9 The Bridlington - Original Bedtime Tales Stephanie Poppins

The Bridlington Hotel is the most prestigious getaway on the coast of East Riding. Owned by the cantankerous Lady Perklington-Smythe, it is never far from scandal. But reception staff Emily, James, and Joe are professionals, and committed to keeping up appearances, come what may.

In this episode, Emily is visited by the family solicitor.

Written and performed by English author Stephanie Poppins.

Transcript

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.

Happy listening.

The Bridlington A series set in an English hotel.

Written and performed by Stephanie Poppins.

Episode 9 Harold Cunningham stepped back to eye up the largest oil painting in the Bridlington lobby.

Something wasn't right.

Why wasn't it ever right?

He reached over the mantel and tapped it once to the left,

Twice to the right,

Then once to the left again,

Trying to decide whether to align it with a hearth or the pair of antique armoires straddling it.

He was in a bad mood.

It was inspection day and there was a shortage of fine Scottish whisky.

Mr Cunningham,

Cup of tea?

A meek voice offered from behind.

Unless it's got scotch in it,

No.

Of course,

The voice insisted,

And he turned to look at his latest acquisition,

Mallory Monks from the Beachside Inn.

Well,

You're a sight for sore eyes,

He said,

Grabbing the cup and gulping greedily.

He was wrong,

Of course.

Mallory was no sight for anyone's eyes but those of a desperate man,

And she knew it.

But she had her heart set on Harold Cunningham,

And being the savvy individual she was,

She knew the key to his lay in the bottom of a whisky bottle.

Always happy to help,

Sir.

She wiped her furrowed brow with a pink napkin.

She wiped her furrowed brow with a pink napkin.

Mallory always had a napkin at hand,

For she sweated more than most,

Due to an abundance of nervous energy and her generous size.

This in itself wasn't her weakness.

In fact,

It was her best feature.

It was her hardened expression that made her ugly.

Her mind was filled with bitter thoughts about how she'd been wronged and how she was owed some good fortune.

And sure enough,

One day,

It walked into her inn under the guise of Harold Cunningham.

Mallory Monks had always wanted to work in a hotel,

And standing in front of her was her golden ticket.

Anything else,

Sir?

She added,

Gazing up into his expressionless face as she wiped her hands on her oversized tunic.

Yes,

Cunningham answered.

We have inspectors coming this afternoon,

And I've just been given word.

They've obviously been tipped off as a result of the scandal.

Go and tell reception they're to remain there,

Come what may.

There's to be no wandering off today,

Understood?

Right you are,

Mallory replied.

Then she waddled off,

To deliver the good news.

For God's sake,

Spat James when he heard,

What's his problem now?

Emily shot him a warning elbow.

She didn't know this woman,

But from what it looked like,

Mallory Monks had a hotline to Harold Hitler's heart,

And she wasn't beyond using it.

The inspectors are the problem,

Mallory replied cheerily,

But we'll soon put that right,

Won't we?

We certainly will,

Sang Emily back,

As her eyes scanned the lobby.

Then watching the monk walk away,

She said triumphantly.

Cunningham's had the finger pointed at him for his excessive spending on entertaining.

That's good news,

Isn't it?

Nice,

James smiled,

But I thought the only person he ever entertained was himself.

Emily smirked,

If the euphemism fit,

James would make sure those in his line of fire wore it.

Looks like she's got her eye on him,

She added.

More for her,

Said James,

But if it gets him off our case,

Happy days.

Agreed,

And he's got to pay for his own booze from now on.

I had a little chat with the delivery guy this morning.

Apparently he's ordered two crates of the cheapest whiskey.

Oh,

Harold Hitler's fallen from grace,

And hit every branch on the way down.

How do you know all this?

Inquired James suspiciously.

Marge,

In accounts,

I was straight on that phone as soon as I saw it.

Emily beamed,

She wanted to tell James this was all her doing.

She wanted to boast about how she told her mother all about what Cunningham was up to every day.

But that would break the triangle of trust.

If James knew she'd been spying,

He'd think she was running to mummy with everything dwint on.

Something she vowed she'd never do.

