Thank you for following this story thus far. Here are some facts for you:
+ This is going to be a long story
+ It will have a happy ending
+ That being said, our favourite couple will have to navigate some trouble before we reach that happy ending. And by trouble I mean TROUBLE.
Today's instalment features a poem. I will explain its origins at the end of the chapter.
Mixed Messages
The date for the great Sanditon Grand Hotel Open Day was set for mid-June, the Sunday before the weekend of the Midsummer Ball. It was relatively short notice, but the event sparked everyone's imagination and creativity so quickly that Charlotte had little doubt about its success.
First of all, she wiped Mr Parker's unintelligible scribblings off the whiteboard behind his desk. This became her mind-map where she jotted down everyone's ideas, classified them and spun them off. Sometimes it seemed to Charlotte as if every single member of staff at the hotel had only been waiting for such an occasion to show what they were capable of.
Clara's assistant Kamila offered to arrange a scavenger hunt for children across the hotel. Manoel proposed a "Who-wants-to-be-a-millionaire" styled quiz, with the main price a free stay at the hotel (Charlotte changed this to one free night in the hope that the lucky winner would book and pay an extra night). The Conservatory team suggested setting up a show table for a seven-course-dinner, themed "swans". Arthur picked up the swan theme, promising to produce a flock of miniature meringue swans for every single visitor. Charlotte remembered Mr Parker calling the hotel "the white swan of Sanditon" when they first met, and everyone agreed that this was the perfect motto for the day – and probably the new slogan for the hotel.
With all these things to coordinate, Charlotte decided that she needed an assistant, and she found that assistant in a reluctant, sulky and complaining Gigi.
"You told me you like art, and that you want to open an art gallery one day," Charlotte said.
"So are you going to put me in charge of the children's drawing competition?" Gigi asked.
"That's a great idea." Charlotte added it to the whiteboard. "But first of all, I'd like you to think about a logo and a layout for all notices regarding the open day."
"Isn't that something the marketing department should do?"
"You are my marketing department. We are working cost-oriented." They were, in fact, working on a rather tight budget. But Charlotte did not complain – it only made her search for even more creative solutions. As it turned out, Gigi was actually well-acquainted with several design programs, and despite her constant protests produced beautiful printed matters as well as several social media posts advertising the occasion.
In between organising a significant event at four weeks' notice, taking care of the hotel's administration, reminding Lydia Hillier of her social-media-concept, helping out in service and running the usual errands for Mr Parker, Charlotte always found time to check her phone. She started to think of herself as the third Beaufort sister in this regard, but other than the sisters, she had an absolutely valid reason to do so: She might miss a message from Sidney Parker.
They had exchanged phone numbers after that walk on the beach, just in case, just if there was an emergency about Gigi. There was no emergency, and there was also no reason why he should message her in the middle of the Australian night, but yet, Charlotte felt the need to make sure several times during the day. She could, of course, also message him herself.
Hi. How's Sydney?
Good morning Australia.
Gigi is fine, helps me a lot with the open-day.
But she didn't. Just imagine if his phone started vibrating during one of his business meetings, and he got angry at her again for interrupting a million-dollar-deal. So she did not message him, but simply stared at the empty contact Mr Sidney Parker, until she remembered Babington asking for Esther's number, just so that he could call her, theoretically – and she quickly put her phone away.
One rainy afternoon, she took Gigi to the Sanditon Museum, to be followed by a treat in the Study Café. Charlotte enjoyed the museum, even though the most exciting section dedicated to the local tale of the giant sea serpent was closed for reconstruction. Yet there was still the replica of an original bathing machine as installed by the first Thomas Parker in 1816 to admire. Gigi, however, was less inspired by such souvenirs as the scorecard of a cricket game played in June 1819, a worn-out pair of blue dancing shoes or – and this one was really unusual – an ancient cigarette holder.
"That's all dead and bones," she said, stirring milk into her coffee when they were sitting down in the café. Fred was not on duty today, but his cousin had given Charlotte an equally warm welcome. "Why look back all the time and live in the past, like that Denham-dragon? Why not look into the future? That'll be so much more important for us."
"I believe sometimes it helps us understand the future if we look into the past," Charlotte suggested.
