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Alberto Laurenzo took one faltering step and winced; his face red and distorted. Close by, a middle-aged man, up to now enjoying what he had hoped would be a discreet meal with his long time lover, looked on horrified. Alberto\\’s chubby hands released the two plates of food he\\’d been carrying to their table and reached for his chest. His anguished cry was masked by the clatter of the broken crockery as the dishes fell to the floor. Lurching out of control, Alberto fell forward, sweeping the glasses, cutlery and dinner plates of the couple\\’s table to the ground. He hit the floor with a ghastly thump and lay slumped, face down on the carpet, motionless.
    The woman from the table close to where Alberto had fallen yelled out to her dumbstruck partner to help. She was on her feet and reaching down to the poor man\\’s inert body, lying face down amongst the remains of Braciolette Di Maiale Al Rosso and Scaloppine Di Pollo Con Erbe. Amidst the nauseating amalgam of the two classic Italian dishes, smeared into the thick pile of the carpet and splattered all over Alberto, were various size shards of broken glass and white china. The woman looked down upon an eerie and grisly sight.
    At once people were on their feet; some rushing to offer assistance, others ghoulishly pushing and shoving their way towards the circle that had quickly surrounded the fallen restaurateur; none wanting to miss out on the action. At first the waiters tried to carry on as normal, collecting plates laden with steaming food or carrying trays of glasses and bottles of wine from the servery. Very quickly, they all seemed to realise it was a waste of time. If they managed to breach the throng blocking their path, they\\’d find the diners had left their tables. Once the first waiter had turned back, they all remained passively in a line by the kitchen, starring aghast at the proceedings. It was pandemonium.
    \\’Excuse me,\\’ Ralph Launcier said authoritatively as he broke through the assembled crowd. He stopped abruptly. He raised both his hands and placed one on each cheek, letting out an audible gasp.
    \\’I\\’ll take over, Mr Thompson,\\’ he said quickly as he stepped forward to where the middle aged man from the nearest table was trying to raise Alberto\\’s lifeless body from the gungy mess beneath and around him. Within seconds, Ralph had raised Alberto to a sitting position.
    \\’Could I ask you to move away,\\’ he said with a touch of annoyance to the small circle of people who had gathered to watch.
    Most looked embarrassed. \\’Of course,\\’ \\’yes,\\’ and \\’I\\’m sorry,\\’ could be heard mumbled softly as they shuffled away. Some took the hint and started to walk slowly back to their tables, others stood in cliques about a metre away and pretending not to look as they gossiped and speculated about Alberto. The consensus was that he was dead.
    A youngish man, mid thirties, wearing an aviator style leather jacket, a casual denim shirt and a pair of jeans and accompanied by a woman, dressed in a black long sleeve blouse and black trousers, came in the front door. Both of them had bright and expectant expressions. They stopped at the spot where normally Alberto or Ralph would greet them. They glanced around the restaurant and then back at each other. Both looked bewildered and confused. One of the dinners sidled up to them and passed on his view, in hushed tones, of what had taken place. Shock horror appeared on the couple\\’s faces. They said a few words quietly to each other and left. A few customers who had seen them leave took it as their own cue to depart. Some people followed; most stood around in small groups, expecting some sort of announcement. Faintly in the distance an ambulance siren could be heard.
    After a few minutes Ralph reappeared from the kitchen. He walked in silence to the front of the restaurant, the place that Alberto or he would stand to greet customers. The normally quiet sound made by his loafers on the carpet seemed to echo around the room. He turned to face his audience. There was no need to cough or appeal for silence. All eyes were on him. His bony face was colourless, his tall lean frame, normally so erect and positive, appeared slightly stooped, his cropped grey hair, normally well kept, was plainly ruffled. Stroking his three-day stubble he started to speak. For once he looked all of his 38 years.
    \\’I\\’m sorry to have to tell you all that Albert Laurenzo, who I\\’m sure most of you know as the respected and hard working owner,\\’ Ralph spluttered a little. He took a sip of water to regain his composure. \\’Of this wonderful restaurant, collapsed just now and is still unconscious.\\’
    \\’Is he dead?\\’ someone chirped from the back of the crowd. Heads turned quickly to see who had been so bold as to ask what everyone wanted to know. Then, in unison, they all turned back to look at Ralph.
