Chapter Text
“That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been.
Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.”
(Not Austen but Dickens)
“Oh, I’m sorry....”
Charlotte paused as she pushed aside the velvet curtains. The small balcony was not quite as secluded as she had expected: a dark-haired man was leaning against the railing, holding onto the metal grating with his hands. He was gazing down on the Regency Excelsior Hotel’s grand ballroom and Madeline Maudsley’s birthday crowd, but when he heard Charlotte’s voice, he turned.
“Not necessary," he said, and with a friendly - if perhaps a little surprised - smile invited her to join him. He was young, about mid-twenties, of slim but muscular build, wearing a crisp, white, tight-fitting shirt and matching blue trousers. He was also the first person that evening who didn’t shriek at the sheer sight of Charlotte or kiss the air above her cheeks, pretending to be best friends even though they had never met before. “I can’t blame anyone for seeking escape,” he conceded, taking two steps away from the railing. He tilted his head and gave her a coy half-grin. “It's a rather tedious party, isn’t it?”
“Well, I would call it … umm, befuddling.”
“Really?” Pinching his eyebrows, he regarded Charlotte, clearly curious. She registered what a pleasant face he had: a high forehead, well-chiselled cheekbones, a strong, stubbled jawline, a remarkably regular nose. And two very expressive brown eyes.
She gave in with a smile. “No. Not befuddling at all. But I’m afraid that if I admit how boring it all is, you’ll next tell me you are Madeline’s boyfriend who organised this event as her birthday treat. In the worst case, you’ll add that you sneaked up here to publicly declare your love in front of Madeline’s what… two hundred? – best friends, and that you are going to ask her to marry you. – I didn’t want to make a complete fool of myself.”
“No. You’re not making a fool of yourself.” The look he gave her was surprisingly warm, hitting some strange hidden spot inside of her. “And I’m not Madeline’s fiancé. – I’m Sidney.”
“Charlotte,” she replied, slightly flustered by the quick introduction as well as by the fact that there was at least one party guest who was not a drunken idiot but a good looking guy with a handsome smile and a pleasant deep voice.
“Nice to meet you, Charlotte,” he said with that handsome smile and pleasant voice. “So… what brings you here amidst Madeline’s exclusive circle of friends?”
“Julia,” Charlotte explained, feeling her strange little heart suddenly beat quicker. The sound of his voice truly distracted her. It seemed to resonate deep within her and called something awake she had not even known existed. If such a reaction was a possible feat for a voice to achieve. A little belatedly, she added: “My flatmate Julia. Beaufort. Julia Beaufort. She’s an intern at the PR agency that manages Madeline’s social media accounts. They were afraid the party crowd for her birthday would not look big enough, so Julia’s boss encouraged her to bring some friends along. – That would be me. Though, strictly speaking, I am not a friend of Julia’s and certainly not of Madeline’s.”
“I see,” Sidney said, furrowing his brow as he eyed her with unguarded curiosity. Charlotte realised that so far, she was contributing most to the conversation and that what she said might not make any sense to an outsider.
“I’m so sorry.” She felt her cheeks burn, and for a moment, considered leaping off the balcony in a dramatic stunt. Alas, a broken arm – or neck – would only create new problems. “People keep telling me that I talk too much – I just choose never to listen to them.”
“I suppose the more people tell you what they expect you to do, the less inclined you are to actually do it,” he suggested. Charlotte sighed with relief.
“That certainly rings true for me. Though my parents have a shorter description: head-strong and opinionated.”
“Sounds familiar.” He smirked. Charlotte could not help but think that she liked to see him laugh and chuckle, and that she was ready to continue the conversation just to see more of that twinkle in his eyes and that cheeky grin on his face.
“And … err, what brings you here? If it’s neither your friend Madeline nor a romantic stunt?” she asked.
“I’m afraid I know the birthday girl as little as you do,” he admitted. “My brother does, though, but then again, he seems to know the whole world.” He pointed down at a group of people next to the champagne counter who were busy toasting each other and draining their glasses in one go: a sleek redhead, a lanky curlyhead and a sturdy man with short hair. Charlotte wondered which of the men might be his brother: none of them exactly looked the part.