Never mind,

All that would stop now the cat was out of the bag.

That was one good thing to come of everyone knowing the truth about who she was.

Her mother no longer had anything to hold over her.

Speaking of the devil,

Whispered James.

And there he was,

Harold Hitler,

Oiling his way towards them.

But he was not alone,

He had a suited gentleman in tow.

Emily Croft,

Or should I say Miss Perklington Smythe.

James cringed,

Had Cunningham no humility.

It wouldn't be long before Emily was his boss.

But that was obviously the last thing on his mind when he attempted to shame her the day before to anyone that would listen.

Unfortunate deception,

He'd label it.

What a git.

But luckily James had managed to give every one of the staff a heads up before.

So they knew to feign surprise,

Just as he'd directed them to.

He'd been quick to reassure them Emily hated their powers at bay just as much as they did.

She had no choice,

He said,

She was terrified of her mother.

And though the staff were speechless at first,

They believed him.

Who wouldn't?

James Brighton was the face of the Bridlington,

The golden boy.

Who only worked a reception rather than full time on his Instagram.

Because the casino was next door and he was on first name terms with the manager.

Then once he'd finished telling all the terrible story of just how badly Emily had been treated since her father died.

The rest of the staff wasted no time in pledging allegiance to the youngest face of the Bridlington dynasty.

It remained to be seen how it would play out in the long term,

Of course.

But this declaration of unity had warmed James's heart.

Hadn't his friend been through enough lately?

What with J.

Tin changing shifts to avoid her.

He eyed Cunningham suspiciously.

There was something else going on here though.

What did he know they didn't?

A thin,

Wiry looking man appeared from behind him with thick spectacles and an even thicker crop of bright red hair.

This looks official,

Thought James.

He glanced at Emily.

She was doing her best to hold it together.

Who's that?

He whispered.

Mr Pritchard,

My family solicitor,

Emily declared climatically.

It's so good to see you.

She held out her hand and her soft curls bounced in agreement.

But her bright eyes were telling a different story.

Is there somewhere we can talk?

The grey suit replied,

Oblivious to Emily's charms.

A meeting room perhaps?

James sniffed.

Everything about this man screamed attack.

I'll just be a minute,

Emily whispered,

Making to leave.

Keep the whole fires burning.

Then she accompanied Mr Pritchard to the conference room,

Looking ridiculously small as she struggled to keep up with his loose jointed strides.

Like a lamb to the slaughter,

Thought James,

Planning his escape to the kitchen as soon as Cunningham was out of the way.

Chef was the only thing to improve his mood now.

Mother sent you then,

Emily began when the door had closed behind her.

Yes,

I have received communication from Lady Perklington Smythe,

The solicitor replied,

And I am here to impart the latest developments.

Oh come on Pritchard,

Cut the crap,

Snapped Emily back,

And get to the point.

She'd had just about enough of this softly,

Softly approach from a man whose life's purpose was being a human shield between her and her mother.

Pritchard glared down his nose at the undersized girl standing before him.

He'd been practising law since before she was born and had never been spoken to in this way.

It was time to take Emily Perklington Smythe down a peg or two.

Your mother wishes it to be known she has challenged your inheritance claim and she's gone on record to state the will was made under undue influence.

Mr.

Perklington Smythe was not of sound mind or judgment when the will was written.

What?

Emily shook her head in fury.

That's ridiculous,

There was nothing wrong with my father.

He died of a heart attack,

That's all.

The death certificate proves it.

But your mother has found archived medical records to suggest otherwise.

Since when?

Pritchard said nothing.

I was told from a young age the majority share in this hotel would be mine when I turned thirty.

My father said so.

She sounded like a petulant child,

She knew it,

But she had to stick up for herself.

No one else was going to do it.

Telling you what you want to hear when you're a child and committing to it when you're an adult are two different things,

Pritchard replied.

But he did commit to it,

Protested Emily.

It was in the will,

I saw it.

She felt her stomach knock.

Not again,

This couldn't be happening again.

It was nearly all over,

But now her mother was having the last laugh.

Why hadn't she foreseen this?

What was she,

Stupid?

Just the same stupid little girl she'd always been.

