#mmss2015

Author’s Note:        Merry Christmas Eve Eve!  This story is your MM Secret Santa 2015 gift!  I do hope you enjoy it.  I have included some personal touches made for you into the story as well.  It’s part of an existing modern AU series that I’ve written called Live in My Memory however this is a standalone one-shot so it isn’t absolutely necessary that you read the rest of the series beforehand.

I’ll be publishing this story on fanfiction.net on Christmas Day and will send you the link for that.  My best wishes to you and yours this holiday season and I hope that the New Year brings you much happiness.  I enjoy your stories and was very happy to hear that you will be continuing them.  

Yours very truly,

Apollo888

The First Noël

The Christmas Forest Store, Lavender Hill, Battersea, London, England, November 29, 2015

“This one’s a Nordmann Fir, the most popular Christmas tree in Britain,” the sales clerk said proudly, holding up a beautiful, well-shaped, evergreen tree.  “Comes in any height you need, we’ve got ‘em up to 13 feet tall here in stock.”

Lady Mary Crawley tilted her head and looked over the tree carefully.  She reached out and felt one of the branches with her gloved hand, frowning as she raised her eyes to the top of the tree, imagining how it would look fully trimmed and decorated.

“No,” she said finally, drawing her hand back and shaking her head.  “It’s not what I’m looking for.”

The clerk seemed to grit his teeth at her response.  He dropped the tree back on to the metal rack and motioned for Mary to follow him down the aisle.  “Right then, moving along,” he muttered, shaking his head in frustration.  “That’s number seven…”

Mary lifted her chin and strode forward purposefully, perusing the different trees closely, as though they were the Crown Jewels themselves.

Her fiancé, Matthew Crawley, looked down at the ground and walked along at her side, pursing his lips to keep from laughing.  He almost felt sorry for the poor clerk.  Shopping with Mary was often a war of attrition, with the remains of well-intentioned store clerks left behind in her wake.  This particular excursion was even more of a challenge given that not only was Mary shopping for her very first Christmas tree, but it had added significance as this was also their first Christmas together since getting engaged just over a month ago.

She shot him a warning look as they went.  He shrugged innocently, feigning as though he hadn’t done anything wrong.

It didn’t quite work.  Her thin smile seemed to tell him that not only could she read his thoughts about how difficult she was being, but that later on he would be made to pay for daring to think so.

As they continued through the lot, stopping intermittently for Mary to reject yet another perfectly suitable tree, he remained patient and amused.  They had been at it for most of the day, but he kept quiet as he knew very well how important this was to Mary.  All of her previous Christmases were spent with her family, and a towering tree over 18 feet tall was the norm.  Whether at her childhood home of Downton Abbey in Yorkshire, or her late Aunt Rosamund’s residence of Painswick House in London, the bespoke Christmas tree was special-ordered and delivered in early December, and Mary always took charge of decorating.  With her aunt passing away this past year, she was now truly alone, and this was her first Christmas without any family.  Though her temporary rented flat would not accommodate an 18-foot tree, she was determined to continue the tradition in her own way, which meant any old tree would simply not do.

“What’s that over there?” she asked, pointing to a sparsely filled rack in the next aisle.

“Those are Noble Firs,” the clerk said, escorting them over to take a closer look.  “Most people don’t go for ‘em cause they can be more uneven in shape, and they’re real heavy compared to the Nordmann or the Fraser.”

She regarded the few trees on display, stepping forward to examine the tallest one more closely.  Running her fingers over a thick, blue-green coloured branch, she leaned in and closed her eyes, taking in the scent.

“Matthew,” she called, opening her eyes and smiling at him.  “Come.”

He came to her side and looked over the tree.  The clerk was right, it did have an uneven shape, but the branches were quite full, with multiple layers that gave it a more robust look.  The bark of the trunk was thick and a rich chocolate brown colour.  At Mary’s urging, he took a sniff and smiled in surprise.  The needles had an earthy, almost spicy fragrance.

“This one,” she declared, grinning as she stepped back and looked at the tree’s full height.  “It’s perfect.”

“Very good, my lady,” the clerk said, the relief evident in his voice and on his face.  “Based on your address, we can have it delivered middle of the week.”

“Middle of the week?” she frowned, turning around to face him.  “Why so long?”

“Well, we’re quite busy, you see,” the clerk said, recoiling slightly from her annoyed tone and piercing stare.  “And your tree is quite heavy.  We’ll need to do a special run.”

“Nonsense,” she snapped.  “Wrap it up now and we’ll take it with us.”

Matthew blinked in shock.

“Very well,” the clerk nodded vigorously.  “If you have a pickup or a Landy, I can have one of the boys load it for you.”

“We don’t,” Matthew said slowly, looking at Mary in confusion.

“Well, can’t you just strap it to the roof or something?” she huffed, looking at Matthew as though the answer was obvious.

Matthew opened his mouth to reply, then paused to weigh his words.  “My car isn’t exactly designed to…haul cargo.  Tying a Christmas tree to the roof may not be the wisest thing to do.”

“What car have you got?” the clerk asked, trying to be helpful.  “We’ve managed with all kinds.”

“Porsche 911,” Matthew replied, looking at the clerk pointedly.  “Just got it last week.”

“Ah…” the clerk said nervously.  “That…could be a problem.”

“What’s the difference?” Mary asked in exasperation.  “We aren’t going far.”

“Darling, the car’s built for speed, not for…transport,” Matthew said, holding back his panic at her ridiculous suggestion that they strap a nine-foot tall Christmas tree to his brand new £160,000 sports coupe.

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes.  “I’ll call for a cab, then.”

“Beg your pardon, my lady, but most taxis won’t take ‘em,” the clerk said.  “It can be a bit of a mess with the needles and all.”

Matthew offered her an apologetic smile.

“Well, we’ll have to just…go and rent a van then,” she decided, glaring at Matthew.  “I want this tree delivered today.”

Matthew looked up at the cloudy sky and sighed, going over in his mind what the cost would be to fix whatever damage his car would suffer over this.  If he was lucky, he would only need to have some paint scratches touched up.

“Do you have any rope?” Matthew asked the clerk.  ‘Maybe I can use it to hang myself’ he thought ruefully.

“Yes, sir, we do,” the clerk nodded, desperate to finish the sale and bid this lovely couple goodbye.  “I’ll go and grab some of the lads and we’ll set you right up.”

“Of course you will,” Matthew grumbled, watching the clerk scamper away.

He turned back to Mary, but his annoyance lifted when he saw her staring at her chosen tree, a wide smile on her face.  Shaking his head, he returned to her side, took her hand and kissed the back of her glove.

“Do you like it?” she asked him eagerly, still looking at the tree the entire time.

“It’s brilliant, darling,” he replied, looking only at her glowing face.  “Just brilliant.”

The store clerk returned with two workers to wrap the tree in plastic and carry it to the entrance.  While she directed them to Matthew’s car, he deftly slipped away from her and paid for the tree.  She ignored the incredulous smiles and shocked stares of the workers and supervised them lashing the large tree to the sleek Porsche.  Once that was completed to her satisfaction, she went back and found Matthew taking a credit card receipt from the sales clerk.

“You didn’t pay for it, did you?” she said, looking at Matthew accusingly.

“Of course I did.  It’s our tree, isn’t it?” he replied, smiling at her to disarm her pique.

“Yes, but…” she protested as he came over to stand in front of her.

“And we’re using your family’s ornaments, so really you should consider this as my contribution.  It’s only fair,” he said confidently.

“All right,” she gave up, giving him a genuine smile.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but you don’t need to thank me when I’m buying something for our household,” he insisted, smiling back at her.

“Erm, excuse me, Mr. Crawley?” the sales clerk said carefully.

“Yes?” Matthew asked as he and Mary both turned to look at the clerk.

“Well, erm, you see, you’re both standing under…” the clerk said, pointing above them.

Mary and Matthew both looked up and blinked in surprise.  A mistletoe bough was hung from a string tied over the entrance to the tree lot.

“Oh God,” she groaned, arching her eyebrow teasingly at Matthew and smiling knowingly.

“It is a time-honored tradition, darling,” he grinned, stepping towards her and taking hold of her hips.

“And you are rather fastidious about doing things properly,” she stated, placing her hands on his chest and tilting her head up in anticipation.

He moved towards her and kissed her softly, humming in surprised delight when she not only kissed him back, but swiped her tongue between his lips playfully, prolonging the kiss far beyond the brief peck he had expected.

“Shall we go?” she asked once they pulled back, staying in his embrace.

“Your chariot awaits, my Lady, along with your precious cargo,” he nodded, keeping his hand on her back as he steered her towards his car.

The store clerk smiled and shook his head as he watched the young couple walk away.  He turned away and went over to greet another customer, the smile still on his face.

Home of Lady Mary Crawley, Chelsea, London, England, November 29, 2015

In the end, the tree was brought back to Mary’s flat with great effort, but minimal damage to Matthew’s Porsche.  Though the tree had left the odd smudge on the roof of the car, its biggest impact was the many bemused stares from strangers looking on as he drove from Battersea to Chelsea.  He half expected to see a viral video of it on social media by the time they got home.  Thankfully, the car had tinted windows and they likely hadn’t been recognized.  Getting the large tree up the stairs and into her flat was another chore, particularly since Mary played the role of supervisor, leaving Matthew to haul a tree more than a full three feet taller than he was on his own.  Eventually though, it was placed in the exact corner that she wanted and she immediately went about trimming and decorating, leaving Matthew to retire to the sofa, happy to watch as she busied herself with her mission.