“There were rumours about Prince Harry attending,” Sidney explained. “But that was clearly a Royal ruse, spread to lure the young ladies in. Anyway, my brother is determined to make friends with as many celebrities as possible.”
“And you are not?”
“I’m determined to enjoy a good conversation if I find the chance to have one.”
“So you’re escaping your brother up here rather than the hostess?”
“You’re a sharp one.” Another smile: content and with a happy twinkle in his eyes, as if he had expected no different from her.
“Now that wasn’t difficult,” Charlotte said, blushing a little again – but whether that was because of his praise or because he eyed the neckline of her black cocktail dress as if he was hoping to find some good conversation in there was left open to speculation.
“Do you enjoy observing people?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never thought about it, actually.” In fact, Charlotte was more into observing nature than observing people, but that was nothing she wanted to rub his nose in. If they continued the conversation, he would find out about her nerdiness soon enough.
“Let’s give it a try.” He turned around to her so that she had him in full view: handsome face, tailored white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, displaying muscular forearms and an expensive-looking watch on his left wrist. “What do you observe about me on our short acquaintance?”
“Very short acquaintance,” Charlotte laughed. “I’m certainly not going to embarrass myself with guesses and assumptions.”
“Good answer.” Was this Sidney actually flirting with her? Whatever it was, it made her feel strangely light and as if she was not quite herself, as if she was watching another version of Charlotte having this odd conversation with a – well, one had to be honest – very attractive man.
A man who was definitely keen on keeping the conversation going. “Then tell me, Charlotte. What would you be doing on a Saturday night if you were not celebrating the birthday of this year’s winner of Britain’s New Face show at an upmarket London hotel?”
Time in paradise was up, Charlotte realised. Here was the moment to come out as a nerd. She sighed, and before formulating an answer, listened to the music in the ballroom for a few seconds: the DJ had started a Happy-Birthday-medley for Madeline, with the crowd clapping and singing along. Nothing could be more different from what Charlotte would typically do on a Saturday night. “I’d be sitting very quietly in my dingy flatshare room,” she admitted. “Reading a book, sipping a herbal infusion and having an early night. - It’s boring. But that’s me.”
“I think you’re anything but boring.” Sidney kept looking calmly and serenely at her. “But why are you going out to parties if you don’t enjoy them?”
“I only moved in with Julia a few weeks ago, and the plan was to join my flatmates for some nights out, so they don’t immediately take me for a total nerd,” Charlotte explained, trying to ignore the strange prickling she felt whenever she met Sidney’s gaze. “I had the idea to claim after a while that my very important studies and exams prevented me from further partying. What I didn’t realise was that Julia is an intern at a PR agency and that I would frequently end up at events where I don’t belong.”
“Such as?” The music and noise of the revellers in the ballroom faded away as Sidney continued to gaze at her with his deep dark eyes.
“Well,” Charlotte said, trying to ignore those eyes and their effect on her heartbeat, “last week, we went to the launch party of a new cooking show. I was so excited, and I didn’t eat all day because I expected food miracles in the evening.”
“But…?” He raised his eyebrows in expectation. Ridiculously perfect eyebrows, Charlotte thought, subtly accentuating those expressive eyes. – Charlotte Heywood! she called to herself. Get a grip!
“But?” Sidney repeated, his gaze deepening. Charlotte shrugged off any inappropriate thoughts and concentrated on the task at hand: answering his question.
“Yeah… you may have heard of it. The show is called Fruits & Friends, hosted by this German celebrity chef with the horrible accent and a doctor’s degree… Adrian Fuchs.”
Sidney laughed, and again Charlotte felt something resonate deep within her as if she had been waiting for this sound of laughter for a long time, as if it was meant to compliment her own amusement. “A chef who’s a doctor – that’s about as German as it can get, right?” he asked. “So, were you fed tofu sausages on sauerkraut?”
“If only! No. It was carrot sticks with sesame dip.”
