1 The Bridlington - Stephanie Poppins

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Hudson Magic The Bridlington Written and performed by English author S.

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Hudson Episode 1 New Beginnings Lady Perklington Smythe scanned the reception desk of the Bridlington,

Decidedly unimpressed with the whole affair.

Emily was still as keen as ever in her new role.

But as far as Lady Smythe was concerned,

Daughters were intended as good wives,

Who wore their hair long,

Understood how to keep house,

And did as they were bid.

They were not intended as low-paid employees of jobs which they had no need for,

Humouring old people who had nothing better to do than turn up at the same time every day just to snatch a look at the national papers and drain the tierne.

But it's fun,

Emily insisted,

And it keeps me busy.

Heaven knows it's only so long I can sit around waiting for Mr.

Right.

Allowing her this one triumph was the biggest mistake Lady Perklington Smythe considered she'd ever made.

In a drunken moment one night,

She'd been stupid enough to say yes to her daughter's pleas,

Just to get some peace,

And now she was paying dearly for it.

Emily was about as far removed from her as it was possible for a person to be.

She was smaller than her mother would have liked,

And had white blonde hair which sat in messy curls around an unnecessarily innocent face.

Her style was unmistakably bohemian,

And she insisted on sunning herself wherever possible,

Which gave off less English Rose and more skateboarding surfer.

Lady Smythe's daughter had a work ethic inherited from her late father,

And her mischievousness was much the same,

Although according to Emily,

That was born from years of suffocation.

To Lady Perklington Smythe's disgust,

Emily was happiest amongst the hustle and bustle,

Madness and mayhem associated with a hotel lobby.

And this being the Bridlington,

It was off the charts,

Because the Bridlington was the most prestigious hotel around.

Its façade was high Victorian,

With row upon row of arches sculpted from rich red brick.

These hugged tall sash windows and contrasting columns of green marble,

Sliced with thick stripes of cream render,

Which offered a visual reminder of just how wide the hotel really was.

Its entrance was approached by a broad flight of stone steps,

Gracefully moulded to ensure no hard edges,

And revolving doors were set either side,

Trimmed in highly polished brass.

This was an elegant feminine façade,

But no less functional for it.

The Bridlington was a well-oiled machine,

A show pony amongst the many seafront donkeys,

And the coast of East Riding was proud to lay claim to it.

Its reviews were legendary,

And its reputation unblemished,

And that is how it would remain if Lady Perklington Smythe had her way.

The shareholders must be kept sweet,

And she had appearances to keep up.

Not that she made an appearance often.

No,

She had much better things to do.

Let Cunningham deal with the riffraff,

That was what he was paid for.

If only Emily would see things her way,

But she was far too much like her father.

Never mind,

There was only so long she could keep up this self-imposed poverty.

Let her have her little games.

She'd be back soon enough with her tail between her legs,

Begging for her credit cards and store account.

There was no way she'd be able to deal with what her mother had planned for her,

And with any luck,

Everything would go so well,

Emily would be put off the front desk for good.

Call for you,

Mum?

Lady Smythe accepted the mobile phone handed to her,

And smiled smugly.

Gloria,

She answered,

In a voice born from a predilection for Nicaraguan cigarillos.

How lovely to hear from you.

All's good in the Algarve,

I trust?

Gloria was one of her many society friends who lived for the day,

And cast aside all notions of responsibility.

Yes,

I'll be glad to see you,

Dear.

Lady's day's not a million miles away,

And Sweetie Pie's on top form at the moment.

A day out in Doncaster's just what we need.

Lady Perklington Smythe glared at her personal assistant as she walked away,

The length of her skirt her latest pet peeve.

Then,

Rolling her eyes at the imposition,

She turned her back on the fresh influx of holidaymakers,

And escaped via her private exit to continue her conversation elsewhere.

She had shown her face at the Bridlington.

That was more than enough for one day.