"Does it? Yeah, when I look back at my father and Number Two, it does. I can be sure to meet Number Four in five years. But that's about it." Charlotte did not continue the subject. She still did not know why Gigi had been expelled, and why Sidney had taken her phone from her and cancelled her credit cards. It seemed such a cruel thing to do. And yet, the man she had met before his departure to Australia had not appeared like a brute out on revenge. So whatever Gigi had done – or been tempted to do: it must have been terrible, but Charlotte knew that she was not going to learn more about if she pressed her friend on it. One day, Gigi would tell her, all by herself.
On Friday night, she accepted James' invitation to join him and Fred and their friends in the Crown. It was pub quiz night, and they managed to finish in second place. "You're a clever one," James said, giving her a hug and the box of chocolate that was their price.
"We'll keep the chocolate as a treat for our lunch breaks, what do you think?" Charlotte suggested.
"I think you're full of excellent ideas, Charlotte Heywood." James was beaming. Then he insisted on driving her home to the hotel.
Back in her tiny attic apartment, she fell on her sofa-bed, looked out of the window into the clear night and thought about how well everything had turned out. She loved her job, she got on well with her colleagues and the Parker family, she had been trusted with planning a major event, she had found a useful occupation for Gigi, she was making friends with Mary, Arthur, James and Fred, and to some extent even with Esther, and she was no longer fighting with Sidney Parker. Not really messaging with him, either, as a quick glance at her phone confirmed. Must be Saturday morning already in Sydney.
She grabbed behind her as something was drilling into her back. It was one of the books she had taken from the library – not the one on marketing, that was down in the office, but the other one, the one with sayings for every day of the year, the one she had borrowed on Crowe's recommendation that "Some of your followers will enjoy a profound thought now and then". She switched on the light on the bedside table and filed through the pages, enjoying their whispering as she did so. The texts were an odd jumble of proverbs, everyday pearls of wisdom, philosophers' aphorisms and poetry.
It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Charlotte smiled. That was certainly true for many people out there, especially for those hunting likes and followers for their egos on social media.
A man cannot step into the same river twice, for he is not the same man, and it is not the same river. She liked that and marked the page for later reference. Maybe she could use it for a posting on Instagram. Then another one caught her eye, a poem:
I long to explore a distant country
hike its mountains,
discover its coasts
climb its rough cliffs
and find a hold on its high ledges
I want to feel the foreign wind
And the warm rain on my face
I want to sink my hands into its earth
I want to touch its roots
taste its salt, and smell
the scent of its wide valleys
And I want to fight with that country
I want to compete with its will
probe its limits, and mine as well
until sleep finds me and I come to rest
on its autumnal leaves
Charlotte cleared her throat, then read the words again. I want to feel the foreign winds … I want to sink my hand into its earth … I want to fight with that country … compete with its will, probe its limits … That's what true passion must feel like, she thought, sensing her cheeks grow hot. Exploring each other, trusting each other, searching each other's limits.
She slammed the book shut and threw it into the corner. It was just a cheesy poem in a book full of trivialities. Who would even buy such nonsense? When she looked up again, the old herring gull was outside in the dark in front of her window, a nightly shadow balancing on the gutter, yet unmistakably staring at her from knowing eyes.
On Sunday afternoon, Gigi surprised her friend in front of the hotel with two bicycles and another one of Arthur's picnic baskets. "Now what is that about?" Charlotte asked.
"Little treat for you. You've been working so hard, you deserve an afternoon of indulgence." Charlotte was ready to agree, especially since that morning, the temp agency had cancelled a waiter again, and she had had to help out in breakfast service.
"So where are we going?"
"Surprise," Gigi said. "Just follow me."
They raced the road downhill towards Sanditon. Charlotte laughed as she took up speed and felt the wind hug her face (no foreign wind from a distant country of course, but the familiar Sanditon sea breeze), and Gigi showed a middle finger to Edward who was shuttling one of his clients about in a golf cart and shouted at them for ignoring traffic rules.
In town, they cycled down the promenade. Charlotte stopped to wave at James Stringer, who was playing beach soccer with some friends. James waved back and walked up to her. "Now it really is a Sunday," he said, smiling at Charlotte. "What are you two up to?"
"That's a secret," Gigi said. James held up his hands.
"Girls' stuff. I will not interfere." Charlotte looked at him and his friends. Fred was among them, waving at her as well.
"Have you scored yet?"
"Not where I want to. But it's just a warm-up for our cricket practice anyway. Have you not heard about the match?"
