Toffle Towers 1 Read online

  Mr Toffle lifted the corner of one of the bedsheets. Underneath there was an original leather lounge, still in great condition.

  Chegwin stared out the window at the view. ‘I have a strong urge to send a postcard,’ he said. ‘Though I don’t have any friends to send one to … Oh, what’s that building over there?’ He pointed to a hill at the far end of Alandale.

  ‘Ah, yes … that building,’ said Lawrence, trying to hide his distaste, ‘is the Braxton Hotel.’

  ‘It looks very busy,’ said Chegwin. Even from a distance, he could make out the long row of cars and buses lined up at the rectangular entrance of the very modern-looking hotel. The building itself must have been twice as big as Toffle Towers. It was a hive of activity.

  ‘The Braxton Hotel opened two years ago,’ said Lawrence. ‘But let’s not talk about that monstrosity now.’

  The butler swiftly drew the curtains and directed the family out of the room.

  The tour continued along the top level of the left wing. Each room was much the same – covered with old bedsheets to stop the dust settling on the furniture. Some of the wallpaper was peeling in places, and the carpet looked as though it could do with replacing.

  The Toffles followed Lawrence back down the stairs to the second floor. ‘This level is primarily for families,’ he explained. ‘Each suite can sleep up to six people. The ground floor is suited to single guests or couples.’

  The butler opened the door to the first room. Everything looked normal until Chegwin noticed a coffee table nailed to the wall.

  ‘What’s that doing up there?’ said Mr Toffle.

  ‘Erm, yes … our resident caretaker –’

  ‘You mean Barry?’ said Chegwin.

  Lawrence cringed at the name. ‘Yes, in his great wisdom he thought it would be a good idea to … prank the rooms on this level. Once the bookings stopped, you see, he became bored and began scratching around for projects.’

  Chegwin opened the second door along the corridor to find a room with a mini fridge taped to the ceiling.

  The third room was not much better.

  The fourth was even worse.

  The fifth showed how truly bored Barry must have been.

  And the sixth room … Well, it would be best not to discuss what happened here.

  Only Chegwin had the energy to peek into the final two rooms along the corridor, and he couldn’t have described them if he tried. ‘I suppose that’s why the bell in the main tower was replaced with an orange wheelbarrow.’

  Mr Toffle’s eyes lit up. ‘Brilliant band name. Orange Wheelbarrow in a Belltower.’

  Lawrence sighed again.

  ‘Where is the restaurant and kitchen?’ asked Mrs Toffle.

  ‘Aha,’ replied the butler, ‘follow me.’

  Once they were back in the lobby, Lawrence pushed open two enormous glass doors that led to the hotel’s restaurant. The incredibly high ceiling showcased a crystal chandelier that was missing most of its pieces and desperately needed cleaning. Beneath it there were scores of tables and chairs arranged in no particular order. ‘This is our dining space – the Grazing Room.’

  Chegwin was surprised to see a young waitress standing behind a wooden desk. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the family and she leapt forward to hand Mr and Mrs Toffle a menu. ‘Welcome to the Grazing Room. Thank you for choosing to dine with us today.’

  ‘How delightful,’ said Mrs Toffle, who was standing next to a vase of flowers. She picked one and sniffed it.

  ‘It’s quite all right, Katie,’ said Lawrence. ‘Our guests are not here for lunch. They are here to live. This is Master Chegwin, the new owner of Toffle Towers, and his parents.’

  ‘My misunderstanding,’ said the waitress. She smiled, showing off two of the friendliest dimples Chegwin had ever seen. ‘It’s lovely to meet you. As Lawrence said, I’m Katie.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you too,’ said Mrs Toffle, munching on something.

  ‘Hang on … are you eating one of those flowers?’ said Chegwin, pointing to the vase.

  Mrs Toffle quickly swallowed whatever she was chewing. ‘Of course not, dumpling. Why would I ever do such a thing?’

