A Killing in the Family
Page 21
Joe resisted the urge to laugh out loud. “Well, well, well, so old man Ballantyne came through after all.” He grinned broadly, sarcastically at Vaughan. “And you were so excited, you felt you had to come and deliver the news in person. I think that calls for a cup of tea in celebration. At sixty percent of the going price, naturally.”
“I delivered the news personally because that is what I was ordered to do. And you can shove your tea. I wouldn’t drink it if it were Da Hong Pao. Not that I expect you to know what Da Hong Pao is.”
“I’m a caterer,” Joe said. “Of course I know about Da Hong Pao.”
Vaughan wagged a shaking, threatening finger at Joe. “I don’t know how you did this, but don’t think it ends here. I’m still in charge of this project, and if you step out of line once, or miss your rent by so much as five minutes, I will come down on you like a ton of bricks. I will see you, all of you, out on the streets. I will crush you, Murray.” His finger pointed at the women in turn. “And you, and you.” The shaking digit finally rested on Lee. “And that gorilla.”
Joe had heard enough. “Just get out. And don’t you come back in here until you learn some manners.”
Vaughan turned away and marched stiffly to the door, where he paused and glared back. “You haven’t heard the last of this.”
Joe pointed to the door beyond Vaughan. “Out means that way.”
They watched him leave, and when the door closed behind him, they cheered.
“Thank you, Sir Douglas Ballantyne,” Joe said.
“I never had any doubts about him,” Sheila said with a giggle.
Brenda’s excitement began to get the better of her. “Ooh, Joe, we should start planning the grand reopening. It’ll be near Christmas, he said, so let’s have a proper tree. A big one with all the lights.”
“All those falling pine leaves?”
“Oh don’t be so glum, Joe.” Sheila, too, was caught up in the giddiness. “We’ll have mince pies and Christmas cake, and some real cream, not that stuff out of a toothpaste tube.” Sheila enthused.
“A range of turkey dishes on the menu.”
“And you could get some of that How Dow Pong, that nurk mentioned,” Lee suggested.
The laughter stopped and they all turned to stare wide-eyed at him.
“Lee, do you know what Da Hong Pao is?” Sheila asked.
“I thought it were some fancy kind of pudding. Y’know. Like jam roly-poly from Japan.”
“It’s Chinese, not Japanese.” Joe told him. “It’s the world’s most expensive tea, but at about twenty thousand pounds an ounce, you won’t find many of the Sanford Brewery draymen who can afford it.”
THE END
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