The Claim (15 page)

“No, no, no!” Mimi exclaimed as soon as Anna answered the phone. “You do not get to tell me you got under Rocco in a text message.”

Anna had tried to be clever, only because she didn’t want to do the whole post mortem, which generally made her feel very uncomfortable and about five years old, explaining why she’d spent all her pocket money on sweets. The text message was supposed to be her escape route. But the sneaky cow called her from an unknown number. “You want details?”

“Of course I do!”

“What can I tell you that won’t gross you out?” Anna shrugged.

“I’m a doctor, nothing can gross me out any more.”

“So I came like, eight times...”

“And I’m done. Speak to me when you’re going to be sensible.”

Mimi ended the call and Anna started laughing at the receiver. Her phone tinkled with a text message. “If I don’t talk to you for about three weeks, that will work, won’t it?”

Anna called her back. “No, that won’t work for me. By the way, we’re not speaking to Imogen.”

“Who’s we?” Mimi demanded. “I was never speaking to her except with the assistance of valium and a glass of Pinot Grigio.”

“We as in you and me.”

“She lied, didn’t she?”

“Yup,” Anna replied without emotion.

“Am I allowed to scalp this bitch now?”

“Meems, no violence. You can’t afford to be struck off.”

“Meh, I spend any more time with Beppe, it’s going to happen. But in any case, I’m glad you’ve sorted things out with the Italian sausage. So very happy.”

In Mimi’s voice was nothing more than pure genuine joy for her. Now
that
was a friend. “Thank you. You can come to dinner with me and the bad Sicilian. And you can meet Beppe properly.”

Mimi snorted, “Not unless you want dinner all over your sparkly walls. Leave that well alone. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“What the actual fuck? Did you just say the L word to me? You never say the L word!”

Anna grinned. “I know.”

“Eight times, eh? Please Lord, let Rocco Mamione always provide my greatest friend with satisfaction so she can tell me that she loves me.”

“You know I do.”

Mimi was quiet for a moment. “It’s just lovely to hear it. I’m going before you make me cry!”

Again Mimi put the phone down and Anna cracked up. Bernie called her.

“You need to stop cackling. You are freaking out your three o’clock appointment.”

Anna frowned at her appointment diary. Oh, that dude. He could be scared—he needed it. “Good. My plan is working.”

Chapter Sixteen

Nonna fitted her glasses to her nose, frowning at the case file in front of her while Bernie set up the refreshments in the centre of the conference table.

Enzo Vitale looked uncomfortable and shifty as ever, sitting on the right side of his two solicitors. He had good reason to look uncomfortable. The mediation session had been his solicitors’ idea, before going for the full tribunal hearing, set for the next month. Their defence had been pathetic at best and at worst laughable. Tempting as it was to see what an employment judge would make of it, Anna had a responsibility to mediate first and see if the hearing could be avoided. The mediator sat at the head of the table, tapping his pen to a notepad.

“Are we ready?”

“I’m ready to kick Italian ass, yeah,” Nonna claimed.

Anna winced. “Mrs. Mamione is simply concerned that she receives what is due to her.”

The mediator looked wary. “All right.  Ms. Taylor, it’s your client’s claim, so why don’t you set out the background?”

“Mrs. Elisabetta Mamione is a brand herself. The deli she worked in for thirty years relied on her talent, her recipes, her astuteness and her passion. Mr. Vitale here saw a business venture, a thriving one that owed its success to Mrs. Mamione. He bought that venture from two owners more than ready for retirement. It was a successful business that had no need for change or alteration, and without Mrs. Mamione the business would instantly fail. Not a single recipe was written down. Each invention, weight and measurement of ingredients is in Mrs. Mamione’s head. The question is why did Mr. Vitale sack Mrs. Mamione? He could have done so for a number of reasons. Mrs Mamione is a woman past the age of retirement, but has never received a disciplinary. Has never been late or taken more holiday than permitted. She is a woman who has strong opinions, but a mind that has carried this business to unimaginable profits. Knowing that a business relied on the talents of that one woman, why dismiss her, if not to discriminate against her—on the basis of her age, her sex, or simply to victimise her because of her surname. Mrs. Mamione’s employment was part of the deal when the owners sold the deli. To fire her was not only a breach of contract, it was a breach of the Transfer of Undertakings Regulations—it was a breach of the law. Mr. Vitale has yet to explain himself in a manner that fully divulges his reasoning for sacking Mrs. Mamione, but I am sure one will be forthcoming. Mrs. Mamione seeks what she is entitled to. Unfair dismissal damages, discrimination damages, redundancy, unpaid wages, holiday and bonus payments.”

