Tim wasn’t at all surprised when Eisenstone’s mobile went straight to voicemail. He dropped his bedroom phone down with a clunk and sat, illuminated by his lamp, staring down at the old pocket watch.
‘Timothy,’ Phil said, running up his trousers, his lap and then on to his desk. He sat on top of the watch, oblivious to its importance. ‘That thing, that yellow thing, the nabina, banboba, branoony?’
‘Banana.’
‘Yes, that, the banana, it was most lovely. It felt right, eating it, if you can comprehend such a notion … it just felt somehow right.’
The banana Tim had left for Phil on the desk was covered in tiny bite holes; he’d clearly enjoyed it.
‘You are a monkey. That’s what you eat.’
‘Well, it was delightful, and I thank you for it.’
Tim’s gaze rested on nowhere. ‘Peter Eisenstone … it was his father’s watch,’ he said, thinking aloud.
‘Yes, an excellent observation, Timothy, well done,’ Phil replied, clearly still daydreaming about bananas. ‘Wait, what?’
‘The watch. It belonged to Eisenstone’s father.’
‘Which watch? Hehe, that is a pleasure to pronounce. Which watch?’
‘His watch. His silver pocket watch.’
‘I am terribly afraid I am not familiar with it.’
‘Phil, you’re sitting on it.’
He cocked his head, looking down at his seat. ‘Ah, yes. Of course. Eisenstone’s watch. I conclude that he left it here.’
‘Yeah. And still no sign of him.’
‘OK … is this a problem? I appear to be missing something.’ The banana caught Phil’s eye. He scuttled across the desk, his claws tapping on the wood all the way to the fruit. He began tugging handfuls out and shovelling them in his mouth. ‘People do change their plans, it’s not unheard of. Oh whiskers on biscuits,’ he exclaimed, ‘this is just so delicious!’
‘Eisenstone specifically said he never, ever goes anywhere without it. I know I have an overactive imagination. I know that. But … but something still doesn’t feel right. He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye and he certainly wouldn’t leave his watch.’
Phil turned his head further round than a person could, his mouth covered in glistening food. ‘So, something has gone wrong? Or maybe he just forgot it. It is a mystery. Who knows? Timothy, how about I sit here and politely wait while you go and get me some cake.’
‘What? No.’
‘I see. A reasonable response. So, about this watch, what is the situation?’
‘He said he may have been in danger. And he said that he would never be apart from his watch. But he clearly is. That’s all we know for sure. So he goes to Germany because he was scared – what if he doesn’t get there? His mobile is off, and there’s no other way to get through to him.’
‘I suggest you simply wait for his call,’ Phil shrugged.
‘That’s not good advice. I can’t sit here doing nothing.’
‘If you knew where he was meant to be, you could just ring and ask if he is there, then ask about the watch. That, my good friend, would be problem solved.’
‘But that’s the whole thing, I don’t know—’ Tim stopped. ‘The card. He gave me a business card with the lab’s name on it. The German lab.’
He shoved his swivel chair back and went straight to his wardrobe, sliding his shirts left then right, looking for the one he was wearing when Eisenstone left.
‘It’s not here,’ Tim sighed. ‘I might have put it in the laundry basket …’
‘Why do you not simply imagine a new card into existence?’
‘I did look at it, so perhaps the details are in my brain somewhere …’
It worked: Tim successfully recreated the business card and, later that day – around the time the professor should’ve arrived in Germany – he punched in the number on his phone. A chirpy man answered.
‘Guten Tag, Webster-Jones Inc.’
‘Um. Yes. Hello. I am looking to speak with Eisenstone, Professor George Eisenstone. He’s my … grandfather.’ Tim shrugged at Phil. ‘Have I got the right number?’
‘Hang on, I’ll put you through.’
There was a long dialling tone, followed by a clunk, and then someone else picked up the line.
‘Hello!’
‘Hello, yes, may I speak to George Eisenstone. Professor. He’s English. He’s working there. I’m his … grandson.’ He figured it would make more sense if they thought he was family, instead of a neurotic child with an overdeveloped imagination.