  Katie coughed. ‘Well, I look forward to working with you, Chegwin. I hope you can help turn this place around. It’s been five hundred and thirty-nine days since the last customer dined in the Grazing Room. I need the work to help pay for university – I’m studying astrophysics – but everyone’s talking about how we only have three months left …’

  Chegwin suddenly felt something he hadn’t experienced before. It was an uncomfortable pressure on his shoulders – heavy bricks pushing down onto his bones. It was the feeling of responsibility. While it was one thing to dream about saving a few jobs, it was an entirely different thing to face it head-on.

  Two swinging doors burst open at the far end of the restaurant. A teenage girl with dark hair tied up in a ponytail stomped towards Katie. ‘Have you seen Mikey? He’s been eating my salsa again!’

  Katie shook her head. ‘Last I saw he was heading to the staffing quarters.’

  ‘Typical – he nicks my food without asking then disappears in a heartbeat.’

  Lawrence motioned towards the girl. ‘This is Pepper Perry, our resident chef. She’s only sixteen, but she’s one of the best cooks going around.’

  Pepper tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looked the Toffles up and down. ‘And who are you then?’

  ‘This is your new employer,’ replied Lawrence. ‘Master Chegwin arrived this morning and will be taking over the management and ownership of the hotel.’

  ‘All right. New blood!’ said Pepper. ‘Fresh ideas, man.’ She winked at Chegwin, then returned to the kitchen as quickly as she’d arrived.

  With her wild hair and plucky spirit, Chegwin liked her from the get-go.

  The tour continued through the restaurant and kitchen, then towards the back of the hotel. Lawrence showed Chegwin where the laundry was done, as well as where fresh linen and cleaning products were kept. ‘Our housekeepers are currently preparing your rooms, which are in the staffing quarters out the back,’ explained the butler. He pointed across the lawn to a separate brick building. ‘It’s also where our full-time employees live.’

  Mr Toffle looked towards the quarters. ‘Our little adventure just got real. Do-bop-ba-wow.’

  ‘Two spare rooms are being made up,’ added Lawrence. ‘One for Mr and Mrs Toffle, and one for Master Chegwin.’

  ‘We should probably unpack our things,’ said Mrs Toffle as sweetly as ever.

  Just then, her phone rang and she pulled it from her handbag. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said, blinking at Lawrence. ‘I need to take this call.’

  ‘It’s quite all right,’ said the butler.

  Mrs Toffle answered the phone. ‘Hello, this is Lovely Lucy’s Trading.’

  Lawrence twiddled his thumbs.

  Mrs Toffle continued speaking into the phone. ‘Well, the Price-Gerald shares aren’t going to sell themselves.’ And then, without warning, her sugary voice exploded into a roar that resembled the cry of a thousand furious lions. ‘I DON’T WANT EXCUSES, YOU GUTLESS, YELLOW-BELLIED DRONGO! DO YOUR JOB AND SELL, SELL, SELL!’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone and Mrs Toffle smiled. ‘Thank you very much. Goodbye.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Mr Toffle. ‘I’ve got some work to do too. Fizzy Wizards with Pet Lizards are on tour next month. I have to contact a few venues.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Lawrence, who was wondering what his former employer saw in this boy and his odd parents. He clicked his fingers and a young man dressed in a colourful Hawaiian shirt appeared instantly from the nearest doorway.

  ‘Mikey, kindly collect Mr and Mrs Toffle’s luggage from the front steps and take it to their room. But be warned, Pepper is on the lookout for you.’

  ‘You got it.’ The young man gave a thumbs up and scurried away.

  ‘Despite our lack of bookings, Mikey is o
ne of our busiest members of staff,’ said Lawrence.

  ‘What is his job?’ asked Chegwin.

  ‘He is our resident gofer. He goes for this and he goes for that. He helps at reception, in the kitchen … wherever and whenever assistance is required.’

  Chegwin nodded, though he briefly became distracted by a random thought – how does Teflon stick to the pan?

  Lawrence handed Mr Toffle a key. ‘This will let you into your room. I trust you’ll find the accommodation quite satisfactory.’

  Mr Toffle took the key and opened the back door for his wife. They held hands as they walked across the lawn to their new home.

  Lawrence showed Chegwin to the manager’s office. ‘This is where you’ll no doubt spend most of your time. It was a place of deep thinking for your great-uncle Terrence, and I’m sure it will be the same for you … even if only for three months.’