Mary’s flat was merely a temporary place until they went and found a proper house.  She had rented it after selling Painswick House, and used it mainly for storage as they spent most of their nights at Matthew’s hotel suite.  Now that they were engaged though, and had decided they would make their home in London rather than in New York City, where Matthew currently lived, the house hunting would begin in earnest in the New Year.  They were planning their wedding for summer 2016, which hopefully gave them plenty of time to find a house first

In the meanwhile, this would be where they would spend Christmas.  Matthew’s mother was passing the holidays in the Turks and Caicos Islands with friends, meaning he would not need to go back to Manchester.  He had debated taking Mary back there anyway, and spending Christmas in his family home, but it seemed more appropriate for them to stay in London, and build their own memories, rather than be tied to anything from either of their pasts.

As he imagined a younger Mary hanging up garlands in the Great Hall at Downton Abbey, his phone rang, interrupting his reverie.  He glanced at the screen, then got up from the sofa and walked down the hall to take the call.

“Hello, Lavinia,” he said politely.

“Matthew!  How are you?” Lavinia asked.

“Fine, and you?” he replied.

“Wonderful, thanks,” she answered.  “Let me tell you why, exactly.”

Lavinia Swire was Vice-President at Sony Pictures in California.  She had purchased the movie rights to Matthew’s bestselling novel, Epiphany, before it was even published, and he was now working on the screenplay with a view to the film going into production in the second quarter of 2016.  Since finishing the draft last month, he had been going back and forth with Lavinia and others at the studio to revise it for the past two weeks.

“Your last draft was very well received,” she explained.  “We’re happy to move ahead with it, and we’re going to begin casting shortly.  I’ve spoken to John Crowley about directing, and he’s completely onboard.  Are you familiar with his work?”

“Not particularly, no,” he frowned, trying to process all of the information she had inundated him with.

“He’s brilliant, Matthew, you’ll love him,” Lavinia gushed.  “He did an episode of True Detective this past summer and he’s got a romance film coming out called Brooklyn that’s getting some Oscar buzz.”

“I see.  I think I’ve seen a trailer for that one,” he answered.

“Wonderful, so you do know him!” she chirped pleasantly.  “Well, I’ll keep you informed on the process as we go along.  Now, I’m coming back to London for the holidays.  Why don’t we plan to have a meeting to map out the next steps and deal with any questions you might have? Shall we say the 21st?  I’ll see if I can set up a call with John, and we can have dinner afterwards.”

“Right, the 21st,” he repeated, again struggling to catch up to her.  “Should be fine.”

“Wonderful!” she exclaimed.  “I’ll have my assistant email you the details.  We’re going to be doing some press to get the word out, take advantage of the buzz around you from your Booker Prize win.  I’ll have her pass on the itinerary for all that as well.”

“Sounds good,” he said, frowning.

“Wonderful.  I’ll see you in a few weeks then.  Cheers!” she said, hanging up on him.

“Bye,” he said, glancing at his phone in bewilderment.  Shaking his head, he turned around and went back to the living room.

“Who was that?” Mary asked, her back to him as she hung strings of tinsel on the tree.

“It was Lavinia,” he replied, sitting back down on the sofa.  “She says the studio approved the latest draft of my screenplay.”

“That’s good news,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed.  “She’s coming here next month.  We’re having a meeting and apparently she wants me to do some press.”

“That makes sense,” she stated.  “Your profile is quite high after you won the Booker Prize and they released another printing of the book.  They probably want to keep the momentum going.”

“Something like that,” he nodded, taking in the state of the tree.  “The tree’s coming together quite well.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning her head and smiling at him.  “Why don’t you go fetch a chair so I can reach the higher branches?”

“Yes, m’Lady,” he teased, getting up and going into the dining room to get a chair.

  adidas Store, Oxford Street, London, England, December 6, 2015

“God, it’s barely December and the stores are full on into holiday shopping season already,” Anna groaned as they came into the store.

“Holiday shopping begins in November, didn’t you know?” Mary joked.  “It’s December 6th.  There’s probably people who are finished their list by now.”

“Yeah, people who don’t have real jobs,” Anna said, shaking her head.

“Now, now, be nice,” Mary teased.  “Santa’s watching, you know.”

“Well, we both know what list you and Matthew are on, don’t we?” Anna retorted.

“Ha ha,” Mary rolled her eyes, blushing slightly as they made their way past the wall of shoes to the football section.

“Anyway, what are you looking for?  I assumed Matthew already had the latest United kit,” Anna asked.

“He does,” Mary nodded, looking at the various team jerseys on the racks around them.  “I’m looking for something else.”

“You seem to be rather on top of things,” Anna smiled.  “I thought finding a Christmas present for him would be more of a challenge.”

“It is,” Mary sighed, running her fingers over several jerseys and looking at the price tags.  “I don’t have a clue what to get him, if I’m being honest.”

“Then what are we doing here?” Anna asked in confusion.

“Oh, this isn’t his Christmas present,” Mary replied, waving at a store clerk to come over.  “This is just a bit of a gag gift, really.”

“Interesting,” Anna said, still confused.  “Why do I get the feeling that you’re going to get more of a laugh out of this present than he will?”

Mary gave her a mysterious smile, then turned to speak to the store clerk.

Cyclebeat, Lombard Court, London, England, December 7, 2015

Mary looked over her email as she waited for Matthew to come out of the men’s locker room.  Her hair was tied up in a messy ponytail following her quick shower.  She would fix it later when they got back to the hotel.  As usual, the spinning class had left her starving, and she idly thought of what she wanted for dinner as she read her messages.

December was always a busy month for her.  In addition to her work holiday party that she was always shamed into helping out with, the charities she was involved in usually had holiday fundraising events that she needed to attend.  There were also groups of her friends who wanted to get together for dinners and such.  She probably hated those the most.  She had an old crowd that she had long grown tired of, but they donated to her charities and had ties to her family going back generations, so she was duty bound to maintain the connections.  Her calendar was filling up fast, and keeping track of it all was maddening, particularly since she now had to check with Matthew’s schedule as well.  She smiled at the thought.  It made things a bit more complicated, but she liked factoring him in when planning her calendar.   They hadn’t made any public appearances since he proposed on the night of the Booker Prize awards dinner, and she was looking forward to attending some of the holiday parties and functions with him as her fiancé.

“Hey,” Matthew called as he came over to her, a sports drink in one hand.  “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.”

“You didn’t,” she smiled, standing up and letting him kiss her cheek.  She snatched the bottle from his hand and took a sip of her own before passing it back to him.  “Are you ready to go?  I’m starving.”

“Just a minute, I need a quick stretch,” he said, lifting one foot behind him and stretching his quadriceps.

“Goodness, the professional cyclist is sore from today’s class?” she asked with mock surprise.  “You must have been doing a different program from the rest of us amateurs.”

“Stretching is to maintain flexibility,” he smiled at her.  “It has very little to do with sore muscles.  Sore muscles are the result of tiny tears in the fibres themselves caused by applying a load to them that approaches their limit to bear.  If you’re sore, it’s usually a good sign.  It means you’re working hard.  I’m sore, but I need to stretch so I don’t cramp up later.”

“You’re such a nerd, sometimes,” she said affectionately, shaking her head.

“Well we can’t all be socialites, darling,” he retorted, switching legs to stretch his other quadriceps.

She laughed ruefully.

“You know, on the subject of bicycles,” she continued.  “Remember when you told me that after I left New York all those years ago, you would get on your bike and spin away for hours, and that you would sometimes think about me?”

“I did, more often than ‘sometimes’ to be fair,” he nodded.  Their past relationship was a far more comfortable conversation topic now years later with them reunited and engaged to be married.  Mary often had questions about their previous years together that she no longer remembered after her accident, and he enjoyed answering them, both to help her fill in the many blanks that she still had, and as a pleasant reminder of all they had been through to be together now.

“Did you ever think about what would happen if you found me again?” she asked, arching her eyebrow at him.

He blinked in surprise at her question.  “Yes,” he said quietly.

“Did you ever think about what would happen if I remembered everything?  If I sent you an email out of the blue, or texted you, or somehow located you and showed up at your doorstep unannounced?” she probed, smiling at him playfully.

“All the time,” he said seriously.  “I would dream about it.  There would be times where I’d be in a café or pub that we’d gone to and I’d look over at the door every so often, imagining that you were about to walk through.  Or, if a particular song came on the radio, I would almost hear your voice singing it.  It was rather pathetic, really.  Even years later, when my phone would buzz with a text, a small part of me believed it might be from you.”

“That’s not pathetic at all,” she said reassuringly, stroking his arm.  “How did you envision it going?  If I ever did come back for you?”

“Do you want to hear the family-rated version, or the adults-only one?” he asked, smirking at her.

“The adults-only version, you can show me, later,” she challenged.  “What did you think about, though, about what you would do if you saw me again?”

“My vision of it would often change – different places, what you were wearing, sometimes even the length of your hair,” he said, stopping his stretches and stepping over to her, his hands finding her waist.  “But one thing about the scenario always remained the same.”

“And that was?” she whispered, her eyes moving to his lips as he leaned towards her.

“Just a small, insignificant, hopelessly romantic and rather cheesy detail,” he said.  “I always, always, promise myself that I will never, ever, ever let you go again.”

She grinned and raised her eyebrows playfully.

“Mary!  Matthew!” the desk clerk called out to them.

They both turned to look at her.

She smiled and pointed up above them.

