Thank you again for following this story. Here's the chapter you have been waiting for. Sit back and relax, it's a rather long read.
The Possibility of Love
According to the clock, one day still consisted of twenty-four hours.
There had to be something wrong with all the clocks in the Sanditon Grand Hotel, though. For Charlotte, every single hour of the next week stretched on as if it was a whole day. The fact that the absent Sidney Parker made random appearances in the office, in her apartment or when she was walking by the sea did not help at all, especially when he chose to look at her with that dark and gentle gaze and repeated his parting words: I am my best self - my truest self - when I'm with you.
These words worked like a spell on her. They made her smile and giggle, and sometimes even cry, depending on her mood. For omnipresent as Sidney was, he was definitely not here, but there and everywhere, catching up on his international clients, due to return to Sanditon late on Friday night after his business trip to Berlin. Until then, Charlotte's only hope was to distract herself with work.
As always, there was enough to do at the hotel, especially with the Midsummer Ball coming up on Saturday. When there was nothing left to prepare for the ball, she volunteered to pick up the girls from school or shuttle guests to and from the station.
Mr Parker was very busy these days with all those new memberships for the golf club and the Regency Row apartments' potential buyers. Unfortunately, there was the continuing trouble of workmen who did not show up, even though they had been paid now. First and foremost among them was the electrician who never came to repair the fuse in the show apartment, leaving it effectively in the dark and causing Mr Parker one day to announce that he was going to fix the problem himself.
"I wouldn't suggest that," Charlotte said. Mr Parker laughed, patting her on the shoulders.
"No, my dear. Of course not."
More successful than the call for the electrician was Charlotte's idea to employ Gigi in the Conservatory's breakfast service. She had done well by Arthur's side when preparing all the pastries for the open day. Charlotte assumed that regular working hours plus a physically exhausting job would stop her from putting all her energy into wild rants against the British police, Otis's lawyer and Sidney Parker.
And Charlotte was proven right: despite Manoel's initial claims that he had never seen a sulkier breakfast waitress than Georgiana Lambe – and no-one wanted to see a sulky face for breakfast – she started her shifts on time and worked hard. On Wednesday morning, Charlotte saw her in discussion with the postcard lady and her friend who were just leaving the Conservatory. The conversation seemed friendly enough, though, with the postcard lady smiling and nodding at Gigi. Charlotte watched them from reception, and when the two ladies had walked over to the elevator, greeting her as well, she joined Gigi who was staring at something on her palm.
"What was that about?" Charlotte asked.
"Oh." Gigi looked up from what was in her hand. "They are two strange ladies. They forgot these on their breakfast table, but when I went after them, they insisted I keep them." She showed Charlotte two shiny pound coins with Her Majesty's profile.
Charlotte could not help but smile. "That's called being tipped, Gigi."
"Really? Why would they want to tip me?"
"Maybe because they liked your service?"
"Do you think so?"
Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. You can ask them tomorrow morning. – But I do know that if you continue to collect tips, you can invite me to a treat at the Study Café very soon."
Gigi was staring at the two coins again. "I think I'm going to keep these. As a reminder."
Maybe that was the whole secret, Charlotte thought as she watched her friend return to the Conservatory. Maybe Gigi's aggressiveness was nothing but insecurity from a girl that had never received positive feedback before. She shook her head and decided to end her lesson in kitchen psychology then and there.
With another challenge, she was less successful: the Denham conundrum. Lady Denham, upon learning that Clara was expecting Edward's child, had thrown the expected tantrum. Clara claimed that Edward had promised to marry her. Edward, on the other hand, claimed immediately that he had never made such a promise and that the child was not his, leading to the result that most of the Denham family was not on speaking terms with each other right now. Though how Esther's tears fitted into the story, Charlotte had no idea.
Every working day brought many diversions, but in the evenings, back in her attic apartment, with only the old herring gull peeping in on her, Charlotte always grew restless. Staring at Crowe's picture of Sidney and herself at the premiere party, her mind travelled to distant countries and beyond.
What if she had misunderstood everything? What if back in London, Sidney had crossed mrscampion's path once more and realised that when he was with her, he was an even better self than with Charlotte Heywood? What if she simply picked up her phone and asked him? Or sent him a message?
Mr Sidney Parker: Wi$**,'''''
Charlotte Heywood: Hi.
No.
Charlotte Heywood: Can you please repeat what you said on Sunday night because I'm sure now you said something very different from what I heard.
No.
Charlotte Heywood: Can you please come to Sanditon asap because I'm dying to see you.