    The noise of the ambulance grew louder, making it impossible for Ralph to be heard. And then, it ceased and all was quiet. The only sound - the crunching noise from the vehicle\\’s tyres on the gravel as it came to a halt outside.
    \\’I don\\’t know, I\\’m not a doctor,\\’ Ralph said softly, breaking the foreboding silence that followed the ambulance\\’s. In the corner of his eye he saw two paramedics rush in through the kitchen door.
    \\’I have to go now. Please will you all leave. There are no bills to pay.\\’ As Ralph turned away he heard what he believed to be a slight murmur of approval. He walked as fast as he could towards the kitchen, acknowledging those diners who offered him some form of sympathy. Right at the back of the dining room he picked out Rod Dyke, his police friend, looking straight at him with a dead pan expression. They acknowledged each other and then both turned away.
    On the way to the car park, guests that knew each other started to swap opinions about the dramatic events. The most popular theory was that Alberto had undergone a heart attack. It was well known that he had been suffering from heart disease for some time. Those that dined regularly expressed their concern about its future.
    
    Laurenzo\\’s, as Albert Laurenzo had called his establishment, enjoyed a fine reputation. Located in Woodbury, Devon, it had a clientele that came from miles around. Serving genuine Italian food, with only the freshest of ingredients, it never failed to impress new diners and regulars alike. Alberto had bought it in a decrepit state some 15 years earlier. Acting as chef and owner for the first few years, he quickly looked around for someone to help him. When Ralph Launcier, an intuitive and highly talented chef, joined him from a trendy London restaurant ten years previous, Alberto had found the man who would ultimately take Laurenzo\\’s to one of the best places to eat in England.
    Alberto was an old man. He was in his eighties, but he still came in every day; personally serving many of his customers and strictly maintaining his stamp of authority on proceedings. The restaurant over the years had made him very rich. But the decor hadn\\’t changed since he had first opened it. Thick pile carpets covered the floors, heavy cloth drapes embellished the full-length curtains and the tables were laid with crisp white tablecloths. Alberto insisted that all the staff except Ralph wore black trousers, white shirts, bow ties and a black waistcoat.
    Ralph was a modern chef. He\\’d trained at the Westminster Catering College, worked in Italy and France for some time and then took a position as a chef at Antonio Carluccio\\’s restaurant in the West End. He was used to classy, modern food in bright, open surroundings. Gradually he had convinced Alberto of the need to update the menu. Over time, regular customers found the choice would range between a modern dish, such as Sea Bass cooked in Fennel with Herb, and traditional one, like Casoeula, Milanese Stewed Pork.
    For the previous three years, Ralph, with Alberto\\’s blessing, had developed his career as a celebrity chef. His book, Green Food – all about the best ingredients - soared to the top of the charts, his TV series was watched by millions, he wrote weekly in The Guardian and became a food personality in his own right. Alberto was pleased; because of Ralph people flocked to the restaurant. But Alberto remained a difficult and contrary boss.
    
    Ralph took charge of Alberto\\’s funeral. There were no living relatives and Ralph knew of no close friends. It was to be an Anglican ceremony - Alberto had long fallen out with his hereditary Catholic Church - in the quaint village church at Lympstone, were Alberto had lived. The mourners had to travel down a cobbled, single-file road that sloped gently downwards to give a full view of the estuary of the river Exe. The early morning mist, clinging to the water and abating the sun\\’s penetrating rays, gave a chill to the spring morning. Dani, together with Ralph\\’s half-sister, Alexandria, and Cameron, her husband, drove slowly down the hill in a pensive mood.
    \\’The old bugger booked this weather,\\’ Cameron said as he manoeuvred his car into a parking space.
    \\’Be respectful,\\’ Alexandria replied.
    \\’Come on. You can\\’t pretend we\\’re here to mourn the old geezer. Ralph\\’s got a free hand now.\\’
    \\’Leave it, Cameron. Let\\’s just get the funeral over.\\’ Alexandria looked pleased that they had come to a halt and any further conversation would cease.
