A steward opened the car door, the newly glowing street lamps glinting their reflection in the shined black door of the taxi. Izzie's wrap-style coat caught in a gust of wind, funnelled by the street as she took the steps up to the main entrance of The Grand. Pulling the wrap tightly across her chest, the fur trim warmed her neck and the cream pearls around it lost their chill. Despite the flickering of her maroon picture hat, she resisted the temptation to snatch at its curved brim, committed to presenting herself as someone other than who she truly was. With that in mind, she kept her head level, not allowing her stride to falter as a couple of hotel porters hurried down the steps past her to fetch her luggage. Still she did not turn her head or pay the young men any heed, her heels clicking on the stone until they reached a royal red carpet by the door, held open by an impeccably dressed door steward, to whom she handed a few coins, effortlessly fetched from her handbag that rested delicately on her wrist.
"Welcome to The Grand, madam," he said, with a polite nod.
She briefly smiled and nodded her reply. Once inside, she paused and took a glance around the marble floored reception area.
Her link to the Liverpool customs offices had paid off and, after a few false leads she'd eventually spoke to a maid who'd confirmed a rich good looking American businessman matching Sebastian's description was staying at The Grand – servants being a reliable source of intel since they see everything and no one sees them – she'd found her target at last.
She had well rehearsed her plan and, with Lucy's help, she had found suitable clothing for a lady who could afford – or more accurately whose husband could – to stay at a five-star hotel with marble floors and ornate water fountains inside.
Izzie steeled her courage in a deep breath and strode – wrap coat flowing behind her like a cape – towards the reception desk.
"Welcome to The Grand madam, how may I—"
"I require a suite of rooms to be booked under the name McDonald," Izzie said, cutting the man off. She pulled off her gloves and clasped them in one hand as she spoke.
"Your name?"
"Mrs McDonald, who else?"
"Of course," the receptionist answered, ignoring her rudeness. After a brief search in a ledger, he located Sebastian's booking. He cleared his throat before continuing, "Mr McDonald has only made a reservation for one."
"Hence my request to add another. I would book it under my own name, in my own right if possible, but that is the way of the world – a woman cannot be trusted in such difficult financial matters." Izzie had to bite her lip to prevent her rant about the inequalities women faced from escalating. It was not the time or place. "And I find the notion that Mr McDonald is here alone to be a matter of fiction. That man cannot be alone for one second, likely he is here with one of his flouncy young mistresses, thinking I am not capable enough to track him down."
"I am sure that cannot be the case, madam. This is a respectable establishment." The receptionist's cheeks had reddened and as he cleared his throat again. Izzie – despite enjoying playing the role of a snobby upper-class lady – felt sympathy for the poor man who was only trying to do his job.
Izzie huffed. "Perhaps, but my husband is not. You may add an extra suite to his booking – I will not share a room with that man – and then you will direct me to where he is residing currently."
"Very well. But we do not keep tabs on the activity of our guests, Mrs McDonald."
"No, indeed you would not. But it is late in the afternoon. Whatever business he has been about likely paused for refreshment before dinner. You would have seen him if he passed this way recently, would you not? He's American, sir, few of those to be found." A bang echoed the reception area behind her as a case tumbled to the floor. She snapped her head around at the sound. "And do be careful with those hat boxes! Those hats are of the latest design, straight from the fashion houses of Paris!" she shouted to the two struggling porters.
"I may have seen – that is, I believe I saw Mr McDonald heading to the afternoon lounge not long past."
Izzie gave the receptionist a curt nod. "Better. Show me to him, and have my room ready before I return taking to that cheating—"
"This way." The receptionist scurried from behind the desk and ushered her to follow.
…
Izzie spotted Sebastian as soon as she entered the lounge – a low lit room, carpeted red and arranged with an assortment of high-backed armchairs accompanied by small tables, or larger tables surrounded by wicker chairs.
Another steward approached and said, "Are you meeting someone, madam?"
The receptionist returned to his station, seeming relieved to be rid of her. Izzie couldn't blame him - she wasn't fond of women like the fictional Mrs McDonald either - all that self-entitled pride could be put to better use.
"My husband," she said, inclining her head in the direction of Sebastian, who sat in an armchair with his face hidden by his newspaper, not yet aware of her presence.
"May I take your coat?"
Izzie handed him her coat, keeping hold of her handbag and gloves. "I will require a drink – gin and tonic. See to it, will you?" Without waiting for an answer, she made a direct line towards Sebastian. He did not look up until she flopped her bag and gloves dramatically down on the table and sat in the chair opposite.
