Not so much drama in this chapter. We are slowly, very slowly moving towards the final of this story.

Sidney on the Rocks

Sidney walked into the lift's utility room on the fifth floor and closed the door behind him. One of the upsides of growing up in a hotel was that even fifteen years later, he still knew all the secret nooks and corners. This one was one of his favourites: at the back of the room, a steep staircase led up to the roof exit. Of course, it was strictly forbidden to go out on the roof unless one was "authorised personnel", but that was an order Sidney chose to ignore as nonchalantly as the local parking laws.

He opened the trap door and stepped out into the cold and bracing air of a December afternoon. He would have preferred a swimming exercise down at the cove, but that would have been close to suicidal, given the hour of the day and the current water temperature. So the roof was as secluded and invigorating as it could get right now.

Sidney leaned against the chimney and watched the dusk settle over the land, the town and the sea. His gaze followed the slope of the cliff down to Sanditon, now nothing but a dark silhouette encircled by the shimmering bend of the river in the last light of a setting winter sun.

It was a landscape shaped by generations of Parker men. The Denhams might be the local baronets, but for centuries, their main activities had been sitting on their money and watching the deer from their icy oversized drawing-room. That's what they had been doing when the first Thomas Parker had started building his model seaside resort. When his son Henry had added the hotel. When the Parker family had steered their hospitality business through two world wars. When Sidney's father had converted most of the land into the golf course, and even now when Tom's Regency Row was nearing completion for the second time. Sanditon was the creation of all those Parker men, the result of dreams and visions unswervingly followed through.

And despite all the financial issues and personal sacrifices, being a Parker was still much better than being a Denham. The Parkers had truly left their mark on Sanditon, and they were going to continue to do so, at the hotel or elsewhere. Tom's children simply had it in their blood.

The Denham family, on the other side, after centuries of lounging around, was quickly disintegrating, with Esther being the lucky one that got away. Earlier in autumn, Lady Denham had suffered another stroke and became rather frail since rollator replaced her cane. Even though she still enjoyed voicing her opinion, especially if it was unpopular, that voice was much less piercing now.

The stroke was her personal aftermath of the drama of Clara and Edward. Edward, still refusing to marry his cousin, had finally absconded to the States, accepting a position as a golf instructor at an exclusive resort in Florida.

And Clara had lost the baby. That was the real tragedy: one life lost, and everyone silently agreeing that maybe the baby had sensed that it had been begotten not out of love and affection, but for mercenary reasons. That it would be born into a sick family, unloved and unwanted by its father, rejected by its great-aunt, forever used as a weapon by its mother in her fight for the Denham inheritance.

Sidney sighed once more. In an ideal world, he would free Tom from Lady Denham's still constant threats and from the insecurity that would ensue on the day she died.

But the world was not ideal. In reality, the hotel's financial status was much better than half a year ago but still vulnerable, and Eliza's threats to "end all and everything" were even more frequent than Lady Denham's. They were most frequent, though, when the cameras were rolling. One of the pitfalls of life in reality TV was that every minor disagreement was blown up to a major relationship threatening crisis. It was very tiring, especially given the nature of his relationship with Eliza.

Yet, right now, Sidney was feeling strangely at peace. For the first time in months, he did not crave the punching ball. Being honest about Charlotte had been good – even though (or perhaps: mostly because) his sympathetic listener was a five-year-old boy.

Opening up to George Lambe and coming clean about the Marissa episode had freed him in a way he only now came to understand. But if he truly wanted to be a better man, there was one more step he had to take.

Over in the rain gutter, a giant herring gull settled down, turning its head to him. It was too dark now to make out more than an outline, but even so, he knew it was Charlotte's herring gull, come to check on him. Leaving a daily message on the shiny engine cowling of the Aston Martin was not enough for the old bird. It liked to follow him here and there and also down to the cove when he went for a swim, always bending its head and looking at him as if it wanted to say: I know everything about you, Sidney Parker. You can hide your heart away from your family, but not from me.

And of course, the bird knew everything. It had been sitting outside the window front of the Denham Suite's master bedroom after the End of Season Ball in September when filled with a too comfortable dosage of Chivas Regal, Sidney had allowed Eliza to drag him to her room because she wanted to "show him something" – which he in his state of inebriation expected to be a new handbag design. In fact, what she wanted to show him was her new lingerie.