    Dani and Alexandria got out of the car and left Cameron to finish off the parking. The two sisters-in-law looked tense and drawn. Dani hadn\\’t said a word during the ten-minute drive from their flat, adjoining the restaurant. She was wearing a loosely fitted dark green dress with random black strokes throughout. Her blonde hair tucked under a black felt hat.
    \\’You\\’ve told him, haven\\’t you?\\’ Dani, her Czech accent more pronounced than usual, snapped at Alexandria as soon as they were out of earshot of the car.
    Alexandria looked at Dani with contempt. \\’I haven\\’t, Dani. We agreed.\\’ Alexandria, dressed in black trousers and shirt and no hat, looked strained. \\’Why did you think I had?\\’
    \\’I don\\’t know.\\’ Dani shrugged her shoulders and turned away. \\’Something he said in the car.\\’ Alexandria and Dani remained silent. Their shoes clicked on the tarmac path as the porch door loomed up ahead.
    The church was crowded. Alberto was a prominent person in the area and many local dignitaries had come out of respect. Dani and Alexander walked up the aisle and took their place in the front pew next to Ralph who was sitting, as chief mourner, on the end. Cameron came in just before the service started and sat next to a group of Ralph and Dani\\’s friends at the rear. When the service was over he was first out, lighting a cigarette in the graveyard.
    \\’Here, have one of mine,\\’ Cameron said to Tony Wilson, a jocular and overweight mutual friend who had joined him and was about to open a new packet.
    \\’Thanks.\\’ Tony helped himself to one of Cameron\\’s cigarettes. He lit it from Cameron\\’s outstretched lighter, took a deep puff. \\’That\\’s better,\\’ he said, blowing smoke in the opposite direction.
    \\’You know,\\’ he added, shaking his head, \\’I don\\’t know why we\\’re all here. There wasn\\’t a single tear shed in there.\\’
    Cameron looked hard at Tony. For a few seconds he toyed with his foot on a tuft of grass next to a headstone. A smile spread across his mouth. \\’I think it\\’s called respect.\\’ The arrival of others disturbed their conversation.
    One by one all the notables shuffled up to Ralph and Dani and expressed their condolences and then departed. After about half an hour only Ralph\\’s friends remained.
    \\’Back to the restaurant,\\’ he said sombrely.
    
    Laurenzo\\’s hadn\\’t opened since the night Alberto died. Ralph had cleaned it up, cleared out all the remaining food and passed the key to an independent solicitor. The cheerless empty building that met those who returned contrasted starkly with their memories. Neither Ralph, Dani nor Alexandria were to be seen. It felt cold. A musty smell had spread throughout. As people filed in they stood around in small groups, hoping for some sustenance. For one or two who had been present when Alberto had died, returning was an uncanny experience. Word went round that they were waiting for the solicitor to arrive to read Alberto\\’s will.
    \\’How do we get a drink, Cameron? It\\’s like a bloody morgue in here,\\’ Tony Wilson asked as Cameron arrived.
    \\’Don\\’t know. I\\’m just a guest like you.\\’ Cameron\\’s words were greeted with looks of protest on all the faces. \\’Aren\\’t Ralph or Dani around?\\’ he quickly added, glancing around the room.
    \\’No sign of them.\\’
    Just then Ralph entered. He\\’d changed into some casual clothes. He was wearing a pair of khaki cotton chinos and a black, Paul Smith long-sleeved pique shirt. In his hands were several bottles of wine.
    \\’Sorry,\\’ he said seriously, dumping the bottles on a table and starting to open each one. \\’The solicitor is running a little late. I\\’ve had to bring these over from the flat.\\’
    \\’That\\’s taking it a bit far,\\’ Cameron said. \\’All this will be yours shortly.\\’
    Ralph, drawing a cork, looked up. He pulled a contorted face, placed the open bottle on the table and opened both hands in a gesture of uncertainty.
    \\’Why yer being so cagey?\\’ a forty-something guy, wearing a pin stripe suit and a pair of Zeiss spectacles, asked loudly. \\’If you don\\’t think you\\’re going to inherit the restaurant, why the hell have you dragged us all here?\\’
    \\’Not guaranteed,\\’ Ralph quipped, evasively, as he passed the wine around, moving quickly from one group to another.
