Tax Avoidance - Edited

It took me longer to get back to edit this than I hoped.  Family affairs interrupted.

I haven't shortened this piece at all but I have made some changes for the sake of clarity and better grammar.

I would be grateful if anyone would care to comment on any cuts I might usefully have made. In so short a piece everything I feel my reader ought to know must be there now as i can't expand on it later as one would in a novel.

 A gnawing wind scythed down Castlegate as if intent on stripping the Christmas shoppers of their clothes. They in their turn were holding coats and scarves close, in defiance of the onslaught. An elderly gent with a distinct military bearing was tackling the wind head on, towing a small girl behind him. Her padded jacket and trousers made her look like a large stuffed toy, incongruous next to his long black woollen coat and bright shiny black shoes.

“I'm cold Grandy can we go to Starbucks for a hot chocolate?” the little one pleaded, catching sight of the coffee shop on the next corner.

“Certainly not with those tax avoiding b's” replied her great Grandfather, remembering just in time to moderate his language for his darling Lydia, “we'll go somewhere much nicer”

Two minutes later they were pushing open the ornate door of Brucciani's tea rooms and were embraced by the gush of warm chocolate-coconut scented air. A wide eyed Lydia gave a contented sigh.

The old man was obviously a well known and respected customer as the staff greeted him with waves and smiles. From behind the counter bustled a dark haired, portly man beaming a welcome.

“Kenneth, how lovely to see you, my friend,” He said extending his hand, “and who is this lovely lady?” turning to Lydia.

Tweaking her fleecy cap of her head Kenneth replied, “ Allow me to present my great Granddaughter Lydia. Lydia meet Alberto, the proprietor of this wonderful establishment.”

Lydia smiled shyly and wondered if being “the proprietor of the wonderful establishment” was the reason he spoke differently, in the same way that her friend Anita spoke differently because “she was an immigrant from Bangladesh”. The wondering didn't last long as a magnificent display of cakes drew her towards the counter.

Taking his admiring gaze from the little girl Alberto turned to Kenneth and asked what he could get them.

“ An expresso for me Alberto and a small hot chocolate for Lydia, please”

“Not small, Grandy, not small.” said an indignant Lydia, “ and one of those please.” she wheedled, pointing to an enormous chocolate eclair.

Her Great Grandfathers eyebrows rose and Alberto chuckled.

“She know her own mind, that young lady”

“ She may do but if she's going to have that huge cake she's most definitely having a small hot chocolate or she'll be sick” said Kenneth and turning to Lydia added “ You wouldn't have got one of those in Starbucks.”

Kenneth should have known better than to mention the coffee chain in Alberto's vicinity. The expression on Alberto's amiable face immediately became thunderous

“You weren't thinking of going to those thieving devils?” he spat out, “wherever they go, places like mine suffer. The first month they opened down the road my takings were halved, halved I tell you.”

Kenneth was piloting Lydia towards an empty table. She looked a little alarmed at the sudden change in the man she had instantly warmed to. She was yet to learn that Italians often have volatile personalities and Alberto was no exception.

“ And now?” asked Kenneth calmly, looking round at the crowded tables and the queue at the counter.

“ Well, yes, OK, it's better now. But it's only because good loyal customers like you didn't desert us that we kept our heads above the water.”

“Nonsense Alberto, it was just novelty. Who wouldn't come in here in favour of Starbucks. Those chains are all corporate image and “Have a Nice Day” from staff who don”t give a damn.”

Storing the “damn” way for later use, Lydia lost interest in the adult conversation as she stared about the magical place to which her Grandy had brought her. It was quite unlike anywhere she had been with her mother.

Apart from anything else it was a regular Tardis, considerably bigger on the inside than it appeared outside. The table at which they were sitting was one of many arranged around the walls of the bigger section at the back of the shop. Lydia was sitting on a green leather bench whilst her great grandfather sat on an old fashioned looking chair with a curved back. The chairs looked really old. The whole place looked old, but in a nice way. Comfortable, somehow. Above the benches were panels of mirrors and above those there was writing on the walls. At six Lydia hadn't mastered many long words but was able to easily read Tea and Bovril, but Speciality had her foxed. On one wall there were three flying duck ornaments soaring towards the ceiling.

Lydia had noticed that covering the walls of front of the cafe were black and white photographs of celebrities. She was about to ask if they'd all been customers when a waitress appeared and slid a plate holding an eclair over the table to her.

“ …...... millions of pounds, Alberto, they owe the taxman. They've paid some back since all the fuss but not what they really owe. I'll bet you've never tried to avoid paying your dues have you.”

The incomprehensible conversation was still going on above her head so Lydia picked up her eclair, wrapped her small mouth around one end and bit firmly. Cream and custard oozed out of the sides, over her fingers and all around her mouth. The two men engrossed in their talk failed to notice.

“ Kenneth, my family is so grateful to Britain taking us in in the 1930's when life was so hard in Italy why would we want to cheat?” Alberto winked, “don't tell my Mafia cousins though!”

He pushed down on the table to raise his ample bottom from his chair and looked across to Lydia and burst out laughing. The little girl was a mess of chocolate, custard and cream, she was pushing cream from her cheeks into her mouth and desperately licking her fingers.

“I get a cloth.” pronounced Alberto “And a spoon”

And that's 999 words. Oh dear if I'm to follow Derek"s instructions to the letter, half of them have to go. I am going to struggle with this. A whole re draft is called for. Arrgh.