If it was only about seeing him. She longed to touch him, to feel and explore him, like the distant country that he was. Her physical yearning for him was like nothing she had ever experienced before.
Charlotte Heywood: I'm in love with you, and I'm utterly befuddled because I have been in love before, but this time, it's completely different.
That was the point, Charlotte realised when she deleted the message. What she was feeling for Sidney was so pure in one way and so intense in another that it delighted her as much as it frightened her.
And if he was feeling the same, why did he not simply pick up his phone and told her? Or was he even more frightened than she was?
But on Wednesday night, just as she was about to switch off the light and go to bed, in a hotel room six hundred miles to the east, Sidney Parker did pick up his phone. Charlotte stared at the screen saying Mr Sidney Parker, one new message. Please, she thought, her heartbeat accelerating, let it be a real message, not some cryptic nonsense again.
It was not nonsense. It was a link to David Garrett's version of The Verve's Bittersweet Symphony. They played this in the hotel's gym tonight, and it reminded me of a moment in a much better company.
No greetings, no salutation: classic Sidney Parker.
He was definitely as frightened as she was, Charlotte decided as she opened the link. She closed her eyes and listened to the song, reliving those precious moments in London. Though in her version, there was no mrscampion crawling up from behind her ugly handbags. There was only Sidney Parker, gazing down on her and telling her that he wanted to be with her, now, tomorrow, the day after tomorrow and for the rest of his life.
x
Sidney stood by the window of his hotel room in Berlin. As the room was located on the sixth floor, it offered an excellent panoramic view of Kurfürstendamm and the area around the hotel. Below him, the large leaves of the plane trees lining the pavement were rustling in the night breeze, adding a peaceful element to the otherwise busy boulevard. He sipped the whiskey kindly provided by the minibar and told himself that he was very calm, very much in control, and that it was not the end of the world if Charlotte Heywood chose not to reply to the message it had taken him about three days to concoct.
Maybe she had blocked him. Maybe she was already in bed. Maybe she was out on another pub night with Stringer and his friends. Maybe she had forgotten who Sidney Parker was (unlikely, though. He could think of at least one occasion on which he had made a lasting impression on her).
Maybe what he had said to her on Sunday night was not enough to reach out to her, to rebuild the bridge he had destroyed so carelessly. Yet, thinking of her standing in the strange blue light of Tom's desktop, of the expression on her face, that mix of pride, surprise and helplessness, he liked to reassure himself that he had, in fact, managed to touch something inside of her.
He took another sip of whiskey and again stared out of the window. The treetops swaying slowly in the darkness made him think of dancers, of his dance with Charlotte in London. If only Eliza had not shown up, if only he had not lost control but sent her back to her world of handbags and home accessories. He drained the whiskey. Self-pity was not going to help. Neither was another mini bottle from the minibar. He opened one nevertheless.
Three minutes and forty seconds: that was the length of the song. That was how long it would take Charlotte to reply. At least. If she cared to open the link. If she cared to listen to it. If she cared to reply.
He opened the window, took in a deep breath of fresh air, and listened to the noises of the city below him – traffic, police cars, drunken night owls strolling down Kurfürstendamm, chairs and tables being moved as the café next to the hotel started closing down for the night. An ambulance came hurling down the boulevard, the siren howling so loudly that he nearly missed the soft buzzing of his phone.
Dimple: Thank you.
Not very eloquent, but who was he to comment on other people's lack of eloquence? Sidney kept staring at the two words, searching for a reply that would not put the conversation to an immediate halt. He might ask her how she liked the song. Or how the weather was in Sanditon (in Berlin, it was rainy and a bit cold for the season). Another message buzzed in.
Dimple: I hope the punching ball survived your company in the gym.
Staring at his reflection in the dark window, Sidney found himself grinning like a besotted teenager. No punching ball there, but a rowing machine. Still in working order when I left it.
Dimple: I'm glad to hear it. Good night.
Sidney Parker: Good night, Charlotte.
He kept checking his phone for another half an hour, but there was no further reply. Yet it was a beginning. They were on speaking terms. Or on texting terms. Even though she pretended to be more concerned about the local punching ball than about him.
And by the next morning, she still considered herself on texting terms with him. Sidney was stuck in a taxi caught in the morning rush hour when a new message flashed up.
Dimple: Good morning.
He had had no idea that two words on a phone screen had the power to change the course of an entire day. No one had obliged her to wish him a good morning. No one, but herself. It made him hope as he had never hoped before.
Sidney Parker: Good morning, Charlotte.
Dimple: Can I ask you something?
Of course, he typed, feeling his heartbeat accelerate. She could ask him anything. After all, he wanted her to know everything about him.
