‘I’ve some rather good news, Master Chegwin. The top two floors in the left wing are almost entirely booked out for the next three nights.’

The tails of Lawrence’s tuxedo appeared sleeker than usual as he proudly shared the information.

Chegwin opened his inbox to see the flood of bookings the butler was referring to. ‘Brilliant! It looks like the milkshake baths and shuttle bus have done the trick.’ The young manager let out a contented sigh. He had bought more time for his staff. And perhaps there was even enough money coming in to go ahead with his plan for the restaurant. Pepper had loved the idea. ‘It’s going to be a busy few days.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help, Master Chegwin?’ said Lawrence.

‘Yes, please. Ask Dusty and Mildew to prepare the ground floor in the left wing. I have a feeling we’ll soon need the extra rooms.’

‘Of course.’

Chegwin smiled at Lawrence. Here was a man completely committed to his job. He deserved a place to work in without having to worry about his future. All of the staff did. It pushed the young manager into making a snap decision.

As Lawrence turned to leave, Chegwin blurted out, ‘Oh, and cancel all bookings in the Grazing Room until further notice.’ His heart was racing. It was a big risk, but he had to go ahead with his master plan. If he succeeded, it would guarantee the survival of Toffle Towers. It would guarantee the survival of his staff.

Lawrence raised an eyebrow. ‘May I be so bold as to ask why? The restaurant is one of our biggest assets.’

Chegwin fiddled with his loose button. ‘Let’s just say the Grazing Room is about to undergo … refurbishments.’

There was an abrupt tap on the office door. It was Mrs Flibbernut, who had arrived for Chegwin’s first lesson.

Lawrence bowed. ‘I’ll pass the instructions on to Dusty and Mildew. I trust you enjoy some wonderful learning, Master Chegwin.’

Mrs Flibbernut entered the room and sat down on the other side of the oak desk. She retrieved some books and papers from her handbag. ‘Goodness, it’s been a while,’ she said. ‘Now, let me get my glasses.’

The old lady rifled through her bag again and pulled out two small drinking cups. ‘I can’t work without my glasses.’

‘What are those for?’ asked Chegwin.

‘Coffee, of course.’ Mrs Flibbernut poured steaming brown liquid into both cups. ‘Double shot,’ she said briskly. ‘Keeps me alert. Now, let’s start by learning some history.’

‘What sort of history?’

Mrs Flibbernut took a sip of coffee and her eyes flashed wild. She stood on her chair then stepped onto the oak desk. She waved her arms around, pointing to the walls in the office. ‘The history of Toffle Towers, of course. I may be old, but I’m still as sharp as a tack and I do my research. Now, prepare to write this down … Terrence Toffle built this hotel when he was only eighteen …’

The lesson was another welcome distraction for Chegwin. It kept his mind from thinking about his parents and worrying about the hotel’s finances.

Mrs Flibbernut taught him – rather dramatically – all about Toffle Towers’ rich history. Stomping on the oak desk, she explained how Terrence was a dreamer who had run away from home at the age of fifteen because his parents were too strict on him.

Terrence had built the hotel as an escape. He busied himself with different projects and threw huge parties for his guests. Bands would come to play in the Grazing Room and the celebrations would often spill down to the river.

Mrs Flibbernut acted out a saxophone solo and pretended to fall into the Gladberry. ‘Best place for a saxophone is at the bottom of a river,’ she said. ‘Horrid instruments.’

The old lady continued the lesson, retelling the story of how, one day, Terrence Toffle had fallen in love with a tourist from France and married her that same year. They had a child – a baby boy. But that’s when the family records became murky. There was no evidence of his wife or son beyond that.

Chegwin couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets his family might have.

Mrs Flibbernut explained that Toffle Towers had enjoyed years of healthy business until a new hotel appeared in Alandale. She puffed out her chest and enacted the fanfare of a grand opening.

‘You can see the Braxton Hotel from the top floor of the left wing,’ said Chegwin.

‘I see it every time I look outside,’ said Mrs Flibbernut. ‘Ugly place. No character.’

Chegwin enjoyed studying the original plans of the hotel, which Mrs Flibbernut had discovered while doing her research.

‘I can only see forty-nine rooms on the blueprints,’ said Chegwin. ‘But Lawrence said they built fifty.’

He was also surprised to learn that there was a basement in the right wing. He’d have to do some more exploring.

The lesson finished and Mrs Flibbernut packed up her things, wiping her brow. ‘You’re a fine student, Chegwin,’ she said. ‘The report from that bongo-head at the other school is a load of nonsense.’

‘You’re a fine teacher,’ said Chegwin. ‘I can’t thank you enough for coming to Alandale and teaching me. School wasn’t really working out.’

‘Giving me an excuse to come to Alandale was more than I could ask for,’ said the old lady. ‘But there is just one more thing you could do for me …’

‘Anything,’ said Chegwin.

‘I’d like a bigger television in my room. The world rock climbing championship is underway and I want to experience it on widescreen. Mountaineering reminds me of life, you know. Sometimes you have to take risks to achieve something truly great – to reach the summit, so to speak.’

This made a lot of sense to Chegwin. It was how he was feeling about his restaurant idea. He smiled as he walked Mrs Flibbernut to the door. ‘I’ll have Mikey bring you our biggest set.’

Bing.

A message had arrived in Chegwin’s inbox.