Author's Note: Don't get used to this pace, but...Merry Christmas, my dears.
The door opened to reveal a neat sitting room. It was well lit by the sunlight that poured into the room through several large windows, with filmy curtains that softened the glare without diminishing the brightness. Mr. Wonka was pacing in front of the fireplace, though no fire had been laid or was needed at this time of year. Mrs. Bucket was ensconced in an armchair, bent over some needlework with a basket of what looked like mending at her feet. They both looked up immediately when Amalda entered.
"Ms. McCaine-" Mr. Wonka began, starting towards her, but surprisingly Mrs. Bucket cut him off.
"Now, now," she shushed him, rising to her feet and taking Amalda's hands to draw her further into the room. "Let her get settled first. Please sit, Ms. McCaine."
"Amalda, please," Amalda corrected with a small smile, letting herself be led to the sofa.
"What a lovely name," Mrs. Bucket replied, pouring a cup of tea and passing it to Amalda. She continued to fuss as Amalda took the first sip and sighed in delight at the warm flavor. She glanced at Mr. Wonka, who had seated himself on the edge of the other armchair and was fidgeting with anxiety.
Mrs. Bucket noticed as well and half-whispered in a conspiratorial voice, "He's like a small child, isn't he? Charlie used to do the same thing when he was...well, significantly younger than Willy."
Mr. Wonka frowned and Amalda quickly took another sip of tea to conceal her smile.
"It's alright. What did you want to ask me, er, Mr. Wonka?" Amalda flushed. She had almost called him by his given name, after hearing Mrs. Bucket use it so casually. Luckily, no one one seemed to notice her stumble.
"Tell me what you remember," He demanded without preamble. "Please," he added more softly, after noticing the admonishing glance that Mrs. Bucket gave him.
Amalda set down her teacup and frowned in thought. "We were on the boat and it was dark. Everything had gone all topsy turvy and I might have been leaning over the side a little-"
"Oh dear," Mrs. Bucket interrupted. "Did it make you sick?"
"Oh, no!" Amalda hastened to reassure her. "I was enjoying it, really." Mrs. Bucket blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. Mr. Wonka's lips twitched as if he was suppressing a grin. "But I think I must have been leaning too far - it was hard to tell with the darkness and the motion - because suddenly I was going over the side." She shivered at the memory. "I tried to hold on but the rail was damp." She continued to explain how she had eventually run up against a wall and managed to pull herself to the relative safety of the ledge. Her explanation trailed off as her recollection grew more uncertain after that. "I don't know how long or how far I crawled. I thought I saw someone at the end, but I'm not sure…"
Mr. Wonka nodded. "One of the Oompa Loompas. You're very lucky you came out into that cave. They heard you and came to investigate." He looked sheepish. "It's why we brought you here instead of any of the other rooms, or even the Bucket residence. We're quite a distance from the main part of the factory."
"You did the right thing," Mrs. Bucket told him firmly. "Even by the time I managed to get here, the poor girl was still half frozen. You couldn't have carried her all the way to our home like that."
Amalda shook her head. "I still think Ms. Weston is going to kill me when she hears about this."
Mr. Wonka's face darkened, though his voice remained deceptively mild. "Oh no she won't."
Amalda raised an eyebrow at him and Mrs. Bucket looked back and forth between the two of them curiously. "And just who is this Ms. Weston?" she asked.
Mr. Wonka didn't immediately answer, so Amalda spoke up. "Another of the applicants. She's...how did you put it? 'Seeking a position she could never hope to fill'?"
"Oh," Mrs. Bucket said faintly. "I see she read the papers then."
"Everyone did, but most of us have enough sense not to believe everything we read," Amalda replied tartly.
"Ms. Weston is irrelevant," Mr. Wonka interjected. "She will not be working here and she should count her blessings that I don't report her to the police."
"The police?" Amalda exclaimed.
Mr. Wonka leaned forward, watching her intently. "My dear, the only way you could have gone over that railing is if you had help. And who was sitting right behind you?"
Amalda's mouth fell open in shock and she heard Mrs. Bucket's gasp. Then Amalda was on her feet, though she didn't remember standing up, fists clenched at her sides.
Mr. Wonka was watching her with that same mild expression, though his gaze remained intense. "Are you quite all right, Ms. McCaine?"
"Fine," she snapped. "I'm just so...just so...that witch! What, does she think I'm competition? I just want some honest work and she wants...she wants...ugh!" Amalda ground her teeth in frustration.
Mr. Wonka's expression grew puzzled. "Ugh? Would it be...is it really...ugh?" he mumbled, sounding as if he was talking to himself. Amalda realized that he thought she meant the idea of flirting with him was disgusting.
"That's not…it's just not appropriate," she said primly, trying to ignore her embarrassed blush. Giving herself a firm shake, she moved on. "Mr. Wonka, I was prepared to apologize and be sent on my way after all the trouble I've caused you." Mr. Wonka and Mrs. Bucket both tried to speak so she continued quickly, "But now, if you don't mind, I would really prefer to rejoin the tour as soon as possible."