The mediator turned to Enzo’s solicitors. “Your response?”

“Whilst no one can doubt Mrs. Mamione’s dedication to her previous employers, Mr. Vitale felt he had no option but to fire Mrs. Mamione for gross misconduct. Mrs. Mamione did not own the deli and treated the business as if it were hers. She behaved in an insubordinate manner on several occasions and Mr. Vitale tried to accommodate her demands, but when it comes to technical definitions, Mrs Mamione was just an employee. A cook. As such, it was within the range of reasonable responses for Mr. Vitale to terminate Mrs. Mamione’s employment.”

The mediator looked up. “Good. Just point me to the letter of warning or the minutes of the disciplinary meeting with Mrs. Mamione.”

Enzo’s solicitor glanced up. “Excuse me?”

“The letter of warning or disciplinary meeting. The letter giving reasons for her dismissal. It’s here, surely.”

“I’ve never seen one,” Anna said helpfully.

“Sir, Mrs. Mamione was told in person...”

“In this day and age, Mr. Peterson, I would expect some form of notarial confirmation of what Mr. Vitale and Mrs. Mamione discussed when Mr. Vitale felt he had no choice but to sack the person on whom the very business relied.”

“The business didn’t necessarily rely on Mrs. Mamione.”

“Can Mr. Vitale cook?” Anna asked.

“What?” Enzo blustered.

“Can you cook?” she repeated. “If the business, a deli, which necessitates food being prepared and served, wasn’t reliant on Mrs. Mamione, I am assuming you can cook.”

“No, I’ve closed the business. It will reopen as a wine bar.”

Brilliant
. The mediator looked astounded. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s going to be a wine bar. Not a deli. It’s my business and I’ve made that decision.”

“Then why buy the deli at all?” the mediator asked. “If you didn’t want to continue that business, it makes no sense.”

The solicitor with Enzo put a placating hand on his arm, but he thrust it away. “The owners wanted to retire, so they sold it to me. What I did thereafter was up to me.”

“I do have to disagree with you there, Mr. Vitale,” Anna interrupted. “You’ll see on page forty-seven of the bundle, the agreement for sale with the previous owners. Clause Eight requires that the business continues to operate as a deli and Mrs. Mamione continues to run the deli.”

Enzo worked his jaw. “Mrs. Mamione didn’t want to work with me.”

The mediator’s frown deepened as he continued, “Then I repeat, why buy a thriving business if just to close it, make the necessary employee redundant if you weren’t going to continue the business as it was. It’s like buying a McDonald’s restaurant and turning it into a carpet shop. Why? The business was doing fantastically well. I even looked it up online—” He paused to pull out some printed papers. “‘Authentic Sicilian breads, cakes, treats and snacks, handmade on the premises by Nonna.’” He glanced at Nonna. “You, I assume, did all the hand-making.”

“Yes sir, I did.”

The mediator put down the papers. “What are we doing here?”

“I’m wearing a suit from Dolce and Gabbana. My grandson bought it for me. I know why I’m here. But I don’t think he does.” Nonna nodded toward Enzo.

“She cannot control what I do with my money!” he spat.

“No, but you signed a contract,” Anna said lightly. “You agreed to continue the business as it was and then you got rid of Mrs. Mamione. Out of spite, vengeance, stretching your business legs, what was it?”

“None of your concern.”

“It is my concern when you’ve made my client redundant for no reason other than
I can
. You could have spent the money doing up one of the thousand abandoned pubs in the city and turned it into a wine bar. If the deli was failing, losing money, I would understand, but look at the profit in the month before you bought it. Page eighty-nine of the bundle.”

Enzo’s solicitor tried to interrupt. “Could we have some coffee or water?”

The mediator waved a hand toward the setup. “You could pass me one of those Magdalene cakes.”

Enzo’s face paled. “That’s one of her cakes!”

Nonna passed the tray to the mediator. “Orange blossom and lime,” she beamed.

“She’s bribing you!” he yelled. “She can’t do that!”

Anna shrugged. “We can offer whatever refreshments we like.”