Dimple: What does Wi$**,''''' mean?
Not quite the question he had expected, but enough to keep the conversation going.
Sidney Parker: I was waiting at Heathrow immigration and wanted to tell you that I was returning early from Sydney and that I'd be on my way to Sanditon soon. Got shouted at by an immigration officer, dropped the phone in the hassle of it, broke the screen and only realised the message had been sent when it was far, far too late.
Dimple: I see. I have been wondering about it for a while.
Sidney Parker: You could have asked me.
Dimple: Yes.
And after a few seconds-
Dimple: But then again, maybe not.
No, maybe not, Sidney typed, thinking of the shout out on the station square that had followed that day. But please ask me next time when I'm expressing myself so badly.
Dimple: OK.
Dimple: I have to work now.
He smiled, imagining her sitting at the desk in Tom's office and going through the hotel's daily reports, watched by the wooden seagull and probably enjoying the quiet moments before his brother rushed in.
His taxi stopped in front of an office building.
Sidney Parker: I have to go to work as well. Have a nice day, Charlotte.
Paying attention to financial proposals and investment details when mentally composing messages to Charlotte Heywood turned out to be a real challenge. Sidney tried to be his usual professional self on this day, but whenever he looked up he saw Charlotte watching him with that clear and wise gaze of hers, and she still seemed to be wondering whether she could trust him or not.
In the evening, on the way back to the hotel, he started typing again, but whatever he wrote sounded either cheesy or silly or awkward. In the end, he deleted all drafts and returned to the one safe topic in any small talk: It's raining in Berlin. How is the weather in Sanditon?
Dimple: Warm and sunny. Gigi and I are heading for the beach now. Arthur has packed a picnic basket for us.
He tried not to be disappointed. It was one of the longest days of the year, and if the weather kept fine, they could stay on the beach nearly until midnight. However, with Gigi by her side, Charlotte would not spend her time texting with him.
Sidney Parker: Sounds like a perfect evening by the sea. Enjoy yourselves.
Dimple: Thank you. Goodbye.
X
On Friday morning, Charlotte anxiously expected Mr Parker coming to the office. She would find a way to inconspicuously squeeze his brother's arrival time from him. Of course, she could just text Sidney and ask him. On the other hand, she did not want to create the impression that she was dying to see him. Even if she was dying to see him. mrscampion's poisoned arrows were not yet forgotten, and if he really wanted to make amends, she better did not appear too desperate to accept them.
"Mary, I'm telling you…," Mr Parker marched into the office, the phone on his ear, making Charlotte return to reality as he was talking to his wife. "No, my dearest, he's returning from Berlin today, he just called me… but he's being held up by his Australian client in London tonight. Can't be here before tomorrow morning. Yes. Must go now… - Good morning, Charlotte," he smiled after finishing the call. "And it's a wonderful morning, isn't it? Lovely weather forecast for the weekend, by the way. Very suitable for tomorrow night. Of all the balls in Sanditon, the Midsummer Ball is the best – apart from the Spring Ball, the End of Season Ball and the Christmas Ball, of course." He laughed, and Charlotte tried to laugh with him because bursting into frustrated tears in front of her boss really was no option.
But sure enough, when she next checked her phone, she had a message from Sidney.
I wish I could come to Sanditon tonight, but I have to look after my Australian client. He has cancelled his divorce.
Disappointed as she was, Charlotte could not help but think that a cancelled divorce was much better than another call by mrscampion.
Charlotte Heywood: But that is good news, right? A cancelled divorce?
Mr Sidney Parker: Yes, that's good news. At least for my client.
Charlotte Heywood: Are you losing your fee?
Mr Sidney Parker: No. Quite on the contrary. Increasing it as we have to scale back everything.
Charlotte shook her head. It was a strange business he was working in. She definitely preferred the hotel industry, which was only about selling rooms and making guests happy and not about taking advantage of other people's problems.
Charlotte Heywood: Well then.
Mr Sidney Parker: Well then, Charlotte.
With a smile, she shoved the phone away before anyone could accuse her of behaving at work as if she was the third Beaufort sister. Yet how strange it was to be texting with Sidney Parker. And how, whenever she read her name typed by him, she felt as if he was caressing her with his dark and gentle gaze.
After another night of tossing around in her bed, Charlotte got up early on Saturday and decided to go for a mind-clearing walk along the seashore. At this time of the day, she had the shallow waters, rock pools and secret coves all to herself, and even though the sight of shells and colonies of barnacles did not precisely clear her mind of Sidney Parker, they at least managed to distract her for about five seconds.
