Down by the Sea
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Sidney was still staring at the three words. They did not mean anything, of course. Many people were called Campion. Perhaps not as many as Smith or Miller, or maybe even Parker, but the name was widespread enough. And people chose the most idiotic aliases on social media platforms. It did not mean anything. At all.
"Are you alright, old man?" Crowe asked. "Not getting furious at little Charlotte again, are you?"
"You should find yourself a bird as well," Babington babbled as another seagull was stalking towards their table. "Look, Esther is coming back to me."
"I'm fine," Sidney lied. She would not, would she? Then he pulled himself together. It was eight years, come the summer. He had not thought of her for… well, he had been thinking of her practically every time he reminded himself that he preferred the blonde, petite ladylike type to short, freckled, outspoken country girls. Oh, God, how he craved a distraction.
He would try the punching ball first, and if that did not do the trick, he would go for fresh air and some more bracing exercise. He knew exactly where to get it. "I'm off, boys. See you tonight."
x
Charlotte took the public footpath along the cliff that led down into town, and she enjoyed every step of her walk, even though the trail was quite busy with hikers and Nordic walkers and some idiots riding their mountain-bikes against the rules.
To her right, the hill gently swept towards the golf course, dotted with gorse bushes and dog-roses close to bloom. But the real glory was to her left: the sea, reflecting the blue colour of the sky like an endless mirror. It was impossible not to be invigorated by the sheer view, and she felt happy and content with her choice for a traineeship. So much better than a stiff luxury hotel in a crowded place like London, New York or Dubai. In a moment like this, standing high above Sanditon, inhaling the sea-breeze and looking out across the Channel, it did not feel like work but like a permanent holiday.
When Charlotte finally reached the town's high street, the first familiar face she met was Constable Hankins. There was no way to pretend that she had not seen him, so she braced himself for another lecture on the Parkers' violations of traffic law, but the constable had a very different topic on his mind. "I hear that… ahem, Mrs Griffiths is back at the hotel?" he asked.
"Why, yes," Charlotte said, slightly surprised and unsure about how much she was to divulge about Georgiana Lambe's stay – especially since despite having lunched with her at Lady Denham's, she still had not really talked to the girl.
"And she is doing well?" the constable asked. "Mrs Griffiths?"
"I… hope so." Any other answer would have been a lie. Poor Mrs Griffiths was not doing well. Someone had actually made a list on the whiteboard of the staff canteen counting the times Georgiana had locked out her companion – or whatever that poor woman was supposed to be – leaving her hurrying down to reception and asking for a spare key.
"Very well. Excellent." The constable smiled, his eyes taking on a somewhat dreamy expression. "Then may I ask you to convey my greetings to Mrs Griffiths?"
"Of course, Mr Hankins," Charlotte promised. The constable wished her a nice day, and she walked on along Sanditon High Street. She bought some postcards for her sisters, looked at the bakery's display – beautiful, but not as exquisite as Arthur's pieces of art – and longingly gazed in the shoe shop's windows. Still no need for fancy high heels for her - the next ball was the Midsummer's ball in June, and Charlotte expected to be on the service crew again.
Her final stop was Trafalgar House, the former Parker family residence that now housed the library, the Sanditon museum and the Study Café. Charlotte decided to leave the museum for a rainy day. She registered in the library, borrowed a book on social media marketing that Sidney Parker's friend Crowe had recommended to her, and another one with sayings for every day of the year – another recommendation from Crowe: "Some of your followers will enjoy a profound thought now and then."
She could have googled those profound thoughts, of course, but she was old-fashioned enough to enjoy the gentle whisper of the pages when she leafed through a book.
After a little chat with the librarian, she carried her prey over to the near-empty café and ordered a latte macchiato and an apple crumble from a rather good-looking waiter. The café really was a peculiar place, airy and full of light, with gilded pillars and an impressive fireplace. It seemed to be a small museum in itself, with bits and pieces on display: a plaster model of how the town would have looked like two hundred years ago, the head of a Greek or Roman statue lying on its cheek on the chimney sill, a collection of fossils, and the walls covered with framed blueprints from a time when designs were done by hand and not by a computer programme.
