All the Time in the World

It was a quarter past two in the night when the last fire engine drove off the lawn in front of Regency Row. Sidney, battered, drained and exhausted, once more hugged his brother's shoulders and said: "Go to bed, Tom. It's over. There's nothing we can do tonight."

Tom kept staring at the blackened façade of what had been his beautiful show apartment, incomprehension written all over his face. "Do you think we can save it?"

Frankly, Sidney did not think so, but he was not going to tell Tom – at least not right now. "We'll find out tomorrow. We'll sort out everything tomorrow, you'll see. You try to get some sleep now. It's going to be a long day." He led his brother away from the scene and back to the hotel entrance. Mary was waiting for her husband. He slumped into her arms as soon as Sidney released him.

"We can save it," Tom told her. "I think we can save it."

"Of course we can," she said, sending a doubtful look to Sidney.

He shrugged his shoulders and repeated: "Tomorrow." He was too tired for anything else. How could a day that had started so happily end in such a disaster? Controlling Edward Denham's outbursts had been bad enough but returning to the hotel and seeing the fire engines lined up in front of Regency Row as flames were blazing behind the Venetian windows of the show apartment had sent him into a state of defiance.

Was that fate's sense of humour? Let him find a few hours of happiness with Charlotte, and make Tom pay for it? Send his family the terminal blow just when he had finally managed to leave Eliza's spell behind?

Charlotte. Dearest Charlotte, sweet, young and innocent, yet wise, clever and understanding.

He took the elevator up to the attic and stopped in front of her room, wondering whether she was still awake. Earlier, he had seen her help Manoel get the ball guests off the premises, comfort Mary, and serve nightcaps and calming words to the hotel guests who had started panicking when they heard the fire engines.

He leaned against her door, thinking about how different he had hoped this day would end. Earlier this evening (and with a guilty smile) he had slipped an emergency supply of condoms into his dinner jacket – no obligation, just a precaution, just in case, just to make sure when… if matters took a rapid development during the ball.

Now that jacket was lost somewhere in the mud left by the firewater on the lawn in front of Regency Row: he had dropped it when he had run after Tom to stop him from entering the burning building. And even if the jacket were not lost, and he still in a romantic mood: right now, he was too exhausted to lift so much as his little finger. So he stepped away from Charlotte's door, only to find it suddenly opened and himself face to face with her.

Just one more step and they were in each other's arms, holding each other, trying to share what remained of their strength, trying to diminish the horror of what had happened.

"Did you want to come inside?" he heard Charlotte whisper.

"If you'll have me."

She took his hand and led him into her apartment. It was tiny, lit only by a reading lamp on the bedside table, but she had managed to make it her own, with a vase of fresh flowers and a pile of books on the table, a collection of shells on the windowsill and her black service uniform draped over the chair.

"What's that?" he asked when he saw a shadow hovering in front of the dark window.

"That's my personal herring gull. He's keeping watch over me. Knows all about you. So better don't open the window. He might turn aggressive."

"Oh, Charlotte." He enfolded her in his embrace again, hoping to draw more strength from her. "I don't think I'm much of a danger to anyone right now. I sense every single bone in my body, and I'm too tired to sleep." But not too tired to inconspicuously move her towards the bed.

"I see what you are doing, Sidney Parker," she said, just as he prepared to tumble down with her.

"Only continuing the conversation from the cove," he replied, making sure she landed on top of him as they fell onto the bed. She looked down on him, her brown curls brushing his cheeks. He felt her heart thumping against his chest. "What do you think, Miss Heywood?"

"I think you can at least take off your muddy footwear if you wish to occupy my bed." She rolled off him, and with what he believed was a super-human force, he managed to sit up and remove his shoes. By the time he had got rid of them, Charlotte had snuggled down under her duvet, her hair spread out on the pillow. All he could do was cuddle up next to her and weave his arm around her to make sure she did not fly away.

"This morning I believed this was going to be the happiest day of my life," he whispered and ever so lightly kissed her on the forehead. "This night, I find my family in the deepest despair possible."

"Is it really that bad?" she asked, stroking his cheek.