‘Ah, I am afraid not. You’re right. He was meant to be here. In fact, he and I were meant to be working together this month. I just this moment returned from the airport. He didn’t arrive.’
‘You haven’t heard from him at all?’
‘Not a peep – he called me out of the blue earlier in the week, saying he needed to get away. Perhaps he changed his mind. Perhaps he decided to stay with his family there? His daughter lives quite close to him, as you know – she’s your mother, yes?’
‘What?’ Tim asked.
‘Sarah Eisenstone?’
‘Who?’
‘Your mother. George’s daughter … you said he was your grandfather?’
Tim’s eyes widened.
‘No. Yes. I am. Yes. My mother. His daughter. It makes sense doesn’t it? What with me being his grandson. That’s how families work …’
‘To be honest I thought he only had one granddaughter, but you’re clearly a boy.’
He quickly considered putting on a high voice and pretending to be a girl, but decided it was probably better to continue down his original path of lies.
‘Nope,’ Tim said. ‘Granddad only has me. No granddaughters at all.’
‘Must have misheard. Well I can tell you, I saw everyone else get off that flight, and he was not on it. I am sure he has his reasons. It is possible he’s had some kind of brainwave and has locked himself away at his home to work on something incredible. He has done this in the past. The man is a workaholic. When you see him, tell him Benjamin is not so happy.’
‘Will do.’
‘Goodbye, young man.’
The phone stayed against Tim’s ear, the dialling tone hummed for a few seconds and then cut to silence.
Perhaps the professor didn’t escape soon enough, Tim thought, or perhaps there was an innocent explanation. Maybe Benjamin was right – maybe Eisenstone had simply retreated to his home to work. But … the watch.
‘He never made it to Germany.’
‘Then,’ Phil said, ‘let us find him.’
*
Tim paced across the hotel lobby, waiting for his moment. He had concluded that, in light of Benjamin’s comments, the best place to start, as with most possible missing person’s cases, was at his home.
When the young receptionist left her post and walked into the office behind to do some photocopying, Tim sat on the counter and swung his legs over. He went straight to the computer, checking over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t looking. Clicking the ‘Guest logs’ icon, he was presented with a huge spreadsheet. A quick search, typing ‘Eise’, and the professor’s details zipped to the top. After jotting down the address, he closed the file, stood and rolled over the wooden counter again, landing smoothly just as the receptionist returned. She smiled at him, completely oblivious.
As he passed back through the lobby, he spotted Donald Pinkman, dressed smartly, sitting on one of the tables, filling out some paperwork. The consultant had a large bald spot and a slender frame – his thin legs were crossed, almost wrapped entirely around one another.
‘Ah, Tim,’ he said, waving him over with a smile. ‘Come and sit down – have some tea.’
Reluctantly, Tim stepped to the table and sat. He would rather carry on with his investigation, but Donald seemed insistent.
‘I wanted to talk to you about the Dawn Star,’ he said, pouring the tea, the pot’s china lid clinking as he set it down. ‘As you know, as consultant, it is my job to make things run a little smoother here. Terrible business with the incident in room four. I shudder to think what kind of vermin could be on the loose. Anyway, I understand sometimes you like to explore – go places you ought not.’ His tone was like that of a teacher, speaking down to Tim. Speaking sternly. Almost rudely, Tim thought.
‘Well,’ he replied. ‘This is my home.’
‘Of course,’ Donald said, his voice overly gentle, patronising. He smiled just with his mouth, his eyes remaining still. ‘I understand that. But you must appreciate that this is a functioning business. It isn’t professional to have a child running around. Stealing.’
Right then, Tim decided he didn’t like Donald. What Tim did or didn’t do at the hotel was between him and Elisa, he thought.
‘Yeah,’ Tim said. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t want you to take it to heart, you must not feel … a prisoner in your own home. I just think it would pay for you to keep your nose out of other people’s business.’ Donald maintained eye contact, almost daring Tim to say something defiant. But, despite the significant temptation, he remained polite.