Yes, he was very drunk. And even more drunk with missing Charlotte. So he was not too drunk to understand that it was Eliza who was trying to touch him and that he better kept the sorry remains of his brains together if he ever wanted to look at his face in the mirror again.

He had rolled off the bed within two seconds after landing on it. Wrong bed, wrong woman: everything was wrong. Eliza started hurling pillows and insults at him, and the herring gull, having its own opinion on his moment of weakness, had flapped and bickered at the window. Eliza, totally unnerved, had shouted death threats at the whole of the local avifauna. And Sidney had stopped drinking that night. Not altogether, but at least drinking too much.

That was Eliza's final attempt at starting something like a love-life. He was not interested anyway, and luckily, she had to uphold a decent, clean, spick and span family-friendly image for her cooperation partners. Implying saucy details about her non-existing supernatural sex life in front of the camera or on Instagram went against that image, so she did not do it, leaving Sidney with one worry less and grateful for small mercies. Even without saucy implications on social media, it was bad enough to imagine what Charlotte might be thinking when she stumbled over those horrible photoshopped promotion pictures for the show.

Charlotte. There was no warmer and safer place in the world than in the memory of her. A flicker of her smile, popping up completely unexpected. That careful, tender way in which she had touched his face as if she wanted to make sure that he was real. All those memories of the early summer. Charlotte, building a sandcastle on the beach with Jenny and Alicia. Marching on the cricket pitch as if she was Admiral Nelson. Holding Gigi's hand when the police led Otis away. Looking up to him at the premiere party, her luminous eyes full of hope. Sighing softly in his arms the night after the fire.

He only wished that she was well wherever she was. That she was with her family. Or with friends, with people caring for her and taking her mind off the shabby thief that was Sidney Parker.

He had to end the Eliza show, of course. That was the key finding of the day: he had to end it. As soon as possible. The longer they dragged out this reality TV nonsense, the greater the damage, not only to any possible reconciliation with Charlotte but also to his family.

He could not wait for George Lambe to come out and suggest he bought out Eliza. As much as he hoped for George to make an offer, it was anything but a safe bet. Yet he had to end it with Eliza now and bear the consequences, whatever they might be. And he had to find Charlotte. Rip her from the side of James Stringer, if necessary. Go down on his knees, hold his head in shame and humbly beg for her forgiveness (though knowing Charlotte, he expected her not to insist on going down on his knees. She would probably prefer a serious and sincere face-to-face talk). It was the one thing he understood now with absolute clarity: that his life would never be complete unless he found a way to make Charlotte return to it.

Over in the gutter, the herring gull squawked, spread its wings and vanished into the December evening, and as the darkness of another winter night settled over Sanditon, it had finally left Sidney's heart.

x

Somewhere in the middle of Oxfordshire, a herd of cattle had broken a fence and escaped onto the motorway, causing an endless traffic jam in the winter night. Fred was tapping nervously on the steering wheel. "We won't get anywhere close to Sanditon before ten," he said.

"Never mind. As long as we get there." Crowe, sitting on the backbench, was checking his phone. "Can't wait for mad Eliza to choke on her extensions when she sees you, Charlotte."

Charlotte clutched the wooden Esther, preferring to stare out of the window at the cars around them. She had no idea what would happen once they arrived at the hotel. But she was absolutely sure that a reunion with Sidney observed by the cameras was not what she wanted. It was going to be a deeply private moment, and she wanted it to be just the two of them, having an honest and open conversation with each other.

"I still don't quite understand how this reality TV thing is working," she said, trying to get her thoughts distracted.

"It's a camera team following her around wherever she goes," Fred explained. "Some scenes are set up, like the opening of the Christmas presents, because they are sponsored by her cooperation partners, but most of the time they just go somewhere and see what happens."

"And what happens is usually havoc, because the production team want some action," Crowe added. "She goes to Brighton for a shopping spree, walks past a children's boutique and sees pyjamas in a cute baby dinosaur pattern. Decides that all Henry needs for his future happiness are pyjamas in a baby dinosaur pattern. So she walks into the boutique, finds that in his size, they only have baby sharks, and what we have next is a five-minute rant about how much she would have loved to buy these dinosaur pyjamas even though ten seconds before, she did not even know about their existence, and how Henry would have loved the dinosaurs, but not the sharks, and how her day is spoilt by that boutique's careless manager whose negligent purchasing policy prevents her from being a sweet auntie Eliza. – That kind of action."