He had,

Unbeknownst to you Emily,

Been suffering from early onset Alzheimer's.

That's a lie.

Apparently not.

Emily slumped herself into a nearby chair.

This was it,

Her mother's last ditch attempt to destroy her.

A counterattack in response to Emily's threat to expose her connection with Delaware to the police.

Her mother had always been jealous of the relationship between her and her father.

Only this time,

There was no daddy to back Emily up.

She looked down at the fine gold ring her father gifted her on her 21st birthday.

The line of diamonds and single opal were the stars and the moon,

He said,

To hang her wishes upon.

Maybe,

She'd replied,

One day they'll come true.

They will,

He'd reassured her,

And with it,

I gift you the Bridlington Hotel.

She shot up out of her chair.

I'll counterclaim,

She cried.

I was always financially dependent on my father,

And now I've had to start working at reception because my mother's taken all that support away.

It was a lie,

A massive lie.

Hadn't she chosen this life,

Insisted upon it?

But that mattered little now,

It was her word against her mother's.

Time to meet fire with fire.

And opening the door to let Pritchard out,

Emily began to plan her attack.

Joseph Skinner crept across the lobby,

Eyes alert,

Rucksack held close to his back.

It was busier than usual,

There were floor staff everywhere.

With the imminent arrival of the inspectors,

Everyone was at action stations,

Making themselves look busy,

Polishing,

Delivering,

Rearranging and cleaning.

Narrowly avoiding the waiting staff as they cleared away the morning service,

He rushed over to reception,

Only to find the back office empty.

Where was everyone?

He checked the concierge desk.

No J.

Tim either.

What was going on?

And realising he was beat,

He went straight to the basement.

Time was he would have covered reception until they got back.

Time was he would care that reception was understaffed.

But not anymore.

He knocked three times on Petra's door.

No answer.

But he could hear somebody inside.

The service corridor was empty and silent.

Everyone was upstairs preparing for inspection.

He couldn't understand it,

Petra knew he was coming.

Why didn't she answer?

They had things to discuss before dealing with Delaware,

And he needed to get it sorted fast.

Impatient for answers he tried to handle,

And to his relief it gave way.

Petra,

You in there?

He stepped inside,

But to his surprise it wasn't Petra he saw.

It was Dakota the bar manager.

Jo,

Long time no see,

She declared triumphantly,

Her smug expression amplified by her thick dark makeup.

Behind her,

A very dishevelled,

Very drunky tin was draped across her bed.

Aye,

Aye,

Well that's a turn up for the books,

Said Jo,

Shaking his head.

He'd been barking up that tree for ages.

Looks like a lot's changed since I left.

How did you manage that then?

Actually,

Don't answer that.

I know it's your job to offload as much booze as you can,

Dee,

But this is taking the mick.

He stared at the sorry state Jay Tin had become.

The only saving grace was,

He still had his trousers on.

There's hope yet,

Jo said to himself,

But not much.

He backed away quickly.

Better drunk than not at all,

I suppose,

He quipped.

Dakota's expression dropped.

He wouldn't be here if he didn't want to be.

I'm sure,

Said Jo in an offhand way.

Anyway,

Where's Petra now?

Swap rooms,

Did you?

Petra's number 12,

But you won't find her there.

She's already upstairs.

Delaware's got her at it early today.

So demanding,

That old woman.

And it's not as if your girlfriend gets anything extra for it,

Does she?

Dakota was fishing,

But Jo wasn't about to tell her anything.

She was neither a friend of his,

Nor Petra's.

And by the looks of it,

She'd got on the wrong side of Emily,

Too.

Nope,

Slave labour,

That's what I call it,

He agreed.

I'm well out of it.

Then he escaped upstairs,

Consumed with what was going on.

The last time he looked,

Jay Tin and Emily were as thick as thieves.

But there he was,

As drunk as a skunk,

In Dakota's room,

Completely out of it.

Well,

Jo said to himself,

It's not too late to put things right.

Just wait until he's sober,

And I'll get my hands on him.

Reviews

Good to have some more episodes read by Stephanie. Thank you. 🙏🏼❤️