The Secrets of Ice Cream Success (3 page)

Still holding his phone as he
followed Mr Fox across the yard Carlo began to feel panic rising.
He started to flick through the contacts until he came to the one
he wanted and pressed the call button.

‘
Come on… Come
on Dad!’ Carlo urged quietly as he lifted the phone to his ear.
‘Answer… Answer.’

‘
I’m sorry.
The Number you have called is not in service. I’m sorry. The number
you have called is not in service. I’m sorry. The….’

Carlo hung up. He wasn’t sure
why he had done that or what he had expected to happen, but he
suddenly felt more alone than at any point in the last two years.
‘It’s so we can stay in touch, Dad.’ He whispered. ‘But I don’t
know where you are.’

‘
Carlo?
Giancarlo? Are you ready?’ Mr Fox asked.

Carlo looked up to see him
holding open a hatch set inside one of the huge factory doors.

‘
Come on. Lets
get it over with.’ Uncle Randy said with a warm smile, before
ducking through the hatch. Carlo took a deep breath and followed
him into the dark beyond.

Stood in the darkness beyond
the factory doors, Carlo could feel the cold air of a huge open
space in front of him. There was a breeze from beyond the railing
he was holding onto, bringing forth the slightly sweet smell of
syrup and vanilla. To his right Mr Fox could be heard flicking a
number of switches and slowly a buzz filled the air as one by one
the large strip lights that filled the factory blinked and clicked
into life revealing Luigi Leodoni’s Ice Cream Empire.

Carlo was stood on the street
level balcony looking down to the storey below at the huge factory
floor. The sight was oh so familiar to him but no less mysterious
for that, full, as it was, of pipes and conveyor belts; churning
machines and ovens; robotic arms and many more wondrous machines,
most of which he had no idea to their purpose. To his left a
concrete ramp dipped down fifteen feet from the main doors to the
to the factory floor where the track turned to the left and hugged
the edge of the building. Carlo could see all twelve of Leodoni’s
vans lined up along the track stretching to the back of the
factory. He was slightly shocked to see his father’s own van at the
front of the line gleaming as if the accident had never happened.
He had never asked what had become of the van after the crash and
had to assume now that Uncle Randy had taken care of it and had it
repaired via the insurance. It was, after all, an asset of
Leodoni’s. His shock at finding the van sat ready for another day’s
work began to resolve itself into distaste and Carlo longed to rush
over to it and once again start beating it with all his
strength.

Randy had set off along the
balcony towards the line of offices stretched along the opposite
wall to the vans and Carlo hesitated, gripping the cool railing
ever tighter, before dragging his eyes from the van and following,
glad that the factory floor with all its massive and unknowable
apparatus was now blocking the vans from view. Entering the third
office he came to, Carlo found Randy already rifling through a
filing cabinet, occasionally pulling out files and throwing them
onto the large mahogany desk that dominated the centre of the room.
Slumping into a chair Carlo watched as the pile became larger until
Randy, having seemingly come to the end of the search, closed the
drawer, turned around and placed the last file on the desk and
opened it so they could see the contents.

‘
These,’ Randy
said, indicating the files ‘are the key staff at Leodoni’s. The
ones we will need to tell in advance… if you still intend to go
through with this?’ Carlo nodded but remained silent, so Randy
continued with a sigh. ‘Then this is what you need to sign, Carlo.’
he said, fishing another document from his bag and placing it next
to the files. ‘Why don’t I leave you alone to read it for a minute?
You can make sure you understand exactly what it means.’

Randy stood and smiled down at
Carlo before leaving the office, closing the door behind him. Carlo
stared at the desk and wished himself anywhere else but here; his
father’s office. The files were plied on his father’s desk, with
his father’s cup next to them. There was a picture of his mother on
the shelf behind the desk and next to that another photo of Carlo
sat on his father’s shoulders laughing. Everything about this place
reminded him of his parents. But he couldn’t understand why this
wasn’t a comfort to him. He just knew that he hated everything
about the factory.

