25 The Bridlington - Original Story By Stephanie Poppins

Hello and welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

A romantic bedtime podcast guaranteed to help you drift off into a calm and restful sleep.

Come with me as we travel into the heart of the Bridlington Hotel,

The most prestigious enterprise on the coast of East Riding.

Meet the characters as they go about their everyday lives,

Albeit amongst scandal and intrigue.

Not a day goes past at the Bridlington without something happening.

But before we begin,

Let's take a moment to focus on where we are now.

Take a deep breath in through your nose.

That's it.

Then let it out on a long sigh.

It is time to relax and fully let go.

There is nothing you need to be doing and nowhere you need to go.

This is your time.

Feel your shoulders melt away from your ears.

Feel the pressure seep away from your cheeks.

And let all the muscles in your face relax.

As you sink into the support beneath you,

Let the pressures of the day seep away.

The Bridlington A series set in an English hotel.

Written and performed by Stephanie Poppins.

James Brighton stood at his office window,

Watching the delivery truck pull away from the service entrance,

Another one that had arrived only half full.

He pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose,

Trying to massage away this constant companion.

But the more he worried,

The more it hurt.

His conversation with Petra Petrovsky was playing on a loop.

It had been ever since he'd gotten rid of her.

He could still see that defiant look on her face.

Indignation,

Maybe.

Aggression,

Certainly.

She had a smile that didn't reach her eyes,

And he wondered what on earth Joe could have seen in her.

You're making a mistake,

Mr Brighton,

She'd said in her accent,

Thinning slightly as her composure slipped.

My family has connections,

Longstanding relationships in this town.

At the time,

He'd thought that was an empty threat.

The posturing of someone,

Caught red-handed,

Skimming wages from those who were too frightened to complain.

He had all the evidence now.

Not only was it sitting in a cell,

In the form of Louis,

Mrs Delaware's grandson,

There was Joe's account.

Petra Petrovsky had been up to her neck in it,

And ordered the command of her father,

McCall.

And now this.

Revenge,

He suspected.

He turned back to his desk,

Where a stack of incident reports had accumulated.

Two weeks,

That was all it took for the hotel's operations to begin unravelling.

First,

It was the linen supplier,

A company the Bridlington had worked with for fifteen years,

Suddenly claiming credit issues and demanding payment up front.

Then,

The produce deliveries.

They started arriving short,

Boxes missing,

Invoices not matching goods received.

Chef had stormed into his office twice already this week,

His thick voice sharpening as he described salmon that never arrived,

Vegetables that came half-rotten,

And orders that were simply ignored.

I can't work like this,

James,

He spat.

As much as James loved having him back,

Fit and healthy,

He was scared.

Chef had been attacked once,

And they still didn't really know the culprits.

The last thing he needed was him challenging any of the delivery guys,

Those clearly in the employ of the Petrovskys.

Chef had thrust a wilted lettuce head at him,

Like evidence in a murder trial.

There's a wedding reception,

He moaned.

A hundred and fifty guests.

They send me this.

How am I supposed to work?

James had made calls,

So many calls.

But every supplier gave him the same runaround.

Delivery issues,

Staffing shortages,

Computer glitches,

Excuses that might have been plausible from one or two,

But nearly all of them.

This reeked of foul play.

There was nothing like a woman scorned,

He mused,

Especially one with connections.

He pulled out the file he'd been compiling,

Though he wasn't sure what he planned to do with it yet.

Inside were notes from lawyer Johnson's investigation into the Petrovsky family.

It made for grim reading.

These weren't like any other family in Bridlington.

They were the family,

Who had their fingers in everything,

From the racetrack on the outskirts of town,

To the waste management contracts,

Construction companies that seemed to win every major bid,

Freight operations that moved goods up and down the coast.

No,

Nothing moved in this town without the Petrovskys profiting from it.

Including Lady P,

It seemed.

And Petra was Petrovsky's favourite little girl.

James grabbed his espresso.

It had been a long morning.

A knock at the door interrupted him mid-flow.

Come in.

It was Johnson,

His face drawn.

We need to talk about Lady Perklington Smyre's account,

He said matter-of-factly.

James bid him sit down.

The man looked on edge.

Living in hiding at the Bridlington,

While he helped Emily with her case was clearly taking its toll.

What about the account?

He asked.

Then in came Emily,

Keen for the latest update.

Why's it so dark in here?

The overhead lights were switched off,

Leaving only the pale glow of the monitor that caught James's tired eyes.

With the help of the thin white lines that bled through the office's half-closed blinds,

She could just about make out the scattered papers all over James's desk.

The office hasn't changed much since Cunningham left,

She said thoughtlessly.

Well,

Maybe I like it that way,

James snapped back.

I'm not in the mood to be in the spotlight.

I've got a thumping headache.

It doesn't sound like you,

Said Emily.

Well,

Maybe being hotel manager isn't all it's cracked up to be,

He said.

Cunningham made a lucky escape,

If you ask me.

Emily did a double take.

Escape?

He stole a priceless painting.

