Heads You Win

“You were a fine candidate, sir,” he said. “I hope I live long enough to see you take your seat at the Cabinet table.”

* * *

The four of them met once a quarter. It wasn’t formal enough to be described as a board meeting, or casual enough to be thought of as a family get-together. The meeting always took place around a table in the alcove of Elena 1 at four o’clock on a Monday afternoon. Late enough for all the lunch guests to have departed, and early enough to be finished before the first dinner booking arrived.

Sasha always chaired the meeting, while Charlie acted as secretary, preparing the agenda and taking the minutes. Elena, as head chef, and the countess as a fifty percent shareholder, made up the quartet.

As they all saw each other regularly, it was rare for anything on the agenda to take them by surprise. A barman had stolen one bottle of whiskey too many and finally had to be sacked. Elena reluctantly had to change her baker when too many customers rejected the contents of the bread baskets. She had once told Catering Monthly that you can produce an award-winning meal only for it to be ruined by a stale bread roll or a lukewarm cup of coffee.

Any other business, the last item on the agenda, usually consisted of agreeing on a date for the next meeting. But not today.

“I picked up a piece of information yesterday,” said Sasha, “that I thought I ought to share with you.” The other three became unusually attentive. “Luini’s are about to announce that they’ll be closing their doors after forty-seven years. It seems young Tony Luini isn’t a chip off the old block, and since his father’s death, they’ve been steadily losing customers. So the family are putting the restaurant up for sale. Tony approached me and asked if we might be interested.”

“What exactly is he selling?” asked Elena. “Because there’ll be little or no goodwill.”

“A fourteen-year lease with an option to renew.”

“Rent and rates?” asked Charlie.

“The rent is thirty-two thousand pounds per year, payable to the Grosvenor Estate, and the rates are around twenty thousand pounds.”

“How far away is it from Elena One and Two?” asked the countess, ever practical.

“Just over a mile,” said Sasha. “About ten minutes in a taxi.”

“If it’s not raining,” said Charlie.

“My father,” said the countess, “used to say never spread your assets too thin. And as we only have one irreplaceable asset, I think Elena’s opinion is the one that matters. Especially if you were thinking of naming the restaurant Elena Three.”

“Agreed,” said Charlie. “And there’s another factor we should take into consideration. If Sasha were to become an MP at the next election, he’ll find it hard to keep an eye on two restaurants, let alone three.”

“Especially if I were selected for a northern seat,” said Sasha. “I’d have to spend half my life in a train or car. I’ve just been invited to attend an interview for Wandsworth Central, but it’s such a safe Labour seat I’ll be lucky to get shortlisted.”

“May I suggest,” said the countess, “that we all have lunch at Luini’s during the week, and then Elena can let us know if the idea is worth pursuing. Because without her particular brand of magic, we would be wasting our time.”

“Agreed,” said Sasha. “And on that note, I declare the meeting closed.”

* * *

The two of them walked down the town hall steps, holding hands.

“Just smile,” said Sasha. “Don’t say anything until we’re in the car.”

He opened the car door and waited for Charlie to get in.

“You haven’t done that for a while,” teased Charlie, as he climbed into the driver?

??s seat.

Sasha waved to Bill Samuel, the local party chairman, before he put the car into first gear. He didn’t speak until he’d eased away from the pavement and joined the early evening traffic.

“Well, how do you think it went?” he asked as they headed toward the river.

“You couldn’t have done much better,” said Charlie. “I’m confident you’ll be their candidate by this time next week.”

“A week’s a long time in politics, as Harold Wilson once reminded us,” said Sasha. “So I’m not going to take anything for granted.”

“They all but selected you tonight,” said Charlie.