‘
It killed
them!’ he had said to his friends not long after his father’s will
had been read.

‘
No it didn’t,
Carlo.’ Newton reasoned, ‘Your Dad was killed in an accident and
your mother was ill. It wasn’t the factory. ‘

Carlo just shook his head in
disagreement. How could he possibly tell them? How could he ever
explain that his parent’s deaths were so intrinsically linked with
the factory? He would never be able to tell anyone the secret
ingredient of Leodoni’s vanilla ice cream and therefore he could
never tell anyone what had started the argument that culminated in
his father’s death. His own sense of guilt made his head feel like
bursting whenever he thought about it.

‘
It was the
factory.’ he repeated.

‘
Well, what
are you going to do with it?’ Abi asked.

‘
Uncle Randy
can have it. I don’t want it.’

‘
Your father
left the company to you.’ Randy said a few days later when Carlo
had repeated his thoughts. ‘It was as much a surprise to me as it
was to you, but we’ve had to deal with your father’s wishes as best
we can with all the legal entanglements that involved.’

‘
I know, Uncle
Randy. And I appreciate it, but I just don’t want the factory. It’s
difficult to explain.’

Mr Fox stared at the young man
intently. Although “Uncle Randy” had been a huge part of Carlo’s
young life for as long as he could remember, the two years since Mr
Leodoni had passed away had brought them much closer together and
Carlo had been glad his guardian didn’t push the matter of his
rejection of the factory too much.

‘
Your Uncle
Luca rang again this morning.’ Randy had told him. ‘He and Franco
are keen for you to join them now the school holidays are starting.
They wish you would reconsider moving to Italy with them. They’re
your family, they would look after you.’

‘
I don’t know
that side of the family. I’ve never even been to Italy. I want to
stay with my friends.’ Carlo stated bluntly.

Randy had given Carlo a very
warm smile, saying, ‘When I took you in I said you could stay as
long as you want and I meant it.’

Carlo left his seat in his
father’s office and moved around the desk to look at the document
Randy had left. It was very long and contained many words that he
had never even heard of. He tried his best to skim through it but
got lost in a whirl of legal jargon and long sentences. Eventually
he dropped into his father’s chair in disgust. A few minutes later
Randy walked back in to the office with two cans of lemonade and
put them on the desk.

‘
That bad?’ he
asked looking at the rather forlorn expression on Carlo’s
face.

‘
I don’t
understand a word of it!’ Carlo replied. ‘It’s a different
language. You’d have to be a genius to understand it. It’s probably
how Newton writes all his letters to his pen pal; “Dear fellow
genius from Canada. E=MC
²
and stuff like that. Rah rah
rah. The melting point of rabbits is five million pencils. I had
beans for tea. Yours in Scientific Discovery. Newton.” Carlo
mimicked before banging his head down on the table.

Randy laughed and pulled the
document towards him. ‘It’s not that bad. It just says that you
want to relinquish control of the factory and hand it over to me.
In return a percentage of the profits will be placed into a trust
every year until you are twenty one when you will be able access
the trust but all other ties with the company will be cut. It’s
what we talked about; basically I’m buying the factory from you and
paying for it over a period of four or five years.’

‘
Well why
doesn’t it just say that then?’ Carlo mumbled from his position
slumped over the desk.

‘
Because that
would be too boring for the lawyers. Now, here’s the crunch...’
Randy said, sliding the document back in front of Carlo and handing
him a pen, but at that moment the office door slammed open behind
him and a dripping wet umbrella entered the office followed by a
large man in a long black waxed coat and a rather battered top
hat.

‘
Ah, Randolph.
How good to see you.’ wheezed the man with a sound like there was
lump of phlegm rattling in his throat. Carlo looked on in surprise
as the uninvited guest shook his umbrella on the floor and removed
is hat, all the while a suspicion that he had seen this man before
arose, but he just couldn’t remember where.

‘
Haverton?’
Replied Randy, somewhat in shock. ‘How did… err… why… err… what are
you doing here?’

