Willy fairly floated into the Inventing Room the next morning. He'd slept well. So well, in fact, that he'd overslept and missed breakfast.
Charlie was waiting for him, making a thin pretense at working when really he seemed to have accomplished absolutely nothing yet today. "Well?" he asked eagerly as soon as Willy appeared. "How did it go?"
Willy smiled dreamily. "We ate star candies under the stars."
For Willy's final surprise of the night, he'd produced a blanket, spreading it out across the roof and bringing the starry key dessert. Amalda had broken the key in half and they'd each eaten one part of it, a gesture that had felt almost ceremonial, and then they'd munched on the star candies while pointing out their favorite constellations to each other. They'd ended up staring out over the sleeping city, Amalda resting her head on Willy's shoulder.
"It was perfect," Willy sighed.
Charlie made a face that said his idea of perfect was very different from Willy's, but all he said was, "That's great, Mr. Wonka! So she'll be back? Mum will be thrilled."
Willy nodded. "We didn't set any specific dates…she does have her own business to run, after all. But hopefully later this week," he said wistfully.
Charlie eyed him. "We're going to be designing a lot of fluffy, romantic things, aren't we?" His voice was so plaintive that Willy laughed, and Charlie grinned at him, not nearly as put at as he'd pretended.
"I'm sorry, Charlie," Willy replied. "Let's work on the pastry filling first. We still have Ms. Stolp's latest advice to test out."
Charlie nodded and the two settled in to work, and if Willy occasionally drifted off into a daydream about something he would like to tell Amalda, Charlie was kind enough to merely roll his eyes and nudge his mentor back into focus.
Amalda hummed to herself as she flipped through her final revision of "The Macaw's Message". It was about a beautiful bird who's vibrant plumage was envied by all, but she had a terrible, squawking voice and everyone who was drawn in by her beauty always laughed and mocked her once they heard her speak. The lonely macaw, craving true friendship, used her unusual voice to learn the language of other creatures, and eventually gathered to her a strange family of outcasts that loved and cherished her more truly than any of her feathered family ever had.
It had been three weeks since Willy Wonka had walked into her shop and it still felt like a dream to her. Sundays had become their day, with Amalda arriving early enough to help Mrs. Bucket prepare dinner, in spite of her protests, and then after she would spend some time with Willy, just the two of them, talking and exploring whatever area of the factory struck their fancy. It had been the Chocolate Room the first day, then a stroll around the outskirts of the Oompa Loompa village the next time. She had been surprised to learn how extensive their lands were, and by extension how much ground the factory encompassed. The building's visage that was visible from the street was impressive enough, but there was so much more that was hidden from view.
The third time Willy had apologized that he really did have some paperwork to take care of before they could enjoy themselves. When Amalda saw the massive backlog of work in his office, she immediately insisted they spend the evening making sense of it. Willy was chagrined and clearly overwhelmed, but she hadn't shown up for his secretary interviews without being prepared. Within only a few short hours, she had the chaos sorted into a few neat piles, with one very small one for extremely urgent matters that couldn't wait.
Willy had shaken his head. "You have your own sort of magic, Amalda."
She had scoffed. "There's nothing magical about being organized and paying attention to details."
"Oh, I absolutely disagree." He'd pulled her to him then and she'd ended up perched on his lap, his hands on her waist and her arms around his neck.
"Maybe I really do need a secretary," he had murmured distractedly quite a bit later. His hair was wilder than usual and his lips were swollen. Amalda herself had felt distinctly disheveled, even if Willy's hands had never strayed from their polite placement on her hips or shoulders or chin.
"Hmm." She'd glanced around the office. "It really shouldn't be that much work. You just let it get away from you and then it feels impossible.
"Not how I'd planned to spend my evening," he had added, smirking at her from where he still sat in his half-chair, his chin resting in one hand. "How am I ever going to manage to be productive at this desk again with such distracting memories?"
Amalda had given him a coy smile. "If you ask especially nicely, I might be persuaded to help more often."
He'd quirked an eyebrow at her. "Nicely?" he asked, rising slowly and striding toward her.
Amalda had blushed, but stood her ground and tilted her chin at him challengingly.
In the end, they did not manage to visit any other part of the factory that evening.
