A/N: My sincere apologies for the time it has taken to update on all my fanfictions at the present time. Due to lack of time, broken monitor and ... for this story at least as I'm not keen on romance...I've had severe writer's block. If I find a renewed muse for this particular story I shall indeed update it!

Even the bathrooms of this extraordinary complex held their surprises. Nevertheless the taps were tap-shaped and did not spurt chocolate but hot or cold water as expected. There was however an incident involving a seemingly harmless bar of soap, which when applied to the body erupted into an infestation of self-driven bubbles. Mr Wonka had burst in at the screaming – an action that only caused more screaming from the female bather. He'd escaped with minor bruising from a poorly aimed shampoo bottle.

Isabelle also got a shock from the pink bath towel exploded into an enormous candy puff once she had wrapped it around her. With the grace of a novelty meringue she had crept back into the bedroom to find some clothes laid out cautiously on the desk stool.

Presently she sat on the end of Charlie's bed, absently watching a clock on the wall. The hour struck nine. A flap opened at the top of the clock and a tiny Easter bunny hopped out, thumped its foot the appropriate measure of times, and bounced back into the works.

There came a timid knock at the door. It was followed by a much louder knock as though the visitor had force-fed himself courage.

"Miss Vane, are ya dressed?" Willy's voice sounded.

"Yes."

The door opened a fraction.

"Are ya gonna throw somethin' at me?"

"Not yet."

Mr Wonka hesitated but coaxed himself to enter the room. He swallowed at the sight of her wearing the plum dress he'd picked out for her. Plum. He really had to get over this obsession, and the hat one too…she wasn't wearing the black and white striped beret he'd left for her. Never mind, one step at a time.

Willy cleared his throat and revealed something he had hidden behind his back.

"I believe this is yours," he said, dropping a handbag crusted with dry chocolate into her hands. "It was found floating in my river."

"You have a river in this place?" she replied, beyond disbelief.

"Sort of."

Her attention had drifted back to her bag as she rummaged delicately through the dried mess caking its contents. At last she pulled out what she had been looking for – her Golden invitation. She held it out to the chocolatier. It was barely legible now but he took it regardless in rubbery fingers.

"Oh dear," Willy muttered, scanning the faded lettering.

"Hmm?"

"Like I said before," Mr Wonka replied, handing the ticket back with a grimace, "I didn't write it. They really went too far. I shoulda seen somethin' like this comin'."

Isabelle's brow creased.

"By they, do you mean those people in the hooded robes?"

Willy nodded.

"But they work for you. Why would they-?" Isabelle faltered before continuing. "They had a paper. They think I'm responsible for a sales fall in your factory."

Willy, his eyes still hidden behind his cracked goggles, muttered, "Poppycock."

"But why would they think that?" Izzy pressed. "Mr Wonka, I don't know you and you really don't know me. We run entirely different businesses, so how can I possibly affect who buys your stuff or not?"

"That certainly is a mystery," Willy said quickly. He turned to leave. "Well, g'night Miss Vane."

Isabelle was struck.

"Good night? But it's barely past nine, and I haven't even got my clothes back yet."

"They won't be clean for a while," Mr Wonka answered awkwardly. "I assumed you'd be okay to stay the night in here."

The florist raised an eyebrow.

"You're going to sleep this early?"

"No," was the indignant reply. Willy hugged his coat tighter around him so she wouldn't remember he had pyjamas underneath. "I'm, uh, gonna catch up on some work."

"Oh," said Isabelle. Once again she felt about five years old. "Can I come with you? I'm not tired."

Mr Wonka tensed.

"You wanna wander about with me through my top secret, valuable factory where almost everyone in the whole world is not allowed to walk on account of it being so top secret and valuable?"

Isabelle cast her eyes to the floor.

"Well, all right," Willy sighed. "But you gotta wear the hat. It's rude not to wear a hat indoors."

"I thought it was the other way around," the florist uttered as she rose. "You're supposed to take hats off -."

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

She silenced at the unnerving goggle gaze and placed the beret on her head.

"Okay then," said Mr Wonka, his teeth showing in a half smile. "Let's move along."

Isabelle let out a long breath as the chocolatier turned to the door. She glanced at herself in a mirror on the wall – a little bedraggled, a bit overdressed – and then followed him outside.