"Oh dear," Charlotte said, unsure whether she had caught all the details. This reality TV thing seemed to be way more complicated than expected.

"Chocolate cookies, Charlotte?" Fred offered her from an open pack. "Take more than one. You need something to strengthen yourself." He was right. Was there a better way to gain strength before facing a giant sea serpent than by munching chocolate cookies? Especially since mrscampion certainly never indulged in chocolate cookies, judging by her waist.

"Sometimes they make her go about modernising the hotel," Fred went on, offering cookies to Crowe. "Told Arthur and Manoel to go all vegan with the dessert menu. Then she laid out new uniforms for the reception girls. Made them look a bit like… err, well, like ladies you would not exactly expect at a place like the Sanditon Grand."

"If you see a dent in that seagull of yours, Charlotte, it's because Babington's love threw it at her at some stage," Crowe said. "Should work on her marksmanship, though. Didn't hit her head." Charlotte choked on her cookie. A vegan dessert menu and Esther throwing her wooden namesake: it was as if mrscampion really was pulling out the worst from everyone around her.

"When the production team find nothing else for her to do, she starts redecorating the place. Calls it visual improvement and upgrades in style, but in the end, it's always pampas grass, golden vases and scented candles from her new home design line," Fred explained. "The whole place smells of something called cosy winter apple or mellow vanilla dream. Think she even suggested to take down the family gallery and replace it with a giant wall tattoo. But on that occasion, Mrs Parker stepped in. - I always believed Tom Parker was a nightmare to work with… but Mrs Influencer…" He shook his head.

"But who would want to watch such a show?" Charlotte asked. It seemed to be all-nightmare-TV and not a happy family watch-along.

"Probably people as shallow as her," Crowe said. "Which theoretically makes me her biggest fan."

"And as you don't seem to be a fan, that's the best proof that you are not as shallow as you claim," Charlotte concluded.

"Ah, Admiral Heywood! How we have been missing your never-ending positivity!" Crowe beamed. "Do you really not care for an ice-cream on the promenade? By invitation of your friend Crowe?"

"I actually don't even know your first name," Charlotte admitted.

"Francis." He gave her a wink. "There is a reason why I go by the name of Crowe."

"And Babington?"

"What about him?"

"What's his first name?"

"Well, it's Babington, of course."

"But isn't he a lord?"

"Yes, of course, he is. Babington Something Posh Babington. These ancient families have the weirdest names and traditions. But mind you, Charlotte: no one but me might call him Babbers, not even his seagull."

"I'll keep that in my mind," she said with a chuckle.

"I'm still Fred," Fred told her. "Robinson. No lordship, I'm afraid."

"I think you're just fine as you are," Charlotte smiled.

"Speaking of names, Charlotte." Crowe looked up from his phone. "Suppose Parker never told you how you're registered in his contact list?"

"Well, I suppose it's Charlotte. Heywood. Or perhaps Miss Heywood." They never had had enough time together to find any better endearments than "Mr Parker" and "Miss Heywood" – which did not exactly count as endearments. But she did remember Sidney calling her a siren.

"Wrong," Crowe said, looking very pleased with himself. "Actually, it's staring you right in the face when you look into the mirror."

Fred chuckled. "I know it! Now that is true love, Charlotte, if it turns a man driving such a car into a sweetheart-softie."

"Especially if you consider that when they exchanged numbers, they had spoken about two civil words with each other," Crowe added. "I know it all, I was sitting right in their war zone at Lady Denham's luncheon party." Fred laughed even more.

"I think you're talking silly nonsense," Charlotte said, checking her face in her pocket mirror. "Both of you, actually." What would Sidney call her? Bambi? For her large brown eyes? Freckle? For those two or three tiny little spots on her nose? The only other prominent feature she could think of was… oh dear. She only had to close her eyes to feel Sidney's thumb brush her dimple, just before he was leaning over to kiss her.

"Don't tell him that it was I who gave him away," Crowe grinned. "Say it was a little seagull that whispered it to you." Charlotte stowed her pocket mirror away and decided to stare out of the window. Dimple. She had to wipe a tear from her eye, remembering how he had left the shells on her windowsill in a heart shape.