‘
No need to be
so flustered my dear boy, I come with good news… but, who is this?’
the gentleman said, looking beyond Randy to Carlo still slumped in
his father’s chair. Carlo looked the man up and down, noticing how
old-fashioned his clothes were and feeling slightly nauseated by
the gurgling sound every time he spoke.

‘
My, my… this
can’t be young Carlo can it?’ Randy nodded an affirmative but still
looked a little disconcerted. ‘Well, well. What a nice surprise.’ A
queasy grin spread across the man’s face.

‘
Excuse me.
Who are you and what do you want?’ Carlo asked, jumping into the
question gap that was currently being left by Randy.

‘
I, young man,
am Haverton Hill, owner of Hill’s Confections. You will have heard
of us, of course.’ he intoned with obvious delight at his own
grandeur.

‘
Err… no.’
Carlo lied, finally recognising the old man and immediately
disliking him. ‘What do you do?’

Haverton Hill’s grin slipped a
little as he stared at Carlo for a second weighing up his answer
before seeming to think better of it and turning to address Randy.
‘Randolph. As I understand it Leodoni’s is now yours. I wish to
make you an offer.’

‘
Well, err…
not quite Haverton, the papers haven’t been signed yet. In fact we
were just about to sign them.’

‘
Ah, good,
good.’ beamed Mr Hill, looking not in the least surprised that he
had been incorrect about the current ownership. ‘You know, boy.’ he
continued, grin back in place and addressing Carlo once more, ‘This
is a very shrewd move. More shrewd than ever your father
was.’

‘
Excuse me?’
Carlo asked, sitting up a little straighter in the
chair.

‘
Well, your
father was, how shall I put it, a very good ice cream maker, but a
terrible ice cream seller. He lacked the business acumen. So, of
course, if you are anything like him, as I imagine you are, you do
the right thing to refuse ownership. I imagine you would only make
matters worse.’

‘
What matters
worse? What are you talking about?’ Carlo asked feeling both
patronised and angry at this man’s disrespect to his
father.

‘
You wouldn’t
understand, my boy. It’s a grown up matter. Perhaps you would like
to continue? I believe you were about to sign the
papers?’

‘
What’s he
talking about Uncle Randy?’ Carlo said, ignoring Mr
Hill.

‘
Erm, I’m not
sure,’ Randy said looking between them. ‘Haverton, you mentioned an
offer? I’m confused. Did you mean… for Leodoni’s?’

‘
Of course, of
course… I was under the impression that the documents had all been
finalised but I suppose I can wait a few more minutes.’

‘
Why don’t you
just make the offer to me?’ Carlo asked standing up to stare at the
much larger man.

Haverton looked at the boy once
more but this time the smile had vanished completely. ‘Because,’ he
said with a bite in his words, ‘I would rather do business with
someone whom I am able to discuss matters as an equal; or at the
very least with Randolph here. I do not mean to squander my time
talking business with a child and certainly not the child of Luigi
Leodoni. Now I suggest you sign the papers and leave, we have
things to discuss.’

Carlo stared
at Mr Hill with contempt. What had he meant by “…not the child of
Luigi Leodoni?” Carlo was suddenly very defensive and a wave of
defiance swept though him. How dare he insult his father? How dare
this sweaty, slimy, snail-like man come into his factory and talk
to him like that? …
his factory.
It was the first time he had thought of it like
that.
His
factory…

‘
Actually, Mr
… sorry, what was your name? Well, it doesn’t matter. Actually,
Mister, I’m not signing the papers. And you are in
my
factory so you can’t
really tell me to leave, can you? In fact, it’s you who should
leave ‘coz you’re trespassin’ and I know all about that ‘coz Ben’s
been spoken to by the police loadsa’ times for tresspassin’. So
you’d better leave before they come and take your number and ask
you where your parents live and tell you you should be at
school!’

Mr Hill looked slightly
affronted at being spoken too in such a way but rallied excellently
by pretending it had never happened. ‘Well, Randolph, I am actually
rather busy, so why don’t you give me a call after the necessary
has been completed and we can discuss terms?’