"Izzie?" Sebastian said, nearly dropping his newspaper. "What are you—?"
"You think I wouldn't find you and discover your dirty behaviour, you cheating bastard!" Izzie said, not shouting, but loud enough to turn heads towards them.
"What? What are you—"
"Oh, don't deny it. She's probably waiting in your room right now, isn't she?"
"I don't—Izzie, are you alright, you seem—?"
The eyes watching them turned away, embarrassed by their conversation. Izzie paused as the waiter brought her drink over and then further to wait for the level of chatter to return to its previous level before dropping her act.
"We need to talk ... about Larry."
"Larry?" Sebastian repeated, still in a state of bewilderment. His expression changed, posture stiffening as he caught up. "You're here about him, then? Did he send you? For goodness' sake, he couldn't even have the courage to face me!"
"No, he doesn't know I'm here and as for courage, you're a fine one to talk. He's not heard a peep out of you either!" Izzie said, keeping her voice hushed, leaning forward.
"How much do you know?" Sebastian asked, sounding weary.
"Everything. Richard told me. He and Thomas are the ones who asked me to find you."
Sebastian rubbed his forehead, pinching the skin on the bridge of his nose. "How the hell do they know?"
"Because Larry is in Downton. He has been ever since he left."
"You mean ever since he ran away?"
Izzie rolled her eyes. "He arrived in a bit of a state apparently, drunk, and full of self hatred."
"Good."
"Sebastian, he crashed the car!"
"What car? Is it okay?"
"Really?" Izzie struggled to keep her voice even. "I just told you that the man you ... that Larry crashed and all you think about is the bloody car! It was the Duesenberg Model J, your favourite I believe, though even then I would have thought you'd show some inkling of consideration to him. But yes, the car is fine. Larry missed the tree, ended up in a ditch."
Sebastian took a drink. Izzie observed his fight to keep his expression neutral. It was a very typical case of too much pride; she reckoned. He wouldn't admit he cares for Larry, but the way his lip twitched told another story. "I bet he must be having a grand time at Downton. He and Mr Talbot are fine friends. I can see why he's been in no hurry to contact me. Downton Abbey is a grand place to hide."
"He's not hiding," Izzie retorted, though she privately admitted to herself there was some truth in Sebastian's accusation, but chose not to voice it. "He stayed at Downton for a short time, whilst recovering from his intoxicated state, but he stayed in Thomas's old room in the attics." Izzie paused as the waiter approached and served her drink and offered Sebastian another, to which he declined. "As far as I'm aware, the family doesn't know Larry was under their roof. He's not there now, though." She took a sip of her drink, savouring both the taste and the way Sebastian's attention was solely on her, waiting for her to continue. "Larry has been staying at Mr Tomlinson's farm ever since. He's been there for several weeks, well over a month."
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "A farm? Really? Why would he choose to be there? I would have thought he'd check into a hotel at the very least."
"I admit I was surprised when Richard told me as well, but when he explained it made perfect sense."
"Perfect sense as in ...?"
"Larry feels awful about what he did. His actions that night, and behaviour, were selfish, stupid, and greedy. There's no denying that—"
"No, there isn't—"
"Let me finish, Sebastian!" Izzie said, her tone rising and turning a few heads again. She filled the silence between them with a drink, and the attention of the fellow guests turned from them. "He was wrong, and he knows it. He has a belief – whether right or wrong, I don't know – that he stands absolutely no chance of forgiveness if he cannot forgive himself and try to change. That is why he didn't go looking for you. His decision was far from cowardly, in my humble opinion."
"Fine, but how does a farm help with that?"
"He wanted to strip back to basics, start from where he began, which I believe was with very little. He's been earning his keep, fixing cars, farm machinery and saving Mr Tomlinson a lot of money, not needing to employ a mechanic. Richard told me there have been moments – between the heartache and longing for you – that Larry has looked unrecognisable and I mean that in a good way. He's been generous, but with his skills and time, not money."
"It's challenging for me to imagine him on a farm. I know he will get his hands dirty – he's shocked his housekeeper many a time returning inside from the garage covered in dirt from his cars," Sebastian said, a small smile lighting up his face and confirming what Izzie hoped to be true – that behind all the snappy retorts and pride he still cared for Larry. "I suppose it's possible."
"He's been helpful in other ways, and was prepared to take a risk in order to get Chris out of a potentially dangerous situation, but I can't elaborate on that here. Look, the problem with Larry's plan though: no matter what he does, how hard he tries, he won't forgive himself without your permission. He needs you to give him that faith."
"And if I can't?"