  Chegwin sat down in the reclining chair and ran his hands over the polished oak desk. ‘Do you really think we’ll go out of business?’

  The butler let out a deep breath. ‘It is my greatest fear, Master Chegwin. But I’m afraid at this rate it’s inevitable.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to let that happen,’ said Chegwin. ‘I came here to make a difference. I’m going to make sure the hotel gets new bookings so it can stay running. I want you all to keep your jobs.’

  Lawrence allowed himself a rare smile. He was impressed by the boy’s determination, if nothing else. ‘I get the impression you like a challenge, Master Chegwin. However, I regret to say that saving Toffle Towers will be a near impossible task.’ The butler opened a drawer in the filing cabinet. ‘Our bookings from three years ago.’

  Chegwin craned his neck to see tightly packed receipts bursting out of the cabinet.

  The butler pulled open the next drawer. ‘And our bookings from two years ago.’ There were only a handful of papers. ‘That was when the Braxton Hotel opened. The next drawer – last year’s – is completely empty. It appears we just can’t compete with a swish new hotel that has all the bells and whistles.’

  Chegwin studied the butler’s look of resignation. It was an expression he had seen on many grown-ups before. ‘Well, I already know what the problem is,’ he said.

  Lawrence tilted his head. ‘I would be most open to hearing your thoughts.’

  ‘Everyone here is thinking like adults. Sometimes that can be a bit boring. The hotel needs new ideas. Exciting ones. I believe we can get back in business. I just know it.’

  ‘What do you propose we do, Master Chegwin?’

  ‘It’s time to start thinking like kids.’

  Lawrence paused to ponder this. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

  ‘It’s easy,’ said Chegwin. ‘Adults only ever think of the restraints, but kids think of the possibilities. There are always new ideas waiting to be imagined. You just have to come up with them. We’ll have to spend money to make money, of course, but the bookings will come once we fix a few things up. Simple.’

  Still not convinced, Lawrence handed Chegwin a document containing details of the hotel’s finances. ‘I believe your heart is in the right place, Master Chegwin, but this is no time for stargazing. The responsibility – a big one at that – is yours now. We all hold out hope, but the reality is you only have three months’ budget left to play with to save Toffle Towers.’

  If Lawrence had had any inkling of Chegwin’s next thought, he would have avoided the word ‘play’ at all costs.

  ‘I know where some of the money has to go – right away,’ said Chegwin.

  The butler detected a spark in the boy’s chocolate brown eyes, though he was still unaware of exactly what wild imaginings he had just triggered. ‘Is there anything in particular you have in mind?’

  Chegwin fiddled with the loose button on his striped-blue shirt – as he often did when exciting ideas came to him – and blinked brightly at the butler. Like all good daydreamers, new thoughts weren’t far away. They just needed encouraging. ‘I do have one idea.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ said Lawrence.

  ‘I need to talk to Barry,’ said Chegwin.

  Lawrence shuddered. ‘Must you really?’

  Chegwin may have only been ten, but he was old enough to read most people. ‘What is it with Barry? You act funny whenever someone says his name.’

  Lawrence smoothed out the front of his suit. ‘As your humble servant I must answer with honesty and dignity,’ he replied. ‘Barry and I don’t see eye to eye because … Well, to be frank, we are not at all fond of each other because …’

  ‘Yes?’ said Chegwin.

  ‘Because we support different football teams.’

  Chegwin almost pulled the loose button away from his shirt in surprise. ‘Oh, is that all. Well, I still need to talk to him if that’s all right with you.’

  The butler shuffled his feet uneasily. ‘As you wish, Master Chegwin. I’ll bring him to you in a jiffy.’

  After a rather frustrating walk across the lawn – involving an awkward moment when Barry changed his mind – the groundkeeper was successfully delivered to Chegwin’s office.

  ‘Thank you, Lawrence,’ said Chegwin. ‘Would you mind closing the door on your way out? Barry and I will need some privacy.’

  ‘As you wish, Master Chegwin,’ said Lawrence. He shut the door quickly, relieved to get away.

