‘I’m very well, thank you,’ I managed to get out. ‘Alessandro, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, don’t you be standing on no ceremony, love. That’s me Sunday name – and when I’m cooking. Sandy’ll do just fine otherwise.’
‘Right.’ I glanced across at Kamran, who was shaking his head slightly.
‘Erm, can I get you a coffee? We’ve just got the machine working!’
‘Never drink the stuff,’ Sandy said cheerfully. (An Italian who didn’t drink coffee?) ‘Yorkshire tea, if you’ve got it. Otherwise, a pint of pop’ll do me; I’m fair parched after that ride out here.’
‘Pop?’ Kamran pulled a face.
‘Lemonade? Dandelion and burdock…?’ Sandy started, smiling at me.
‘Cream soda?’ I finished, remembering the big bottles of Ben Shaw’s pop from my childhood. ‘Actually, there’s some Coke in the fridge,’ I went on.
‘Rots your teeth, that stuff.’ Sandy frowned, before baring a particularly straight and white pair of his own in my direction as though considering taking a large chunk out ofmefor his approval.
‘And dandelion and durdock doesn’t?’ I started to laugh. I liked this man, liked that he was down to earth; didn’t appear to be putting on airs and graces, marking his territory as top dog in the place.
‘Right, the pair of you,’ Alessandro said, ‘before we get down to business and decide if we’re a good match – you know, haveIgot whatyouwant? Haveyougot a package that’ll make me want to up sticks from Orlando’s – and I don’t come cheap, I have to warn you – I think you should come outside with me.’
‘Come outside with you? Where? Don’t you want to see upstairs?’ Kamran appeared totally perplexed. Was the man suggesting a fight? I’d just been watching a particularly riveting Netflix drama where two gang members decided to beat the living daylights out of each other in a cage fight to see who would inherit the coveted number one spot, and I glanced nervously at Kamran. In a fight, there’d be only one winner in this. And it wouldn’t be Kamran. Hell, Mum would never forgive me if I sent him home half dead. Maybe this was the way things were sorted in Italy? Sicily…?
‘Come on,’ Alessandro said, impatient now. ‘I need to know what’s going on here.’
‘As in?’ Kamran and I spoke as one.
‘Follow me.’
The pair of us trooped out after Alessandro, walking past his huge motorcycle and taking the road back up towards the country lane at the top where Robyn and I had stood an hour earlier.
‘Oh, you don’t like the signage?’ I said once we’d puffed our way up the hill. ‘I mean, if it’syourname you’re wanting on it… Shit!’ I broke off as the three of us stared at the newly hung sign. Painted across it, in red capitals was:
GET BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM!
28
Kamran and I stared in absolute shock at the wanton vandalism of the beautiful sign, now defaced with the ugly words.
And then Alessandro took charge, demanding a ladder.
‘You can’t let passers-by see this – getting wind of summat going on,’ he warned. ‘Not at all good for business.’
Once Kamran had hurried back down to the restaurant for the stepladder he’d used earlier, Alessandro folded his arms and turned back to me. ‘This Fabian bloke?’
‘Yes?’
‘Bad news, is he?’
‘Bad news? What d’you mean?’
‘Well, I know I’m early, but he doesn’t appear to be here to meet me as arranged. Not good for a start. I need to see who I’m going to be working with before I make the decision to up sticks and move over here. Big decision, love. And some bugger’s obviously got it in for him.’
‘How do you know it’s aimed at Fabian?’ I asked, folding my own arms.
‘Defending the Soho Slasher? I read the papers.’
‘Or aimed at the Sattars?’ I glanced at Alessandro. ‘Racistgraffiti…?’ I paused. ‘The Sattar brothers are involved with knocking down a school in the next village to this one. Building a new factory on the site. They’re not popular in some eyes.’