When she returned to the hotel, the Aston Martin was parked on its usual space next to the entrance. Charlotte's heart started racing immediately. So he was here. He was here. Her mind went blank. How come that after five days and six nights of thinking about nothing but Sidney Parker, she now had absolutely no idea what to say to him? How come that the idea of using actual speech for communication instead of her fingertips suddenly made her feel tongue-tied?
She considered taking the staff entrance at the back and sneaking into her room unseen when the entrance doors opened, and Doktor Fuchs's guests and their suitcases spilt out.
Charlotte had completely forgotten that it was their departure day. There was a great hustle and bustle until the bus had arrived and all the luggage been stowed away, and Mr Parker had shaken every guests' hand and wished them a safe homeward journey. The postcard lady and her friend said good-bye to Charlotte, telling her they would come back one day with their families, and Doktor Fuchs and Mr Parker congratulated each other for their successful maiden voyage.
"I tell you, Charlotte, we are going to have the best summer we have ever had at Sanditon," Mr Parker said as he held the entrance door open for her to return to the lobby. "Ha! Mary! There you are! Wouldn't you agree?"
Mary, who was just coming out of the Conservatory, did agree. "Good morning, Charlotte," she added. "Have you been out for a walk?"
"Yes. It's a beautiful day."
"And it's going to be a beautiful ball tonight," Mr Parker said "Which reminds me, Charlotte. The temp agency has called again to cancel their people. And Doktor Fuchs's next group will be checking in this afternoon… Can you start two hours earlier today? At three, let's say? – Ah! Sidney! Any plans for the day?"
Charlotte turned around in slow motion. So there he was. What would she find on his face? Polite interest? Nonchalance? That dark and gentle gaze that kept following her even in her dreams?
What she found was herself drowning in a gaze so soft and tender that it made her gasp. After a moment, Sidney cleared his throat. "I was just thinking about walking into town, so if there's anything anyone needs …" His voice trailed off.
"How kind of you to ask, Sidney," Mary said. "I'm entirely taken up by the ball this morning. What about you, Charlotte?"
"I have some books to return to the library," Charlotte heard herself say. "Perhaps … I could … walk with you?" She barely managed to reach the question mark. Her heart was thumping in her breast as if she had just finished a marathon run. Which, in a way, she had.
"Very well." Sidney inclined his head. And yet, Charlotte could see the smile on his lips.
"I'll just run and… get the books from upstairs," she added and floated over to the elevator.
"I'd thought you'd rather go for a swim, Sidney," she heard Mr Parker say, but through the closing elevator doors, she missed his brother's reply.
The weather was still good, with fleecy clouds dotting the sky above a sea that looked exceptionally blue and endless on this day.
For once, Charlotte had no eye for the beauty of Sanditon. She kept staring at the back of the man in front of her who was climbing down the steep cliff trail to the beach. It was not necessarily the route she would have chosen for a walk into town. Still, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, even though he was particularly taciturn this morning.
She did not mind his silence for if he had no idea what to say, neither had she. Maybe they better went back to texting each other. Conversation was so much easier when conducted with their fingertips on the phone and not in each other's presence.
Of course, she could just ask him something about his business trip to Berlin: the flight, the food, the hotel - obvious topics. But that would only lead to awkward small talk, and she was in no mood for more awkwardness. For the moment, she was absolutely fine with walking down the trail behind Sidney, with the soft breeze playing in her hair and the white caps of the waves dancing in the distance.
They reached the rocky shoreline underneath the cliff. A family of oystercatchers was stalking along the nearest sandbar, searching for prey. Charlotte nearly bumped into Sidney as he suddenly stopped and gazed into the sky instead.
"A fine fresh day," he said.
"Yes. Indeed," Charlotte replied, gazing into the sky as well. Not very profound, but a beginning.
"Bodes well for the ball tonight."
"Yes." Texting had been so much easier. However, he was not yet ready to give up on the conversation.
"Though … it's an indoor occasion, so good weather is … maybe not so much of a consideration."
"No, quite."
"But, err, welcome, nonetheless," he added, staring the other way. This was quickly turning into small talk nightmare; rather a dead end, not a beginning. Charlotte sighed.
The question of the weather's influence on indoor events resolved, Sidney started walking towards the cove. After a while, he glanced at a rockpool. "Are you looking forward to the ball?" he asked the shells, crabs and algae gathered inside the pool. They did not reply, but Charlotte managed to compose a sentence that consisted of more than two words.
"Depends … since I'll have to carry champagne trays again."