"It's called the Study because it used to be the first Mr Parker's study," the waiter told Charlotte, serving her the coffee and the crumble as she was looking at the design of a delicate pagoda. "He was the great projector. Or that's what the family keep saying about him. I believe he was quite a pain in the ass."
"Really?" Charlotte thought of the painting in the hotel's staircase, of the elegant man imitating Napoleon's posture and gazing into a future only visible to himself.
"Yeah. You know, the Denham's, they've been doing nothing but sit on their money for centuries. But the Parkers… first, it was Parker Senior with his dreams of a seaside resort, then his son with the hotel… they've been promising us Sanditon's great future for two-hundred years, but in the end, the only thing that happens time and again is that they nearly ruin themselves in the process."
Charlotte took a closer look at the waiter. There was something familiar about his muscly stature and his rather stunning green eyes. "I'm sorry, but… have we met before?" she asked. He gave her a grin.
"That's an overused line, but I believe we have. You're the new trainee up in the hotel, aren't you?"
"Yes. I'm Charlotte Heywood." She still could not place him.
"Fred. Fred Robinson. I saw you when James gave you a tour of Regency Row. I'm doing the plumbing works."
"Oh… but then what are you doing here?"
"Just helping out my cousin. She owns the café. And it's good to make a little money on the side."
"I see," Charlotte said, stunned.
"Sorry for disparaging your boss and his ancestors," Fred said with a grin. "They are just not the easiest people to work with."
"James never complains."
"No, he's far too kind-hearted for that."
"Are you two friends?"
"Besties. Since school," Fred gave her another grin. "Would do anything for him, and vice versa."
"That's nice," Charlotte said. Fred had to serve the other tables, and she returned to her coffee and the crumble and to leafing through her books. When she finally asked for the bill, Fred just shook his head. "Consider it a bribe for you to represent my interests with your boss."
She laughed and stuffed the books into her bag. "I will. And thank you."
For the way home, she chose the way first along the beach and then the path leading up to the cliff. The wind had strengthened a little, and fleecy clouds had formed in the distance, breaking the perfection of the blue sky. There were still hikers about, and the odd inhabitant of Sanditon walking their dog, but now in the late afternoon, the path was notably less busy than on her way down. Which is why Charlotte could not miss the solitary figure hovering at the cliff edge a few steps ahead. Georgiana Lambe, she realised with a start. Leaning forward and staring deep down into the abyss in front of her. "Gigi?" she cried, running towards her. "Gigi! What's the matter with you?"
Gigi turned to Charlotte, gasped and tumbled into her arms, a shivering mess of sobs and tears. They both collapsed onto the grass. With four younger sisters, Charlotte knew that sometimes, silence and a gentle embrace were more helpful than the most inspired words, so she said nothing but let Gigi cry, just squeezing her shoulders from time to time and offering a "There, there" when she shook in her despair.
Eventually, Gigi sobbed once more, then grabbed the tissue Charlotte had at the ready and blew her nose.
"Do you want to tell me what is the matter?" Charlotte softly asked, releasing her.
"I wanted to end it all… I suppose no one here would care if I did."
Charlotte was horrified. "Don't say such a thing. Never say such a thing, Gigi. Look, I know that we have not had much to do with each other, but… I would care. And Arthur would. And probably even Mr Sidney Parker."
"Yes, but only because it would give him such trouble explaining everything to my father." Gigi blew her nose once more.
"I'm certainly not his biggest fan," Charlotte said, "but I don't believe he wants to see you unhappy."
"No? And that's why he imprisons me in a rotting hotel room in a sandy place at the end of the world with this… this…gorgon as my warden?" Gigi looked as if she wanted to smash glass cabinets again.
Charlotte chuckled. "Now you make Sidney Parker sound much more like Mr Rochester than either of them deserves. And it's not a rotting hotel room, but the Denham Suite at the Sanditon Grand Hotel."
"Do you think me very spoilt and sulky?"
"Not at all. I wish I could help you, but I don't understand what's going on."
