Im inviting you over, Ian Spencer says, pushing an empty plate aside. Your fathers top chef found a great recipe for the cabbage rolls. The salads, though, are hitormiss. Todays Caesar looks rather bland, the croutons are soggy. Who made them?
The salads are handled by Mrs. Mabel Hart, Emily replies.
Its high time we retire Mabel. Let her bake pies for the grandchildren. Im already looking for a replacement, Ian says.
What do you mean? Emily is taken aback. I never asked you for this. Im happy with Mabelpeople travel from the other side of town just for her meatballs.
Well get the recipe soon enough, and well find younger waitstaff Ian begins.
Im not hiring anyone! Emily snaps.
You wont have to. Others will take over the restaurant, Ian says.
But its my inheritance, Emily protests.
Your inheritance is the flat you live in. You can stay; no one will evict you. The bank account is yours. Three Oranges was a project your father started with several serious investors. Theyll take the premises, Ian shrugs. We were friends of your father, after all.
Ian lifts his shoulders. Business. Nothing personal. In fact, well buy the place from you at a fair price, of course.
Soon it turns out that fair means a price only the buyers consider reasonable; to the seller it feels more like a token sum stretched thin.
Emilys father, John Whitford, had been a powerful figure in the hospitality world. He began with a handful of small pubs, then opened a popular restaurant in central London on the site of the old Dumpling House. After Emily graduated, he trusted her to source fresh produce for the salads at the market, but he never let her into the kitchen, insisting that only trained chefs belonged there.
Although John no longer lived with Emilys motherhe had a new partnerhe kept Emily close. He barely saw his new partner, a successful surgeon who was indifferent to the restaurant business. That indifference likely explains why John left the whole Three Oranges to his daughter alone in his will.
He probably drafted the will when he realized he was terminally ill; some illnesses even the best surgeons cannot beat.
After Johns death, the restaurant kept running under its manager, but Emily threw herself into every aspect, dreaming of new dishes and a modern redesign. The staff treated her well; after all, theyd known each other for years and felt like one big family.
Then new owners appeared. Emily expected someone to show greedy interest in Three Oranges, but it wasnt the blatant looting shed imagined. The real blow came from Ian Spencer, who had once taken Emily and her father to a local amusement park as children. It turns out Ian owned those ridesand not just at one park.
Johns circle included many influential officials and businessmen, who had seemed like kind, generous uncles to Emily in her youth, always buying her the latest toys. Now those same kind uncles were snatching her restaurant, brazenly.
Emilys husband, Kevin, who works for the railway and stays far away from the restaurant scene, weighs in: Ive told you this place is basically a criminal enterprise. Sell it for any price and youll be done. Open a fishandchip shop at the station; its lucrative. Every day I see a queue for hot pasties at the railway plaza.
Its all been divided up already, and Three Oranges is a memory of my father, Emily says.
We still have the cottageanother memory. And the flat, if you sort it out. Dont mess with that; there are sharks swimming there, Kevin warns, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
Those sharks never showed their faces; only Ian kept turning up, always chatting about selling the restaurant while politely paying for his beloved cabbage rolls. One day he says, Youre being stubborn, girl. Im only being a fatherly voice. Others will come
Threatening me? Emily asks.
Me? Heaven forbid! Im looking out for you, not myself, Ian replies.
Do you have any interest in selling? Emily demands.
Some, Ian admits. The people who like Three Oranges are even more powerful. They could simply take it from you, and theyd face no consequences.
And so it begins. First, a gang of grimy thugs sweeps through almost every room, overturns a crate of tomatoes, and claims John owes them an astronomical sum. Later, evenings that used to be bustling turn into fights and drunken brawlsa rarity for the venue. Patrons dwindle as they choose quieter places for dinner and events. One morning the staff finds the dining room in total chaos, the kitchen floor littered with the contents of every fridge; the alcohol store oddly remains untouched.
Emily manages to get the case of the vandalism into the local police precinct, thanks to her old schoolmate, Brian Pritchard. She tells him everything, starting with Ian.
Brian shakes his head. I doubt Ian is the mastermind. He was probably used as a gobetween because you know him. We suspect theres someone pulling the strings from the city centre, but you cant take them on barehanded. You need solid evidence.
Who? Emily asks.
Theres a man who owns factories, newspapers, even steamships. He used to work in the city council. Hes found a way into other peoples property. By the way, the breakin was odd.
Whats odd about it?
No forced entry, no alarm triggered. Someone must have disabled the system and handed over a key. Looks like theres an insidera traitor in your team.
Theres no traitor, Emily insists. Everyones been here for ages.
Then someone was bribed or intimidated, Brian says.
The trouble soon reaches home. Kevin issues an ultimatum: Either you sell the pub, or Im out. Ive been threatened with a knife at the doorstep twice now. If I dont convince you, Ill take it anyway. I dont want that. I just want to live.
Youre running away, Ian mutters. You promised to be my rock.
A solid wife, not a dudu who throws her spoons and forks at the battlefield, Kevin snaps.
One day Kevin actually leaves, taking everythingincluding his favourite mug, the one Emily had given him.
Brian comments philosophically, That man was just occupying space for no good reason. I split with my partner a year ago, earn little, and rarely stay home. By the way, has your restaurant recovered from the wreck?
Its been a while, Emily replies.
Then Ill invite you over for dinner. Ill pay for everything, and Ill keep your security around, so no one comes in with a bat, Brian says.
Emily, surprised by her own confidence, thinks maybe Brian isnt the type to flee at the first sign of danger.
Six months later, a former city official shows up, not only eyeing Three Oranges but also a large shopping centre and an underground car park hes already taken over, with the help of an entire crime syndicate. Thats another story.
The traitor turned out to be the bartender, Victor, whom Brian identified quickly. Victor owed a massive tab for cocktails, and the debt broke him. He was forced to disable the alarm and duplicate the key.
One day Ian Spencer drops by for cabbage rolls, asks how things are going, then, with a weary look, tells Emily that even his amusement rides have weak spotsnothing he does is entirely legal. Hes been blackmailed, too.
Emily doesnt hold a grudge; she invites him back in.
As he leaves, Ian asks, Are you now under police protection? I saw a uniformed officer in your office.
Protected, Emily smiles, by my future husband, Brian. Were getting married next week right here in the restaurant .
