Echoing love

Chapter 2 part 3

Kyle came into the carriage and sat beside him. Michael said: 'I was speaking to Gary Prince about you yesterday.'
Kyle looked at him suspiciously.
'He's willing to take you on, to article you-'
'You mean, to be an accountant?'
'Yes, to prepare you.'
'But I don't want-'
'Accountancy would be very helpful. Help you run the business properly. I don't think you take enough interest in the books, understand the importance-'
'How much would I earn from Mr Prince?'
'Nothing. I would be paying him a fee to take you. Price& sons is a first-cla-'
'No'
The finality of that took his breath away. Michael would never have dared refuse his own father. 'I'll give you a small allowance. Anyway, you have a little income from your mother.'
'I said No! I've been earning my own living since I was 15. I want to go on doing that. Particularly now. I told you I want to marry Lavender Fray.'
'Your too young to marry anyone. I won't give you my permission.'
Kyle was aggressive. 'I'll be 21 in a year, an adult so I won't need your fucking permission. I. Do. Not. Want. To. Learn. Accountancy. I need-'
Michael knew he mustn't lose his temper. His doctor had told him it wasn't good for him. Not with his high blood pressure. He tried to stay composed.
'Shouldn't it be a question of what I need by way of help? What the business needs?'
Kyle bounced to his feet and bolted out of the carriage without another a world. Michael groaned aloud. The boy was 20 now, it was about time he learned some sense. Why couldn't he be more like Gary Prince's son? Niall worked in the family business, shouldering more and more responsibility. Gary had spoken of the confidence he felt about handing everything over to him in a few years' time. Of course, Niall was over 30 years old. All the same, Michael wished Kyle was more like him.
Michael felt the engines cut out as the train pulled to a stop. He pulled himself to his feet. There was a crowd waiting to get on the train and he couldn't see Kyle amongst them. That blackened his mood even more. He set out alone. Today he felt tired even before the day's work began.
His restaurant was only a short away. On days when the weather was really bad, he could catch a taxi. Nothing could be more convenient. His father had organised everything well. Everything, that is, except his death. He'd died very suddenly of a heart attack at forty-five.
Michael had been just twenty when his father had died, and he'd had to take over the restaurant and run it after only four years' experience. His mother hadn't worked in the business for many years by then, so couldn't help much. He hadn't roamed one crumb from his father's ideas, and the business had run effortlessly and beneficially for the last thirty years. He wasn't going to change things now because of Kyle's 'fashionable' angles.
Kyle was the same age Michael had been when he'd taken charge, but Kyle wasn't capable. He had a dislike to taking advice, he thought he knew it all and was convinced he could fly before he'd even learned to walk. He'd never knuckle down and exercise ordinary day-to-day control over the business...or not yet anyway. And as for taking up with Lavender Fray, that really made Michael agitated. Kyle had no sense.
Preoccupied with his thoughts, Michael reached the restaurant in no time. The sign in blue and bronze on the front of the building never failed to please him:
Krone Robinson and Son Ltd.
Makers of fine food to Sheffield,
Great Britain and the World.