"Then that would be a terrible waste of a strong relationship, which I know you both have." She finished her drink and signalled to the lingering waiter. "Add these to my husband's tab," she said to the waiter, slipping back into her role of Mrs McDonald. "We will retire and continue this conversation elsewhere."
After collecting her coat, she and Sebastian left the lounge, passed through reception, and made for the stairs, with the receptionist informing her that her suite was ready.
"A suite? How much more are you going to enjoy at my expense?" Sebastian said to her as they entered the relative privacy of an empty carpeted hallway.
Izzie threw him a wicked grin, unsure to even herself whether she was playing her role as his husband or merely enjoying herself. "As much as I fancy, but we will talk in your rooms."
Sebastian held open the door as Izzie stepped into the lavishly decorated suite. She left Sebastian to take off his hat and hang up his coat – something he seemed to take an unnecessary amount of time with – and sauntered around the lounge area. A sofa and matching deep red armchairs adorned the area closest to a substantial fireplace. Against the wall a drinks cabinet, fully stocked, gleamed in the lamplight. Various papers were strewn across the coffee table in the centre of the chairs, arranged as though the reader had carelessly cast them aside. Izzie peered through the open door of each connecting bedroom, each complete with a king-size bed – she'd expected singles for some reason.
"I was angry," Sebastian said as he uncorked a bottle and poured them both a glass. He all but fell into the sofa chair, splayed across it, back against the arm. Izzie could almost imagine the scene: Larry cuddled up next to him in shirtsleeves after a long day, his usual flamboyant exterior muted now only Sebastian could see him, knowing he did not need to impress.
Instead, the space next to Sebastian was cold.
"You had a right to be," Izzie began, sitting on the arm of the chair opposite, not wanting to relax whilst her mission remained incomplete, "but anger can turn into hate if you let it, though I don't think you have sunk that low ... yet."
Sebastian gave her a quizzical look. "You don't know that."
"I do. I know by the way you look at that chair, as though you recognise that someone is missing. You won't leave him. I don't think you're capable."
"Then you haven't got a clue how Larry and I do things. You wouldn't. That's our affair. We've had problems before and been apart for months before and it's always worked out in the end."
"So you are leaving the country? For goodness' sake, Sebastian, that's a tad extreme, isn't it?"
"To be perfectly honest Izzie, none of this is your business and if Larry really wants me, then he would have never—"
Izzie jumped up, almost spilling her drink in the process. "You really are a prideful fool. Larry made a mistake. I've told you how much he hates himself, how he's been punishing himself ever since. He needs you to see that side of him, not to run away on the first ship you can." She strode across to the coffee table, rifling through the papers, knowing what she expected to find.
"You can't do that! Those are my personal property!"
Izzie pulled out a rectangular piece of embossed paper, brandishing it in her hand. "A boarding pass, first class again. Now I am convinced."
"That I'm leaving? Yes, well done Detective Thornwood. You've really outdone your skills there."
"No, not that. I recognise the name of this ship. It leaves tomorrow, but more importantly, it is the same ship you and Larry have sailed on multiple times before. You've always booked the same cabin, one that would make most people's eyes water with regard to the cost. Also, you've both stayed here, in this suite, in this hotel prior to sailing. This is your regular as a couple. Maybe the staff here know you enough as loyal customers to turn the other way when they find only one of the beds had been slept in, or maybe you are wise enough to give it the appearance both were used. Either way, I see a pattern developing here, is there not?" Izzie gripped the boarding pass in both hands as an idea – a rash idea – occurred to her. She watched Sebastian's expression change from irritation to a softened defeat. She knew then her decision – rash or not – was the correct one.
She caught his eye as he opened his mouth to speak, and ripped the boarding pass in two, then once again.
Sebastian's mouth hung open. "What have you ...?"
"Saved you from making a mistake," she said, arms folded.
"That was the finest cabin in first class."
"Oh, I'm sure you and Larry can manage the expense." Izzie sat in the armchair, finished her drink and leaned forward, enjoying the satisfaction of her win. "I will retire to my rooms you've so generously paid for, husband, and then in the morning I will drive us both to Downton, and you can see Larry for yourself."
A small glimmer caught in Sebastian's eye. "I suppose I have no choice."
"You have a choice. You could buy passage on another ship. I can't stop you from doing that."
"You'd probably destroy that one, too."
Izzie shrugged mischievously. "No promises."
"Best I follow my orders then."
"Perfect," Izzie said, rubbing her hands together with glee. "I do hate for a mission to fail." It was no certainty that they'd work things out, but at least now they had to give it a shot.