There was such profound and sincere emotion under all those jaded layers of Sidney Parker. All their Skype talks during his doomed week in London. How he had opened up to her, had been honest about Marissa and Eliza, and talked about his parents. How he had held her the night after the fire, promising her that special moment. Even his plea for a secret relationship, shameful as it was: he must have been so desperate to keep what little they had.

"There, there," Fred said, handing her one of the napkins he had precautionarily stolen from the hotel bar. "The worst is over, Charlotte."

They spent some more minutes watching the headlights of other cars around them in the traffic jam, Fred tapping on the steering wheel, Charlotte clutching the seagull, Crowe checking his phone. "The next exit is quite nearby. If we leave the motorway, we can take a shortcut and get around the congestion," he suggested.

"Well, that's definitely better than having the way forward blocked by cattle gone wild," Fred said.

"Indeed," Crowe agreed. "That one crazy cow at the hotel is bad enough."

x

Breaking up with Eliza only one hours before the beginning of the Annual Sanditon Christmas Ball was not the best-laid plan. Yet, it had to be done, whatever the consequences for the hotel, for EMIL, for him. But when Sidney knocked on the door of the Denham Suite, he only found Eliza's stylist and the ball dress that was going to replace the original chocolate-stained gown. "She's been called down to the ballroom," the stylist said. "Some urgent decoration situation."

Sidney checked his phone. Indeed, he had missed three calls and two messages. So it was a major crisis. A camera-worthy crisis. He hurried down to the ballroom and found Eliza and Tom standing underneath the balcony, deep in discussion with the F&B manager; a camera team sneaking around them like hungry hyenas.

"There he is, my dear," Tom said with his trademark broad grin. "I'm sure he has a solution."

"Sidney!" Eliza cried. "We are having a real problem here."

"Do we?" he asked, reluctantly walking on stage. He noticed the cameras zooming in on him, and as always, he felt himself turning into the squinting brother of Norman Bates.

"Look, we've been putting up the handbag stall right here, but now Emmanuel insists on moving it into the corner over there."

"As I told you about ten times before, this is an emergency exit," Manoel said with a bored expression, pointing at a green sign over their heads. "We cannot block it."

"Then we move the handbag stall over to where the champagne station is and put the champagne station into the corner," Eliza suggested.

"Splendid. Splendid!" Tom clapped his hands. Manoel shook his head.

"That would double the waiters' walkways to the bar and the galley."

"And that would be very unfair towards our service crew, Eliza," Sidney translated, ignoring a quick flash of Charlotte in her black uniform walking through his mind.

"But is it fair towards me? To hide my handbags in that corner?"

"I trust most guests don't come to the ball because they want to buy a handbag," Sidney said.

"Sidney!" The cameras immediately zoomed in on her. "I expected you to be on my side! To support me!" She turned to the nearest camera, speaking directly to it now. "To me, supporting each other is vital in a relationship. Supporting each other, moving towards one common goal – those are the pillars on which a successful partnership stands." Oh Lord, she was in full reality TV mode. Some idiot from the production team was even signalling her to continue. "This lack of support is very disappointing. I will have to discuss it with Sidney because I need to be sure he is one hundred per cent on my side before we move on."

"Speaking about moving on," Manoel asked, "can we move the stall now? Because I really want my crew to have enough time to go on a break before the action starts."

"You're ruining the scene!" Eliza cried. The F&B manager shrugged his shoulders.

"Haha!" Tom said, clapping his hands. "Tensions rise, tensions explode, life goes on. We're all a bit excited about the ball, aren't we? I hope the service crew is complete, Manoel? No one calling in sick?"

"The team is complete," Manoel confirmed. In fact, Sidney knew that since their invoices were being paid on time now, the temp agency had stopped cancelling their people. "Though on major events such as this one," the F&B manager added, "I'm always missing the competence and support of Charlotte Heywood."

Tom looked as if he had difficulties remembering who Charlotte Heywood was. Eliza was slowly turning purple. Sidney found himself staring at the F&B Manager, his heart thumping in his chest. Charlotte. Always popping up when least expected.

"Is that your phone ringing?" Manoel asked Eliza, nodding at her handbag that gave a buzzing noise indeed. She grabbed for it, looking at Sidney. "We'll have to discuss what you said about supporting me," she declared before moving away to answer her call in private.

Sidney twitched his mouth. She would discuss it. He would end it. Tonight.