“Oh dear.” Sidney giggled like a schoolgirl, then turned serious again. “I’m so sorry. – My sister is a great fan of Dr Fuchs, by the way. I’ll rise sky high in her esteem when she learns that I have talked to one of his actual friends.”
“I don’t want to disappoint, but that friendship is even more elusive than the one with Madeline Maudsley.”
“My sister will be delighted either way. Any more fascinating stories from the celebrities’ world?”
“Sorry to disappoint again, no,” Charlotte said. She better left out the launch of the scandalous memoirs of Bee Harries, a former escort girl spilling the beans about her high and mighty clientele. From Charlotte’s point of view, the most embarrassing part of the event was not all the text passages that had to be bleeped out during the presentation, but the square chocolate giveaway boxes labelled PinkyPop. She had hoarded them in her handbag, realising only at home and upon closer inspection that they were no chocolate treats at all but pink condoms featuring funny faces. If one cared for funny faces on a condom. She blushed, touching her handbag, realising that in all probability, there were still some forgotten PinkyPops inside.
“Everything alright?” Sidney asked, leaning forward.
“Oh… yes.” Charlotte fanned herself with her hand. “It’s just… rather hot in here. I can hardly breathe.”
“I could do with a bit of fresh air myself. – The hotel has a terrace and a tiny garden, did you know?”
“No.”
“So… umm, would you allow me to show you?”
“Oh, err…” Taken by surprise, Charlotte hesitated for a moment. But what could go wrong in a public garden? “Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Well then. – After you.” Holding the drapes for her, Sidney motioned her past him. Charlotte caught the whiff of his scent and, for some annoying reason, had to close her eyes for a moment.
They took the stairs down back to the function area, but instead of returning to the hustle and the music of the ballroom, Sidney led her through the lobby towards the restaurant terrace. The evening being a balmy summer one, most of the outside tables were occupied by guests enjoying a relaxed meal and a glass of wine in the flickering light of the lanterns. Charlotte could not help but sigh: This was so much more her idea of a night out… good food and good conversation in a small circle of friends, no pretence, no reason to show-off, just fun and laughter. And some flirting, perhaps. She stole a glance at her companion. Sidney seemed to know exactly where he was headed: into the garden and down to the fountain that was half-hidden behind a boxwood hedge.
“Feeling better?” he asked as she dipped her fingers into the cooling water, allowing the spray from the fountain to wet her face.
“Absolutely.” And she really was: the soothing ripple of the water, the music coming in soft waves from the ballroom, the evening air which still preserved a hint of the day’s sunshine, the lights illuminating the little garden, and of course her company, that handsome and nice man who was so easy to talk to and so lovely to laugh with.
Just be careful: That’s what her father had said on the day she left for London. So far, she had not done anything to worry her dear daddy, yet following a stranger into a semi-dark garden seemed to fall directly into that line. On the other hand, Mr Heywood considered a visit to the local farmers market a major excursion and had never set foot in London himself; therefore, while Charlotte valued his fatherly concern, he was certainly not best qualified to judge on her new acquaintance.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Sidney said, and seeing his smile and his tilted head, she could tell it was more than a courtesy question.
“I was just… reminiscing a bit about home.”
“Where would that be?”
“Willingden. Small place in the remote corner of Dorset. Basically where all roads end, no bus stops, and mobile reception is absolutely crappy.”
He chuckled. “Sounds… desperate. How did you escape?”
“Oh, I stole a horse and the local lord’s treasure chest and rode off to London.”
“And what happened next?”
“The horse cast a shoe, and the blacksmith reported me to the local authorities.”
“Ah. That reminds me of the time when I was ten and pinched my father’s rowing boat hoping to sail to America.”
“What went wrong?”
“There was a hole in the boat. It sank long before I ever met Lady Liberty.”
Charlotte laughed, trying to imagine a boyish version of Sidney, maniacally rowing against a sinking boat. “I’m sorry. It must have been a humiliating experience.”
“It was.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, the experience also earned me a reputation of being reckless and unreliable.” His changed tone made Charlotte look up to him.
“But you were only ten.”
“Yes. But some memories stick to you even fifteen years later. – However. Exciting as your horse story is, how did you really escape to our vibrant capital?”