  Barry wiggled a finger in his ear, then sniffed the sort of sniff that produces a gurgling sound more suited to science-fiction films. ‘What do you want, mate?’

  Chegwin was staring into space. He was wondering if – in relation to cardboard – paper should be called thinboard.

  Barry snorted. ‘You called?’

  ‘Yes, sorry.’ Chegwin sketched something on a scrap piece of paper and slid it across the desk to the caretaker.

  Barry picked it up and studied it, his face breaking into a gleeful smile. He sat down on the chair opposite Chegwin. ‘You’ve got my attention. Now tell me, what do I have to do?’

  The meeting with Barry couldn’t have gone better. Not once did the gruff caretaker try to talk Chegwin out of spending an entire third of the budget.

  ‘It’s risky, but if we’re gonna go out of business, we’re gonna go out of business,’ said Barry. ‘At least I’ll get to finish with a bang. This is the best project anybody has ever given me.’

  ‘Are you certain you can pull it off?’ asked Chegwin, who, despite the outrageousness of his idea, wanted to make sure his plan would work and actually boost the hotel’s profits.

  ‘As certain as Larry has skinny shoulders,’ said Barry. ‘The idiot nearly dropped me twice on the walk over here.’

  Barry phoned Dean, his apprentice, and invited him to Chegwin’s office to share the plan.

  Dean’s tanned face radiated with delight when he heard the news. ‘Brilliant bacon.’

  Barry agreed. ‘Flamin’ awesome.’

  The pair shook hands with their young employer and left the office with new-found enthusiasm. Chegwin managed to catch some of Barry’s instructions before the pair disappeared from earshot. ‘You order the rocket fuel and I’ll start working on the engine …’

  Chegwin sat back in his reclining chair and rested his hands behind his head. And, just like that, his thoughts skewed away, this time to a rather profound question – is it possible to measure the distance between east and west?

  Over the course of the next week, Chegwin settled into life as the manager of Toffle Towers. Lawrence showed him how to pay the bills, allocate the budget for the kitchen, organise the filing system and oversee the bookings – not that there were any new ones.

  ‘You appear to be a fast learner,’ said the butler, pleasantly surprised by Chegwin’s willingness to absorb information between daydreams. ‘But we still need guests.’

  Dealing with grown-ups was a new experience for Chegwin. Unlike the kids at school (including Mr Bridges, who could be lumped in a category halfway between meat pies and pugs), the staff at Toffle Towers
didn’t tease him. They did, however, look upon him with an air of expectation. The need for bookings was great, and they were eager to find out if a change in management would bring about a change in the hotel’s fortunes.

  Chegwin met the housekeepers, Mr and Mrs Dusty and Mildew Staines, who told him they’d had very little to do over the past eighteen months. The married couple had instead spent most of their time playing an epic game of Monopoly. Dusty was certain he was on the verge of victory, but Mildew reminded him that he had said the same thing last October. They set to work, but couldn’t hide their bewilderment when Chegwin asked them to prepare the third floor in the left wing for guests.

  Chegwin also had time to explore more of the hotel. He peeked inside every room between 42 and 48 on the top floor of the right wing, but the door to room 49 was locked. When Chegwin asked Lawrence about it, the butler told him the key had been lost a long time ago. This bothered Chegwin, because he was certain he had heard something moving around inside the room.

  He told his parents about the mystery. ‘I think there might be someone staying in the right wing.’

  Mr Toffle shot a look at his wife, who gently held a finger to her lips. Chegwin wasn’t sure what they were getting at, but he soon became distracted wondering about another of life’s great mysteries – who invented butter?

  Mr and Mrs Toffle were enjoying the change of pace in a small tourist town. They chose to spend most of their time working in one of the cafes that overlooked the river. Mrs Toffle selected the cafe especially after noticing that it was next to the florist. They talked to Chegwin every day about how the hotel was running, but patiently allowed their son to work things out for himself with Lawrence’s guidance.

  There was still the issue of school that needed to be addressed. Mr Toffle reminded Chegwin that he had an upcoming appointment with the principal in a neighbouring town. The conversation made the boy’s stomach twist into a tight knot. Memories of Mr Bridges’ blotched face made sure of it.