Charlie Bucket was feeling very smug.
His matchmaking attempt, which had originally seemed to go disastrously wrong, was now playing out more beautifully than he could ever have hoped. Mr. Wonka was dating someone. Regularly. And Charlie even liked her.
Amalda was incredible. She was warm and friendly, even-tempered and full of laughter. She knew her own value without being arrogant about it and could go toe-to-toe with Mr. Wonka in whatever mischievous mood he happened to be in.
The effect on Mr. Wonka was obvious. Beyond the expected traits of smiling more, and fretting less about paperwork (that was a whole other story), he was dreaming up new candy ideas at a frenetic pace, and the latest round of inventions was more fanciful and more colorful than anything Charlie had seen before.
Yes, everything was coming up roses.
Including Mr. Wonka's new candied bouquets, which were set to launch next month, just in time for Valentine's Day. It would be Wonka Industries first big product launch since the second golden ticket contest, although that hardly counted. Charlie had learned a lot about managing the distribution of huge volumes of product, but that was different from an entirely new product that needed to appear in shops worldwide simultaneously. Valentine's was not only the perfect launch time due to the romantic nature of the product, but also because every candy shop that Wonka Industries shipped to would already be expecting larger numbers than usual around that time. Sending a new product instead of larger quantities of the existing ones was the perfect cover for the surprise.
Mr. Wonka was nearly bouncing off the walls in excitement. He'd had Mr. Wilkinson subtly put in requests for newspapers around the world to be collected that week so he could review the headlines, and he'd gone so far as to set up a brand new color TV in the Buckets living room, so that they could all watch the news and hear the first reports of the world's reaction to the new candy.
But when Mr. Wilkinson showed up on the Buckets' doorstep one morning, unannounced and with Mr. Wonka suspiciously absent, his expression even more dour than usual, Charlie knew something had gone terribly wrong.
Without a word of explanation, Mr. Wilkinson strode into the cottage and went straight to the television.
"Charlie, what's going on?" Mrs. Bucket asked, emerging from the kitchen where she'd just finished clearing up the breakfast dishes. "Oh, Mr. Wilkinson! Good morning, what-"
Her words cut off as the television blared to life.
"How does he do it?" The newscaster was saying. "We're outside of Slugworth Chocolate Incorporated with Mr. Arthur Slugworth himself, the creator of the brand new Sweetie Flowers that have rocked the candy world this week. Sir, tell us a little about your fabulous new product?"
Charlie gasped.
As Slugworth began to expound on his new candy, a photo appeared on the screen: rows of candy flowers of all types, not just roses as Wonka Industries had planned to produce, but lilies and irises and daisies and poppies and wildflowers of all types and colors. And flavors, Slugworth explained. Everyone was encouraged to build the perfectly flavored bouquet from the candied flower assortment that was available.
"It's…not quite the same, is it?" Mrs. Bucket asked faintly, slowly sinking into a chair. "You're focusing on roses…right?"
Charlie swallowed around the lump in his throat. "That was going to be phase 2," he croaked. "Start with the roses for Valentine's Day, then branch out into all the others for Spring and Summer. It was going to be a whole thing, new flowers every other week."
Mr. Wilkinson was shaking his head. "Not now, it's not. Slugworth beat us to the punch and if we release anything now, even the roses…well." He sighed. "It's just like the last time."
"The last time?" Charlie started to ask, then gasped, remembering how the factory had been shuttered for ages prior to the first golden ticket contest. "Oh no…where's Mr. Wonka now?" He turned to Mr. Wilkinson desperately. "Has he seen yet? Does he know?"
Mr. Wilkinson shook his head. "He wasn't in his office when I checked. I assumed he would be here with you, but-"
Charlie didn't wait for him to finish his sentence. He was out the door, tearing for the factory as fast as he could run.
He didn't make it two steps before he stumbled to a halt.
Mr. Wonka was striding cheerfully up the front walk. His hands were tucked casually into his trouser pockets and he was whistling. He smiled when he saw Charlie but it quickly turned into concern. "Charlie?"
Charlie found that he was out of breath, even though he hadn't actually run anywhere. "You…you don't know…" he panted.