With a shrug of her shoulders, Charlotte accepted that her time as a bold and confident heroine was coming to an end. “I impressed my teachers and won the Worcester scholarship for the University College’s undergraduate programme for Earth Sciences.” His flabbergasted expression was well worth the outing, she realised.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. I told you I’m sort of a nerd.”
“Never. Don’t doubt yourself. You are impressive. Definitely more impressive than me. I only have a very vague idea of what Earth Sciences might even mean.”
“You’re not alone with that,” Charlotte assured him. She was very much used to explaining what she was actually studying – and why it was important. “It’s basically about all the biological, chemical and physical processes that make our planet work. In other words, why do volcanoes erupt, earth plates move, and riverbeds change. But that’s just the surface. In depth, it’s about diversity, ecosystems and the origins of life. That’s what I’m going to specialise in. Palaeontology.”
“Palaeontology?”
“Everyone needs a dream in their life, right? Mine is to dig up a dinosaur in my parents’ backyard.” And seeing Sidney’s eyes close to popping out of their sockets, Charlotte added: “Well, that was my dream when I was ten and given a book about Mary Anning by my science teacher.”
“And Mary Anning would be… err, the pope of palaeontology?”
“Well, obviously, she’s not the pope, neither of palaeontology nor of any other religion. Have you really never heard of her?”
“Sorry. I’m more of a legal man.” Well, he was definitely illegally attractive, especially when he was squinting at her with an expression that was both bashful and mocking at the same time.
“Mary Anning lived two hundred years ago in Lyme Regis, coming from a rather poor background.” Charlotte loved this tale. “Initially, she collected fossils along Lyme’s cliffs to sell them and support her family, but over the years, she became a real expert in her field, laying the foundations for today’s palaeontologists’ work. – And all that without formal education and at a time when women were hardly granted more rights than children. It’s a fascinating story.” Sidney was eyeing her thoughtfully.
“And that’s what inspired your ten-year-old self to become a model student and win a scholarship?”
“I doubt my ten-year-old self was aware of the sociological aspects of Mary Anning’s story,” she admitted. “But it did make me consider my environment with different eyes. I started to look out for things that were special, for the small wonders of nature which prove how fortunate we are to have been granted this marvellous planet. Nature is such a skilled magician, and through bones and fossils, she allows us a glimpse at her much, much younger self. – I’m sorry, I know I’m inclined to talk too much and especially too much about topics no one else is interested in.”
Sidney shook his head. “Don’t apologise. I’ll concede that I never cared much about palaeontology until this evening, but you are doing a pretty good job at reforming me.”
Blushing and feeling there was something very intimate in the way he was looking at her now, Charlotte decided to deflect the attention back to him. “And what is it you care about?”
“Oh. The regular stuff. Family and friends. Sports. Work.”
“What is work?” she asked, skipping the very personal topic of family and friends. Sports was nothing she could contribute much to, even with the upcoming Football World Cup in South Africa, but discussing work was usually safe. He had said he was a legal man, yet he didn’t strike her as the regular counsel doing anything for money. In fact, he did look a bit less sure of himself – if not embarrassed – now.
“I’m … umm.” Unconsciously, he played with the watch on his wrist. “Well, I’m expected to join my family’s company in some legal function.”
“What’s your family’s company?” Speaking in conundrums only piqued Charlotte’s curiosity.
“Property development. Buy a plot of land and plan what to do with it. Build a residential estate, a shopping centre, a hotel…”
“But you’re not sure yet that’s what you want to get involved in?”
His face turned into a scowl. “I am sure my father had a certain outcome in mind when he paid my tuition fees, so I don’t have much choice.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She really was. To her, the scholarship was such a present, a walk to freedom, away from the restrictions of her village. A chance to live her very own professional dream and to become the person she wanted to be. It seemed ironic that someone from an obviously more affluent background was less free in his life choices than a farmer’s daughter with eight siblings from the remote corner of Dorset.
Sidney shrugged her concern away. “Never mind. I knew my father’s intentions, and I went along with them.”