‘You’re right,’ Tim said. ‘I will do my best not to interfere with the running of the hotel.’
There was a long pause – Donald narrowed his eyes, as if waiting for a punchline. ‘Good,’ he finally said, assuming his warning had worked. ‘Anyway, enough about that. Your mother told me you’re a keen artist.’
‘That’s highly unlikely,’ Tim replied.
‘Oh really, why’s that?’ Donald asked, slurping his tea. All his limbs seemed a little too long, his large foot swinging as he spoke.
‘Elisa isn’t my mother,’ he replied.
‘She isn’t?’
‘No, I’m adopted. Anyway, I’ve got—’
‘I also wanted to talk to you about Professor Eisenstone.’
‘Really, why?’ Tim snapped, then coughed and calmed a little, realising he might have sounded too eager. ‘Why?’
‘Oh … no real reason.’ Donald ran his long finger around the rim of his mug. ‘The man fascinates me. Elisa tells me you’ve helped him with his latest work. Judging by his field – nanotechnology, quantum physics – it must have been an amazing opportunity. What did you get to do?’
The lie Eisenstone had suggested came to him quickly, like a reflex. ‘He’s been doing a study on children. It’s a reading study. I had to read. He’s researching how children learn.’
‘Really? That sounds exciting.’ Donald’s eyes – so brown they were black – grew.
‘Nah. There was nothing exciting about all that work. It was dull, if anything. Dull and boring,’ Tim said. The professor’s words echoed in his head: this had to be a secret, just for now.
Donald squinted and Tim got a strange feeling that he was scrutinising him a little too closely, analysing every aspect of his face – looking for the lie he’d just told. It must just be his guilty conscience though, Tim told himself. There was no reason for Donald to suspect anything. Nervously Tim shuffled in his seat – the prolonged staring made him feel uneasy.
‘Anyway. Enjoy the tea.’ Tim stood, and picked up one of the chocolate biscuits from the table.
‘Remember what I said. I’ve got my eye on you, Mr Hart.’
‘Um …’ Tim replied, thinking it a strange thing to say. ‘Thank you.’
He didn’t turn back but felt that unbroken gaze following him all the way to the broad oak doors that led to the lava hallway. What a weirdo, Tim thought, arriving at his bedroom.
‘Phil?’ he whispered, stepping inside. ‘Where are you?’
A low groan came from his desk as a paper cup and a couple of pencils rolled across the wood, revealing Phil, curled up. Another long moaning sound arose from the tiny monkey, clutching his golf-ball sized belly.
‘Oh, Timothy, help me … I am in jolly big trouble.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Tim ran to his desk, terrified, flicking on his lamp.
Leaning just his head, unable to move, Phil pointed at an empty glass bowl that had once contained a Dawn Star chocolate fudge pudding. Now it just had brown marks with tiny tracks where he’d clawed out every last bit of cake. With Stephen Crowfield in the kitchen – someone nice enough to turn a blind eye – there had been a steady supply.
‘Where’s it gone?’ Tim asked, lifting the bowl and searching behind his mug full of pens. Phil just shook his head and looked down at himself.
‘No,’ Tim said. ‘Impossible.’
‘I thought that too, Timothy. I thought there is no way that amount of cake could possibly fit in such a tiny little monkey. But, alas, it has happened. It is now past tense. It has been committed to reality – there is no room for speculation. All that cake can fit in a tiny little monkey. But at what cost Timothy? At what cost?’
‘You’re just full up. You’ll be fine. Now, I think we should—’
‘No, Tim, no, you do not understand … so much … so much cake. It is quite a big portion for a human, but for me?’
‘I brought you a chocolate biscuit from downstairs but I suppose you don’t want it now,’ Tim said.
‘Well, come along, slow down a minute, Timothy,’ Phil pulled himself to his feet, like a fat, drunk cowboy. ‘I never said I didn’t want any. I need fuel for our investigation.’
‘True. I managed to find Eisenstone’s address.’
‘Well, as they say, it is seldom dandy to dawdle,’ the monkey said, approaching the biscuit. ‘Let us venture onwards.’