Two Distant Countries

They did not fire her. That was Charlotte's worst fear when she sneaked back into the hotel through the staff door in the basement, mentally and physically exhausted from the events of the day and from cycling all the way up to the Hotel against the wind.

Apparently, Sidney Parker had not spoken to his brother, demanding her immediate demise on the grounds of gross insult combined with general irresponsibility.

When Charlotte came into the office the next morning, Tom Parker welcomed her with his usual enthusiasm, and some regret about the fact that she had missed his brother, who had come back from Australia the previous evening but returned to London very early this morning. "But he'll join us for the cricket match," Mr Parker said. "I can always rely on him when it comes to defending the honour of the family. He's an excellent bowler."

"Is he," Charlotte said and concentrated on checking the weekend's credit card bills. Figures were so much easier to handle than her boss's confounding brother. And was there anything Sidney Bloody Parker could not do? Financial genius, racy driver, expert handler of little children, excellent bowler… Gigi. He was definitely bad at dealing with Gigi.

"I'm sorry for the way he went at you," her friend said when they met for a workout at the gym that evening.

"I certainly provoked it," Charlotte replied. "Yet… Gigi, I wish you would have told me about Otis. How did you two meet?"

"That was at… well, she's an artist. Always looking for volunteer models. So I volunteered."

"Your father didn't approve?"

"He doesn't even know about her. Far too busy with taking Number Three on his sailing-around-the-world-trip. But once daddy Sidney took over, he found out very quickly. You've seen him – he disapproves."

"But why?" Charlotte asked. "What is it he holds against Otis?" There had to be more to it than the obvious age-gap and the fact that she was a woman.

"She's an artist. Unreliable, he believes. Only interested in the cash she can draw from my credit cards."

"And did she? Draw cash from your credit cards?" Gigi gave her a defiant look.

"Whose side are you on, Charlotte?"

"I'm on your side, Gigi. But I can only help you if I know what's going on."

"We went to London for a weekend once. Stayed in a cosy little hotel in Chelsea and had fun with my Amex from Friday night to Sunday afternoon. I mean, that's why Daddy gave me the card, right? Because he wanted me to have fun." As if true fun – and parental love, for that matter – could be bought by a credit card, Charlotte thought. Poor Gigi. But she was not finished: "I had to forge Sidney's signature to get me out of that boarding school prison in the first place."

Hard as it was to admit, Charlotte did see why Mr Sidney Parker was not entirely happy with the situation. However, thinking of her siblings and of herself as teenagers, she also knew that at Gigi's age, whatever was forbidden appeared only more desirable. So maybe a better tactic than confiscating phones, cancelling credit cards and staging performances as super-concerned surrogate daddy was to let Gigi have a controlled dosage of Otis – just until she tired of her.

"I won't forge signatures for you," Charlotte said, trying to put as much disapproval as possible into her words. That Gigi liked to bend the rules into the direction most suitable for her was no news. "But if there is anything I can do for you that will not lead to prosecution and a visit from Constable Hankins, I'll do it."

Gigi grinned and held out her hand. "Can I borrow your phone?"

Apart from daily discussions with Gigi about Mr Sidney Parker's shortcomings, the following days went by very smoothly and undramatically.

With the administration in good shape now, Charlotte had time to concentrate on the open-day and everything connected to it. Mr Parker gave her free reign over the event. He was very busy these days with bank appointments at short notice and impromptu meetings with Lady Denham. Whenever he was at his desk in the office, he jumped up after two minutes to scribble down a new idea on his whiteboard, only to realise that his whiteboard had become Charlotte's public checklist for the open-day.

One afternoon, he would walk into the office, beaming from one ear to another, and show Charlotte a beautiful necklace he had bought for Mary, his dearest wife. Yet the next morning, she would find him full of gloom behind his desk, complaining about the ungodly amount of money the fire protection company demanded for connecting Regency Row to the hotel's alarm system.

Charlotte found it difficult to make him out, yet, on the other hand, there were so many other things to keep her occupied. Arthur wanted her to sample his meringue swans. The F&B manager needed to discuss a detail for the open-day, the Instagram account was running over with comments, Doktor Fuchs had some requests for his first group that was due to arrive in mid-June. Clara and Edward were busy with each other in the golf cart shed when Charlotte walked past. Phillida asked for her help with a difficult guest, Lydia Hillier had to be followed up about the social media concept. Jenny and Alicia stalked her for another playdate on the beach with Uncle Sidney – "Because he's coming next weekend for the cricket match. He's our best bowler, Charlotte."