The clanking of pots and pans told him that all was well; the day's work had started.
'Morning, sir.' Asan Ramanga, his supervisor, followed him to his office as he always did for his daily instructions.
Ramanga was forty-nine, exactly Michael's own age, but he'd worked here even longer, having started at the age of twelve. He was black with a bald shiny scalp.
Like all the workers, for hygiene, he wore a white jacket and a cap. Michael thought himself a great man to provide caps and jackets for his workers.They were washed on the premises and clean ones were issued every day. Robinson's provided two cloakrooms one for men and one for women , and both had showers and towels. Each also had a large notice that said any employee caught wearing company jackets outside in the street would be dismissed.
A routine task for Michael was to work out exactly what would be the meal deal each day. He liked to plan three or four weeks ahead, so that he could order the ingredients in advance.
They also made jar of pickled onions everyday. They sold loads of these, and fortunately shallots were dried and could be kept in good condition for most of the year. Miss McCauley, his administrator, had copied out what he'd planned and printed it and left it on his desk. He sat down to browse it to refresh his memory.
'Morning, sir.' An office worker swept in with the post.
'Coffee,' Michael said, as he always did.
'Yes, sir.'
Michael handed the sheet of paper over to Ramanga. It was always like this, and the daily routine soothed him.
Recently, he had so much on his mind, he hadn't been feeling too well.
He was now forty-nine and was afraid he might have inherited his fathers medical problems. Certainly he had his high blood pressure. He didn't want to die of a heart attack too l; he wasn't ready yet. He'd lived 4 years longer than his father already, though. He believed in taking good care of himself, and wouldn't be upset by all this. He lit another fag; it helped his relax.
Kyle came in late, sat down at the other desk and ignored him.
It was often said that family businesses didn't go on being profitable; that the third generation was to ruin it. Michael was beginning to think that would be the way for Robinson's restaurant. The third Robinson generation didn't seem to have the potential of their ancestors.
'I've arranged for you to see Mr Prince in his office on Thursday afternoon,' he said. 'I'll come with you. We'll discuss your future rationally. He will explain what accountancy can do for you.'
The fact that Kyle didn't bother to answer angered his father again. He was still fuming by mid morning. It made matters worse to see Kyle's curly head bent silently over the books on the other side of the room, his pen scratching busily. He'd never known the lad to be so dedicated to his work.
Michael got up and went to his filing cabinet. He ran his fingers across the files of his employees and took two out.
Lavender Fray had been working her for four years, ever since she'd left school. Mr Ramanga reported that she was a good time-keeper and he had no complaints about her work.
Clara Fray, age forty, had worked for him for over ten years, and again the supervisors reports were good. Well, Lavender had offended now. There were plenty more women out there keen to have a regular job. He paid as well as anyone in the city. He put the files back and left his office, slamming the door behind him.
He walked around the restaurant every day, keeping his eyes open. He'd learned to live with the smell of onions, though today his eyes did feel irritated. He blew his nose hard and looked for the girl. He barely spoke to his workers because the clanking in the kitchen made it difficult to hear what was being said, but he knew them all by sight.
This was the one. Tall and slim, a good-looking girl. She had thick hair and a lot of it. A few yellow strands escaped from underneath her cap to curl over her forehead.
He watched her whizzing movements as she picked out the odd onion that need attention; pruning the top, taking off the occasional brown skin, brandishing her knife elegantly. Her fingers were tinted brown; he was surprised that didn't put Kyle off.
He could see her watchful yellow eyes weighing him up. Michael looked away; he hated the yellow eyes. Her eyes reminded him of the cat that lived in the kitchens at home.
He'd told Clare it would have to go if he ever found it in his quarters.
He was looking round for the mother. She was harder to pick out; the older women looked alike. He had to go the kitchens. He saw her, she looked younger than she was but she looked bent, pale and tired. Clara fray didn't have the strength the job needed. Her task was to take new glasses from their boxes and fill them with the right drinks. She could hardly lift the cardboard boxes. He could see by her worked up look that she knew he was watching her. She wasn't pulling her weight. It was about time she went.
He'd get rid of both the girl and her mother. Not immediately; he didn't want more trouble with Kyle. If he fired them now it's be obvious why he'd done it. He'd make some excuse in a few weeks' time, when all this had died down.
He'd turned to go the the cookers when he heard the scream above the clattering of the pots and pans. The woman he'd been watching was on the floor, a box of glasses tipped on top of her. Some had broken.
Within seconds, a fellow worker was helping her up.
Someone turned of the cookers. He felt a flame of anger run up his cheeks; such a waste of time and money.
There was blood everywhere. The woman's hand was cut bad enough to make his stomach muscles cringe. But his father had drummed into him to keep on good terms with his employees, he should show fair care to them.
'You'd better go to hospital,' he told her, 'to get it dressed properly.'
'Mum!' The blonde-haired girl came zooming and threw her arms around her mother. Her strange yellow eyes turned to him. 'She wasn't well this morning. I didn't want her to come to work.'
Kyle arrived, alerted by the fact that food had stopped being served. Everybody was ganging round, wasting the time he was paying for. The worst possible scenario for his nerves, when he wanted to reassure himself that everything was okay. The woman had passed out.
'Put her in a taxi and let the driver take her to the hospital,' he said quickly to Kyle. Then he shouted; 'brush this broken glass up,' he ordered. 'Switch the cookers back on. The rest of you, get back to work.'
Everybody jumped to it except the girl.
'You!' He screamed at Lavender. 'Do as you're told. Get back to your room.' Damn it he didn't want onions going to the salting room with their skins still on.
'Go on.' Kyle was talking to her tenderly. 'I'll go with your mother, see that she's alright'
That annoyed Michael more. 'There's no need for you to go. The taxi driver can see to her. Surely that's good enough? A free taxi? You come back to your desk this instant.'
It annoyed him that Kyle ignored his orders. He couldn't watch her carry the woman.
He turned quickly on his heel and went back to his office.
This would end things for Clara Fray. She wouldn't be able to work for a while, and he'd refuse to have her back once she was better. He needed another cup of coffee and a fag to calm down after that.

Cast list for this chapter:
Emilie Voe: Lavender fray
Lena Headey: Clara fray
Gerran howell: Kyle Robinson
Keith-lee castle: Michael Robinson
Miss McCauley: Letty Butler
Ramanga: Robbie gee

An: long chapter for you guys💕 I changed the character for Clara(Lavenders mum) because no one really knows who she is.
As always vote and comment please. Thanks for reading my story.😉