    \\’Why\\’s he so edgy?\\’ a man struggling to remove his tie said to the girl next to him. \\’I thought it was a well known fact that he\\’d got the place.\\’
    \\’Surely. Ralph worked day and night for that bas..... Sorry, shouldn\\’t speak ill of the dead. But it\\’ll be a bloody stitch up if he doesn\\’t,\\’ a pretty woman with spiky hair and wearing a Japanese style black outfit retorted.
    \\’What I\\’d heard,\\’ she added. \\’Apart from Ralph - that geezer didn\\’t have anyone else to leave it to.\\’
    \\’Could have gone to a cat\\’s home.\\’ The group of three people turned to see Alexandria standing next to them. She looked tense, but more at ease than her brother.
    The spiky-haired woman gave Alexandria a concerned look. \\’Your joking. He...\\’
    \\’I\\’m dead serious. You all know that Ralph found the old guy an arsehole. Well apparently in the last few weeks he went completely off his trolley.\\’
    \\’No?\\’ the spiky-haired woman interjected.
    \\’Yeah. Every day he used to shout at Ralph for no reason at all. One day he stormed out, telling Ralph he was going to see his solicitor.\\’ Alexandria shrugged her shoulders. \\’So you can see why Ralph\\’s so worried.\\’
    \\’How awful, poor things. I must go and find Dani. She\\’ll be beside herself.\\’
    \\’She\\’s with the children. It\\’s all too much for her. She can\\’t bear to be here when the will\\’s read.\\’ Alexandria quickly excused herself and moved on to another group.
    \\’Didn\\’t Ralph have some deal with Alberto? Something like: “no profit share, but I\\’ll leave you the restaurant,”\\’ the tie-less man said rhetorically.
    \\’That\\’s what I thought. My God, if he\\’s left it to a cat\\’s home or something crazy like that, it\\’ll be a catastrophe. Excuse me.\\’ The spiky-haired woman moved on.
    Half an hour passed before the solicitor arrived. With nothing else to talk about, gossip and surmise about Alberto\\’s will had spread fast. Uncertainty hung in the air. Ralph, long faced, and constantly moving around did nothing to stifle the speculation.
    He greeted the solicitor, took his shabby wool overcoat from him and showed him to a prepared seat. All talking trailed off abruptly and every eye focused on the man. He looked about 65 going on 80. He was wearing an old fashioned and ill pressed grey striped suit. The cuffs and turn-ups were badly worn and parts of the sleeves looked shiny with wear. His shoes needed re-heeling. A dirty mark was evident around the collar of his white shirt. His badly kept greyish hair was brushed to the right with a side parting. He sat down, upright, opened his briefcase and took out a buff coloured file and placed it on his lap. Before he started to speak he unfolded a decrepit pair of glasses, rubbed them with a dirty handkerchief and perched them on his nose. He coughed.
    \\’This is a most irregular occurrence. I have never in my considerable time in the legal profession been asked to read a will in an establishment designed for the consumption of alcohol and the taking of nourishment in the form of food.\\’
    Oblivious to the ripples of astonishment from his audience, the solicitor, carefully opened his file. He took out a white foolscap envelope and started to extract the contents. He coughed again.
    \\’What is also irregular is that we do not act for Alberto Laurenzo. I understand he wrote his own will. Mr Launcier,\\’ he glanced at Ralph in a disapproving way, \\’called me shortly after Mr Laurenzo\\’s tragic and I must say unfortunate death, and asked that I took the key to this establishment and, in due course, read out this will.\\’ He looked at his audience over the top of his glasses.
    \\’As you can see I agreed to both his requests.\\’ He stopped to look down and straighten out the document he\\’d taken from the envelope. Another cough.
    \\’“This is the last will and testament of Alberto Laurenzo. I\\’ve asked that it be read immediately after my funeral.”\\’ The solicitor paused, fiddled with his glasses and looked down again.
    \\’“The monies from my bank accounts, investment accounts and the proceeds of my stocks and shares are to be given to the Cat\\’s Protection League.\\’” The spiky- haired woman threw a concerned expression at the person next to her. \\’“My house is to be sold and the monies raised are to be donated to cancer research. My paintings are to be given to The National Gallery. The proceeds of the sale of my furniture are to be distributed equally amongst the waiters at my restaurant, Laurenzo\\’s.”\\’
    While the solicitor stopped to turn over the page, whispered comments reverberated around the room. People looked to Ralph for a reaction. He remained impassive; standing bolt upright with his eyes focused on the lawyer.
