliding into his hair. He could taste a fruity cocktail on her lips and realized that now the tables were turned from their first date. Mary was the one who had a little too much drink. But that didn't change the fact that he felt the same uncomfortable tension between them that he felt on their first date- acting like lovers, with a secret bitterness underpinning it all. This was going to be a difficult weekend.
"I have a spread out for luncheon," Mary said, her voice a little too loud and positive, "Grab some food and a drink and then I'll introduce you to everyone who matters in the world."
She waited for him to take a few nibbles of the delicacies and take one of the cocktails set out for him, before she tucked his arm under hers and sauntered towards the line of lounge chairs where Sybil and her fiancé were sharing one.
"You've met Sybil, haven't you?" Mary asked, cheerfully.
Her sister sprung up from the lounger to greet Matthew.
"We met rather briefly," Sybil said, giving Matthew a kiss on the cheek, "Just before your first date. Who'd have thought that you'd end up here with us so quickly? I'm so happy you are, though. Right, Larry?"
"Hmm?" Said the man below on the chair, rising to stand next to Sybil and shake Matthew's hand. The man gave off the sort of slimy politician vibe, "Oh very happy you are together. It's rather fun to have both the Crawley sisters with political men."
"I'm not quite sure I'd call what I do political," Matthew mumbled, as he liked to think it was more human rights work than politics, but he supposed it could be thought of that way.
"I mean the UN is almost as inefficient as us in Congress are," Larry laughed.
"We'll see you tonight," Mary said, pulling Matthew away from the awkward encounter. He was beginning to see why Mary was so disapproving of Sybil's marriage, but she seemed to be handling it smoothly in public.
She led him over to the hot tub where she introduced him to Jack Ross, the well-known rapper, Evelyn Napier, an English actor known for playing quirky heartthrobs, and a ginger haired girl named Gwen, who was Sybil's best friend from university. Sybil had brought Gwen along as part of the traditional post-graduation trip to Europe.
They wandered over to couches by the edge of the terrace where two more couples were sitting looking out over the sea.
"This is my cousin Rose," Mary introduced, him to the familiar looking woman with blond curls, "She's an actress herself."
Matthew recalled seeing her in a few films before, mostly chick-flicks that he had watched with Lavinia.
"She's actually in a film at the festival," Mary explained, "We'll be going to see it tomorrow night."
"I look forward to it," Matthew said.
"And this is my boyfriend, Atticus," Rose introduced.
Matthew took in man sitting beside Mary's cousin. He felt a jolt of recognition. Of course he knew who this man was, he had been on the cover of the magazine he read on his flight here. Matthew had been following his career for the last five years.
"Atticus Aldrige?" Matthew managed to choke out, "The tennis player?"
"Careful," Mary laughed, "Matthew might ask for your autograph."
He kissed Mary's cheek and squeezed her hand, trying to make things seem teasing and happy.
"Do you play?" Atticus asked.
"Just a bit with my mate Tom," Matthew explained.
"Have you plans for tomorrow morning?" Atticus asked, "I've got to hit a bit just to stay in shape. Are you up for it?"
"Me?" Matthew gasped.
"It won't be too hard," Atticus promised, "Just a bit of sport to keep my stamina up. I shouldn't really be taking the weekend off, but I couldn't miss Rosie's film. My coach offered to come with me, but I didn't want a hair of focus to be on me- just Rose."
Matthew was floored not just to be standing in front of his tennis hero, but to have just been invited to play with him. Atticus seemed terribly nice and the whole situation of him meeting seemed surreal.
"That'd be brilliant," Matthew sputtered.
"Perfect. Shall we meet in the lobby at half ten tomorrow morning?" Atticus suggested, taking out his iPhone to add it to his calendar.
"I've tickets to go see Atticus play at the French Open in a week or two, you should come Matthew. And as always the whole family is going to watch him at Wimbledon next month," Mary added.
"This is splendid," Matthew enthused.
He felt rather dumb to have not had realized it. Matthew knew that Atticus Aldrige was dating Rose MacClare. He should have known that Rose was Mary's cousin, but they had different last names and Mary hadn't mentioned her. The Crawleys seemed always full of surprises.
"Thanks Mary," Atticus said, "I look forward to it."
Matthew felt rather giddy at the idea that he was suddenly friends with his tennis idol. He felt bad for acting like a teenage fangirl in sight of her celebrity crush, but he couldn't hide his excitement.