Meanwhile,

Over in reception,

Things were running at full capacity.

Passports ready for check-in,

Please?

Emily announced,

One at a time.

The ruck-sacked crowd huddled together in a largely dishevelled bunch on the marbled floor,

With little intention to queue,

Let alone wait their turn.

They were here for a walking holiday,

Although Emily doubted they'd walk any further than the kitchen and back in a good many years.

Mr and Mrs Burrows,

She read.

You're in room 137,

First floor.

Joe will take your bags up,

And you'll find lifts over to the left of the hotel shop.

She handed them their keys,

Before confiding in her colleague,

James Brighton.

Mrs Taylor wears dog.

Look what he's doing.

James looked,

But he did his best not to make it obvious.

After all,

People were watching.

People were always watching.

Why the devil can't the old bear keep it under control?

He hissed.

We're here to make reception not pretty,

Not mop-up puddles left by ageing dogs.

Emily smirked.

Then she would turn to the task in hand,

Whilst James went over to the orangery to see what was what.

He sauntered casually as only James Brighton could,

Well aware all eyes were upon him.

He was a tall,

Slender man,

With striking blue eyes and a charming smile,

Who liked it best when people stared.

In fact,

It was his very raison d'être.

Having spent the best part of his twenties ballroom dancing on cruise ships in the Med,

And posing with anyone rich enough to tip him,

James loved the spotlight,

And was dubbed Bridlington's walking,

Talking demigod.

To those on the outside,

It appeared he was made for better things.

But secretly James was doing his best to remain on the straight and narrow.

And as he saw it,

As long as he was working reception,

He was away from the roulette wheel.

So why not?

Mrs Delaware,

He called in theatrical tones,

Mrs Delaware,

Chuckie's on the loose again.

Constance Delaware looked up from the comfort of her special chair.

As the Bridlington's only permanent resident,

And a significant shareholder,

She was given a lot of leeway,

But her toy poodle was quickly becoming a bone of contention.

Chuckie,

She called,

Chuckie dear,

Come to mummy.

The little dog stopped what it was doing,

Turned obediently,

And waddled over,

Its bulbous belly swinging from side to side.

Breakfast time in the orangery meant grilled bacon.

There was no time to lose.

As the crisp morning sun beamed through the vast glass dome,

James scanned the tables.

A team of noisy hockey players had just arrived and collected near the service area.

They were a brightly coloured bunch,

Eager to feed themselves before training.

Waiters dashed from table to table,

Collecting and delivering,

Ushering and pleasing,

Whilst cleaners swept and picked,

Dusted and wiped.

James looked closely.

There was Jack,

The fresh-faced London lad.

He was certainly game.

But Hassan,

Hassan had something different about him.

He hailed from further climbs,

And was every bit the handsome distraction James had been waiting for.

He shot him a knowing smile.

It was reciprocated.

Sitting close by,

Constance Delaware did little to disguise the fact she was studying them over the rim of her fine china teacup.

No,

Raise voices James,

There's dear,

She said as he caught her eye.

She dabbed the corners of her mouth with a monogrammed napkin,

And with an unreserved twitch,

She realigned her cutlery before tapping her breakfast plate two times,

First with the middle finger of her right hand,

Then with the middle finger of her left.

Sincere apologies Mrs Delaware,

Soothed James.

I wasn't sure you'd hear me over all those foreigners.

Constance Delaware let out an unreserved chuckle.

James knew how to make her chuckle.

He always knew how to make her chuckle.

She reached down,

Scooped up Chucky and placed him on her lap.

My baby,

She beamed.

Ridiculous,

James said to himself.

He despised this farce.

As easy as it was to work this cantankerous old bag,

He'd wish she'd just give up the ghost and move to the retirement village where she belonged.

As far as he was concerned,

One busybody at the Bridlington was one busybody too many.

What are we going to do with you,

Eh?

He said to Chucky,

Plucking a fine slither of bacon from the breakfast trolley.