The mediator bit into one of the cakes, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Good lord. These are incredible!”

“We’d sell out of these by ten every morning,” Nonna said proudly. “Easiest things in the world to mess up, a Magdalene cake.”

“Mr. Vitale,” the mediator mumbled around his second cake, “You haven’t told us why you’ve derailed a perfectly functioning business in breach of the contract you signed.”

“That’s not what I signed,” he growled.

“That’s not your signature?” Anna interjected. “Then you didn’t buy the business? So you didn’t have any right to sack Mrs. Mamione?”

“That smug old bitch was begging to be sacked, she disrespected me!”

“Mr. Vitale, you will modify your language,” the mediator said sternly. “I will not have you abuse anyone in this room, do I make myself clear?”

“When did she disrespect you?” Anna asked. She could feel Nonna shaking with anger beside her.

“July,” Enzo said. “She told me to get out of her kitchen, I was in the way.”

“July was before you purchased the business,” Anna reminded him. “So why were you in the kitchen?”

“I was taking a look around!”

“What time in July?”

“Midday, sometime, who cares?”

“Then you were interrupting Mrs Mamione at the deli’s busiest time to ‘look around.’”

“The owners should have told her to expect me.”

“They said you were coming after we closed and you wafted in like you owned the joint already!” Nonna snapped. “You were getting under my feet, so I told you to get out.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, I am a fucking Vitale!”

“You’re a little fish whose daddy told him he’s bigger than he is,” Nonna retorted. “You sacked me because you could.”

“And it showed you!” he seethed.

The mediator put his hands up. “I’ve heard quite enough. Mr. Vitale, pay up.”

Enzo started, taking his snake eyes from Nonna. “What?”

“Pay. Up. Your defence is baseless—you had absolutely no reason to buy the deli except to stretch your authoritative legs and show Mrs. Mamione that it was what you could do. Whether it’s her age or the fact that she’s a woman is unclear, but it is clear to me that you have some misogynistic tendencies, particularly in the way you spoke to her. The figure I am recommending is based on Ms. Taylor’s calculation, and I am including a compensatory award for discrimination because I can and the law allows me to. If you refuse this recommendation and go ahead to the Tribunal, believe me, no judge, especially the ones closer to Mrs. Mamione in age, will be impressed with your argument. Sirs, if you do not want to be shamed in a court of this land, you will advise your client to take this recommendation seriously and end this case. As of now, the humiliation is confined to this room. He goes to tribunal and he will be thoroughly mocked. Mrs. Mamione, would you mind giving me another cake?”

Nonna passed the tray over in shock. Anna made notes of the mediator’s recommendation. “Oh, and Mrs. Mamione will need her job back.”

“What?”

“The economy is a tight, brittle, elastic band. If you abuse businesses that are running perfectly well, you are contributing to this country’s plight, and that will help no one. She needs her job back. I know councilmen in the Kensington area, and they will continue to refuse your alcohol licence if they know it is not beneficial to their constituents, and cakes such as these are.”

“That’s for the unfair dismissal, that’s her reinstatement award, breach of contract, failure to consult on a TUPE, unpaid wages, holiday and notice pay.” Anna pointed out her list of demands. “Plus what compensation figure were you thinking for the discrimination?”

“Around eighty thousand pounds should do it. And an uplift of twenty percent.”

Nonna’s jaw fell open and Anna made a note, making quick calculations. “That’s just under one hundred and eighty thousand. Shall we just round it out?”

“This is ridiculous!” Enzo whispered.

The mediator shrugged. “You’ve got the money to be buying delis. I’m sure you’ll find the money to rectify your grievous mistake. Ms. Taylor, will someone be able to print up my recommendations and get a signature from everyone in the room?”

“Absolutely.” She called Bernie, who went to organise like a demon. Nonna was pressing Enzo’s solicitors. “If you’re not a fan of Magdalenes, try these little biscuits. Crushed almonds and macadamia nuts.”

Despite receiving filthy looks from their client, they accepted the biscuits and cups of coffee. “These really are good.”

“You’re supposed to by
my
lawyers,” Enzo hissed.

“No reason why they can’t enjoy a thoroughly decent treat.”

“Outside!” Enzo commanded, getting to his feet and not waiting for his solicitors to follow. Nonna turned and hugged Anna delightedly.