"Know what?" His expression cycled from concern into fear into something colder as he focused on something behind Charlie. "Wilkinson?" Charlie turned to find Mr. Wilkinson standing in the doorway.
Mr. Wilkinson's face was as impassive as ever, but he lowered his gaze as if ashamed. "I'm sorry, sir."
Amalda was humming again.
"You've been doing that a lot lately," Damien observed.
He didn't have any particular reason for being in the shop that day. He'd simply shown up about an hour before closing, dragged a chair out of one of the reading nooks, and kicked his feet up a stack of boxes containing recently delivered books.
Amalda blushed. "Some of us do have work to do," she told him tartly, though with no venom in her voice.
Damien tossed her a smile and a wink. "Aw, but you love me." Amalda rolled her eyes. "So, gift for that guy?" He nodded at the paper-wrapped gift that she had been putting the finishing touches on.
Amalda raised an eyebrow at hearing Willy referred to as that guy but simply nodded, adjusting the artful red bow that she was affixing to the front.
"Isn't it a bit, I dunno, arrogant," Damien drawled, "giving him one of your own books?"
"It's not a book, it's a manuscript. And you're just jealous because I haven't let you see it yet." Now it was Damien's turn to roll his eyes. "And it's, well…I wrote it for him," she finished softly, shyly.
Damien rested his chin on his hand, his fingers partially concealing his smirk. "Damn, girl, you've got it bad." She blushed again. "You seeing him for Valentine's Day then?"
She shook her head. "Shops don't close for Valentine's Day, but I'll see him on Sunday."
Damien hmmed. "Valentine's Eve, almost as good."
She eyed him. "You're being a little nosy, you know."
He waved her comment away idly, but not before she caught a flash of bitterness that crossed his face and was gone. "We can't all be lucky in love. Some of us have to live vicariously."
"I thought you had someone you were interested in?"
He sighed, slouching in the chair. "Were, paste tense, Mally."
"She turned you down?" she asked sympathetically
"Nope." He made a popping noise on the 'p'. "Found someone else. Missed my chance."
Amalda felt suddenly awkward. "Oh," was all she could think of to say.
The silence stretched for a long moment and then Damien kicked up out of the chair. "Well, those of us who aren't seeing anyone are off to have dinner by our lonesome selves. Call me when you need art for lover boy's book." He tossed a wave and a grin that looked slightly off over his shoulder as he left, leaving Amalda frowning uncertainly after him.
On Sunday, February 13th, it poured. Of course it did. Amalda huffed as she scowled out the window at the darkened skies. Mr. Wilkinson had given her his number for exactly this type of situation, should she ever find herself in need of a ride to the factory, but normally Amalda was happy to walk, enjoying the fresh air and exercise. It was hard to work indoors all day after so many years spent outside at the zoo. Yet today, when she at last used that phone number, there was no answer.
So she tucked her gift for Willy carefully into her long jacket before buttoning it up tightly and pulling out her umbrella. Her wellies weren't exactly the most attractive thing to be wearing on a date and it's not like they usually dressed to impress, but…she would have liked to look nice today. It was her first time bringing a gift, a Valentine's gift no less.
The rain was coming down in sheets and Amalda was feeling decidedly soggy, windswept and chilled by the time she reached the factory. She wondered if she might finagle a cup of hot chocolate from someone. Wonka hot chocolate would surely taste fantastic and made her feel warmer just thinking about it.
As tempted as she was to use the front entrance of the factory in such terrible weather, she dutifully trooped around to the back. She was just approaching the door when it opened and a tall, thin silhouette greeted her. Not Willy, she realized.
"Mr. Wilkinson, hello! I tried to call…" Her voice trailed off when the man did not immediately welcome her in.
He pursed his lips and only stared at her for a long minute before at last stepping aside, then frowned down his nose at her as she stood dripping just inside the entrance.
"Is something wrong?" she asked tentatively.
"If you'll follow me, Ms. McCaine," he said with unusual formality.
Amalda blinked. "Of course, let me just…" She took a step toward the Cloak Room where she frequently left her jacket.
"No!" She froze at the snapped command. "You will follow me directly. This way, please."
Amalda gaped at him, then down at the puddles of water she was trailing. "A-alright," she gulped. Something was definitely very wrong.