"And this is my best friend Anna," Mary introduced, pointing the petit blond woman, "She lives in Italy with her husband, Giovanni." Mary nodded at the man sitting beside Anna, who seemed a bit older than Anna, but the look between them was nothing but pure adoration.
"It's so delightful to meet you Matthew," Anna said, her voice genuine, "Mary has told me so many lovely things about you. I'm so happy to be seeing you in person."
Matthew recalled Tom mentioning that Mary had told her best friend about their arrangement. He assumed that Anna was said friend, because she seemed to be sitting in Mary's immediate circle, in a way that the other actors weren't. Plus, Anna was the only friend he'd heard stories about. But if she did know, she wasn't letting on in the least.
The three sofas were arranged around a small table, with the couch in the middle having the best view of the Riviera. This, of course, was Mary's couch. Mary's life had seemed so humble and down-to-earth in Paris, but today she was in all her splendor. Which wasn't helping anything.
She was settling on said couch, pulling Matthew down on it beside her. She draped her exquisite bare legs over his lap, leaning back on her arms, her head back to take in the sun. He gritted his teeth to not react to it. She was positively alluring with so much skin showing. She was a little drunk and a little (fake) flirty. This was not going to end well.
Rose and Anna started debating the merits of the Italian Riviera in comparison to the French one. Matthew let his eyes take in the masterpiece that was Cannes. He'd been driven straight from the airport to the hotel, so he'd not much time to take in the surroundings. Now, he could truly take it in- and it was stunning. There were mountains framing the coast, the in-between filled with perfect, glittering blue water and a beach covered in private beaches, each of them marked with distinct umbrellas. The long promenade of La Croisette lined the beach, full of people walking up and down, some in casual clothes and others dressed to the nines.
"Have you been to Cannes before?" Rose asked.
"No, I've actually never been to the South of France before," Matthew explained.
"Not to worry," Anna said, "I'd never been either until I became friends with Mary. Though Giovanni here has been working to convince me that the Italian Riviera is better. Not that I mind, I'll take as much free beach as I can get."
Matthew was slowly placing the fact that Anna, while pretty, happy, and successful, was not nearly as wealthy or famous as Mary was. She was quite normal actually.
"The festival is really exciting," Anna kept rambling, launching into a story of her trip when she accidentally stepped on Michael Caine's foot and how they'd had a lovely conversation after.
While she rambled, Mary angled closer to Matthew, resting her forehead on his shoulder gently. He naturally felt his arm wrap around her. He pressed a little kiss into her hair.
He hated this. He hated faking it with her. How could they be so tender and natural around each other in front her friends, in public, but so disjointed, such coldness in reality? Especially when there had been, just for those few days, such warmth between them.
Mary's eyes flickered close.
"Don't fall asleep darling," He whispered in her ear.
Mary blinked them open, drowsily.
"Hmmm?" Mary murmurmed, "Me sleeping at my own party? I couldn't dream of it."
"Clever," He whispered back, give her a tiny squeeze closer.
She put a kiss on his neck, "God, I can't wait till they all leave and we can be alone."
Matthew felt a wave of lust pass through him. Did Mary really mean that? Had she possibly changed her mind about them?
"I heard that," Rose remarked.
Then he snapped out of it. No, she was just acting, of course. To everyone here they were a new couple, full of teenage-esque desire and endless passion. Mary would say these things to convince them.
"Well, I'll actually make that easier for you, dear cousin," Rose said, "I've a press thing that I'm actually off to."
Rose and Atticus stood. Mary rose to press a kiss to their cheeks.
"See you tomorrow night," Mary bid them.
"Well, see you tomorrow morning," Atticus said to Matthew, as he rose to shake their hands before leaving.
"I look forward to it," Matthew agreed.
Not long after the couple made their way off the terrace, the party began to slow. The guests in the hot tub bid their goodbyes. Gwen headed off to take a nap, as she wasn't yet used to the time change. Anna and Giovanni went off to do a spot of shopping. Suddenly the terrace contained just him and Mary, and Larry and Sybil.
"Well America is just waking up now isn't it?" Larry said, looking at his watch. It was nearly two in the afternoon. "I should probably head to our room to do a bit of business. See you later Sybil."
Larry gave Sybil what Matthew could only describe as an "affectionate eyebrow wiggle" before he headed off the terrace as well.
Mary, who had been standing to say goodbye to her guests, collapsed onto one of the lounge chairs.
