Come over, mate, I say, sliding the empty plate aside. Your dads top chef found these cabbage rolls to be brilliant. The salads, though, are hit or miss. Todays Caesar is rather bland, and the croutons are soggy. Who made them?
Mrs. Winifred Clarke handles the salads, I reply.
Winifred should be retired by now. Let her bake pies for the grandkids. Im already looking for a replacement.
What do you mean? Emma questions, eyebrows raised. I never asked you for this. Im happy with Winifred. Her meatballs draw customers from the other side of town.
Well get the recipe quickly, and well find younger waiters
Im not hiring anyone! she snaps.
You wont have to. New owners will take over the place.
But the restaurant was left to me in the will.
The will gave you the flat, Emma. Live there, no one can evict you. The bank account is yours too. Three Oranges was a venture not only of your father but also of several serious investors. Theyll take control of the business.
And youre one of them? You were a friend of my father
Ian Spencer shrugs. Business, nothing personal. In fact, were not just going to squeeze the restaurant out of you well buy it from you at a fair price.
In truth, the price they called fair only seemed reasonable from a buyers point of view; to Emma it felt more like a token amount stretched to its limit.
Emmas father had been a powerful figure in the hospitality world. He started with a handful of pubs, then opened a popular eateatery in the city centre on the site of the old Dumpling House. After university, he entrusted Emma with buying market produce for the salads, but he never let her into the kitchen, insisting the chefs needed professional training.
Even though his marriage to Emmas mother had ended years ago when he found a new partner, he kept Emma close. He hardly saw his new companion, Dr. Sarah Collins, a successful surgeon who treated the restaurant business with a cool detachment. Thats probably why the will left Three Oranges solely to his daughter.
He likely drafted the will when he realised his illness was terminal there are conditions even the best surgeons cant beat.
After his death, the restaurant kept running under a manager, but Emma threw herself into every aspect, dreaming up new dishes and planning a modern redesign. The staff liked her; theyd known each other a long time and felt like one big family.
Then new owners arrived. Emma expected greedy interest, but it wasnt the blunt, robberlike kind shed imagined. The real betrayal came from Ian Spencer, who had once taken her and her father to amusement rides in the park. It turned out Ian owned those rides and several other parks.
Her fathers circle of influential officials and businessmen had seemed like benevolent uncles in her childhood almost like fairy godparents, showering her with expensive gifts whenever she mentioned a toy.
Now those same fairy godparents were snatching the restaurant right under her nose.
Her husband, Tom, who worked on the railway and stayed far away from the restaurant scene, gave his own take:
Ive told you for ages this place is a shady business. Sell it for any sum and youll be done. Open a fishandchip shop by the station thatll be profitable. Every day I see a queue for hot pasties on Station Square.
The whole square is already split into plots. And Three Oranges is a memory of my dad.
We still have the cottage another memory. And the flat, if you sort it out. Dont bother with that there are sharks swimming there, he warned, cutting off his own sentence.
Only Ian ever showed up, regularly striking up talk about selling the restaurant while polishing his beloved cabbage rolls and paying for them with exaggerated courtesy. One day he said:
Dont be stubborn, love. Im speaking to you as a father would. Others could come along
Are you threatening me?
Me? God forbid! Im looking out for you, not myself.
So you have no interest in this sale? Ill never believe you.
I have a little. The people who like Three Oranges are far more powerful and influential. Honestly, they could just take the place from you without a second thought.
And then it began. First, a bunch of grimlooking thugs swaggered in, inspected almost every room, overturned a crate of tomatoes and claimed Emmas father owed them an astronomical sum.
Later, evening crowds were broken up by brawls and drunken scandals that hadnt happened in years. Customers drifted away to quieter venues for dinner and banquets. One morning the staff arrived to find the dining room in chaos tables overturned, the kitchen floor littered with the contents of all the fridges. Strangely, the liquor store in the back remained untouched.
Emma managed to get the case of the vandalism into the local polices precinct, thanks to her old schoolmate Ben Harper. She told him everything, starting with Ian.
Ben shook his head. I doubt hes the mastermind. He was probably used as a middleman because you know him. We suspect someone higher up in the citys power structure is pulling the strings. You cant do it with bare hands; you need solid evidence.
Who?
Theres a man who owns factories, newspapers and a fleet of riverboats. He used to work in the city council. Hes found a way into other peoples property that includes your place. By the way, the breakin was odd.
What do you mean? They smashed the place
No sign of forced entry on the lock, and the alarm didnt go off. Someone disabled it and handed over a key. There must be an inside man, a traitor.
There isnt any traitor. Everyones been here a long time.
Then someone was bribed or intimidated
Soon the trouble reached home. Tom issued an ultimatum:
Either you sell the pub or Im out. Ive already been threatened with a knife at the doorway twice. They say if I dont convince you, theyll take it themselves. I dont want that. I just want to live.
So youre running away? You promised to be my rock.
A decent wife, not a witch who throws spoons and forks at the enemy.
A few weeks later Tom actually left, taking everything even his favourite mug, the one Emma had gifted him.
Ben commented philosophically, That kind of husband never really deserved the flat. I split from my partner a year ago, earn little, rarely home. By the way, has your restaurant recovered from the wreck?
Its been a while, Emma replied.
Then Im inviting you over for dinner. Ill pay for everything, and Ill stand guard so no one comes in with a bat.
Emma, surprised at herself, thought perhaps he wouldnt bolt at the first sign of danger something shed barely noticed in school.
Six months later, a former city official resurfaced. He wasnt just after Three Oranges; he also wanted a large shopping centre and an underground car park, which hed already managed to claim with the help of an entire gang another story entirely.
The inside man turned out to be the bartender, Victor, whom Ben identified quickly. Victor was deep in debt to the cocktailmixing crew, and they broke him by forcing him to disable the alarm and make a duplicate key.
One day Ian popped in for the cabbage rolls, asked how things were going, then lowered his eyes and confessed that his own attractions had a weak spot not everything in his amusement parks was above board. Hed been blackmailed into this.
Emma didnt hold a grudge. She invited him back in.
As he left, Ian asked, Are you now under police protection? I noticed a uniformed bloke in your office.
Protected, Emma smiled, by my future husband, Ben. Our wedding is next week right here in the restaurant .