"I was expelled from school," Gigi said, gazing into the distance. Charlotte nodded.
"Will you tell me why?"
"We… differed about a matter of art."
"Aha," Charlotte said, not much the wiser.
"Under normal circumstances, it would have been just that, the expulsion, some trouble with my father, him ultimately making a donation to some other place that then graciously would allow me to continue my education."
"I see," Charlotte said. Such a matter would have been handled very differently at Hereford Comprehensive, but that was of no importance right now.
"Unfortunately, my father has signed all responsibility for me over to Mr Sidney Parker, so that he can sail the world with Number Three."
"Who would be that?"
"His new wife. – My stepmother," Gigi said with a sigh. "They come in numbers and go after five years, to be replaced by a younger version. By the rate he is keeping, I expect Number Four to be my own age."
"Good God," Charlotte said, whose parents had been married for nearly thirty years – though not always happily if one was perfectly honest. "But why did your father choose Sidney Parker as your… what do you call it? foster-father? guardian?"
"Daddy believed we'd get on well. We did when I was ten, and he first came to stay with us. Sidney was some sort of mentee… or trainee for Daddy. Brilliant student, great with numbers, but kind of a troubled kid as well. I don't know the details, but I know there was a story of drug abuse."
"Sidney Parker?" Charlotte asked incredulously. Gigi nodded.
"Absolutely. He wasn't always as cold and superior as he is today. – Anyway, Daddy believed he was the right person to look after me while he was on his year-long honeymoon, but then Daddy is terribly short-sighted. A genius when it comes to money, but doesn't see what's going on right under his nose. So here I am. A prisoner in the dullest of all dull places, laughed at by ugly old women and sleazy golf instructors. Before we came here, Sidney confiscated my phone and cancelled my credit cards. My only hope of escape is the day when my keeper forwards me to Antigua to meet my father and Number Three on the yacht. Which will just be another prison."
"You can survive this," Charlotte said and patted her shoulders, thinking that there must be more to the story if Sidney Parker had indeed found it necessary to cut off Gigi from the outside world. "I promise. I'm on your side. – Come on. Have you been to the beach?"
"This is not a beach but a miserable stretch of pebbles if you've ever been to Antigua."
"Well, I haven't. And I won't allow you to complain about Sanditon's beach before you haven't peddled in the sea. I dare you!" Reluctantly, Gigi followed her on the narrow and steep trail leading from the cliff directly to the secluded rocky part of the beach, and even more reluctantly, she followed Charlotte's suit and pulled off her socks and trainers.
"Come on," Charlotte cried. "It's fine!" With a shriek, Gigi joined her in the water.
"It's freezing!"
"It's invigorating. I can't wait to go swimming in the summer." Charlotte strode through the shallow waves, feeling free and happy.
"You wouldn't say that if you'd ever been to the Caribbean."
"But you can't have the Caribbean right now, Gigi. And part of growing up is perhaps learning to accept that you can't have everything you want, and to make the best of what you have instead."
"You're so sensible!"
"No, I'm not." Charlotte laughed and kicked a full load of water at her new friend. Gigi returned the favour, leaving them both wet, giggling, and kicking more water at each other.
"Georgiana Lambe!" A high-pitched voice disrupted their fun.
"Oh," Gigi said, her laughter ceasing. "The gorgon has found me."
"Where have you been?" Mrs Griffiths cried. "This is most irresponsible of you. I was about to send a search party."
Charlotte understood immediately. Gigi was a millionaire's daughter. A prime target for kidnapping, walking alone along the cliff as she had. "This was all my idea," she said, moving towards the beach. "Don't blame Gigi."
"I would have expected you to be more sensible, Miss Heywood. – You are lucky your foster father doesn't answer his phone," Mrs Griffiths turned to Gigi who picked up her socks and trainers. "He would have called the police." That reminded Charlotte of something.
"Speaking of the police, Mrs Griffiths – the local constable, Mr Hankins, has asked me to convey his greetings to you."