"The show apartment is gone, and the adjoining units are damaged through the firewater. And even the apartments that are unaffected… how are we to sell them with the marks of the fire on the building?"

"So what's going to happen next?"

"I don't know. We'll have to find out what caused the fire in the first place. That's an expert's work. The insurance is supposed to cover the renovation work and the loss of profit, but you can be sure as hell that they will try to get away with as little expenditure as possible. So there's a fight ahead of us."

"And we will have to relocate the bookings." As always, she was thinking ahead. "If we're lucky, we can move them to the hotel. However, we will have to reduce the rates and …"

"Charlotte," Sidney said. "It's half-past two in the night. I know that if I let go of you, you would run straight down to the office and arrange all these relocations, but for my sake, can you please stay here with me?"

"Just don't let go of me," she suggested. He bent forward and kissed her, tentatively moving one hand under her pyjama top. He was still too exhausted for any real exertion, but a little more Charlotte was not the worst thing to find this night, he decided, especially since she seemed to enjoy feeling his hand on her bare skin. Then he remembered the jacket lost in the mud on the lawn and stopped his explorations with a sigh.

"I had indeed hoped for a different outcome this night," he said, brushing her cheeks with his knuckles. "But it turns out I'm too drained for anything but some old-fashioned snuggling."

To his surprise – and clearly visible despite the dim light of the lamp – she turned the colour of beetroot.

"Charlotte? Are you alright?"

"I am alright. I was just… err, I mean, I…" He had never seen her that inarticulate, fighting for every syllable while turning from beetroot to overripe beetroot. She was sitting up now, holding her glowing head in her hands. "I didn't… I better told you… I haven't…"

Sidney took her hands and removed them from her face. Keeping a firm hold of them while searching her eyes, he asked: "What exactly are you trying to tell me?"

She was avoiding his gaze. "I mean I'm well aware that there is an age gap of eight years between us," she told his elbow. At least a coherent sentence, he thought with relief. "And… well… obviously, you are very experienced…"

"Charlotte," he said, a suspicion rising in him. "Why are you behaving as if you were a prudish virgin in a Victorian novel?"

She let out an exasperated sigh. Hammering her fists into the duvet, she finally looked up to him. "Maybe because I am a prudish virgin?"

There she was again, his little bundle of contradictions. Courageous, fierce and resourceful. Warm-hearted, emphatic and tender. And innocent in every sense of the word. He was surprised, and he could not help but think that he had expected her to be more experienced, but on the other hand, that was just who she was.

"Can you at least please say something?" she asked. "Because, really, I'm feeling a bit flustered right now."

He slowly shook his head, then searched her eyes, raised his hand and as tenderly as carefully touched her cheek. "You don't cease to amaze me, Charlotte Heywood. Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Oh? And when? When you doubted my ability to have any qualified opinion at all? Or when you told me that you never thought of me? Or when you shouted me down on the station square?"

He chuckled. "I was thinking of today, actually. - Anyway. I would lie if I said I wasn't surprised. But we'll take our time. In fact, we have all the time in the world. – And now let's sleep. I really can't take any more drama tonight." He reached across her, switched off the lamp on the bedside table, and gathered her so close to him that her hair tickled his nose and her heart thumped against his chest. It was a completely wonderful sensation. If it was going to help make him fall asleep was a different question, though.

x

So. This was done. She had told him, and he had not laughed at her or called her an iron maiden or fled from her altogether. Which she had never expected him to do in the first place. Yet it had taken her some effort. And however natural it felt to be with him, it was still all very new and fresh.

He was holding her even closer now in the darkness, his breath tickling her ear, his hand entangled in her hair. He was right there, the distant country she so much longed to explore, right here in her arms. Smelling a bit like smoked ham, due to the fire, but mostly of Sidney Parker.

Tentatively, Charlotte let her hand travel up his biceps and over his chest, feeling the muscles through his shirt. Tight and strong, as expected. Find a hold on its high ledges ... sink my hands into its earth ... I want to touch its roots... She pressed her ear on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. Very strong. Very reassuring.

"May I ask you something, Charlotte?" Sidney whispered.

"Of course." She lifted her head to look at him, even though his face was nothing but a blur in the darkness.

