A/N: Okay just re-edited this one as there was a severe lack of description :S Hopefully this will get better as it and if it progresses. Any reviews would be appreciated : ) Thanks xxx

A fortnight passed, almost uneventful for the daily routines that bled together into one. Of course Isabelle had a few drinks at weekends with Jemima from the boutique across the street, a quiet girl, her best friend, but by no means unmarried. Of course some days were better than others, especially those where she avoided the eagle eyes of Mr Fugus the butcher. It wasn't that he was horrible, but there was something about a man who spent his days covered in bloodstains and wore his moustache like a dislodged toupee that was less than comforting.

Another Thursday pounced and Isabelle was left to run the shop alone as Annie had called in sick. She was a little less dishevelled this time but was hardly following her co-worker's advice to smarten up entirely. A few strands of her hair poked out in a pineapple style from her bobble and she had allowed the small design of a cat to creep into the top corner of today's blouse.

She was just collecting a packet of gold ribbons from the storeroom when she heard a hoarse voice calling from upstairs on the shop floor.

"Hello? Is anyone around?"

Isabelle hurried up the wooden steps to be of service; and came face to face with an old man with a top hat, a grey beard and rather large spectacles. Her expression became immediately sulky.

"Yes, what would you like?" she asked coldly. "Sir?"

"Uh, I'd like to buy some flowers," he said. "That is what you do here after all."

Isabelle strode to the counter and placed the ribbons in a drawer.

"Well at least you've got that part right now," she snorted. "Any idea what kind of flowers?"

The man hobbled nearer to her, blissfully unaware of her tone. He squinted around at the displays on the shelves and in the windows before standing near the till.

"I'd like those ones," he said, finally, pointing to a bouquet settled on one of the ledges behind her. "To give to a pretty lady." He gave a wheezing chuckle.

"Oh really," Isabelle replied, dully as she reached for them.

"Yes, it's for my wife. It's our anniversary today."

The young woman flushed and slammed the bouquet onto the counter.

"You don't fool me, you know. Why do you wear that ridiculous disguise and make up stupid stories to confuse me?" Isabelle snarled.

The accused blinked at her.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh come here!" she growled and without further ado reached across the counter to tug at his beard. She wrenched hard, hoping to pull back the chocolate-maker's elastic strings and snap them triumphantly in his face. But to her horror the beard stayed firmly in place, and the old customer yelped in pain.

"What do ye think you're doing, girl! You're completely bananas is what you are!" he cried escaped as fast as his walking stick would allow. Without a backward glance, he was stumbling off through the streets.

Isabelle clapped a hand to her mouth. What had she done? This really wasn't a good day for female hormones. She staggered back against the shelves and slid down to a crouch.

A roll of tape bounced out of the cupboard that made up part of the counter. It rolled, glistening, towards her and toppled by her foot. She watched it for a few moments, finding a sense of solace in its inanimate form.

Another ring of tape slipped out of the gap in the cupboard door. Isabelle frowned. There was an ominous creaking coming from the counter. She crawled towards it, planning to stop an avalanche of gift-wrappings she was sure was to burst out.

It creaked again, and swung open. A tumbleweed of tinsel spilled from the cupboard and uncovered the shadow beyond. Isabelle shrieked.

"Wow," said Mr Wonka, nervously. "It sure needs cleaning up in here." He smiled, petrified, at her from inside the counter.

He wasn't anywhere near as old as she'd believed him to be, having not seen him without the stupid fake beard, but probably closer to her own. His face was silvery pale and curtained with an unflattering crop of hair like an upturned plum pudding; his suit wine-red with shining 'W's on the cuffs and collar. He was like a walking, talking Wonka bar; and he was still wearing those ludicrous sunglasses.

"What…are you DOING in there?" Isabelle gasped, eyes threatening to ignite.

"Well, I, uh…I came in to…to ask for…that is…" he fumbled around with his words before blurting out: "There-was-a-guy, that-old-guy, he-came-in-and-I-was-worried-he'd-recognise-me-so-I-hid-in-here." He tried to move and banged his top-hatted head on the underside of the desk. "Can I come out now?" he winced.

Isabelle's state of disbelief had transcended anger. She got up and gestured that he could remove himself from his hiding place. The world-renowned chocolatier scrambled out and dusted off his coat and tails.

She suddenly couldn't help but laugh at his attire.

It was Mr Wonka's turn to frown.

"Whatsa matter with you?"

"Nothing. Just you wonder why people recognise you all the time when you go around in an aristocratic suit the colour of a ripe raspberry."

The chocolate-maker sniffed and held his head high.

"I may have to go incognito but it's no excuse to be improperly dressed," he scoffed.

Isabelle rolled her eyes.

"All right. So what is it you wanted? A rare man-eating cactus? 'Cause we've been fresh out of those for a while now."

Mr Wonka opened his mouth to speak, showing a set of unnervingly straight teeth, but decided against it. He pouted in a sultry manner, tipped his hat in farewell and made for the door.

Isabelle sighed and closed her eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry. Seriously, what did you want? I don't want to scare off my second customer of the day."

The chocolatier set his cane to the ground and used it to spin in her direction.

"Well, I didn't want nothin', little girl. What made you think I did?"

Isabelle felt her blood boil. Little…girl?

"Oh, so you just thought you'd take a walk around my shop for a breath of fresh air, is that it?" she seethed.

"Yeah," Mr Wonka said decidedly. "Though if you ask me, I think the air's pretty stale right about now."

She felt her face redden.

"Well I don't ask you do I? I won't ever ask you anything. You're just another smarmy toff who thinks they can waltz into my life whenever they please, not knowing the first thing about me, believing that somehow they're just that damn important that I should notice them! So just get out before you even think of asking me to make your life any less miserable for you!"

The chocolatier stood in silence as though he'd been singed by a dragon's flame. One of his hands dabbed at his coat pocket, searching vainly for the cue card that he hadn't yet written. He twisted his lips thoughtfully and, at last, his gaze swept from the floor to look her in the eyes. As he did so, he tilted his shades to reveal his eyes. His expression was of realisation.

"Oh," he said. "You thought that I came here to -." He broke off, his face paling to grey. A faint 'ew' slipped from his mouth. He trembled, and bolted out of the door, leaving Isabelle to stand in bafflement.

Numbly, she sank to her knees and started to clear up the glittering mess at the back of the counter.