"Thank goodness they're all gone," Mary said dramatically.
"Aren't they your friends?" Matthew asked, sitting at her feet on the lounger.
"They are," Mary said, her voice sharp, "Which is why I hate lying to them and faking it with someone who won't even be my friend."
Matthew felt an icy feeling creep over the terrace. Whatever warmness had existed while they snuggled on the couch was lost in a second.
"Mary," Sybil gasped, "What even are you talking about?"
"We had a bit of a falling out last week," Matthew tried to explain.
"Yeah, that passionate display of kissing when Matthew arrived certainly looked like a falling out to me," Sybil snorted.
Mary sat up and rolled her eyes, "Sybil, let's go to the spa, shall we?"
Sybil shrugged, "I guess so."
Matthew supposed that she would be filling Sybil in on their gossip. He was surprised she didn't know already.
"Matthew, do whatever you like," Mary said, her voice flat, "As long as you don't hurt my reputation, I honestly don't care."
Matthew felt stung. A week ago, things had seemed so certain, but now- He replayed in his head all of it: their conversation on the steps of the BNF, their words in front of Gare de Lyon. How had they turned into this? She had been trying to protect his reputation, protect her heart. But now things seemed just as prickly as their first date. It was as if they took massive steps backwards.
As Matthew watched her walk away, he knew it was his fault. All she had wanted was to not get hurt. And what had he done? He had hurt her. He had told her they couldn't be friends. In a world where she probably felt like people only desired for sex and for scandal, he had probably made her feel like that was exactly what he wanted her for.
The worst thing was, he didn't know what to do to make it better. How could he traverse the chasm he created between them?
"I thought things were good between you," Sybil said, more question than statement, as they headed to the spa.
"They were," Mary said, with a sigh. "The first date was a disaster, obviously. But the second two were quite nice."
They approached the reception desk at the spa.
"Ah, the Crawley sisters," woman cooed, in an accented voice, "What can I helped you with today?"
Mary looked at Sybil who offered, "I could use a massage. I've been holding loads of tension in my shoulders"
"You don't even work," Mary pointed out, as the lady them a sheet of different massages to choose from.
"I'm still waiting to hear back about that yearlong internship in DC," Sybil said, "besides, wedding planning takes up so much time, I'm not sure I'd have time for it anyway."
Mary gave her sister a look, one Sybil had seen before. The sort of look that said, you can't really be choosing a guy over your career.
"I don't even have that great of a chance at it," Sybil admitted.
"Sure you do," Mary answered, "You're the 'Crawley Sweetheart.' Everyone knows you for your charitable stuff you do."
"But that doesn't mean I'll get it," Sybil said, "Look at all the trouble you've had trying to get people to take you seriously."
"But I'm Mary Crawley and you're Sybil Crawley. There's a difference" Mary said, pointing at the massage she wanted, "You're going to get the job in DC."
"You are just trying to distract me from talking about you and Matthew," Sybil acknowledged, as she pointed out her selection.
Mary rolled her eyes as they walked into one of the changing rooms to don robes.
"So those second two dates?" Sybil prompted.
"They were wonderful," Mary said, as she shrugged off her swimsuit cover up, "He was clever, charming. He gets a touch jittery around medical things, but we've all got our things that give us those moments."
"So what went wrong? Was a he a prick when he came to Paris? He ruined the whole thing?" Sybil asked, pulling the belt of the robe tightly.
She checked to make sure her clothes were neatly folded on shelf before she followed Mary over to the massage area.
"No, I was," Mary explained, perching herself on a table.
"What?" Sybil said, puzzled, "I thought you were mad at him. Honestly Mary, just tell me what happened."
"He came to Paris and things were really good," Mary explained, rolling to lie on her stomach and bury her face in her hands, "We walked around, sat by the Seine, drank wine, and then made out in the Luxembourg Gardens."
"Mary!" Sybil shrieked, "You didn't!"
Mary propped herself up on her elbows and ran a hand through her hair.
"But it was too soon," Mary said, her voice softer now, "I don't know if I can open my heart again. And besides, Matthew deserves better than me."
"You've got to be kidding me," Sybil said.
"Bonjour madmoiselles," said the masseuse entering the room. The sisters quieted and settled on their own tables, the unfinished conversation suddenly abandoned.