Mary rolled her eyes, not even wanting to look.  Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up and saw that she and Matthew were standing under a mistletoe bough hung above the archway.

Matthew smiled at her and shrugged.

“Well, it may have taken you over ten years, but I’d say you are doing a very good job of keeping your promise,” she laughed, kissing him soundly. 

  Westminster Suite, Shangri-La Hotel, At the Shard, London, England, December 8, 2015

“In it goes towards Naldo, who gets his head to it!  And a score!  Naldo!  Heartbreak for Manchester United!  Almost straight away!” the commentator exclaimed breathlessly from the television.

“Oh, fuck off!” Matthew groaned, putting his hands on his head and cringing as the Wolfsburg players celebrated the go-ahead goal over his beloved Manchester United.  He remained standing for the rest of the match, praying that his side would somehow find an equaliser, but as the minutes ticked away, it wasn’t to be, and he sighed and shook his head as Manchester United was officially eliminated from the Champions League tournament.

“Well, that was worth flying across the pond for,” Alex called from the sofa.

Matthew turned around and shrugged helplessly.  “What can I tell you?” he sighed.  “We’re fucking shit.  Besides that, I don’t know what it is about Germany, but we never win there.”

Matthew’s best friend, Alexander Lewis, had just flown in from New York City the day before.  Originally from London before moving to America over fifteen years ago, he was back to see friends and family for the holidays, and had accepted Matthew’s invitation to watch the evening’s football match, knowing full well that if United lost, Matthew would be in a snit for the rest of the night.

“Where’s Mary?” Alex asked, getting up and going to the bar to grab a beer.  “I need her to save me from what I expect will be an evening of watching you wallow and mope.”

“She’s at hers,” Matthew grumbled.  “She needed to meet with the organisers for a charity event she has coming up next week.”

“But she will be coming over at some point, no?” Alex asked with concern.  “To save me?  From all the moping?”

“I’m not going to mope,” Matthew complained.

“Not for overly long, I hope,” Alex replied, popping the cap on his beer and coming back over to the sofa.  “Speaking of Mary, what are you getting her for Christmas?”

“I have no idea,” Matthew shook his head.  “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, but I can’t seem to come up with anything.”

“That’s understandable,” Alex nodded.  “You’ve already bought her ten years’ worth of jewellery, and she’s richer than you are, so it’s not as though she’s lacking for anything.”

“Thanks, that helps loads,” Matthew said sarcastically.

“It wouldn’t be so hard if you weren’t so particular,” Alex smiled, taking a swig of beer.

“How so?” Matthew frowned in confusion.

“You want her gift to have purpose, to have meaning,” Alex explained.  “It’s not enough that she loves it, it has to carry some mythical importance to be considered a worthy present in your eyes.”

“Well, she is my fiancée, and it’s our first Christmas together in 12 years.  I think I’m entitled to want her gift to be special,” Matthew rebutted.

“Of course,” Alex said easily.  “But it makes finding the right gift all the more difficult, is all I’m saying.”

“It’ll be worth it when I see her reaction,” Matthew smiled.  He looked down at the coffee table as his phone buzzed and Mary’s voice sounded out from the phone speaker.

‘Text from Mary’ her voice said.

“You didn’t,” Alex groaned.

“What?” Matthew said defensively, picking up his phone.  “It’s an easy way for me to differentiate her texts from anyone else’s.”

“You never asked me to record a special ringtone for my calls and texts.  I’m quite insulted,” Alex said with mock hurt.

“If you keep taking the mick out of me for it, I just might,” Matthew warned, opening up Mary’s text.

“Well?  When is your fiancée coming over?” Alex asked.

Matthew frowned at the screen, then tapped it to open the photo that Mary had texted to him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he snorted, shaking his head in exasperation.

“What?” Alex asked.

“Never you mind,” Matthew scolded him.  “She’s on her way.”

“Good,” Alex said pleasantly.

Matthew looked back at his phone and sighed.  Mary had sent him a photo that she obviously had just taken.  In it, she was giving him an air kiss, wearing nothing but a pair of boy shorts and a football jersey.  Normally, such a photo would send his blood racing.  What could be a better fantasy for any man than seeing his fiancée in a football kit and lingerie?  Matthew was no different, and Mary knew it, but this particular photograph would not be making his private collection anytime soon.

Mary was wearing the jersey of VfL Wolfsburg – the German team that had just beaten United.

‘Sorry about the loss, darling, but everyone loves a winner.  Better luck next year!’ read the cheeky text.

“Everyone’s a fucking comedian,” Matthew muttered.

————— 

Mary blinked several times, finally opening her eyes and adjusting her vision to the darkness of the bedroom.  She raised her head and looked behind her, frowning as she realized Matthew wasn’t in bed.  Reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing her mobile, she stared in confusion as the glowing numbers told her it was just past three a.m.  She put her phone down and got out of bed, rubbing her eyes and reaching for her robe on her way out to the living room.

“What are you doing out here?  It’s three in the morning,” she asked sleepily, coming over to sit down on the sofa next to Matthew.  He smiled at her, his Ultrabook computer resting on a cushioned desk across his lap.

“Sorry, darling,” he apologized, kissing the top of her head as she snuggled against him.  “I was feeling inspired so I wanted to get some writing done.”

“Inspired?” she said lazily, her eyes half closed as she looked at the glowing screen.  “Is that why you were so insatiable tonight?  You were doing research for your sequel and I was just a convenient prop, then?”

“Never,” he laughed, kissing her again.  “And I’m not writing a love scene, for your information.”

“Ah,” she replied.  “So how does this work, then?  The muse hits you and you must go running off to write it all down before inspiration fades?”

“Not really,” he chuckled.  “Oftentimes the ideas come in bits and pieces – sort of like ‘what if this’ and ‘what if that’ – and you either make note of it and come back to it later, or you hope you don’t forget about it.  On rare occasions, you might see entire scenes in your mind, and each step that the characters take.  If you’re lucky enough, it almost feels as though the scene writes itself.  I write everyday on a regular schedule so that I’m not just sitting around waiting for inspiration to strike.  Tonight though, I just had an idea and needed to play around with it a bit.”

“And what breathtaking scene are you writing now that caused you to leave your fiancée lying naked in your bed and rush out here to your keyboard mistress?” she teased.

“You’re being rather nosey, aren’t you?” he asked playfully, deflecting her question.

“Seeing as you’re writing the sequel to a bestselling book who’s main protagonist was inspired by me, I’d say I have some right to know,” she retorted.

“Well, don’t worry.  I’m not going to kill her off, or anything,” he assured her.

“I would hope not,” she said haughtily.  “It was bad enough that you made her break down and cry at times in the first book.  She was a blubbing mess at times.  I don’t know where you got that from, certainly not from me.”

“No one loves a perfect heroine, darling,” he said.  “People demand that the characters go through drama and angst whenever possible.  Nothing is ever permitted to be straightforward.”

“I suppose,” she agreed.  “So, what’s inspired you tonight?”

“Erm, the second book is about how the main character starts questioning everything she discovered in Epiphany,” he explained.  “She has all these people trying to tell her what she should do as if they know what’s best for her – her parents, her sister, her brother-in-law, and she resists, both as a defensive reaction and because she feels she knows her own mind even though no one else thinks she does.”

“All right, that’s interesting,” she noted.  “And this particular scene?”

“This particular scene is about how she runs off because she has to get away from everyone being in her ear all the time, and her boyfriend goes after her.  I just had an idea of how to write their dialogue to contrast his view against those of everyone else,” he said.

“And how will you do that?” she asked.

“I think it’s more in-character if he doesn’t actually take a position, or give her any advice,” he mused.  “Whereas everyone else will try and tell her what she should be doing, he’ll just say he’ll support whatever she decides to do, that he trusts her judgment when no one else does.”

“That sounds rather lame,” she joked.  “Isn’t the modern man supposed to give her a bunch of options and help her to work out what she wants to do, instead of just leaving her caught in the wind?  Your audience could think he’s wimping out, rather.”

“They could, yes,” he laughed.  “Which is why the dialogue is so important, so that it doesn’t devolve into some horrid sobfest.  I’m trying to find an impactful statement that will show he’s vulnerable but not a pushover, that he’s supporting her because he loves her, but that he won’t just condone everything she does.  They’ve been through a lot to this point, so it will resonate more if it’s him who stands by her as opposed to anyone else, but it can’t just be because they’re a couple.”

“So much to take into account,” she said, closing her eyes and bringing her arm across his bare stomach.  “And here I thought you just put down whatever happened to come out of that vivid imagination of yours.”

“It requires a bit more work than that,” he smiled, watching her fall asleep against him.  “Don’t you want to watch?  Don’t you want to see how the magic happens, as they say?”

“I’ll read it when it’s published.  I hate spoilers,” she mumbled, dozing off against him.  “I didn’t come out here to spy on you.  I just don’t like sleeping alone.”

“Fair enough, just a few minutes more,” he smiled, going back to his typing.

“Mmm,” she replied, staying curled up beside him.

Camden Coffee House, Ladbrooke Grove, London, England, December 12, 2015

“What about a tie?” Anna suggested, pouring sugar into her latte.

Mary arched her eyebrow and looked at her incredulously as she sipped her Earl Grey.

“You’re right, that was a shit suggestion,” Anna nodded.

“It wasn’t a shit suggestion,” Mary backtracked.  “Not entirely, anyway.  A tie would be perfectly all right normally, but this is hardly a normal situation, and I don’t want to give him just a normal present.”

