Lawrence Sterling, resident butler at Toffle Towers, was dressed in a black tuxedo with tails. He stood with such perfect posture that it seemed near impossible his matching top hat could ever fall off. ‘It’s a pleasure and an honour to meet you, Master Chegwin.’ He offered his hand to the boy. ‘I’m delighted to welcome you to Toffle Towers. Though I must admit, I wasn’t expecting someone quite so … young.’ His English accent was so sensible and rich, it wouldn’t be out of place narrating a wildlife documentary.

‘Nice to meet you too,’ said Chegwin, noticing how soft Lawrence’s hand felt. ‘I may be young, but I … but I …’

An awkward silence followed.

‘Yes?’ prompted the butler.

Still more silence.

‘Are you with us, buttercup?’ said Mrs Toffle.

Chegwin snapped back to reality. ‘Sorry, I drifted off. I was wondering if giraffes get sore throats in winter.’

Mr Toffle stepped forward and shook Lawrence’s hand. ‘You’ll have to excuse our son. Skeet-skeet ba-ching diddly-twang. He tends to get lost in his thoughts … Who knows where he gets it from. He is young, but he has a great heart. Did you know that synthesisers became popular in the nineteen-eighties? Particularly in progressive rock bands.’

‘A most unusual fact,’ said Lawrence.

Although the butler didn’t show it, he was rather bemused by the father and son. He shot a quick glance at Mrs Toffle, who stood there smiling patiently. He detected a hint of flowery perfume, which matched the theme of her dress.

Lawrence pointed to a portrait hanging above the wooden staircase in the foyer. ‘If only dear Terrence had the opportunity to welcome you here himself. He will be sorely missed.’

Terrence Toffle’s lifelike image gazed over the lobby with pride. He was wearing a dark green suit and was standing next to a bookshelf. His bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief and he sported the same curly blond hair as Chegwin.

‘Wow,’ said Mr Toffle, looking from the portrait to his son. ‘What a remarkable likeness.’

‘Terrence poured his heart and soul into Toffle Towers,’ said Lawrence. ‘Though sadly, as his health and energy declined, so did the state of the hotel.’

‘Barry told us you don’t get many visitors,’ said Mrs Toffle.

Lawrence appeared to grimace at the mention of Barry’s name. ‘Unfortunately, that is the case. We haven’t had a booking for almost two years. No thanks to the Braxton Hotel opening its doors.’ Lawrence winced again. ‘We’ve been relying on savings to stay in business, but even so, we’ve had to take shortcuts. I’m sure Ms Hollis explained we only have three months left of funding. We desperately need guests.’

‘How many staff do you employ?’ asked Chegwin.

‘I think you’ll find it’s how many staff do you employ, Master Chegwin,’ Lawrence corrected. ‘Let me see … There are exactly eight full-time employees at Toffle Towers, all of whom reside on site.’

‘Then that’s eight jobs I need to save,’ said Chegwin brightly.

‘Why does the hotel employ eight full-time staff when there aren’t any bookings?’ asked Mr Toffle.

Lawrence turned to the portrait. ‘Terrence was fiercely loyal to his staff. He treated us like dear friends. He promised no jobs would be lost, no matter how bad things became.’

‘Well, I think that’s wonderful,’ said Chegwin. ‘It must be nice to have friends.’

The butler fixed his gaze on the boy. ‘Perhaps we should take a tour of the hotel. You had best become familiar with the layout.’

‘Oh, yes!’ said Chegwin. ‘I’ve been dying to know how many rooms the hotel has.’

The imaginative side of Chegwin’s mind was throwing a party. At long last this question of intrigue would be answered.

‘There are forty-nine guest rooms altogether, made up of twenty-four in the left wing and twenty-five in the right wing. The left wing is more popular due to its superior views.’

‘Forty-nine is a strange number,’ said Chegwin. ‘Why didn’t they just make fifty?’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Lawrence, ‘word has it there were fifty rooms built, but only forty-nine can be found.’

‘How can you lose an entire room?’ said Mrs Toffle.

‘It’s that sort of hotel.’

Lawrence led the family up the main staircase, which smelt musty and creaked underneath their weight.

SQUEAK!

The floor beneath the painting felt like it might give way.

‘Oh my,’ said Mrs Toffle.

‘It appears you have discovered our very best creaky floorboard,’ said Lawrence. ‘It’s impossible to walk by without setting it off.’

Chegwin looked up at the portrait of Terrence Toffle, which filled the space at the top of the stairs. It was the sort of painting where the eyes of the subject follow your every move. Most children would find it creepy, but Chegwin found it riveting. He liked the cheekiness in his great-uncle’s face.

‘The main staircase takes you to the second of three floors,’ explained Lawrence. ‘There are separate stairs to the upper level halfway along each corridor. The ground floors can be accessed via the lobby.’

Lawrence guided the family along the walkway to the left, then took the second set of stairs. ‘This is the top floor of the left wing,’ he said. ‘The rooms up here are for our higher-paying guests. Each comes with two bathrooms and has the best view of Alandale and the Gladberry River.’

Chegwin tapped on one of the doors. ‘Are we allowed to look inside?’

Lawrence nodded rather formally. ‘Master Chegwin, may I remind you that this is your hotel. You may do as you please.’ The butler wanted to add ‘Deary, deary, deary me’, but restrained himself. He had known Terrence Toffle long enough to trust there would be purpose in his plan. There must be a reason his former employer had chosen this boy to inherit his hotel.

Chegwin pushed open the door.

It was dark inside the room and there were old bedsheets covering the furniture. Mrs Toffle opened the blinds and natural light – which the room hadn’t seen in months – flooded the space.

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 one 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.’