This pleased Mrs Delaware no end.

You're always so sweet to him,

James,

She said.

Not like that girl at reception.

And Chucky's such a good boy,

Aren't you baby?

Then she leaned back strategically and looked the desk clerk right in the eye.

Now let's not beat about the bush,

Young man.

Which one do you choose?

The brazen blonde or the tall,

Dark and handsome?

James's stomach tightened.

Neither,

He retorted,

A little too quickly.

I'm working and I've got better things to do with my time.

Here today,

Gone tomorrow and all that.

He swiped at the crumbs on her fine white tablecloth and resolved there and then to make Constance Delaware's time at the Bridlington as uncomfortable as possible.

James Brighton hated people knowing his business.

Least of all gossiping old ladies.

She had to go.

The morning pushed on and trolleys rolled past as suitcases were stacked and lifts were called.

It was now summer season and time to ramp things up a bit.

Take that to the 13th and come back for these,

The bellboy called to his new recruit.

But don't take the lift.

Only the stairs go to floor 13.

Emily nudged James from the safety of the front desk and they straightened their expressions accordingly.

Joseph Skinner was at it again.

You're evil,

Emily mouthed and the bellboy made a mock salute as if to say,

That's me.

Joe was a lively man of 22.

He had thick curly hair and a mischievous smile with loose limbs and a frame perfect for ducking and diving.

There was no eye more eager than Skinner's,

It was said,

And no one keener to have a laugh,

Except when he was wheeling and dealing.

Joe didn't like to joke about that.

Any opportunity that came along to make a little on the side,

He would welcome with open arms.

In fact,

There were very few pies Joe Skinner didn't have his fingers in.

I thought everyone knew hotels don't have a 13th floor,

Said James.

Well,

He's not the sharpest tool,

Is he?

Joe retorted.

And it's initiation,

Innit?

We've all got to go through it.

I didn't,

Said Emily.

Well,

You're a special case,

Milady.

Joe doffed his imaginary cap,

But Emily was having none of it.

Maybe I don't want to be a special case,

She protested.

Then Joe pointed to the side of his head and twisted his forefinger back and forth.

No,

I mean a special case.

Very funny,

Emily smirked.

She'd liked Joe the minute she'd met him because of his rawness.

That honesty considered charming by some and ridiculous by others,

Depending on which side of the tracks they hailed from.

And he'd been kind to her and treated her like everybody else,

Which meant she could just get lost in it all and not obsessed about who knew her secret and who didn't.

Little did she know,

Both James and Joe had been given strict instructions by Lady Perklington Smythe to keep their mouths shut no matter what.

They were not to tell anyone who Emily was,

So when she jokingly mentioned the triangle of truth,

They'd been only too happy to oblige her.

They would keep her secret,

Especially as she proved she'd pull any strings to help them when things got hairy and things at the Bridlington always got hairy.

You've got your work cut out for you with that one,

Said James to Joe as the new boy struggled with the doors to the stairwell.

Well,

Beggars can't be choosers,

Joe agreed.

There's always a shortage of staff in the summer,

And believe it or not,

He's the best of a bad lot.

Where's he from,

Anyway?

He's not from around here,

Is he?

God knows,

Said Joe.

He's cheap,

That's all I need to know.

Well,

Watch your back,

James replied.

Cheap labour comes at a cost,

And you don't want it to be yours.

Yes,

Dad,

Joe mocked.

There wasn't much difference in their ages,

But James insisted on looking out for him.

It was kind of an unspoken agreement.

Everyone knew how rough a life Joe had had before he joined the Bridlington,

And Southmore Hill,

Where he lived,

Was a dump.

James had met his family once.

They were far removed from the picture-perfect ones on the seafront postcards.

And truth be known,

Joe Skinner's salary was the only thing keeping his mother and father afloat.

But there was always a little extra to be made on the side at the Bridlington,

And that made his life worth living.