It was early evening by the time Mary returned to her room. She had delayed it as much as possible, stopping to visit with friends (after all the hotel was packed with anyone who was anyone), making reservations for dinner, and solidifying arrangements with her hair and make up team for tomorrow's grand defile. Finally exhausting possible distractions, she returned to the room and found Matthew sitting at the table tapping at his computer.
"You know what they said about all work and no play," she remarked.
"Is that it?" Matthew said, looking up at her from over the silvery Macbook, "Do you think I'm dull?"
I wish, Mary thought. If she thought he dull, if she didn't have the strong feelings she did have- this might be less painful. This whole plan- the "pretend to date Matthew Crawley" plan, and the "not actually date Matthew Crawley" plan- were both turning out to be disasters.
She couldn't even look at him right now without feeling like her heart was breaking.
So much for not getting hurt.
"We have dinner reservations in an hour," Mary said, her voice flat, "It's just downstairs, but it is a 2 Michelin star restaurant, so wear something nice."
She slipped into her room and then realized that Matthew's suitcases were in there. She opened the door back up and put them outside the door and closed it again. God, she was acting like a small child. She hated herself for it.
She showered and changed slowly. She had been vaguely intoxicated before, but it had faded now, replaced with a faint headache. She cringed in the light red dusting that she had gained from her hours in the sunshine on the terrace that morning. Her English skin was too fair to ever tan and evidently she hadn't put enough SPF on. She knew she would look laughable tomorrow and hoped that her make up people would be equipped to deal with it.
She put on a long and simple black dress and drew her hair half up and down. She added a glittering necklace, some nice perfume and make up, plopped Daisy into her handbag, and decided that it would fine for dinner.
By the time she finished, it was nearly time to go, so she checked her reflection in the mirror and headed to the living room area of their suite. It felt like their first date, her icy walls up. Matthew was standing there, looking sharp in his suit.
"Let's get this over with," Mary said, because that was safe, that would keep him away. Even though she wanted to say so many other things. "Just do what you did before," she directed as they took the elevator down.
"And what was that?" Matthew said, his voice tired.
"Just talk, about anything, I'll smile and nod," Mary told him.
Matthew let out a resigned sigh.
Dinner went on that way. He talked about his time at university, as they ate the first course of five, about the societies he belonged to and his course work. He spent his summer in Peru after his first year and Uganda after his second year, he explained as they ate another course. Those experiences had solidified how much he was interested in global health. It was as they made through course four and five that he detailed moving to New York and his mother coming with him. Mary smiled and nodded, making a face of sincerity. She hated it because she did care, she did think he was interesting. But here she was, pretending feigning mild interest.
It was too much. She couldn't sit here and pretend things were okay. She couldn't pretend that this plan was eating them both alive. She couldn't spend any more time thinking about the pain she was causing them both.
"I think I'm going to go back up," Mary murmured, "Too much rich food and I'm rather dizzy from it. You can stay, enjoy. They make a really lovely crème brulée here."
"No, darling, I'll go up with you," Matthew said kindly, putting his arm around her as they made their way back to the elevator.
They walked back to the room.
"I'm going to have a lie down," Mary explained, "Don't worry about me for the rest of the night."
Matthew looked like he was going to say something, but he didn't. Mary watched as he walked out onto the terrace and she let herself retreat into her room.
She changed out of her nice dress and into a silky camisole and a soft pair of sleep shorts. She paused to quickly to brush her teeth and wash the make up from her face, before she slunk under her covers, pulling them high over her head, letting the tears that threatened her all night pour out.
She did have feelings for Matthew. She could try to deny it or prevent herself from getting hurt, but it was all for not. She was trying to save them all from more pain, but it wasn't working. There was only so much hurt between now. Mary had ruined the only hope both of them had in their sad lives.
It was easier when sleep came. She slept fitfully, awaking in between with the crushing realization of her failure, but letting herself fall back to sleep and pretend nothing was real.
It was only when she woke up to find the clock reading, 3:30AM, that she heard the strangled moan from terrace. She sat bolt upright, her insecurity leaving her- Matthew.
She pulled her hair into a bun, as she ran, snatching her cell phone from a table. Her stomach curled as she worried what had happened. Had he fallen off? Tripped in the dark? In the short sprint to the terrace, she imagined endless horrible possibilities for him.
She pulled open and gaped at his form, which despite guaranteeing he was safe, managed to break her heart in a way she didn't know was possible.
I apologize for the angst fest. If it makes you feel better, I promise the next chapter is one of my favorites. :) Have a wonderful holiday weekend and see you soon for Cannes Part Deux!