Mr. Wilkinson led her silently through the corridors and after a moment she realized that they were heading toward Willy's office. Perhaps he was having a particularly trying time with his paperwork? Enough so that he had worn even Mr. Wilkinson's temper short? She eyed the man, but decided against asking for clarification. She'd have her answers soon enough.
The office door was shut when they arrived. Mr. Wilkinson rapped twice, then opened it without waiting for an answer, but he did not enter. He stepped to one side and gestured for Amalda to precede him.
A tousled blonde head looked up at her entrance. "Charlie?" she asked in confusion. The door shut firmly behind her and she realized that Mr. Wilkinson had not followed her into the room. "What's going on? Where's Willy?"
Charlie twisted around in his half-chair to look at her and she barely held back the worried exclamation. He looked awful, as if he hadn't slept in days. It wasn't unusual for his hair to be a mess, but there were bags under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that was not at all natural for a healthy young man. He was also watching her with an unprecedented expression of fear and suspicion. "Do you know?" he asked, sounding so very tired that her heart ached for him.
"Know what?" she asked, wringing her umbrella in her hands. "Charlie, what's going on?"
Charlie fished around on his messy half-desk for a moment before pulling out a wrinkled newspaper. He held it out to her without moving closer, letting go as soon as she touched it. As if he preferred to have as little to do with her as possible.
Amalda carefully unfolded and smoothed the paper, trying not to smudge the newsprint with her damp sleeves. A large headline covered the top half of the front page.
WONKA STEALS FLORAL CANDY IDEA, SLUGWORTH TO SUE
"But that was Willy's idea! How did Slugworth even find out about it?" She looked up to see Charlie studying her. Her heart dropped as she realized what was happening. Only two people who knew about the new candy had ever left the factory grounds: Mr. Wilkinson and herself. And of course Mr. Wilkinson was above reproach.
"You think I told him?" she gasped, feeling suddenly dizzy.
"I think you told someone," Charlie said, sounding almost apologetic. He also looked a bit relieved, like her stunned reaction had cleared up some lingering doubts he might have had. "A…friend maybe?"
The door banged open before she could answer.
Willy stood in the doorway and Amalda shrank back from the heat of his gaze. In a blink the rage was gone and he simply stood there, deceptively mild and perfectly attired, as always. The look he gave her was cordial and somewhat disdainful, as he deliberately swept his eyes over her dripping form.
"Charlie," he began, his voice so charmingly pleasant that the tension in the room ratcheted up several notches. "Why is this miscreant dripping on our carpet?" Amalda gasped and his eyes flashed, as if he knew his words had cut her…and he enjoyed it.
"Mr. Wonka, wait-" Charlie stood up quickly, but before he could insert himself between Amalda and Willy, Willy stepped in close to her, sneering down at her with eyes like ice chips.
"If you thought you could ruin me, you have failed," he told her, still speaking with that eerily calm voice that made her skin crawl. "If you thought you could worm your way into my life, my factory, my heart," he bit off the last word. "You. Have. Failed."
Amalda could only gape up at him in shock, feeling like the whole world had been spun out from under her.
Willy was so close to her now it could have been intimate, if he wasn't being cruel. "If you think I can't ruin you, should I choose to do so, you are wrong. You are nothing, Amalda McCaine, and if you ever set foot on the premises of my property again, I will have you arrested for trespassing." He took a deep breath and a step back, and gestured to the door. "Now, please get out."
She felt her knees wobble and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Charlie was speaking, pleading it sounded like, but she couldn't make sense of his words. All she could think was that she would not, absolutely would not, let them see her pain. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and matched Willy's attitude with a cool, regal look of her own.
"I know my own worth, thank you. And when you realize how very wrong everything you just said is, you know where to find me to apologize." She took a step through the door. Willy remained frozen, staring past her, his bland smile frozen in place. Charlie and Mr. Wilkinson both shifted as if to follow but her gaze cut to them and whatever they saw on her face stopped them both in their tracks. "I know the way. Gentlemen." She gave them a polite nod, then let herself look at Willy one last time. "Mr. Wonka."
As she pulled the door shut behind her, she heard Charlie exclaim in a broken voice, "What have you done?"