"You don't have to answer, you know. I only want to make sure… it's not because you've had some bad experiences, is it?"

"No!"

"Good. I was just wondering whether I had to break some scoundrel's nose. – Would you tell me why, though?"

"It's… Sidney, this is so embarrassing."

"Is it? – But why should you be embarrassed, Charlotte? We are both fully clothed."

"Sidney Parker!" However tired and exhausted they were, it had to be fought out. By the time they concluded that this one was a draw, their breathing had accelerated substantially, and even though they were both still fully clothed, these clothes were sitting rather loose now.

"I'm not part of a strange cult, you know," Charlotte said after a while. "I'm not sworn to celibacy until my wedding day."

"I'm glad to hear it," Sidney said.

"It… there never was the right moment. I mean, back in school, at a certain age, everyone seemed to be rushing at losing their virginity, as if it was some contest. And as if it did not matter who your partner was. I didn't like it. That was not my idea of love."

"Of course not," she heard Sidney whisper as he carefully touched her cheek.

"I had a boyfriend when I was sixteen. And I believed he was the one. We really wanted to do it… but it was so complicated! He was living with his grandparents, and they were terribly old-fashioned and did not allow him to have "lady visitors" – or a girlfriend for that matter. And I have eight siblings and was sharing a room with two of my sisters… it was practically impossible to find a quiet corner anywhere, and when we did, in our hayloft, my younger brothers and their best friends chose just that afternoon for a game of hide and seek."

She could feel Sidney trying to suppress a giggle. She tipped on his chest. "Go on. Laugh about me."

He did. Finally, he said: "That sounds as bad as being caught out by the laundry delivery man in the linen cupboard."

"Linen cupboard! That's awfully clichéd, Sidney."

"It is, I agree. As is the hayloft. I'll strive to be more imaginative in the future. – And the hayloft-incident put you off men for the next few years?"

"It didn't, no. But it was never enough. There was always something missing. And then I moved to Bristol and saw my flatmates go out every weekend and wake up every Sunday with some new Chris or Andy or Danny by their side … I'm sorry I'm such a prim little bore, Sidney."

"You're not. Go on."

"Sometimes I believed I… should just join them and get done with it. Get it fixed, like a leak or a missing lightbulb."

"That's not you, Charlotte."

"No. I realised that very quickly. So. Here I am. Waiting for that special moment with the special someone." Charlotte drew her breath. The words had been tumbling out of her again. Had she said too much? Was she overwhelming him?

When Sidney spoke, his voice was a bit husky. "And do you think you have found that special someone now?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I am absolutely sure I have."

He did not answer immediately. After a few moments of silence, he took her hand and placed a kiss on the tip of every single finger. "You're teaching me humility, Charlotte. Not an emotion I easily recognise. I promise you that you will have your special moment. – Though not tonight."

"Thank you," she breathed.

A little later, he asked: "Charlotte? At what stage in our acquaintance did you come to the conclusion that I was that someone?"

"I believe that was when I first saw your photograph."

"What?" She smiled to herself. He was just a man, after all. Of course, he had expected some allusion to their encounter at the cove.

"Your photograph in the Parker family gallery? I stumbled across it about half an hour after my arrival. Esther came by while I was staring at it and said some nonsense about me coming to regret ever having set foot in Sanditon. She also said that you were unsteady and unreliable, yet all I could think of was how much I wanted to meet you."

"I'm… err; I'm sorry I did not quite come up to your expectations during our first encounter. Or during the second. And the third."

"I suppose that only heightened the suspense," she said. He chuckled, tickling her ear.

"It did, yes."

"Let's not dwell on the past. That's beyond us."

"You're right." He sighed deeply. "The next weeks will be hard enough. God knows what the fire means for the future of the hotel… but we'll find out more tomorrow. Let's sleep now." They fidgeted around a little until they had both found positions comfortable and close enough.

"Good night, my dearest Miss Heywood," Sidney said, placing a very chaste kiss on her forehead.

"Good night, my dearest Mr Parker." She returned the kiss on his stubbly cheek. "Sidney?" she asked after a few seconds.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for taking me out for a walk this morning."

"My pleasure, Charlotte."

And with that, they finally fell asleep.