"Is he?" Charlotte said, calculating the odds that the man broke his right arm before the weekend, then conceding that even with only his left arm, he would probably still be "our best bowler".

The best place to take her mind off Mr Sidney Parker was during her lunch breaks with James. James had so many worries that her own concerns seemed petty and unimportant. His father was still in hospital, fighting cancer. He himself had been offered an internship by an architect in Vancouver, and he longed to accept, but could not bring himself to do so with his father's situation being as it was.

And then there was the every-day trouble on the building site: workmen that showed up late and left early, doing little to nothing in between, an electrician who postponed his visit from one day to the next and then again, a painter who seemed to exist only in the form of a mailbox, and a tiler who definitely would have shown up on Thursday had his daughter's guinea-pig not chosen to end its guinea-pig life on Wednesday night.

The only regular face on the site was Fred. That, Charlotte assumed, was due to his friendship with James rather than because of his trust in his business relationship with Mr Parker. Whenever they met, Fred asked Charlotte if she had reminded Mr Parker of that outstanding invoice from April. She had, and wondered why it was still outstanding, and one day she took up her courage and asked Mr Parker as diplomatically as possible about the financial situation of the Regency Row project.

"That's a rather unusual question, my dear," Mr Parker said.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to appear… nosy. I'm just trying to understand these things, Mr Parker."

"And so you will, my dear, with time and experience. When you realise a project such as Regency Row, what is most important is not the money but your attitude. Never allow yourself to be overwhelmed by the sheer scope of the task. Always think of your vision, of the final result, never of all the throwbacks you might encounter. – Do you know what did not happen when the first bathing machines were installed, and Sanditon opened as a seaside resort in the spring of 1816?" Charlotte shook her head. Mr Parker grinned.

"The summer of 1816."

"Oh?" Maybe on that afternoon in the Sanditon museum, she should have spent more time reading the educational panels than mooning over blue shoes and an ancient cigarette holder. Mr Parker sighed deeply.

"Whatever are they teaching you young people in school these days? Have you never heard of it? It was the year without a summer, after the breakout of a volcano somewhere in North America. Or was it South East Asia? I'm not sure. Anyway, that volcano ash shook up the world climate. It was a summer of extremely low temperatures and heavy rainfall, ultimately leading to failed crops and hunger. – And here in Sanditon, my ancestor Thomas Parker was sitting on a rainy beach with his brand-new bathing machines, and no one came to use them. Did he despair? No, my dear. He looked to the future, never to the past. He planned and rearranged his plans, and a few years later, Sanditon was well up and thriving. – And that, my dear Charlotte, is the way it has always been at Sanditon, and the way it is right now, and the way it will be for my children, once they take over."

"I see," Charlotte said, and even though she was not any the wiser about Fred Robinson's bill and the financial situation of Regency Row, she did feel that she had learnt something in this conversation.

Sometimes – only very occasionally – when Gigi returned the phone she borrowed every night, Charlotte would file through her messages until she randomly – absolutely randomly – stumbled over the one saying Wi$**,'''''

Staring at it, she thought that maybe Mr Sidney Parker had been stressed out, overtired, jetlagged, raw, emotionally confounded and genuinely disappointed in her when he had shouted her down in the station square and that he must be forgiven. But before forgiveness could take over, she closed her messages, opened Instagram and answered comments on Arthur's meringue swans.

mrscampion: That looks delicious.

mrscampion regularly left likes and comments on the hotel's posts. Charlotte had checked her profile: apparently, she was something of a minor reality TV celebrity, the kind of personality one only knew if one was into reality TV – and Charlotte was not. However, mrscampion's posts promoting ugly handbags, hair extensions and false eyelashes were drawing a crowd of more than half a million followers, and that was a force not to be ignored.

mrscampion: That looks delicious.

thesanditongrandhotel: … and they taste even better. Try one #thesanditongrandhotel on June 18th #sanditon #sanditongrandhotelopenday #arthuristhebest

x

Sidney would have skipped the Sanditon cricket match entirely (and for the first time in his life) had it not been for Gigi. It could not be helped – he could not hide away behind his monitors and the stock market any longer. He had a responsibility towards his foster daughter. That responsibility could not be fulfilled by calls in the morning, the afternoon and the evening, by forcing Gussie Griffiths to stay on Gigi's wayward heels, and by issuing daily threats at Miss Molyneux to keep away from his foster-daughter.