There was something sad yet admirable in his sense of duty and apparent loyalty to his family, yet Charlotte found it difficult to voice that feeling. In fact, the whole conversation had moved in a totally unexpected direction. Sidney seemed to notice her reticence as well.
“There’s something on your mind,” he said, his head tilted as he regarded her. “Come on, share it with me.”
“I was just… umm, thinking… well, to be honest, I’m not in the habit of speaking about my dreams and goals to random strangers I meet at a party….”
“Hardly surprising, as long as your idea of a party is attending Dr Fuchs’ carrot sticks events,” Sidney smirked, his earlier scowl all gone. Charlotte could not help but return his grin.
“Yeah. I did try to talk to the carrot sticks, though, but they never answered back.”
He laughed, relieving some of the tension she had felt. Then he turned serious again, looking at her intently.
“I’m talking to you because I enjoy talking to you, Charlotte. If you think me a presumptuous old bore, give me a wink, and I’ll wish you a good night and be gone in two seconds.”
“You’re neither a bore nor presumptuous,” she clarified, feeling her cheeks redden.
“Good.” His eyes met hers, and her cheeks burnt even more. He seemed to look straight down to her soul and the most inner workings of her brain – which right at this moment did not produce any thoughts pure and simple enough to share, especially not with a virtual stranger. Was this attraction even possible after such a short acquaintance?
Apparently yes, for Sidney reached out his hand, raising it as if to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Charlotte’s ear, then withdrawing it in the very last moment, probably held back by the intimacy of the gesture.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, his bashful gaze not doing much to improve Charlotte’s situation.
“Nothing has happened.” Which was very regrettable. Even though he had not touched her, she could still feel his thumb on her temple, the soft rub of his fingertips on her skin.
“I’ll… umm, I… can I get you something to drink?” he suggested.
“Yes.” That seemed a good idea, yet it threw her into a new conundrum. She wasn’t in the habit of drinking much and could usually pass a whole evening sticking to the same glass of Chardonnay. On the other hand, did she really want him to think of her as a girl that was as exciting as a glass of white wine?
Incidentally, he helped her solve her problem. “I’ll have to stay away from the booze,” he said. “I’m Mr Apple Juice tonight.”
“Then I’ll be glad to join you as Mrs Apple Juice.”
Had she really said that? Charlotte held her breath, ready to jump into the fountain and drown in her embarrassment.
However, Sidney only smiled. “Apple juice it is then,” he said, quickly and reassuringly brushed her hand and with a funny formal bow vanished towards the restaurant terrace.
Charlotte breathed out, relieved and grateful for a few moments alone. For a chance to sneak away, should she wish to. No, she didn’t. Whatever this night would bring, she was going to go through with it: there was something so very unique and different about their encounter, something that made Sidney way more interesting than any other man she had ever met. She couldn’t name what it was, yet it was undeniably there, and with the same zeal with which she had combed the farm’s backyard for undetectable fossils ten years ago, she was now determined to find out what it was. That thing between her and Sidney.
Looking around, she detected a small wooden bench hidden between the boxwood. Charlotte sat down, and for a moment, she listened to the sounds of a summer night in the city: cars rushing down the Embankment, trains rattling along Hungerford Bridge on their way to and from Charing Cross station. The sounds of the hotel: laughter and scraps of conversation, cutlery clinking on the terrace tables, music from the ballroom, windows clapping as guests prepared for the night, the soft gush of a lantern that went out. I’m going to remember these sounds forever, she thought. Simply because they are part of tonight, and tonight is important.
Of course, at twenty, she was not wholly inexperienced when it came to men. She had been in two relationships, and they were good relationships. Or had been, for a while. Until they turned into not-so-good relationships. She thought of Alex, her first love and school sweetheart, long and lanky, with dark tousled hair. And an engaging smile that hid many of his worries. As always, Charlotte sighed deeply at the memory of him, realising that while she had moved on, both literally and relationship-wise, he was still stuck in Willingden, juggling his complicated family life.