"Of course I have. It's another Sanditon tradition. Grand Hotel versus Sanditon town, to be held on the beach on the second Sunday of June."
"Exactly. This year, we're going to beat the hotel." James grinned with a perfect line of white teeth.
"I thought you'd be playing for the hotel," Charlotte said, feeling irritated. "You're working up there."
"But that's a time-limited contract. No, I'm a Sanditon boy born and bred."
"I volunteered for the hotel team, but Mr Parker said it's men only. Tradition and so, you know."
"I don't hold with traditions. I wouldn't mind playing on the same team with you, Charlotte."
Gigi checked her watch. "I think we'll have to go, Charlotte."
"Right. – Bye, James. See you tomorrow for lunch? Plus a box of chocolates?"
"See you tomorrow," he said, showing a perfect line of white teeth again.
"That fool's in love with you," Gigi said as they continued their way through the town.
"Nonsense," Charlotte said. Or was he? He certainly had become a good friend, and he had a nice smile, and he never shouted at her or told her that he did not care about her opinion. Quite on the contrary, he had told her more than once that he respected, even valued her opinion. And they had no difficulties messaging each other. Which was not such a surprise, given that their messages mostly read Lunch today at 1 ok? – Will be outside show apartm – Will bring avocado salad.
James was precisely the kind of man her parents would wish for her. Fortunately, the ages of arranged marriages were long past. For if one was perfectly honest, James Stringer had a nice smile, and he was good-looking, and he was kind – but he was no distant country and just so much less exciting than…
"Hello? Anybody at home?" Gigi was waving a map in front of Charlotte's face.
"Yes. Of course. You were saying?"
"Across the traffic lights and then it's down to the river."
"Alright. Just let me quickly check my phone." And there it was: Messages, Mr Sidney Parker: 1
"You're blushing," Gigi said. "You're a dark horse, Charlotte Heywood. How many admirers do you have?"
"One, if you count Henry," Charlotte said, nervously tapping on the screen to see what Mr Sidney Parker had to say to her.
Mr Sidney Parker: Wi$**,'''''
Right. Was that some sort of code? Or was he drunk? It was half-past three in Sanditon, so it had to be past midnight in Sydney. And Sidney probably drunk in Sydney. No excuse for the pun.
"Still interested in a picnic?" Gigi asked.
"Yes, of course. I'm sorry. That thing is gone now." She shoved the phone back into her trouser pocket, climbed her bike and followed Gigi to the residential area that stretched out along the riverbank. Soon the houses gave way to an open, park-like landscape. It was very idyllic, with willows stretching their branches far into the water as if searching for some lost love down there. Charlotte had never been to this part of Sanditon before. Even though it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, they met only a few other cyclists or walkers. Everyone seemed to be drawn to the beach instead.
Wi$**,''''', she thought again. Maybe not a code. Maybe some Australian abbreviation like lol or rofl. She would google it when she came back to the hotel.
Right beyond the next river bend, Gigi slowed down. "I think here it is," she said, consulting the map. Charlotte recognised one of the plans the reception girls handed out to guests asking for a cycling tour.
"Here is what?" she asked.
"The pavilion. One of those Parker follies from two hundred years ago. They owned the land down by the river but in the 1860ies sold it to the Denhams to raise money for the hotel. – You dragged me to the museum," she added when she saw Charlotte's astonished face. "I tried to learn something while you were mooning over those blue shoes and that disgusting cigarette holder."
"I'm impressed," Charlotte admitted.
The pavilion, situated on a low rise in the landscape, was not more than a shelter against rain or sun, though a very luxurious one, with a cupola roof and several pillars on a circular platform.
They chained their bikes to the metal rail that protected the riverbank from human invaders. Gigi heaved the picnic basket off the rack and started walking up towards the pavilion, taking larger strides with every step, as if someone was expecting her up there.
Suddenly, she dropped the basket and started running. Someone was expecting her.
Notes:
The poem was written years ago by a German author called Martin Rauhaus for a romantic TV movie. That TV movie has long been forgotten since – and justly so - but the poem occasionally pops up on blogs and websites, and it's one of the inspirations behind this story. As the original is in German, someone – I – had to translate it. Source: /schwarzes-brett/notiz/5b37fb1d297b50529e2f7ec3/persoenliches/manchmal-muss-man-einfach-schnulzen-lieben