“I know, I know,” Anna sighed, smiling as she took a sip of her coffee.  “You want to dazzle him.”

“At the very least, yes,” Mary said, holding up her hand with her sparkling engagement ring on her ring finger.  “I should have to put some thought into it, he’s more than earned that much, I would say.”

“So a night of passion wouldn’t be enough, then?” Anna teased.

Mary glared at her.

“You’re right, he’s getting that regardless, and one night probably wouldn’t be enough,” Anna shook her head.

“Anna!” Mary hissed, blushing as she looked down at her tea cup.  “What about you?  What are you getting for John?”

“We got a new door for the house,” Anna said.

Mary stared at her for a moment, perplexed.

Anna sipped her latte, then realized that Mary was expecting her to elaborate.

“That’s our gift to each other.  We put our money together and put it towards the new door,” Anna explained.

“A new door,” Mary repeated.  “Well, that’s something.  Unfortunately neither Matthew or I have a place of our own, so a new…door…wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“No, the two of you are just going to buy a multimillion dollar home in the New Year, is all,” Anna smirked.

“I’m sorry,” Mary sighed.  “You must think I’m so stupid for agonising over this.”

“No, I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” Anna said, smiling encouragingly.  “I think it’s quite cute, actually.  I’ve never seen you agonise over a man before, and I just hope that he’s struggling with your gift even half as much as you are with his.”

“Highly doubtful,” Mary complained.  “Knowing Matthew, he’s probably got gifts for the next ten Christmases already planned out, each one sure to be more spectacular than the next.”

“You’re not trying to outdo him, are you?” Anna asked.  “Because I’d say that is a very big ask.”

“No, it’s not that,” Mary scoffed.  “I’m not being competitive.  I just want to show him that I’m just as capable at coming up with a meaningful gift as he is, that I can be just as romantic when it’s called for.”

“I’m sure that in your own way, that’s true,” Anna said kindly.  “But don’t try and out-Matthew Matthew.  It won’t come across as genuine.  You’re not him.  You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve, and he doesn’t expect you to.”

“I know, I know,” Mary grumbled, rolling her eyes.

“What?” Anna asked, smiling in confusion at her friend.

“Argh…I don’t know,” Mary whinged.  “It’s just that those lost years, my time in New York, I was a different person.  I feel as though there’s a part of me that could be all of those things still – spontaneous, romantic, impulsive – I just can’t remember how.”

“You’re not still worried that Matthew is in love with some image of you in his mind?” Anna asked.

“No, no, he’s proven to me that he isn’t, many times now,” Mary shook her head.  “I just wonder if he wouldn’t prefer if I was more like that though, less…I don’t know…high maintenance, as they say.  Then maybe coming up with grand gestures like finding him the perfect Christmas gift wouldn’t be so bloody difficult.”

“Maybe,” Anna allowed.  “Though he probably would enjoy seeing you agonize over him a little bit as well.”

“Trust me, he would love it,” Mary said ruefully, sipping her tea.

The Story of Christmas Appeal, St. George’s Church, Hanover Square, Mayfair, London, England, December 16, 2015

“This way, Mum!” the teenager said eagerly, leading the way into the old, venerable Church.  Her mother smiled and shook her head, exchanging a brief word with some of her friends before following her daughter to their seats.

“Let’s see, let’s see…” her daughter said, scanning the program.  “There he is!  He’s reading fifth!  Oh, I can’t wait!”

“Just keep calm,” her mother smiled.  “We’re in a Church after all.  It won’t do for you to squeal at him.”

The teen girl grinned happily, then busied herself with surreptitiously taking a photo of the view from their seats so she could post it on Instagram.  As she occupied herself with that, her mother stood up and smiled as a sophisticated looking woman with brown hair and dressed impeccably approached them.

“Lady Mary,” the mother said, nodding to the woman.  “Everything looks so lovely.”

“Thank you,” Mary replied, accepting the compliment.  “I hope it all goes smoothly.”

“Well, as long as Matthew Crawley makes an appearance, the night will be a smashing success as far as Carolyn is concerned,” the mother replied, smiling wryly and nodding towards her daughter.

“Ah, well, would you like to meet Matthew at the end of the event, Carolyn?” Mary asked the teenager.

“Erm…can I?” Carolyn asked in wonder.

“Of course you can,” Mary replied, smiling at Carolyn’s mother.  “I’ll see if I can bring him by to see you after the crowd has thinned out a bit.”

“Thank you, Lady Mary!” Carolyn exclaimed.

“You’re quite welcome.  I’ll even let you in on a little secret.  Matthew’s going to be on The Graham Norton Show on Friday,” Mary said quietly.

“He is?” Carolyn repeated, blinking in shock.  “I hadn’t heard anything about that.”

“Well, now you know,” Mary nodded.  “He’s taping the episode tomorrow night.”

“Maybe you can try and get tickets to the filming?” Carolyn’s mother said, not entirely joking.

Mary exchanged a knowing smile with the teenager, then said her goodbyes before moving on.  She looked around at the audience, all distinguished supporters and members of the London elite.  It did appear as though there were quite a few younger women seated amongst the usual faces, certainly more than last year.  The Story of Christmas Appeal was a popular annual event, but it didn’t tend to skew to a younger demographic.  She contemplated this as she made her way to the back where Matthew was waiting with the others.

“You’ve got an adoring public waiting to hear your every word,” Mary teased, smiling at Matthew when she reached him.

“So long as they have deep pockets, that’s perfectly fine,” he replied, squeezing her hand.  “How are you holding up?”

“Ask me when it’s over,” she grumbled, giving him a brave smile.  “You would think I was used to all the chaos of these things after so many years, but it seems that I’m not.”

“Now, now, is that any way for an Executive Vice-President to talk?” he joked.  “Don’t let Dame Judi hear you complain like that.”

“She’s the worst one of us all,” she said, arching her eyebrow.  “Just wait until the reception later.  She’ll outdrink everyone, and remain perfectly regal while the rest of us are absolutely wrecked.”

He shook his head and laughed at the thought.

“Anyway, best of luck, yes?” she said, smiling at him before turning away.

Matthew squeezed her hand and watched as she left, walking quickly to another area and meeting with staff to deal with some last minute details.  As he watched her work in her element, he smiled appreciatively.  One thing that had not changed in the years they were separated was Mary’s skill at navigating social gatherings.  She always seemed to be the centre of attention, deftly drawing those to her that she needed, while keeping everyone else at bay.  A smile, a nod, a perfectly arched eyebrow, her mannerisms gave her words an extra emphasis.  It was remarkable to him still, even after seeing her like this so many times.  No matter how much they had in common, this was something that was still entirely different about them.  Mary could talk to anyone.  He most certainly could not.  It was always a bit of a chore whenever he accompanied her to one of these events.  He preferred to remain in the background if possible and let her go about whatever she had to do.  It was easier that way, letting her shine and stepping back so he wouldn’t be caught having to talk to someone for too long.

Truthfully, he wasn’t particularly eager to read one of the lessons in front of such an esteemed audience either, but this charity benefitting the homeless and disadvantaged children in the London area was dear to Mary.  Her family had been involved from the first event decades ago, and she had served on the executive for years.  When she asked him to participate this year, he was honoured of course, albeit a bit intimidated.  The readers were generally famous figures – actors, television personalities and such.  Matthew was reading after former Prime Minister Sir John Major, for God’s sake.  He didn’t feel he quite fit in, but he readily accepted.  Surely he could read a few lines.  He was a writer, after all.

“Five minutes!” a staff member called. 

He took a deep breath and looked over his pages yet again.  Though his profile perhaps wasn’t as high as others here, it was rather common knowledge that he and Mary were engaged.  What others thought of his performance wasn’t important, but he most certainly didn’t want to embarrass her in front of her colleagues and peers.

“You’ll do great,” a voice told him confidently.

He looked up and nodded sheepishly to the actor Robert Bathurst, who would be going up second.

“Thanks,” Matthew said.  “I just don’t want to do something stupid like trip on my way to the podium, or drop my pages or something.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Robert smiled.  “I’m just glad I’m going up before you.  All the women will be swooning by the time you’re done, no matter how much you might butcher the lines.”

“Thanks,” Matthew said, slightly less genuinely. 

Home of Lady Mary Crawley, Chelsea, London, England, December 18, 2015

“Who are the other guests on the show?” Anna asked as she brought the plate of chips over and put it on the coffee table in front of the other women gathered on the couch in Mary’s living room.  Matthew’s appearance on The Graham Norton Show was about to begin and Mary had invited some of her friends over for some wine and snacks, and to watch along with her while they had their usual catch-up.

“Jennifer Lawrence and Daisy Ridley?” Mary answered.  “Matthew said he felt a bit out of place since they both have actual projects out to promote.”

“And so does he,” Gwen suggested, reaching for the vegetable platter.

“Yes, but he couldn’t say much more than confirm that a movie was in the works, and that he was starting on the sequel to the first book,” Mary explained, shrugging indifferently.  “I told him it doesn’t matter.  The Graham Norton Show is hardly a bastion of cutting-edge journalism.  It’s just supposed to be a bit of silly fun.”

“Yeah,” Gwen agreed.  “It’s mostly mucking about more than anything.”