Her second boyfriend, Frank, was eight years her senior. Unfortunately, he enjoyed being more experienced and mature a little too much for her taste. Charlotte believed in equality in all things and especially in a relationship, and being ordered around with military precision turned out to be quite the opposite. So that was it for handsome Frank and his stern looks.
And now: Sidney. Whom she had not known one hour ago and who so far was only a first name. And yet. She remembered her sister Alison asking their mother in one of their few private, undisturbed moments together how to know who was the right man. “You’ll simply know, Ali,” Mrs Heywood had said with a meaningful smile. “Once you’ve met him.”
Back then, Charlotte had put down her mother’s words as romantic babbling. But now, she could not help but think there was truth in them: she simply knew. Because she was meeting him right now.
She looked up and found herself not alone any longer: a giant herring gull had crossed over from the Thames (or somewhere else) and landed in the fountain, swimming in the shallow water as if it was a private pool. Noticing Charlotte’s glance, it left the basin and paraded up and down the stone ledge, tilting its head and eyeing her expectantly.
“Sorry, my friend.” Charlotte gave the bird a rueful smile. “I don’t have anything to feed you.”
The gull squawked in protest, spreading its impressive wings and showing off its bare white chest. She could not help but wonder whether the poor animal was perhaps ill – it did look a bit ruffled around the head plumage – or whether it was following some hidden agenda. But who would have ever heard of a gull following its own hidden agenda? For all she knew, they were ever-hungry birds always ready to snatch a sandwich from an unsuspecting passerby.
Shaking her head – obviously, she was the one going soft this night, not the bird – she returned her attention to the restaurant terrace, searching for Sidney to return. And there he was, walking down the stairs, carrying two champagne flutes holding apple juice.
“I’m sorry,” he said, handing her one of the flutes as he sat down next to her on the bench. “That took forever. I had to dodge my brother.”
From the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw the gull taking off. “Would he have stopped you from returning?”
“Oh, he would have dragged me into one of his conversations and made sure I helped him sell an apartment to an unsuspecting party guest.”
“Who would go to Madeline Maudsley’s birthday expecting to buy an apartment?”
“See? That’s the challenge with my brother. He never knows when to stop. – Anyway. Enough of that.” Sidney raised his glass. “Here’s to you, Charlotte, and to chance encounters.”
“To chance encounters.” Charlotte definitely felt champagne sparkle in her veins – even if it was only apple juice.
They kept gazing at each other, a little shy now. How to proceed? How to address what was undeniably there? How to - - - She stopped, realising that Sidney had found an easy and effective solution: simply by placing his right hand next to her left on the bench, making their little fingers nearly touch. It was a strange sight, even in the semi-darkness of the hotel garden: his large, strong and obviously well-manicured hand next to her own: petite, rough at some places from all the manual work she was doing, the nails cropped inelegantly short.
Nevertheless, Sidney seemed to like what he saw, his little finger shyly making friends with hers. After a while of silent exploring, he lifted her hand, using his finger as a hook. For a moment, she wondered whether he was going to pretend to read her future. Or comment on the calluses that came along with digging up fossils.
But what he actually did was something completely different.
“I long to explore a distant country,” he softly said, gently caressing the back of her hand, locking his eyes with hers. “Hike its mountains.” His thumb dipped into the valley of her palm. It stayed there, gently touching, just until his index finger joined in, circling her whole hand. “Discover its coasts.” A boyish little smile appeared on his lips as he tilted his head, wordlessly asking for permission to continue. Charlotte nodded, breathless, scarcely able to feel her own heartbeat. “Climb its rough cliffs.” The tip of his index finger traced her lifeline, making her gasp. His voice was a mere whisper now. “And find a hold on its high ledges,” he breathed, pressing his palm against hers, and, after a moment, interlacing their fingers firmly.
Time stood still. Charlotte closed her eyes, swallowing, feeling as if all the nerves of her body had convened in the small space of her hand, reacting to Sidney’s sensual exploration of her skin. She knew– more by instinct than by any reliable workings of her brain – that she was still here, in London, in the hidden garden of the Regency Excelsior Hotel, but she also knew with absolute security – and again more by instinct – that Sidney’s fingers were about to open the most exciting chapter of her life.