Mr. Wonka eyed her curiously. "You're still interested in the position, even after my factory nearly killed you?"
"Your factory is brilliant," she replied solemnly. "An evil woman tried to kill me and I won't let her get away with it."
At her words of praise, Mr. Wonka sat up very straight and spots of color appeared on his cheeks. After the rest of her statement, he gave her a nod. "Brave girl."
Mrs. Bucket had two fingers pressed to her lips and was looking back and forth between them with a strange expression, as if they had changed into something new and fascinating that she had never seen before. Mr. Wonka gave her a questioning look but she merely shook her head with a mysterious smile, never moving her fingers, as if holding in some amusing secret she had just discovered.
Mr. Wonka rose to his feet. "Well, my dear lady, if you are sufficiently refreshed?" Amalda nodded. "Then I think it's time to return." He gave Mrs. Bucket a small bow and then offered Amalda his arm. She took it shyly, thanking Mrs. Bucket for the tea and the care.
Mrs. Bucket waved the thanks away, saying what a pleasure it had been to meet her. "I hope to see you again soon," she added, a strange glint in her eyes. Before Amalda could puzzle out what that meant, they were out the door and into a rather ordinary looking hallway, the marvelous rooms and the entire experience instantly becoming only a memory.
Amalda sighed regretfully.
Mr. Wonka slowed his pace, studying her carefully.
"I'm fine," she said hastily. "I was just thinking that if nothing else, I'll be able to relive these memories over and over again."
"Yes, relive being nearly drowned," he mused dryly.
"That wasn't your fault and that wasn't what I meant," she corrected him patiently. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Anyone who's seen the inside of this factory can be instantly famous, but I've seen something that I doubt anyone else has." She felt his arm tense where her hand rested on it. "Not that I intend to talk to anyone," she hastened to add, patting the arm. "Those memories are just for me." She tapped the side of her head with a wink. Her words worked and he again relaxed under her touch.
"So convinced you won't get the job?" he asked. He was using that mild tone again, the one she was beginning to realize meant he was hiding his true emotions. The realization that he had shown a stranger his private living space must have truly shaken him. It saddened Amalda to see how little faith he had in the world, though as she understood it, very few people had given him reason to trust them. She could certainly sympathize, but didn't know how to reassure him further, so she followed his lead and let the topic change.
"Why would I?" she asked, attempting to keep her voice as neutral as his. "The others, with one exception, are so much more qualified. Even if, as you said, they're too qualified for an assistant position, why would you pick an unskilled worker over one who could grow into so much more?"
Mr. Wonka hmmed to himself. They had reached the end of the hallway and he pressed a button on the wall. Almost immediately, a set of doors opened with a ding and he dropped her arm to step through before her.
Amalda stared around with wide eyes at the oddly shaped room they had entered. "This isn't an ordinary elevator, is it? This is the one everyone talked about. The glass elevator that goes all directions. Isn't it?" Mr. Wonka pressed a button and the elevator zipped to one side. Amalda stumbled and then clung the the nearest rail. Mr. Wonka had already braced himself against the other side.
"Do you know why Charlie did this?" he asked, ignoring her questions. Amalda blinked at him, then was thrown to the other side of the elevator in spite of her grip on the rail. She clung to it, beginning to understand why Mr. Wonka had wedged himself so tightly into the corner. The elevator changed directions so quickly that merely holding a rail wasn't enough to keep yourself from being tossed about. She inched toward one of the corners while trying to maintain her grip.
Mr. Wonka continued. "He thinks I'm lonely." Amalda jerked her head to look at him, startled by the admission. "Well, and that I hate paperwork, which is true. But also, that I'm lonely." Amalda was stunned. So was there some truth to what the papers had speculated about?
The elevator tilted and the rail slipped from her lax fingers. She stumbled across, hitting the wall next to Mr. Wonka with a wince. She rubbed her bruised shoulder as Mr. Wonka grabbed hold of her arm to steady her. "Is that also true then?" she asked. At his raised eyebrow, she added, "That you're lonely."
He stared at her silently. Side by side with their backs flat against the wall, heads tilted to look sideways at each other, and his hand with a vice grip on her arm, Amalda held her breath.
He spoke, but the elevator chose that moment to spin like a top, or like a demented matchmaker, since with the way she was being so tightly held, it tossed her into his arms instead of across the room. Her free hand slapped the glass beside his head, bracing herself so that she would not fall full against him.
"What was that?" she asked breathlessly. Her face was red again and she hoped he attributed it to exertion rather than her reaction to being practically sprawled across him. She looked up into his blue eyes, so close to hers now.
His hand flexed on her arm, the other landing around her waist. He tilted his head forward and the weight of his intention settled over her. She couldn't move, couldn't look away from his gaze.
Quietly, he replied, "I said yes."
Then he lowered his head the short distance to capture her lips.