I'll keep an eye out as well,

Said Emily.

That new boy seems all right,

But you never know.

Thanks,

Babe,

Said Joe,

And he left with a spring in his step,

While James escaped to the back office for a quick break.

All alone at the desk,

Emily's thoughts wandered to the conversation she'd had with her mother the week before.

Since starting on reception,

She was happier than she'd been in a long time.

But when she let her guard down and confided this to Lady Perklington Smythe,

It hadn't gone down well.

Some old gent told me today I've got a voice just like the wife he lost last spring,

She declared happily when she returned from her first day shift.

I think I made him feel better,

You know.

Lady Perklington Smythe had wasted no time in shooting her down.

Absolute poppycock!

Those old biddies will say anything to keep you talking.

I don't know why you insist on lowering yourself like this,

Emily.

Emily could have kept herself.

She should have known better.

Anything you say may be written down and used as evidence against you.

Isn't that how the saying went?

Never mind.

That was the last time.

No more rookie mistakes for her.

And it had made walking away all the easier.

So that was something.

She'd only been in her hotel digs for a short time,

But she'd already made it home with a few things she'd managed to escape with.

Life at the hotel was never going to be as grand as life at Mulberry Court,

But now Emily could be her own person.

Heaven knows she was old enough to leave and try something new.

Look out!

Here comes Harold Hitler!

James quipped as he emerged from the back office to warn her.

Tits and teeth,

Girl.

Tits and teeth.

Emily glanced across the lobby,

Her shoulders back,

Her winning smile on full display.

Harold Cunningham was on his way,

And he looked none too pleased with the number of cases and trolleys lying around.

It's 9.

53,

He snapped in his hard Scottish accent.

And what's all this?

It should be away by now.

On it,

James declared before Emily had time to answer.

Then he disappeared behind one of the large brass trolleys to finish his bacon baguette.

Read this and take note,

The hotel manager added.

Then he thrust a long memo in Emily's hand.

It's next week.

That means extra hours,

And don't you think there'll be any time off?

Emily rolled her eyes.

Cunningham was always goading her.

Her mother had put him up to it.

Not that he needed any encouragement.

He was a power-hungry pest,

And he loved every minute.

But he won't beat me,

She said to herself,

Not ever.

He span on his heel and left,

His paper-thin suit clinging to his legs like wet toilet paper.

James made a rude gesture,

And Emily looked away.

She hated the hotel manager.

He was pale and innocuous,

With no defining features,

And his teeth were as yellow as yesterday's crockery.

She checked the time stamp on the memo.

It said 11.

53pm.

Does that bloke ever sleep?

Obviously not,

Quipped James,

Looking over her shoulder.

He's a vampire.

I wouldn't be surprised if he came one night to suck my blood.

Dream on,

Emily smirked.

She scanned the content to see what all the fuss was about.

Oh,

She said to herself.

Oh,

As realisation dawned.

Oh God,

She said out loud.

What's up?

Asked James.

You look like you've seen a ghost.

You could say that.

What is it?

Jefferson Bailey.

What,

THE Jefferson Bailey?

Yeah,

Apparently he's getting married here next week.

So?

So,

He's going to be here.

Okay,

And?

Said James.

We do a lot of celebrity weddings.

It'll be hard work,

But there'll be loads of tips flying around,

Trust me.

Those celebrities are always keen to flash the cash.

He eyed Emily suspiciously.

In the short time he'd known her,

James had seen this expression more than once,

And it always came after cunning and made an appearance.

I know it'll be a lot of work,

He said,

But we'll make it a laugh.

That's not what I'm worried about.

What then?

Spill the beans.

It's complicated.

James felt the rush of excitement he always felt when there was a sniff of gossip.

Come on,

Em,

I need something to see me through the day.

Emily ran her fingers through her hair self-consciously,

As if preparing for the ultimate exposure.

Jefferson Bailey's my ex,

And all my old schoolmates will be his guests.

What?