Mrs Griffiths, perplexed, was staring at her. She was very red in the face from the excitement about Gigi anyway, but Charlotte could have sworn that she blushed even deeper. Then she pulled herself together. "Has he? – Now, that is a decent, respectable man… What are you laughing about, Gigi?"
"I'm not laughing. I'm smiling at Charlotte because she finally made me enjoy myself in this awful place."
"I'll see you tomorrow at the hotel," Charlotte promised and waved Gigi good-bye as her new friend followed Mrs Griffiths up the track to the cliff.
She was glad to have met a kindred spirit, but she did not want to return home right now. The weather was still beautiful, despite the breeze getting a little stronger. Now in mid-May, the evening light lingered for long on the ever-changing sea. Charlotte inhaled the fresh, salty air and enjoyed the sensation of the wet sand under her bare feet as she continued her way. She wandered further away from the main beach and the town than ever before, here and there bending down to pick up a shell or an oddly shaped pebble or a shard polished by saltwater.
How simple and easy everything was here down by the sea. How distant and petty the rest of the world seemed when one stood with the feet in the shallow surf, listened to the everlasting sound of the ocean and gazed across a never-ending surface of white and blue and silver.
After some time, Charlotte reached a small, rocky cove, promising another stretch of sand on the other side. Carefully, she climbed over the rocks, past tidal pools and colonies of barnacles. She was ready to decide that she had found the ultimate secret beach when something caught her eye: a pile of sportswear, a pair of trainers, and a towel, all left on a small rock.
Someone was here.
She was disturbing somebody's solitude.
And it was too late to retreat. The waves parted.
x
There was always this moment of hesitation, this second it took to overcome all doubts before plunging into the cold sea. Next was the shock when the fresh waves met the body. And then came freedom.
Those were the three steps Sidney had known since earliest childhood, since playing on Sanditon's beaches as a tiny toddler. And although he had swum in many oceans since, and much enjoyed the more pleasant water temperatures in places like Majorca or the Caribbean, nothing was like that first dive into the Channel at Sanditon's secret cove. Naked, as it was the tradition among Sanditon men. It made him forget everything. Gigi. Tom. mrscampion. Even that bloody dimple.
He put quite a distance between himself and the shoreline and then continued in crawl stroke parallel to the coast. He let himself float in the waves: There was nothing but air and sky above him and the depths of the Channel underneath. He felt strong and relaxed, his mind emptied of all cares. He took another dive – to look out for the giant sea serpent, or perhaps to immerse himself in the water and wash everything else away.
But the secret about swimming with these water temperatures was to know when it was enough. So reluctantly, he returned to the cove, crawling parallel to the coastline again and then taking a final dive towards the shore. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he emerged from the water, shaking his head, sending droplets in all directions. The saltwater blinded him for a moment, as did the reflections of the low sun.
For a second, he believed it had to be a reflection of the sun indeed, or a rock, or the sea serpent come to life as a siren. But it was not. Or was it?
It was Charlotte Heywood, standing on the beach, with cheeks the colour of a red starfish, staring at him in all his glory.
"Oh!" Belatedly, she turned her back on him.
"Miss Heywood," he heard himself say, trying hard to suppress a grin. Really, this was utterly ridiculous. "Am I never to get away from you?"
"Mr Parker, I assure you, you are the last person I wished to see." She sounded as if she was on the verge of tears. Obviously, the situation was a lot funnier for him than for her.
"I'm sorry. I didn't really think what I was saying."
There was no reply from her, only the quivering of her shoulders to indicate how uncomfortable she was. Any movement from his side would have added to that discomfort. So he remained where he was, his feet in the water.
Suddenly, she moved. "Excuse me," she said and ran away, as fast as the rocks and pebbles on the beach would allow it, and without ever turning back.
Sidney followed her with his eyes, sharing a quick and secret smile with himself. He gave her a few seconds for her escape before he moved towards the rock where he had left his clothes and the towel. She must be mortified, poor thing. He, on the other hand, he decided while towelling off his biceps, had shown her nothing to be ashamed of.
Notes:
In the next chapter, we'll be dealing with "The Morning After".