"Ah, yes, of course." From the corner of her eye, she saw his mouth twitch. She searched her brain for anything witty and intelligent to say, but her mind seemed to be emptied of wit and intelligence. After some more awkward moments, Sidney said: "And your family? Any news from Willingden?"
"I had a message from my mother this morning, but it was just about … how to prevent blisters." So much for witty and intelligent. Nevertheless, Sidney nodded gravely.
Charlotte glanced around herself. They had reached the cove now. There was the rock where she had found his clothes, there was the spot where he had risen from the waves. There was no Sanditon library at all. "We seem not to be walking into town," she observed.
Sidney looked up from a colony of barnacles he had been studying. "No. Oh, of course … the books you needed to return. What an idiot I am." (You're not, Charlotte thought). "Should we head back, perhaps?" He actually started walking away.
She shook her head with a smile. Maybe, there was a way to breach whatever was standing between them. "No. I can extend the lending period online. A walk along the shoreline is much more to my taste."
"Good." He came back to her, his relief evident on his face. "My thoughts exactly." A flash of a smile, then a quick look to the side before settling his gaze on her. "In fact… in fact, I was hoping that we might find a moment when we could be alone together."
"Were you?"
"Yes."
Her heart turned into a sledgehammer and her legs into pudding. It was a dizzying combination, made even worse by Sidney moving one step closer to her now.
"I spent this whole week thinking about nothing but you and our conversation in the office," he said, his eyes searching hers, his voice deep and hoarse from emotion.
"So did I," she confessed.
He made another step towards her, now nearly touching her, keeping her gaze. And as she lost herself in Sidney Parker's eyes, she realised that they had given each other all the answers they needed. There was only one question left to ask for him.
"Charlotte…"
"Yes."
x
The kiss was delicate and pure, and when it ended, they held on to each other, their foreheads touching, both of them unable to speak, overcome with their emotions as the gravity of what had just happened was sinking in.
Finally, Sidney moved his head, just so that he could gaze into Charlotte's eyes. He tried a little smile, and she returned it, her cheeks flushing. Her evident shyness touched him even more. She was a bundle of contradictions – courageous when fighting for what she believed was right, rather coy now that she had what was rightfully hers.
"Charlotte," he whispered once more as if her name (which was the most beautiful name in the world, just as she was the most beautiful woman) would work a magic spell.
It did work a magic spell: for once, Charlotte Heywood seemed to be lost for words. There was enough to be read in her eyes, though. Sidney inclined his head and touched her lips for another kiss, savouring her sweet and tender response, feeling her melt towards him as he tightened his embrace.
They better stopped this now. The cove was an isolated part of the beach, yet, as he knew very well himself, even here visitors tended to pop up unexpectedly. They were not going to start this with being caught in the act by random walkers. Or by the local gull population.
He broke the kiss and tried to move half a step away from her but did not get far. Her left hand remained on his back, and with her right, she cautiously explored his face, his stubbly cheeks, his temples, then his hair, all the while locking eyes with him as if to make sure that he was real, that he was really hers.
Which he was. Utterly and completely. He had never wanted to put himself under anyone's power again, yet holding Charlotte in his arms, feeling her gentle touch, her steady gaze, tasting her lips, had put him exactly there: under her power. And it was the best place to be.
"Sidney," he heard her whisper, and that made him smile again because they had now officially managed to end the Miss-Heywood-Mr-Parker-nonsense. He lifted her up from her feet and twirled her around until he lost his balance and tumbled down with her in the sand, pinning her down with his body. The perfect moment for another kiss, Sidney decided, caressing that sweet, sweet dimple with his thumb, and not caring for random walkers or nosy birds any longer.
This time, Charlotte ended the kiss, pounding her fists against his chest. "Sidney," she said once more. "What are we going to do now?" He could not help but smirk.
"I have no idea. You are supposed to be the resourceful one, Miss Heywood." This made her laugh and seeing her laugh made him laugh as well. Laughing with each other felt like the perfect cure against the tension, the fear and the doubts of the last few weeks – until suddenly and as if by an invisible signal, they fell silent, just drowning in each other's gaze again.
"Charlotte," Sidney said, entwining his fingers with hers. "I meant everything I said on Sunday night."
"I know." Of course, she knew. He could see it in her clear and wise brown eyes, in her serious yet tender gaze. Yet he had to make sure.
"Forget all the nonsense I ever said about your experience or your opinion. Forget the babysitter and the station square. But never forget that I'm a better man when I'm with you."
"I will never forget it," she solemnly promised. "But I won't forget the other stuff either," she added with a mischievous smile that made him laugh again. It was good to laugh the past away - just until it was time to kiss her again.