"Oh," Crowe said when he heard about Sidney's weekend plans during their weekly lunch. "Sounds as if we'll be enjoying another unforgettable stay in the vibrant metropolis of Sanditon."

"You don't have to come," Sidney quickly said, thinking of what their last visit had done to his brother's stock of Veuve Clicquot. Indeed, he had not meant to invite his friends, just to inform them. "If you do, Tom will recruit you for our cricket team."

"What do you say, Babbers? Some sports activity to get in shape for Miss Denham?"

"Can't wait for it," Babington said with a happy grin.

So on Saturday morning, Sidney was back to Sanditon, and back to the Conservatory, having breakfast with his brother. Babington and Crowe were still asleep after a late arrival with a detour to the Brighton Casino. Gigi did not consider herself to be on speaking terms with him, and the ubiquitous trainee that so often helped out in breakfast service for once was not around. He had his brother all to himself.

"So how are things going in Regency Row?" Sidney asked when Tom was served his full English breakfast.

"Splendid. Excellent. Couldn't be better. The workmen are a little slow, but that's what they always are, aren't they? – I suppose you did not … could not … convince any of your contacts to buy in?"

Sidney shook his head. "I'm not your estate agent, Tom."

"Well." Tom took a gloomy look at his eggs and the grilled tomato. "At least I have your prowess at the cricket field to be grateful for."

"In truth, you have Gigi to thank for that. I'm only here because of my duties towards her."

"What a good foster-father you are, Sidney." – and as Tom had no idea about Gigi's antics, it was highly likely that he absolutely meant what he was saying. Absent-mindedly stirring his baked beans, Tom asked: "I don't suppose … you could … her father is a wealthy man …"

"Tom, stop." Sidney felt the anger surging up inside of him. "Gigi Lambe's father is my mentor and friend. I owe him more than any other person in the world, and I'm certainly not going to thank him for that by dragging him into your schemes. Which I could not do anyway, given the fact that he is still sailing the remote part of the Pacific Ocean." Seeing his brother's disappointment, he touched his arm. "Come on, Tom. Can we not just for once forget the hotel and enjoy some family time?"

"I would, but – " Tom's face suddenly lightened up, and he started waving at someone behind Sidney. "Charlotte! Come and join us. - I can't even tell you what I would do without her, Sidney! – Charlotte, take a seat, have breakfast with us."

"Good morning, Mr Parker," she said to Tom. She was clasping a clipboard, as always. Holding it so tightly that her knuckles appeared white. Holding it as if it was the only thing that kept her upright as she studiously ignored both Sidney and the invitation to sit down. Tom's phone started ringing. He answered it, shrugging apologetically, and walked a few steps away.

"Miss Heywood," Sidney said as the silence between them stretched on. "Busy again?" She did not meet his eye but stared down at Tom's grilled tomato. Unfortunately, that bloody dimple in her chin was still as prominent as always.

"If you must know," she said, "I'm trying to figure out how to accommodate Doktor Fuchs's group in the Conservatory during the open-day, but… I assume you're not interested in the details of event management."

"You're never short of assumptions, Miss Heywood."

"Neither of experiences, Mr Parker. Good day." She walked away without turning around.

Sidney took out his phone, tapped on the screen (no more spider app) and opened his contacts. Time to remove "Dimple" from the list. It was only when he pressed "delete" that he noticed that the contact was not as empty as he had believed. There was one sent message. Horrified, he opened it. What if he had told her in some jetlag induced madness from his lonesome Australian hotel room that she just had the cutest dimple? Even though altogether, he, of course, preferred blond, petite women. Like Eliza. Like -

But that was not what he had told her. What he had told her was even more cryptic: Wi$**,'''''

"Oh;" he heard Tom say. "Is Charlotte gone again? I would have so much liked to hear her opinion on the breakfast's new oat milk option. – Where are you off to, Sidney? You haven't finished your bacon."

"I have an appointment with a punching ball," Sidney said through clenched teeth.

Notes:

For once, Tom is not talking nonsense: the year without a summer did happen in 1816. I find it quite fascinating to think about how our ancestors must have dealt with a catastrophe that was not immediately explained to them online or in the news channel. But that is a different story that might be told by someone else. wiki/Year_Without_a_Summer