[mayfair] strawberry swing. [tag; hefin]

June 2002

"Oh, mon dieu."

The faint response came from a petite young woman who was currently loitering outside the grand lobby of the hotel. Lottie's eyes were as wide as dinner plates as she looked around. The weak London sunlight filtered in through the open door, glinting off the heavy and glittering chandelier that hung over her head. There was a discreet cough from the smartly dressed doorman, in all of his pale grey and mint green livery. Swiftly, she turned pink. "Oh sorry," she mumbled as he held the door open for her and smiled pleasantly at her. He must think she was a tourist.

In a way, she was. London was Charley's second city but she felt so removed from her English heritage that every nook and cranny she discovered was like a new adventure. The lobby was vast with its soft lighting and the spotlessly clean black and white floor beneath her feet. The air was cool inside and a far cry away from the muggy city temperature outside. Lottie crept in, the rubber soles of her trainers squeaking embarrassingly as she cross the huge floor and into the restaurant.

She hadn't seen Hefin in a few months. While she wasn't conceited enough to say that they were friends, she liked to think they were. Out of all of the Quidditch players she'd met so far in her career, she liked him the best. He was confident but not in your face about it. He carried himself well and while she didn't think he was particularly humble, she was wildly attracted to his unapologetic nature. Hefin knew he was skilled and handsome and well aware of his talents. On some men, it would be considered arrogance but Hefin wore his self-awareness like a suit of armour. She liked it.

"Reservation for Bright," Charlotte smiled at the pretty and petite blonde hostess, not missing the woman's disapproving gaze at her choice of footwear. "For two," the Frenchwoman said again, this time her smile not meeting her eyes as she decided to play up her imaginary date. Lottie was in her own head a lot of the time and any girl could (and would) easily dream of being on the arm of Mr. Howell. She waited patiently as the hostess gathered up some menus and sauntered through the half empty restaurant. Charlotte was in her wake as she looked around, absently wondering if she could steal a few cut crystal glasses when the woman's back was turned.

It was just before one in the afternoon as Lottie turned her head and watched the traffic trundle by. While it was no Paris, London had it's upside. She didn't really understand the little red phone boxes but she'd almost been run over by an iconic black hackney cab, a double decker red bus and a cyclist. But she assumed that was the life of a Londoner.

On the pristine tablecloth next to her was her notebook and pen. It was all a ruse, of course, because this was basically a free lunch with a friend. The blonde waitress appeared, evidently not keen on serving Lottie. "Champagne would be better than tea, I think," she added politely, rebuffing the long list of tea on offer at Claridge's. "Two glasses." A pause. "Actually, the bottle? Oh!"

With that, Lottie got to her feet and waved enthusiastically. "Hefin!" She called, her voice echoing through the quiet hall as she placed her hand on her shoulder and kissed each of his cheeks gently. "Thanks for coming," Charlotte said, her accent a funny mix of both countries as she smiled brightly at him. "Asseyez-vouz," she said, pointing to the chair opposite before sitting down herself.

"How's my favourite Quidditch player?" Charley asked, her large blue eyes overly bright like a cat's. "Your family is well?" She enquired politely as she sipped at the champagne that had just been placed down, enjoying the way the delicate little bubbles popped on her tongue. Lottie leaned across the table a little, as though she was sharing a secret. "I'm not paying today, so you can order whatever you like. Though not the oysters," she pulled a face. "I don't want my lips to swell up before we've made out," she joked with a wink.


@Hefin Howell

June in London was quite the change compared to the beginning of autumn in Melbourne. Nonetheless, with the end of the Quidditch season and success of his own team, Hefin could afford the sudden change in climate without too many worries. In addition, the announcement regarding his relationship with Christèle had recently come out in the media, and it was by far much better to be in London and grant proper, schedules interviews rather than stay in Melbourne and avoid the media completely, thus allowing them to invent whatever they wanted regarding his life. It had been all carefully calculated on his end, especially considering the guest that resided at his Victorian manor.

Journalists were not Hefin’s favourite people, regardless of how smooth he was when talking to them and, in general, being the one who dominated the conversation. Nonetheless, like any celebrity, the part Victorian also had his own inside people, individuals from the branch whom he enjoyed spending time with, and would rarely to never refuse an invitation to lunch from, unless especially busy. Since he had no plans with Christèle that day, Hefin naturally agreed to meet up with Charlotte for lunch.

Charlotte Bright was quite an enjoyable presence. Being a sports and Quidditch reporter, she did not pay attention to any gossip or tried to dig deep into his private life, and was an overall professional. She had written several articles about him in the past, had a proportional amount of interviews, and all collaborations were successful for both of them. She was quite pleasing to the eye too, which had helped in the past as well, especially when they had started becoming friends, and did not stick just to the status of basically ‘business’ partners. At the very least, Charlotte was his only friend who was also a reporter.