They watched as the show came on and the host went through his monologue.  Matthew was out with Alex tonight, having said he wasn’t interested in watching the broadcast after having to endure the taping of the show from last night.  He always tended to exaggerate these things, she thought.  Yes, Matthew was not as comfortable making chitchat with others as she was, but he could be quite charming when he needed to be.  He went on the show because Lavinia told him to and the studio arranged it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself, she thought.  He was always so rigid about distinguishing between business and pleasure, as though it wasn’t permitted to have fun at his job.  Mary knew he enjoyed writing quite a bit.  It was the marketing side – the appearances, that signings, the media tours – that grated on him.

The girls ate and drank as they watched the opening moments of the show, laughing at some of the jokes and groaning at others.  They finally applauded as Matthew was introduced and he walked out and took his place on the couch.

“He looks gorgeous,” Daisy mumbled, taking in Matthew’s boots, jeans, black buttoned shirt with no tie and dark grey blazer jacket.

“It took hours to settle on that outfit,” Mary groaned, rolling her eyes.  “He wanted to go conservative – black suit, white shirt, blue tie.  I think he looks much better this way, far more warm and approachable.”

“Shit, she’s so beautiful,” Anna exclaimed as Jennifer Lawrence came out wearing a slinky black dress.

“Did you get to meet her?” Gwen asked Mary.

“No, I couldn’t make the taping.  I had a meeting last night for the Tate holiday party,” Mary said, watching as onscreen the actress greeted Matthew with a polite cheek kiss.

“This one reminds me of Keira Knightley actually,” Daisy noted as Daisy Ridley was introduced last, and came out in a navy blue party dress.  She also gave Matthew a peck on the cheek as she took her seat on the red couch next to him, with Jennifer Lawrence on his other side.

The girls watched as Graham Norton asked the usual assortment of irreverent questions, prying for some dirt on Joy and Star Wars: The Force Awakens, the two films that the actresses were promoting.  He was met with the usual vague answers and forced laughs.  Matthew seemed to sit up a bit straighter when the conversation eventually turned to him.

“Now, Matthew, I read your book, Epiphany, and apparently I’m not the only one.  It was number one on the bestseller list for months in England, the United States, Canada, Australia and has been translated into a dozen other languages.  It’s a bit of a phenomenon, isn’t it?” 

“A little bit, yes,” Matthew muttered sheepishly.

“And your book just won the Booker Prize a few months back, and from what I understand, it’s now being made into a movie and you’re writing the screenplay, correct?” Graham continued.

The studio audience cheered with approval at this revelation.

“That’s right, yes,” Matthew nodded, smiling at the reaction.  “The screenplay is done now, actually.  We finished it a little while ago, and now we’re into production and casting and all of that.”

“Fabulous!  Jennifer, you wouldn’t mind taking on that role, would you?  The female lead in the book is quite the character, a real complex person that I would think would be a challenge to play,” Graham asked the actress.

Mary narrowed her eyes upon hearing the question.

“Yeah, for sure, I would love that,” Jennifer nodded, smiling at Matthew.  “A friend of mine got me into the book and I think I read it in a week or something, which for me is really rare.  That never happens that I love a book so much I can’t put it down and just, like, drop everything else until I finish it.”

“Or unless you’re being paid to read it, like with The Hunger Games series,” Graham teased, to predictable laughter from the audience.

“Exactly, exactly,” Jennifer nodded, going along with the joke.  “I paid to read Matthew’s book.”

“Daisy, what about you?  You’re a touch younger but you could pull it off, yeah?” Graham asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mary asked, frowning at the screen.

Anna and Gwen glanced at each other knowingly.

“Yeah, well this will sound as if we rehearsed it beforehand, but we really didn’t, honestly,” Daisy said, drawing more laughter from the audience.  “But I’ve read Epiphany too, and I loved it.  It’s just a great story and the fact that it’s a woman who’s at the centre of it all is really special, so yeah, I’d love to do it.”

“Well, there you go, Matthew,” Graham said, gesturing to the two actresses.  “You’ve got an Oscar winner and an ingénue clamouring to be in your movie.  If you want to use the couch after the show for casting purposes, that’s all right.  We’ll lower the lights, it’ll be nice.”

Matthew laughed uncomfortably as the audience roared.

“That would be something if Jennifer Lawrence was playing you in the movie, wouldn’t it?” Gwen asked Mary.

“Yes, it would be something all right,” Mary replied, lifting her chin and pursing her lips as she continued watching the show.  As the conversation moved along, Matthew seemed to get more comfortable, and drew his share of laughs and applause as he talked a bit more about his book, and how much his life had changed as a result of the book being a worldwide bestseller.  Mary had to admit that he fit in well sitting between the two beautiful actresses, almost as though he was just as much a celebrity as they were, at ease with the game of appearing glamorous, yet friendly and normal.  As much as she was proud of him, a part of her found this side of him a bit unsettling as well for some reason.

“That wasn’t so bad at all,” Anna noted as the show ended.

“Matthew seemed to come into his own a bit by the end,” Daisy agreed.

Mary smiled and nodded as she took a sip of wine, then quickly changed the subject.

Sony Pictures Entertainment Offices, Soho, London, England, December 21, 2015

“So that’s it as far as the process over the next few months leading up to filming.  Oh, before I forget, that appearance on Graham Norton was absolutely perfect!  Just wonderful!” Lavinia gushed, looking at Matthew from across the boardroom table.  “After seeing that, the studio will want to send you along on the full press junket when the film is ready for release.”

“Oh, that’s still a ways away yet,” Matthew said dismissively.  “I’m sure by then people will be far more interested in the actors than talking to me.”

“We’ll see,” she replied, glancing at her tablet.  “Now, we want you to be part of the casting process.  We’ve already got a number of actors who have expressed an interest in the different roles, including Jennifer Lawrence and Daisy Ridley.  This could really be a surprise hit for us, Matthew.  The book’s already sold very well in the countries that we’re targeting for worldwide release, so there’s already an established fanbase that we think will come out to see the film.”

“I hope so,” he said cautiously.

“Now, while the film is in production, it’s very important that you get out ahead.  Until we get the first images and the teaser trailer shot, all anyone will know about the story is your book and you. We’ll need you to be regularly present on social media, doing talks and appearances, and online interviews.  It will build momentum leading up to the release in the fall.”

“Lavinia, I don’t know about all of that,” he said, frowning slightly.  “I’m not really outgoing and extroverted like that.  I barely know how to promote my book, let alone a full movie.”

“That’s exactly why you’re so perfect for this, Matthew,” Lavinia said, nodding enthusiastically.  “You have no ego, no pretentiousness.  Why do you think your publisher was able to sell out all of your signings and your interviews played so well?  Yes, your readers love your book, but they also adore you.  They want to see more of you, and that’s what we’ll give them.”

“If you think it will help,” he said, sighing and shaking his head, entirely unconvinced.

“Trust me, it will,” she assured him.  “Now, shall we get going?  Our dinner reservation is in twenty minutes.”

“Sure,” he said, nodding to her as they rose from their seats and headed out together.

Simpson’s-in-the-Strand Restaurant, Charing Cross, London, England, December 21, 2015

“Mary!  God, you look gorgeous!” Mabel Lane Fox exclaimed, coming over and kissing her on both cheeks.

“Mabel,” Mary said politely.  “You look regal, as always.”

“This?” Mabel laughed, holding up her hands and looking down at her dress.  “Oh, it’s just an old Chanel piece that I never got around to wearing.  Since tonight is just a dinner among old friends, I just fished it out of the closet.”

Mary smiled, reminding herself not to roll her eyes until after she was seated.

“Mary, darling, so glad you could make it,” Tony Foyle said, leaning over and kissing her cheek.

“Tony,” Mary replied, nodding as Mabel took Tony’s hand.

“We were so disappointed to hear that Matthew couldn’t make it,” Mabel said, making a show of pouting her lips.

“Yes, he’s been in meetings since this afternoon, I’m afraid,” Mary said.  “He sends his regrets.”

“Of course,” Mabel said, nodding sympathetically.

“Busy conjuring his next book, is he?” Tony asked, chuckling a bit too eagerly.

“He is, but today he was meeting with the movie studio,” Mary retorted.  “They expect to begin shooting in the New Year.”

“How exciting!  Well, perhaps we can all have dinner sometime in January and catch up properly when Matthew is available,” Mabel said.

“Yes, of course,” Mary agreed easily, knowing full well that would never happen.  While she tolerated Lord Gillingham and his wife as part of her loose social circle, Matthew hated socializing with their ilk.  He couldn’t understand why they would spend their time hanging out with people that Mary didn’t even like, and he wasn’t wrong, in fairness.

Mary moved on and greeted the other dinner guests before walking around the large dining table and taking her assigned seat.  The restaurant was unapologetically British – stodgy, conservative and old fashioned – decorated with plenty of dark wood panelling and leather furniture, with a menu heavy on meat and potatoes.  It reminded Mary of Sunday roast dinners at Downton Abbey, which explained why she didn’t come here very often at all, and also why Tony and Mabel still enjoyed hosting an annual dinner here for the holidays.  Within these walls, the aristocracy still ruled, there was still a British Empire to speak of, and no meal was more fit for a King than an expensive roast with all the accompaniments.

Mary had just placed her napkin across her lap when the chair next to hers scraped across the floor, signalling the arrival of her conversation partner for the evening.

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice said.

She looked up to reflexively say there was no need to apologize, then quickly decided not to extend such a courtesy.  Her eyes narrowed as she took in the man taking a seat next to her, who was now smirking at her knowingly.

“Charles,” she said coldly.

“Mary,” Charles Blake replied easily, leaning over and kissing her cheek.  “So lovely to see you.  I was absolutely giddy when Tony told me you would be here.”

