Heads You Win

“No doubt Tremlett was relegated to the Second Eleven, which doesn’t surprise me, as that’s exactly what I intend to do with him, once the contract has been signed. During our negotiations Tremlett asked me twice, if not three times, if I was a front for Mr. Karpenko, and I was able to truthfully say no. So please don’t say anything to Sasha until I’ve put down the deposit. If Tremlett were to find out what I was up to, I’ve no doubt the deal would be off. Now, I have to ask again, Elena, do you think you can run two establishments at the same time?”

“I’ve run that restaurant once already, so it shouldn’t be difficult to get it back up to scratch, especially as I’m already employing the only good kitchen staff and waiters they ever had.”

“And you’re confident you could do that while running Elena’s at the same time?”

“It will just be a hundred and thirty covers instead of seventy. Of course I may have to build a bridge or dig a tunnel under the Fulham Road between Elena One and Elena Two.”

“Then that’s settled,” said the countess.

“Can I ask what you’ll expect in return for your investment?”

“I would become a fifty-fifty partner in the new restaurant, and be allowed to dine at either establishment whenever I wish, at no charge. There are several Russian émigrés in London who appreciate fine cooking, Elena, but no longer experience it as regularly as they used to. However, you have my word that I will only bring them along one at a time.”

“In that case you must have your own table at both restaurants,” said Elena, “which no one else will be allowed to book. So when can I tell Sasha?”

“Not until the contract has been signed and the ink is dry, because I must tell you, Elena, if Mr. Maurice Tremlett had been born in the Soviet Union, he would undoubtedly be working for the KGB.”

Elena shuddered, but couldn’t disagree. “Thank you for tea,” she said, “and, more important, thank you for your confidence in me. Now I must get back to the restaurant, as I like to be in the kitchen a full hour before the first customer arrives.”

“What a good investment I’m about to make,” said the countess. “And I have one more request of you before you leave.”

“Anything, countess.”

“That in future, you’ll call me Natasha.” Elena looked uncertain. “If you don’t, I’ll make it a condition of the contract.”

27

SASHA

London

“Do we know anything about them?” asked Elena. “The name Rycroft doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Only that the lady who called, a Mrs. Audrey Campion, told me there would be three of them traveling up from Surrey to discuss a private matter.”

“Then it’s probably a special birthday or anniversary party of some kind that they wish to celebrate. What time are you expecting them?”

“In about ten minutes,” said Sasha, glancing at his watch. “Do you want to join us for the meeting, Mama?”

“No, thank you,” said Elena. “You’re so much better at these things than I am. Just be sure to check both diaries.”

“I already have,” said Sasha. “Elena One is fully booked for March the thirteenth.”

“And Elena Two?”

“If it’s for twenty or less, we could just about manage it.”

“It seems as if you have everything covered, so I’ll get back to work. I need to discuss today’s specials with the sous-chef.”

Sasha smiled, well aware that his mother would do almost anything to avoid having to deal directly with customers, but was transformed the moment she entered the kitchen. How different she was from him. He avoided the kitchen at all costs, so the division of labor suited them both ideally.

Sasha was considering which menu options he should offer when the front door bell rang.

He sat down at the popular alcove table at the back of the room as Gino opened the door to let the three of them in. As he accompanied them over to the table, Sasha tried, as he always did, to assess his potential customers.

From their ages, they could have been father, mother, and son, but not from their pedigrees. He rose to greet them, taking a closer look at the younger man, whom he could have sworn he’d seen somewhere before.

“Good morning, I’m Sasha Karpenko.”

“Alf Rycroft,” the older man replied, shaking him firmly by the hand.

“And I’m Mrs. Campion,” said the woman. “You’ll remember I called you,” she added, sounding as if she was used to getting her own way.

“Indeed I do.”

“Hi,” said the younger man, “I’m—”

And then Sasha remembered. “Nice to see you again, Michael. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you. And touched that you remember me. But then, I told Alf and Audrey on the journey up to London how you demolished the entire Oxford chess team single-handed, so perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that you could recall my name.”

“So what are you up to now?” asked Sasha. “Didn’t you read Jurisprudence?”

A waiter appeared, and once they’d ordered coffee, Michael answered Sasha’s question.

“I’m a solicitor in Merrifield. But that isn’t the reason we wanted to see you.”

“Of course not. So let me start by asking what sort of party you had in mind.”

“The Labour Party,” said Alf.

Sasha looked puzzled.