Hefin made his way into the restaurant, and felt slightly underdressed for the establishment. Nonetheless, he decided not to dwell on it, especially since wearing such an attire would make him unrecognisable. His hair was also loose and rather rebellious that day, despite still falling quite stylishly on his shoulders. Before he could have a chance to glance around the chamber, he heard a familiar voice calling out for him – his eyes met hers and Hefin sketched a polite smile in her direction as he approached the table.

“Charlotte.” He greeted her simply, leaning in to mirror her gesture and kissing her on both cheeks. “So good to see you again.” Hefin remarked, taking off his coat, and handing it to the waitress – whom he actually believed to be the person in charge of the cloakroom. As encouraged, he then took a seat opposite to her, elegantly crossing his legs underneath the table. Hefin smiled at Charlotte’s question, naturally enjoying the compliment – he knew she meant it, and there was nothing better than a genuine remark.

“Everything is going well, yes. After my team’s success this season, you can imagine I am having quite the good time.” He let out a laugh, and then slightly shifted into his seat. “Oh, is the Daily Prophet paying for this lunch?” Hefin hadn’t been aware it was an ‘official’ meeting for the newspaper, and her following comment had only brought him more confusion. “Charlotte, darling, I’m no longer a free man, so be careful with the flirting.” Hefin playfully winked in her direction, and then leaned against the back of his chair.

“But how is my favourite reporter? Any good stories this season?” Admittedly, perhaps he should have known more, but living in the opposite side of the world also implied not making the British media his main focus of interest. Still, he knew Charlotte’s reviews were generally well-done and on point, so he did expect the best from her. “I mean, aside from the German disaster.” He sighed, only imagining how hard it must be for her now to re-analyse her entire Quidditch World Cup predictions according to the new location, which nobody knew where it would be, the issue still being discussed at the International Confederation of Wizards. 

There was a reason his face was hanging on thousands of bedroom walls across the globe. He cut a fine figure, strutting across the tiled floor with his coat angled just so. It was very French of him indeed. Charlotte smiled brightly at his remark as they sat. The air inside the hotel's tearoom was definitely cooler and fresher. For her, it was warm but for Hefin, it must feel like the middle of winter.

She laughed and nodded. Of course his team was doing well. "It's official but not official, if you catch my drift," Lottie said with a wink. All her boss knew was that Hefin Howell was in town and he liked to be wined and dined. He assumed Charlotte was doing for an interview about his experiences leading up to the World Cup and she hadn't corrected him. In short, she had a lot of money that didn't belong to her and she wanted to get completely trollied off champagne and cupcakes. Looking back, she maybe should have told him the truth but she hoped he didn't mind her slight duplicity.

"I saw!" Charlotte gushed, enthused as she bounced on her seat, her eyes wide in surprise and glee. "Congratulations," she told Hefin easily. To be honest, he was a friend, one of the few she had so she'd made a conscious effort to keep her interests in him purely professional. "So," she said, elbows on the table and her chin in her upturned palm as she leaned towards him as though they were sharing secrets. "How'd you two meet?" She asked, interestedly as she popped a mini blackcurrant macaron in her mouth and chewed.

Charlotte nodded as she sipped her champagne. "A few," she replied coyly. "The French squad's been named so I'm headed back to Paris to try and grab an interview with the captain." She also neglected to tell Hefin that she might have already made out with the captain before. It wasn't exactly her fault. He'd been on cloud nine after being named in the national team that they'd just sort of accidentally done…stuff.

"There's a lot of gossip around the English team," she told Hefin. "They have good players but I dunno," she shrugged casually. "My money's on Belgium. And you," Lottie added tactfully as she touched the back of Hefin's hand briefly. "I think the Prophet's doing a sweepstake this year, which will be fun."

At the mention of Germany, Charlotte winced and took a deep swig of her champagne. "Tell me about it. I can't get my money back on the hotels I'd booked." Mainly because the hotels didn't exist any more but that was besides the point. With a groan, Lottie pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stem the looming headache. It was all a waste. All the work she'd done was now useless. She'd photographed the new stadium, she'd interviewed the managers, she'd taken into consideration the climate and how that would affect the play and pace of the game.

"I'm just getting nothing back, you know?" She asked Hefin. "Everyone's in Switzerland, chatting about stuff but they're not letting anyone know. If we had some information, the fans could try and get themselves all set up. I'm assuming anyone who had tickets would still be allowed to use them for the new location." Pulling a face, she deftly filled up Hefin's champagne flute before taking a swig out of the bottle, earning the hostess' shock and horror in the process.

"It's lucky I like pressure," Charley commented with a wry smile and a roll of her eyes. "But no, I'm fine," she told Hefin quickly as she flapped her hand through the air casually. "Painfully single but don't let that stop you from telling me all about your new beau," she assured him.  "Do you have any friends that I can bother?" She asked him sweetly.