She turned away and reached for her wine glass, not bothering to supress an eye roll.  In fact, she exaggerated it a bit to make sure he noticed.

“Where is that fiancé of yours?  The one who conveniently has the same last name as you?” he asked.

“Matthew’s in meetings with the studio executive that’s turning his book into a movie,” she replied.

“Ah yes, the infamous dinner meeting.  That has the potential for all sorts of shenanigans, doesn’t it?” he laughed.

“I’m sure he’s enjoying himself more than I am at the moment, if that’s what you mean,” she shot back.

“Come on, Mary, don’t be so stuck up,” he said, taking a sip of his rye and soda.  “I’m happy for you, truly.”

“Thanks, I’ve been beside myself worrying whether or not I have your blessing,” she said, glaring at him.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” he laughed.  “In fact, I don’t know too many people in our circles who approve of your engagement.  Tony and Mabel seem rather concerned for you, seeing as they invited me here and conveniently placed me beside you.”

She kept her expression calm, though she was fuming inside at being manipulated like this.  “I find that rather odd myself, given how you and Tony were once at odds with each other.”

“We were sadly miscast in the roles of rivals for your affections,” he said easily.  “It’s unfortunate that it didn’t work out for either one of us, though entirely predictable, I suppose.  I always thought it would take a particular type of man to be able to keep you interested, though recent evidence seems to suggest otherwise.”

She turned away and looked up at the waiter gratefully as he brought over the bed basket.

Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester Hotel, Park Lane, Mayfair, London, England, December 21, 2015

“It’s not as though you’re going to be choosing the cast by yourself, Matthew,” Lavinia said, sipping her vodka Martini.  “There will be an entire staff involved, as well as the director.  It’s just important to have your input, is all.”

“Yes, but I can’t tell if someone is a good actor or not,” he replied.  “At least not to the level that trained professionals can.”

“Matthew, didn’t you have an image in your mind of what these characters looked like when you wrote your book?  Didn’t you hear their voices?  Didn’t you imagine how the scenes you created would look?” she asked patiently.

“Of course I did,” he admitted.

“And that’s what we want – that image you have, the pictures you imagined that inspired you to write your book,” she explained.

“Yes, but I never pictured Jennifer Lawrence when I created the female lead in my story,” he said, swallowing slightly as he tried to imagine an actress who even looked remotely like Mary and couldn’t think of a single one.

“That’s fair.  You pictured Mary, your fiancée, which is lovely,” she nodded.  “However, don’t be so married to the ideas and images in your head.  Just allow yourself to expand your views a bit, consider other options, other people.  Maybe Jennifer Lawrence, or Natalie Portman, or Cate Blanchett aren’t who your main character is supposed to look like and sound like, but maybe they could be.  Just give them the chance to convince you, is all I’m saying.”

“I just don’t know,” he said, shaking his head and slicing into his steak.

“Well, as we get into the process, you’ll feel more comfortable, I know it,” she said firmly.  “You’ve got great vision, Matthew.  This won’t be our only film together, I promise you.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked carefully after swallowing his bite of steak.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time, Matthew, trust me,” she smiled.  “We can have all the CGI and explosions and fight scenes we want, we can get the biggest names and shove them down the audience’s collective throat, but ultimately what sells a movie is a story.  An audience needs to believe in what they’re seeing, to be put right there with the characters, to go through what they’re going through, no matter how mundane or exciting.  It’s just like your readers.  If we can make a movie that people get immersed in, it’ll be a hit, there’s no doubt about it.  What you’ve got is a story, and I’m quite certain you’ve got more than one story in you.”

“I’ve got dozens of stories,” he laughed ruefully.  “Trying to get them out in a coherent manner is the challenge.”

“I’m sure it is,” she said, smiling at him as she brought her drink up to her lips.  “But get me those stories, Matthew, and we will make magic together.”

Simpson’s-in-the-Strand Restaurant, Charing Cross, London, England, December 21, 2015

“We’re concerned for you, Mary,” Charles said, popping a bite of roast into his mouth and chewing eagerly.

“Oh, please.  The role of jealous ex-lover doesn’t particularly suit you, does it?” she retorted, not bothering to look at him.  They had made small talk throughout the meal.  Conversation at these things was usually limited to whoever was in close proximity to you, as it was done at Society dinners in the past.  Mabel’s high-pitched laughter could be heard every so often, but everyone mainly kept to speaking to whomever was seated next to them, an arrangement that of course was annoying Mary the longer the evening wore on.

“Lovers, were we?” he asked, grinning at her.

“Would you say we were anything more substantial than that?  I certainly wouldn’t,” she said coldly, finally giving him a perturbed look.

“That’s hardly surprising, seeing as you never gave us a fair chance,” he replied.

“If you want to keep believing that, go right ahead,” she shrugged, reaching for her wine.  “It’s of no concern to me.”

“What do you see in him, Mary, honestly?” he asked, his voice a bit more serious.  “He isn’t one of us.  He’s nice to look at, I suppose, but he’s hardly your type.  A writer?  Really?  He could never keep up with you and your life.”

“How would you even know?  And what does that even mean?” she frowned.

“Writers don’t have lifestyles.  They sit in little rooms and write.  So he got lucky with his first book, so what?  He’s still beneath you, Mary, and I never expected you would marry beneath you,” he scoffed.

“I’m gutted that I’ve disappointed you.  I suppose all that’s left to do is spend the rest of my life with Matthew trying to prove to you that I’ve met my match,” she said, arching her eyebrow at him as she sipped her wine.

“Or you could end this charade and spare yourself years of boredom and regret,” he stated.

“I think I’ll take my chances with him, rather than humour your theories on what makes a relationship work, thank you,” she said crisply, setting her wine glass back down.

“I know this – a relationship needs balance.  You’re far too clever for him, to say nothing for your higher social status and wealth.  The only thing he’s got is he’s a bit more of a celebrity than you are – for the moment – but that’s not going to be enough.  If his career takes off, you’ll resent his popularity.  If it doesn’t, he’ll resent you for having more money than him and being the dominant one in your marriage,” he said plainly.

“So we’re doomed to failure in your eyes, are we?” she asked, allowing a bit of venom to creep into her voice.

 “Most definitely,” he confirmed.  “Mary, I know that Tony, Evelyn, Henry and I weren’t right for you before, and I’ll admit that you are a changed person these days, but to suggest that this Matthew Crawley is worthy of you is simply preposterous.  I simply do not understand it.”

“You don’t want to understand,” she countered.  “There’s a difference.  That’s why I put about just as much value into your advice as I do the months that we spent together.”

He didn’t immediately respond to her jibe, which was a victory in and of itself.

The Members Room, Tate Modern Art Gallery, Bankside, London, England, December 22, 2015

Mary sipped her champagne and stared out at the London skyline, the bright lights reflecting off the dark surface of the River Thames in front of her.  When she had suggested they use the balconies of this event space as part of the holiday party, she was met with shocked faces, but the mild weather of the past weeks had held through to tonight and the heat lamps had made coming outside quite comfortable.  Even if it was colder, she still would have come out here to gaze across the river and be alone with her thoughts.  The music and chatter of the party wafted out to her, but she kept her gaze looking north, her thoughts straying in all directions.

When they arrived for the party, she had brought Matthew around introducing him to the members of her fundraising department that he didn’t know, as well as to other staff and Gallery employees.  He was already known for having made a large donation to the Gallery earlier in the year, but many of the staff loved his book as well.  As a result, he was quite popular, and found himself posing for selfies and engaging in rather awkward conversation with some of the party goers.  She had managed to stay by his side and rescue him from a few encounters, but later on she was needed elsewhere to deal with emergencies and make some announcements, so he was left to his own devices.  After making sure the kitchen had enough food to last the evening, she had come out here, rather than going back to find him.

Her Aunt Rosamund had died in February, giving her the past ten months to mourn the passing of her last relative.  Yet, she didn’t feel any more at ease now that Christmas was here.  All of her old childhood memories came flooding back – taking sleigh rides with her sisters across the grounds at Downton Abbey, Papa inviting the residents from the nearby village up to their house for a reception and carols, helping her Mama give out presents to the staff, playing charades on Christmas Eve.  Though she had Matthew and her friends, Christmas was always about family for her, and the harsh reality was that she had none.

Her thoughts turned to the future and spending the holidays as Matthew’s wife.  She got along well with his mother, and expected that they would have some pleasant times in Manchester and London.  Eventually they would have children and that would make Christmas more fun, she thought.  These prospects didn’t cheer her up now though, oddly enough.  Was it because she didn’t quite believe it, or couldn’t see it entirely yet?  Or was it because it still paled in comparison to the picturesque moments of her youth?

“There you are,” Matthew said, coming up behind her and putting his arms around her.

“Here I am,” she said, still looking out across the river.  “You managed to escape from your fans, did you?”

“Only briefly, I expect,” he chuckled.  “Thank God the food is so good and the drinks are free.”

“Mmm,” she replied, leaning back against him a bit.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked.

“Mama, Papa, Edith, Sybil, Granny,” she said quietly, sighing a bit.  “Everyone, really.  They all loved Christmas so much.”

“So you’ve told me,” he said lightly, kissing the top of her head.  “But we can make our own memories now, can’t we?  They aren’t going to replace anything, but they can still be good.”

“Of course,” she agreed, though she didn’t turn to look at him.  “They’ll be great.”  

Home of Lady Mary Crawley, Chelsea, London, England, December 24, 2015

Mary frowned as she looked through her cupboards for the fourth time.  No matter how much she willed the bottle to appear, there was no finding it anywhere.