    The lawyer\\’s now familiar cough signalled a further instalment. \\’“I must now take time to praise the efforts over the years of my head chef and second in command, Ralph Launcier. He has tirelessly worked to ensure the success of my business. I must record my thanks to him for that. Now I must move on to smaller matters...”\\’
    \\’He\\’s left him out,\\’ a voice said clearly from the back.
    \\’Please.\\’ The solicitor looked up disdainfully. \\’I ask that you remain silent until I finish. Now to continue.
    “I have a few small properties around the country. They mainly consist of flats and small houses. A dossier of them is kept with my bank. They are to be sold and the proceeds donated to the next natural disaster in the world”\\’
    Murmurs of surprise and approval to Alberto\\’s unknown philanthropic nature echoed around the room. People listened expectantly as the solicitor moved on and started to ramble through the minute details of Alberto\\’s personal belongings. After a while, nervous and embarrassed looks started to appear on people\\’s faces as they listened intently for any mention of the future ownership of Alberto\\’s restaurant. An anxious mood prevailed.
    \\’Now,\\’ the solicitor said with an air of finality in his voice. \\’If you\\’ll excuse me.\\’ He put the will back in his case, fumbled around with the key to lock it and then stood up.
    Gasps of astonishment broke the silence. All eyes watched his next movement; looks of disbelief were evident on most people\\’s faces. In a shambolic manner, he started to shuffle off towards the back of the restaurant, leaving his case and glasses on his seat. In the hushed amazement that followed the only sound was the noise of his feet dragging across the floor as he made his way to toilet. The continual quiet was broken only by the sound of the WC flushing and the metallic click of the closet door, heralding his return. Slowly, methodically and without the slightest sense of urgency he returned to his seat, removed the will from his case and adjusted his glasses.
    \\’“Finally,\\’” he read aloud, after what seemed an undue length of time. \\’“I come to the future of my beloved restaurant.”\\’
    All attention turned to Ralph. He looked away.
    \\’“For a long time I believed that the future of my business would be best served if I passed the ownership to Ralph Launcier. Recently I thought it only right to re-evaluate that decision and my reasons for it.”\\’ The solicitor stopped. He started to wipe his nose with his left hand. He removed a heavily used handkerchief from his pocket and, as he blew on it, made a high pitched trumpeting noise.
    \\’Please excuse me,\\’ he said replacing the handkerchief in his suit pocket. \\’Where was I? Are, here.
    “After serious and heart searching deliberations I have come to the view…,”\\’ the solicitor stopped. He looked down. \\’I\\’m sorry. This bit is a little unclear.\\’ He held his glasses to focus on the document. For a moment he didn\\’t speak.
    \\’Ah, that\\’s better,\\’ he said and then without raising his head he continued. \\’“That my original decision should stand. I leave my restaurant and the business interests associated with it to Ralph Launcier.”\\’
    About a minute elapsed in which time nobody spoke. It was the spiky-haired woman who broke the silence. \\’I guess that calls for congratulations,\\’ she said as she pushed forward and kissed Ralph on both cheeks.
    Ralph managed a small smile in response. \\’It was a close call,\\’ he replied \\’I was convinced he had fouled up on the deal.\\’ Ralph turned to see who\\’d prodded him in the back.
    \\’Well you\\’ve got it,\\’ Cameron said clapping his left arm on Ralph\\’s shoulder as they shook hands. \\’There was never any doubt, was there?\\’
    Ralph looked questioningly at his brother-in-law. \\’Alexandria told you about all the rows, didn\\’t she?\\’
    \\’A little, but you never really thought the old guy would go back on his word, did you?
    Ralph didn\\’t answer. Other friends had come up to talk to him. Cameron stayed to chat with them all for a while and then slide away.
    \\’Be seeing you, Ralph,\\’ he said as he walked in the direction of where Alexandria was standing.
    \\’And you,\\’ Ralph replied.

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