James couldn't help but be impressed,

At least for a moment.

Then he pulled himself together and said,

Well,

Aren't you full of surprises?

I'm 29 years old,

Emily snapped back,

And my mum's rich,

Very rich.

Someone was bound to make me an offer by now,

Don't you think?

Her tone was unusually brittle,

And James,

Never having seen this side to her,

Retracted his smile immediately.

Sorry,

I didn't mean.

.

.

It's OK.

Look,

All's not lost.

You're over him,

Aren't you?

Yeah,

The guy's an idiot,

But this has my mum's signature all over it.

She hates every minute I'm at this reception desk,

And this is her way of proving a point.

She wants to force me out before I embarrass her,

And as she sees it,

The threat of me demeaning myself in front of everyone,

I know,

Is the perfect way to do it.

Well,

We won't let her,

Said James,

And as for that Jefferson bloke,

I'll make sure you don't even have to see him.

It's not as if you've got nothing else to distract you,

Is it?

I don't know what you mean,

Emily smiled unintentionally.

It wouldn't be the first time a concierge hooked up with a glamorous receptionist,

Now would it?

James replied.

What's his name,

Anyway?

Emily had a look on her face that said,

Leave well alone,

But James was having none of it.

I saw your face when that bloke turned up for interview the other day.

Now she had to spill the beans.

It's Chaitin,

OK?

You got that far,

Then?

Emily blushed.

The least I could do was get him a coffee after his audience with Harold Hitler.

Smooth,

Very smooth,

Said James.

Well,

Take it from me,

He couldn't keep his eyes off you.

Beaming like a Cheshire cat he was when you walked away.

When does this start?

Next week.

But maybe he's found out who I am.

That's why he's interested.

James looked incredulous.

I don't think so.

You've made sure there's nothing of you online by using your other name.

I looked hard and there was nothing to connect you with your mum.

Anyway,

I don't think he's the type.

He's too smooth to be a money grabber.

Judging by his watch,

He's got money of his own.

A picture of the new concierge came to James's mind.

He had a strong build and an air of confidence,

So far unmatched at the Bridlington.

His hair was thick and dark and his eyes were a soft hazel colour,

With flashes of green that gleamed when the light caught them.

He was attractive,

No matter which side of the fence you were watching from.

Emily would look fantastic on his arm.

He nudged Emily playfully.

Whatever happens,

This is the triangle of trust,

Remember?

He made the symbol of a triangle with his long fingers.

That new concierge won't find out anything from me.

Thanks,

James,

Emily smiled.

With any luck,

He might even like me for who I am,

If it gets that far.

That's the reason I left Jeff.

All he cared about was my mum's money.

I was the one thing guaranteed to keep him in Dolce & Gabbana for the rest of his life,

Not to mention cars and horses.

Mother loves him,

But I'm happy to say I destroyed all her expectations the day I walked away from that egomaniac.

James couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

It must be nice being rich,

Even if you didn't want it.

But he liked Emily,

And from what she said,

All the money in the world couldn't reconcile her to the domination she'd experienced at the hands of her narcissistic mother.

All you have to do is take backstage for a while,

He reassured her,

And come back to reception when the wedding's over.

I'll cover for you so you don't have to see anyone you don't want to.

Emily thought about it carefully.

Maybe it would be OK.

James was kind,

And he had more time for her than anyone else she'd ever known.

Sounds like a plan,

She said.

I can't leave this job anyway.

If I do that,

My mum gets what she wants,

And I'll be back home again.

She'll make it impossible for me to return.

As an employee,

I have rights now,

And I'd like it that way.

I'm not going to make this easy for her.

Stop stressing,

Said James.

We'll work something out.

But as he answered the ringing phone,

He questioned just what he'd got himself into.

Now James Brighton was stuck in the middle of a dispute between the owner of the Bridlington Empire and her daughter.

Whichever way this went,

It wasn't going to be pretty.

.