“Matthew!” she shouted, going over to the stove and lifting the cover off the large saucepan.  She waved at the steam flying up from the large ham simmering away and examined the stock for any impurities.  “Matthew!” she called again.

“Yes, darling?” he responded, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen.

“I need you to run out and grab a bottle of Madeira,” she said, not looking at him.  She grabbed a nearby wooden spoon and carefully skimmed some froth off the top of the stock.

“Darling, it’s Christmas Eve,” he said gently.  “Where am I going to find some Madeira at this hour?”

“I don’t know,” she retorted.  “Tesco…wherever!  Just find it!”

“Is it vital?” he asked.  “Can’t you substitute anything for it?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed, then turned to face him, her eyes narrow and menacing.

“The recipe calls for Madeira,” she said pointedly.  “I need it for the glaze, which will be going on the ham in approximately thirty minutes.  If it doesn’t make it on by then, the ham will be roasting without a proper glaze, which will ruin the entire dish, and since this is the main course of our dinner, yes, it is vital; no, there is no substitute.  Now go and fucking find it!”

“All right!  All right!  I’m on it,” he said, raising his hands and smiling as he backed away from the doorway.

She frowned further as she heard him walk upstairs singing ‘Jingle Bells’ and rustle around in the closet for his jacket and boots.  He actually had a rather good singing voice, she had discovered in New York during a bizarre karaoke night, but now it only annoyed her as the door closed behind him, the sound of him humming the tune faded away.

“Is it vital?” she mimicked his question, shaking her head in consternation.

She poured a few more spoonfuls of the skimmed froth into a bowl, then returned to the counter on the other side of her kitchen and checked over the rest of the ingredients for the glaze.

“Madeira,” she mumbled.  “I could have sworn I had a bottle.”

She swallowed as she arranged the bowls containing the already-measured portions of sugar, sherry vinegar and honey in a neat row.  A holiday ham was a Christmas tradition at Downton Abbey since she was little.  Her family rarely ate turkey or Beef Wellington at Christmas.  It was always a large ham roasted to perfection with a diamond crisscross pattern across the outside with perfect rows of cloves aligned at each intersection.  She and her sisters always took turns carving the first slice under the watchful eyes of their parents and Carson, the butler.

She blinked, trying to stop the tears.  Her hand came up to cover her mouth and she bit her lower lip hard.  Shutting her eyes tight, she shook for several moments, then took deep breaths to calm herself.  After being certain that she was composed, she turned back to the saucepan and looked at the cooking thermometer stuck into the ham.  As she took up the spoon again, she glanced at the timer next to the stove.  Matthew had to find the Madeira.  He just had to.  Nothing could go wrong with her first Christmas dinner cooking for him.

———— 

Mary’s pulse jumped when she heard the door unlock announcing Matthew’s return.  She put down her wooden spoon and went running upstairs.

“Did you manage to find…” she began as she reached the foyer, before stopping in her tracks and staring blankly at Matthew.

“Your Madeira, as requested,” he said, waving the bottle in his hand.  “And I also happened to round up some other dinner guests as well.”

She managed to close her mouth as Alex, Anna and John, Daisy and William, and Gwen and her boyfriend, also named John, all came into the flat after him.  Words could barely be formulated in her mind as all of them hugged and kissed her as they removed their coats and shoes and made their way into the living room.

“There’s already a bottle of red and another of white open, as well as some beer on ice,” Matthew called.  “Go on and help yourselves.”

“What…how…” Mary sputtered as he came up to her and handed her the bottle of Madeira.  “I thought all of them had plans!”

“That was part of the plan, darling,” he said, smiling smugly at her.  “You had to believe that they were busy tonight so that you would be sufficiently surprised when they showed up.”

“But we’ll need extra chairs, and dishes, and there can’t possibly be enough wine for everyone, and what about…” she asked, panic rising in her stomach.

“I brought over extra chairs, the table’s already set, which you can inspect for yourself later, and there’s more than enough wine, as well as some stronger stuff as well,” he assured her, taking her by the shoulders and turning her around.  “All you need to do is finish making that incredible ham, which I am well aware is large enough to feed a small army.  All of your accompaniments are almost ready, I expect, so it’s just the glaze and the roasting to do.  I’ll send Anna and Daisy down to assist you in about ten minutes.”

She swallowed, then looked back at his smiling face.  Taking a deep breath, she shook her head at him ruefully.

“I should hit you about the head for scaring me like this!” she said.  “Whatever made you think to invite them all over?”

“It’s Christmas,” he replied easily.  “And at Christmas you gather with family, and they’re yours, aren’t they?”

Her expression softened for a brief moment, before he gently pushed her back towards the stairs and she took off determinedly.

“Not bad, Matthew,” Alex said, coming back into the foyer.  “Not bad at all.”

“Well, it’s just the first phase of the plan,” Matthew replied.  “Let’s hope the second phase comes off as well as the first.”

—————- 

Dinner was such a smashing success that even Mary had to admit it went well.  With Anna and Daisy’s help, the vegetables, potatoes and sauces were all finished in plenty of time, and she’d even enjoyed having them in the kitchen with her.  It reminded her a small bit of when she and her sisters would sneak downstairs at Downton and serve as official tasters for the family cook as she made the Christmas meal.

The ham had been met with applause and numerous compliments, and she thought it was quite tasty herself.  The wine and spirits flowed freely, and dinner became a happy symphony of jokes, stories, debates and reminiscing, often interrupted by fits of laughter.  As the men carried the used dishes away, allowing the women to stay seated and enjoy their wine, she felt delightfully tipsy and warm.  She smiled at Matthew as he returned with the others, Anna’s John carrying a new bottle, which he displayed to the table with great fanfare.

“For our aperitif, we have a rather lovely vintage of Port – this is Dow’s 2008 – rich, but not too strong, and has some nice hints of strawberries and black currants,” John explained, pouring the liqueur into small glasses set out in front of him, which were then passed around the table.  Once everyone had a glass and John had sat back down next to Anna, Matthew stood up.

“I’d like to propose a very quick toast,” he announced.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Alex moaned, drawing laughter from the rest of the table.  “She’s already said yes!  You don’t need to try so hard!”

Mary grinned as Matthew glared at his friend.

“I want to first thank all of you, well, almost all of you,” he said, shooting Alex another brief frown.  “For coming here and spending your Christmas Eve with us.  I know all of you had to rearrange plans to make it happen, but it is greatly appreciated.  Not only did you help me in making a sizeable dent in this delicious ham that Mary prepared, but we were both a bit caught out this Christmas, and it’s just great to be able to spend the night with those who are dear to us.”

“Here, here,” William called.

“And finally, to my fiancée, Mary,” Matthew continued, beaming at her.  “This wonderful meal could not have been more perfect.  I’ve spent a lot of past Christmases wishing that I could be in this exact moment, and the real thing has proven to be even greater than my imagination could fathom.  To Mary.”

“To Mary!” Anna called out.

“And to my lovely assistants!” Mary added.

They all cheered, clinked their glasses together, and sat back and sipped their Port.

“Well,” Mary said, smiling at Matthew as she put her empty glass on the table.  “What next?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, frowning at her in confusion.

“I know you must have something planned for tonight’s entertainment,” she replied.  “Or are you and Alex going to do a repeat performance of Single Ladies?”

“Oh yes, please!” Gwen laughed.  “We heard about that!”

“I’m afraid we retired that number,” Alex chimed in.  “New York was our last show, sadly.”

“Well?  What then?” Mary asked Matthew pointedly.

“Have you got anything, John?” Matthew asked Anna’s boyfriend.

“Nothing,” John shook his head.

“What about you, William?” Matthew moved on to the young man seated next to Daisy.

“I’m empty,” he answered.

Matthew looked back at Mary and shrugged.

She arched her eyebrow at him.

After a few seconds, he dropped the pretense and smiled back at her.

“Why don’t we all head into the living room?” he suggested.

Sharing a wry glance with Anna, Mary took Matthew’s hand and got up out of her chair.  She followed everyone else into her living room and, at Matthew’s urging, took a seat on the couch next to Anna.

“Now that we’ve had a wonderful meal, a few of us decided we should continue to follow Christmas tradition for the evening’s entertainment,” Matthew said.

“What’s that mean?  Charades?” Daisy asked as everyone else laughed.

“No, not this time, I’m afraid,” Matthew replied.  “Rather, I thought everyone would enjoy some carols.”

Mary blinked in shock.

“And although it would be good fun to sing a capella, I did manage to find someone at the last minute to play guitar for us,” he said, gesturing towards Alex.

“And he’s not even paying me for this gig, either!” Alex said sarcastically, reaching behind the couch and pulling out a conveniently hidden acoustic guitar.

They all gathered around, with Alex sitting off to the side.  Matthew fiddled with his phone and was able to link it to Mary’s television.  Eventually, he brought up the lyrics to Silent Night on the display.

“Can everyone see that?” he asked, and everyone replied in the affirmative, all of them laughing and chattering happily as Gwen brought out a fresh round of drinks and passed them around.

“Now, if I can get the orchestra to please start us off, I think it only fair that our lovely hostess take the first verse,” Matthew declared, looking at Mary knowingly.

Mary rolled her eyes and smiled at him, her friends clapping and cheering in support of the idea.  Alex strummed a few chords, then nodded for Mary to begin.  Matthew held her hand and she looked over at the television before happily singing aloud.