Are you okay,

James?

You don't sound like it.

Not really.

And the worst of it all,

I think I'm going to have to go sucking up to that idiot.

He's got information,

Hasn't he?

If I'm not mistaken,

He knew what your mother was up to long before anyone else did.

That's why he was so keen to get out.

But he's not going to give you anything.

If I go to Inspector Dankworth and try and make a deal,

Information,

Maybe he'll get a reduced sentence.

He'll sing like a canary.

Especially if I suggest somehow Mallory Monks is put into the mix.

He'd do anything for her.

James,

I think you're onto something.

I'm kind of getting desperate.

I'll try anything at this stage.

The Petrovskys are making my life very difficult.

Then James sat back and let the lawyer speak.

He would be able to put everything into perspective.

I was reconciling some of the old statements Johnson began going back about two years.

I found some irregularities.

Large transfers after the hotel's operating account marked as consulting fees or management services.

But they go into a company called Stonebridge Holdings.

Never heard of it,

Said Emily.

Another one of my mum's shortcuts,

No doubt.

I think it's more than that.

Johnson slid a printout across the desk.

Stonebridge Holdings is a subsidiary of Petrovsky Enterprises.

James's eyes hurt.

How much are we talking about?

Over the past 18 months,

Nearly 200 pounds.

200,

000.

And I reckon Cunningham knew all about it.

That's fraud.

Yep.

Emily grabbed a pen and yanked a page out of the old Brillington diary sitting on James's desk.

This is great,

She exclaimed.

Neither James nor Johnson said anything.

Well,

Isn't it?

More evidence equals more strength in court.

You've got plenty already,

Said James.

Extortion,

The debt your mother has to the racetrack,

Unsubstantiated claims that your father was unfit-minded when he made the will,

Jeff's threat to her about receiving the blackmail.

The woman's drowning in liability already.

And this rock will put her to the bottom,

Emily declared.

James sighed.

He might not know much,

But he knew having such animosity towards your mother could not be a good thing.

Will you speak to your Uncle Tom about it?

Of course.

James looked at her closely through the dim light.

She was tired.

They all were.

The sooner this court case took place,

The better.

How long have we got now?

Two weeks,

She replied.

We've got to get all our ducks in a row before then.

Then you best get going,

Em.

Are you trying to get rid of me?

I just think you need a break,

That's all.

Pot calling kettle.

In the corner,

Lawyer Johnson wriggled in his chair.

This was getting awkward.

James,

Meanwhile,

Chose to ignore Emily and stare at the numbers as they blurred then came into focus again.

Of course she was right.

But he didn't have time to rest now.

The court case was looming and the pressure was on.

The biggest gangster in East Riding had placed his daughter in the hotel strategically and he,

James Brighton,

Was the one to do it.

Had only gone and given her the sack.

Why wouldn't the man want revenge?

According to Jo,

Money had been changing hands between her and Delaware.

So that old bag was in the mix too.

Everyone was after him.

It had been one thing after another.

Supporting Emily as Lady P tried to stop her inheriting.

Doing his best to protect the lawyer who was building up a case to undermine Lady P's reputation.

Trying to look out for Chef so he didn't fall foul of the thugs in Petrovsky's employ.

He was sure it was them that put Chef in hospital the first time.

Not to mention thinking about visiting Inspector Dankworth.

And all this whilst taking on the new role of hotel manager.

He checked the time.

At least his favourite was running in the 4.

30.

That was something.

With any luck,

It's good news would bring a needed respite from all this.

Gone were the days of clocking in and clocking out.

He was the manager now and that made him complicit.

He ran his hand across his face.

And when Emily left,

Johnson said,

You're doing a great job,

Lad.

It can't be easy stuck in the middle like this.

James felt unusually emotional.

But he had to hold it together for Emily's sake.

This morass of organised crime,

Gambling,

Debts and family politics made his former life look like child's play.

But he couldn't leave now.

There was Chef to think about.

There was always Chef to think about.

They know I'm not going to roll over,

He said.

That's why the deliveries are being sabotaged.

I'm not going to let them destroy this hotel and terrorise the staff just because I had the audacity to fire someone who was stealing from them.

James returned to the window.

The afternoon sun was breaking through the clouds,

Casting long shadows across the car park.

In the distance,

He could see the slate grey line of the North Sea,

Constant and unmoved by human drama.

His phone buzzed with a text from Chef.

Butcher in,

Cannot fulfil order,

Now what?

James closed his eyes.

The pressure was on.

But didn't he have Joe by his side?

He'd forgotten about Joe.

Joe knew people,

Didn't he?

And he always had a side hustle on the go.

Maybe he could help.

And feeling strangely optimistic,

James turned and went back to his desk.

He hadn't taken this job because it was easy or because it was safe.

He'd taken it because the Bridlington mattered.

To the town,

The staff,

The families who depended on its wages it provided.

After he was appointed,

He promised them competent management.

And that's what they'd get.

He'd be ethical to the core.

The game at the Bridlington Hotel might have changed.

But James Brighton was still very much in it.