Chapter Text
Charlotte Heywood awoke, hung over and a little unsure of where she was. Last night’s room service tray still had the uneaten dinners for two, but the champagne was all gone. James was a good time but only after 6pm. Looks like he was already up and at the gym. Morning with James invariably combined regret and renewals of resolutions long broken.
Fortunately, she woke early enough to head home to dress before her first appointment: an aging gastropub on the fringe of suburbia recently purchased by an ex-model friend. She had been in the model’s circle of friends a few years back, and now that his modeling career was on the decline, he was grabbing random business ventures to secure some kind of relevance, and Charlotte was asked to consult on how to make the bar a success.
Bars weren’t normally her thing, but hotels weren’t going through a renaissance of reinvention in this part of the economic cycle. So she had to take what she could, and branch out as a consultant for all types of businesses.
She arrived early by a half hour, grabbed an espresso at a kiosk nearby, and logged in to check social. And of course, the first post to show up in her feed was a picture of James, posing next to some Instagram model outside a coffee shop. That must have been about an hour before he called Charlotte last night, asking for a late night trip out to chase down a DJ she’d never heard of.
This was getting old. She didn’t have very high expectations for the men she’d socialize with, and as such, she wound up with some pretty low performers. Sure, they were all good-looking professional types, and probably highly sought-after commodities to a certain type of woman in society, but they were all the same. They looked at her as a piece to be collected, which was ok. She had no desire to be in a relationship - too much work, not enough reward.
After waiting for a good half hour, she again checked her phone, and found an email - not even a text - from the bar owner.
Ooops sorry! Can’t make it. Photo shoot running long. Please don’t hate!
This too, was getting old. She hated working with models. Even back when she was still in the fashion world, models were an unending source of frustration. Always late and/or high, flakey as hell and a never good for a paycheck. If they hired her, they’d always try to get her to work for free “for the exposure.” Actors were just as bad. Or was it just the actor she married?
That was the beginning of the end in her mind. Her drama-filled six-week marriage to Evan Shay - yes THAT Evan Shay, the one you or your younger sister had a crush on during the boy band years - that was the subject of all the tabloids. “It-Girl and Bad Boy Tie the Knot!” “Shaywood Hot Love Affair!” “Shaywood On the Rocks!” “Charlotte Catches Evan with Model BFF!” Suffice to say, that was another reason she hated models.
She wasn’t sure how she became labeled an It-Girl. Through sheer will and an unbelievable work ethic, she got into fashion school at the age of 17 and somehow found herself photographed more than her designs. After a coincidence of being at the same party as Prince Harry, and being snapped in a candid with him as if they were close, everything went in a weird direction, and her fledgling design career was usurped by parties, red carpets, and a whirlwind romance with Evan.
After the annulment, she couldn’t take any more of the London press, and took off for New York, and then the Caribbean, where she hid out with her best friend from school, Georgiana, who had just taken over her family’s hotel. Between the two of them, they had renovated the entire place, and managed to make it the must-visit hot spot for the ultimate selfie-seekers.
It was the Pyretic Reign Festival that cemented the hotel's reputation, not because the festival was a success, but because the A-listers and one-percenters stayed at the hotel, and for five straight days posted nothing but gorgeous selfies at the hotel's many jaw-dropping vistas. When a paparazzi shot of a pop star and her bevy of girlfriends at the hotel went viral, the place was booked for three years solid. A few months ago, Charlotte bailed out of the venture and returned to London, hopefully to an amnestic public who had forgotten the missteps of It-Girls of yore.
She put her phone down, and frowned. Now that her morning was free of obligation, she opened her notebook and started scrolling through the rest of the emails - mostly reminders of upcoming PR events that she had no intention of attending, invites to openings, friends of friends who wanted her to please please please like someone’s post on Facebook...
Oh, hold on, what was this? An email of a different tenor.
Dear Miss Heywood, I’m writing to inquire if you would consider a project outside of London? My family and I run a resort here in the coastal town of Sanditon and are looking to completely make over the hotel to appeal to a younger hipper in-crowd, and would love a consultation with you! For more information, please see our website and Facebook page! Would you be willing to come for a visit and meet with us? I’d like to follow up before end of week, if you don’t mind! Perhaps we can schedule something for you to spend the weekend with us to get a better sense of our resort’s personality! Cheers! Tom Parker
This email was adorable. Were there any periods at all, or just exclamation points? “Hipper”? “In-crowd”? These were things her parents would say, if they were alive that is. Perhaps it could be a nice respite from the indecisive, flippant and unfocused clientele she normally associated with, who frustrated the hell out of her for pretending to listen and then completely ignoring all her recommendations and advice.
So this was how Charlotte wound up dragging her friends Clara and Esther to the shore the following weekend. They took her Cayenne, and made it in extraordinary time (the success criteria of any business trip).
“There had better be an excellent wine cave,” Clara said, as they approached the hotel. “I haven’t been this far away from civilization in years.”
“Save me your drama, Clara, you’re getting to spend time at the spa at the sea.”
“Well, I’m headed to the pool, to get some sun and check out the scenery,” Esther said.
“Scenery being a euphemism, right?”
“Naturally.”
“Oh, that must be Tom Parker there.”
A tall sandy blond man looking very enthusiastic greeted the women, opened their doors and effused, “Welcome ladies, welcome to Sanditon! I am Tom Parker, your host for this weekend. Hope your trip from London was smooth. Leave your car with the valet, and your bags with the bell hop. Your rooms await! We’ll take care of it, don’t worry!”
Whoa, he’s coming in hot, Charlotte thought to herself.
“Hi, I’m Charlotte. Thank you for the invitation. Allow me to introduce my friends, Clara Brereton and Esther Denham.”
“Excellent! Excellent! Allow me to take you on a tour of the resort.” At this point, Clara and Esther quickly blurted out nonsensical excuses and ditched Charlotte like a bar tab.
“Yeah, no worries, you’re welcome,” she called after them. She let out a small sigh.
“First off, let me introduce you to the wonderful staff here.” He led her into the offices off the side of the lobby. “This is the one and only Mary, our chief of staff and also my wife.”
Charlotte beamed in reaction to Mary's warm smile, and reached out to shake her hand. "How nice to meet you!"
“And this is Sidney, CFO and my brother.” Hello, snack.
“When we head down to the cafe, I’ll introduce you to Arthur, my other brother.”
“Wow, a real family business. You guys are like the Jonases. Do you sing too?”
They blinked at her. “What do you mean?" Sidney asked.
“Oh, just a poorly thought out joke. Sorry.” This was not going well. “So uh… what’s the big event this weekend?”
Tom gave her a pleased look and responded with his eyebrows raised. “We have the annual Sanditon flower show tomorrow and Sunday.”
“Oh…” Mild panic was settling in. This was going to be a lot harder than she thought.
Mary laughed. “You needn’t be polite, Charlotte, this is why we need you, my dear. This town is far too geriatric to bring in much business for a spa.”
Charlotte laughed nervously. “Right. Ok, well, the good news is there are a lot of improvement opportunities!” She tried to make fun of the cliche, but again, the Parkers looked at her expressionless.
“So… Tom, shall we continue? Nice to meet you, Mary, S...Sidney.”
“Nice meeting you too,” they replied.
After Charlotte and Tom left, Mary turned to Sidney and asked “What do you think?”
“I don’t know," he shrugged. "I mean, she nearly got my name wrong.”
“Well, I doubt that was intentional. I don’t know much about these consultants, but they say she turns everything around.”
Sidney had no reason to doubt. And he had no reason to believe either.