‘Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright…’

—————

“You know I don’t like surprises,” Mary said drily, snuggling against him as he pulled the duvet over their heated bodies.

“Yes, I do, however if I had told you that everyone was coming over in advance, I would have missed seeing the look on your face when they all showed up unannounced,” he said, laughing at the memory.

“I’ll let it go this time, since the night proved to be so much fun,” she said haughtily, smoothing her damp hair away from her face.  “But try it again and you’ll be punished severely.”

“Wasn’t that what you were just doing to me for the past while?” he asked, running his hand along her bare back.

“It isn’t punishment if you enjoy it, which you obviously did,” she said, pressing her naked body closer to his.

“Very well,” he said thickly, closing his eyes.  “I promise I will give you ample notice of the next time I plan a proper family Christmas dinner for you.  I should tell you now that Anna and I were discussing making it an annual tradition.  Maybe not always on Christmas Eve, but in the week leading up to Christmas.  We could even move it around a bit and give other people a chance to host, so long as all of us are together.”

“Mmm, that would be brilliant,” she said, kissing his chest.  “Thank you…for all of it.”

“You’re most welcome,” he said.  “Now, let’s try and get some sleep.  It’s late.”

“Don’t tell me you’re worn out already?” she asked, moving her hand deliberately across his chest, under the duvet and further down his front.

“Hardly, but it’s late,” he replied, opening his eyes and looking at her.  “Santa could be on the roof right now, you know, just waiting for you to fall asleep so he can sneak inside and put your gift under the tree.”

“Well, he can go on and do as he likes,” she said, kissing his chest, then moving down to his stomach.  She turned her head and looked up at him mischievously, arching her eyebrow at him.  “I expect it’s going to be a fair while before either of us falls asleep tonight.”

He closed his eyes and sighed in pleasure as she swept the duvet away from them and kissed him further down his body.

Home of Lady Mary Crawley, Chelsea, London, England, December 25, 2015

Christmas morning began very slowly for Mary and Matthew.  First, they slept in to recover from the previous night’s activities.  Second, they didn’t physically get up out of bed until after Matthew had made them tea, which they enjoyed in bed.  Finally, they took a long hot shower together, changed into comfortable clothes and had a small breakfast before finally sitting themselves down in front of the Christmas tree.

“You first,” she declared.  “But before you open your present, there’s something you have to do.”

“What’s that?” he asked, smiling at her.

“You have to close your eyes,” she said, smiling back at him.

“All right,” he said slowly, closing his eyes.

“Now, be still,” she ordered, coming over and sitting in his lap, straddling his legs.

“Mary,” he said in surprise, his hands moving up to hold her hips, then sliding around to lightly grasp her bottom.

“Be still,” she reminded him.  “Keep your hands to your sides.”

“Can’t I just leave them where they are?” he asked cheekily, smiling with his eyes closed.

“No,” she said.

“What about here, then?” he asked, moving his hands back to her hips.

“All right, fine.  But you mustn’t move,” she allowed.

“Very well,” he smiled smugly.

“I’m going to give you your Christmas present,” she stated.

“I can’t wait.”

“Be still!” she admonished him as he flexed his hips beneath her.

“Mmm,” he smirked, finally keeping still.

“Matthew, this is our first Christmas as an engaged couple, the first of many that we will share together,” she began.

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.”

“Shh,” she said, smiling at his cheerful expression.  “On this Christmas, more than any gift, more than clothes or books or gadgets or whatever, I want to give you something very special.  I want to tell you how much I love you.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise and he grinned, but kept silent.

“I love you, Matthew.  I love you more than anything else in the world.  I don’t say it nearly as much as I should, but I want you to know that, and not only do I want you to hear me say it, I want you to understand why,” she continued.

“I’ve always been taught to impress people,” she said.  “When I was a little girl, my Mama sent me to etiquette lessons and trained me on how to talk and act and carry myself like an aristocrat, like a princess.  That was what was important, showing off, dazzling people with my looks, or my manners, my money, or my family name.  And it worked.  It always worked.  I was always popular, always envied.  As I grew older, men wanted to be with me.  Women wanted to be me.  I was never lacking for friends, or companionship, people to adore me and tell me how great I was, or want to be around me as though I was some kind of trophy for them to show off and brag about.  It was all entirely superficial and fake, but it was what I was used to and I thought it was enough.”

He nodded in understanding.  Though he hadn’t met Mary until university, he had heard about her childhood and always had difficulty relating to her upbringing and the life of privilege that she still maintained.

“I don’t remember how we met or those years we were together before,” she said.  “But I know how I felt when I came back to London, how it felt to live without you, even though I didn’t even know you existed.  I got so bored of it all, so tired and fed up with that type of life, where people assumed that because I was good looking, I must be a good person, or that it didn’t matter what I thought or the ideas that I had, because my appearance was all that mattered.”

“I know that you were scared after you lost me,” she said seriously.  “You felt maybe that if you tried to find me again, that you wouldn’t measure up somehow, or that I would compare you to everyone I knew before and would find you lacking.  I really don’t know what would have happened if you had found me before, when I was back living in that other world and back to my old self.  But I know how I felt when I saw you again for the first time.  When I saw you, when I talked to you that time at my aunt’s funeral, you seemed different, and I knew somehow that you weren’t the same as other men I’d been with, I knew you weren’t looking at me as just a pretty face, or a rich heiress.  I knew that you saw me, the real me, and that you knew me in a way, and of course, you did.”

He grinned, recalling their reunion and all the moments since.

“I love you because you don’t love me for any reason other than who I am,” she said, smiling herself now.  “You know me better than people that I’ve known for years;  you just do.  Bringing my friends over last night to surprise me, arranging for the carol singing, it was all just so perfect, and not just because it was sweet and thoughtful, but because you knew that was what I needed, and rather than wonder whether you should do it or not, you just made it happen, and I can’t tell you how much that meant to me.  I honestly don’t know anyone else who would have thought to do that for me, but I’m not even the least bit surprised that you did.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her, his face lit up as she smiled back at him.

“This next year is going to be full of changes for us,” she said.  “A new house, a wedding, your career may be going to another level.  It seems rather daunting sometimes to think about it all, but I’m not worried.  I don’t care if more women scream when they see you or run up to us on the street wanting to take a selfie or whatever.  I’m not concerned that you’ll be watching an endless parade of gorgeous actresses trying to win you over so they can be in your movie.  I love you, and I trust you, and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my entire life than I am right now.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, his hands going up and rubbing her back soothingly.

“Mary, I…” he struggled, pausing to find his voice.  “I love you so much.”

“Now, your present,” she said, reaching under the tree and fetching a wrapped box and handing it to him.

He smiled, placing the box between them and ripping off the paper.  He opened the box and frowned in confusion as he removed a thin piece of fabric.

“You got me…a Speedo?” he mumbled, holding up the flimsy swimsuit.

“You’re going to need it where we’re going,” she said, kissing his cheek.   “I’ve arranged a trip for us to the Maldives.  I’ll explain more later but we’re going to have our own private bungalow over the water, and we can even have our meals there if we want, so I expect that you will be wearing nothing but this for days on end.”

“That all sounds incredible, darling, but this is so small I may as well be naked,” he pointed out, looking away from the swimsuit and back at her.

“That’s the idea,” she teased.

He laughed and kissed her, putting the swimsuit away.

“All right, your turn, though I think I’ll be hard pressed to top that,” he said, nodding towards the tree.

She got off of him and reached under the tree to get a rather large box with her name on it.  Looking over at him inquisitively, she sat down next to him and removed the paper with far more care than he did.

“What is this?  A painting?” she asked as she unwrapped the tissue paper that was underneath the wrapping paper.  “Oh my God!”

He watched nervously as she stared at the large photograph.  It was a family portrait, one of those arranged photographs where everyone came together in the same room and were arranged in a specific pose, though Mary was certain she had never sat for this particular one before.  Her parents were standing in the centre, with Granny and Aunt Rosamund to their one side, and Carson of all people was standing a bit off to their other side.  Mary and her sisters, all of them much younger, were seated in front.

It was a photograph of how they all would have looked right before the accident that killed her family.

“How did you do this?” she whispered after a long silence.

“I put it together using images from various photographs, some from your albums, or on your computer, I found some photos online of your grandmother, and your parents, and your aunt.  I put it all together and smoothed out the edges and added some colours and textures to make it seem as though you were all part of one photograph.  I have the digital copy as well, of course, but I thought you’d like having an actual print,” he explained.

“Matthew, this is unbelievable,” she said, looking from face to face.  A few tears fell from her eyes as she laughed.  “We’re all smiling.”

“Yes, that was a bit of a challenge,” he said, looking at the framed picture.  “There were very few photos of your grandmother smiling for some reason.”

She laughed louder at that comment.

“I was afraid that you might not like it, that it might bring back some bad memories,” he said slowly.  “But I wanted to do this for you.  I expect that in our new house, you’ll want a place for them, a place where you can put up their photos and remember them when you need to, and this way, you have that all in one print.”

She wiped her eyes, shaking her head as she looked at the photograph once more before turning to him and hugging him tight.

“It’s perfect,” she said softly.  “Thank you so much.”

“I also got you some jewellery and some rather scandalous lingerie,” he confessed, holding her close.  “Just cause, you know.  I couldn’t help it.”

She laughed, shaking in his arms.  “Of course you did.”

“Happy Christmas, my darling,” he said, massaging her back.

“Happy Christmas,” she answered, leaning back to look at him before giving him a tender kiss.  “The very best of Christmases.”