By the time Mickey, Emma and Danny arrived at The Vesuvius, Ash and Stacie were already there.

Emma at first thought they'd maybe walked into the wrong restaurant, an actual restaurant, by mistake. After 45 minutes spent stuck in a car, quietly attempted to navigate whilst Mickey and Danny argued about nothing in particular, it definitely wouldn't be the first time she'd made mistakes in finding the restaurant. But after looking closely at the various people seated around the restaurant, she noticed that although menus were neatly folded across each table, nobody was reading them or eating anything. The extras were ready in position, talking amongst them.

Ash appeared through a side door of the main eating area, arms full with carried bags and looking odd in a t-shirt and jeans amongst the smartly dressed strangers.

"You're late – he's coming in ten minutes," Ash protested. He threw a plastic bag in Emma's direction, which she caught awkwardly. "Costume," he explained, smiling wryly. "We need you in the kitchen and out of sight before the mark gets here."

"Okay, I'll be two minutes," Emma replied, heading in the direction of the bathrooms. Behind her, she heard Ash address Mickey. "Look, we've got a problem…"

Once in the bathroom, Emma glanced herself in the mirror whilst she pulled back her hair. Very reluctantly, she opened the bag and took out the chefs hat and white jacked inside it, imagining Ash had had a little bit too much fun picking them out.

Her embarrassment was maybe benefiting someone, at least.

* * *

Richard Mayfair did not like being late, especially not for meetings, or when he was anywhere on business, which was often. Being late made him feel straight away at a disadvantage, ashamed because already he'd shown that as a person he could have faults.

Nobody could think of him as someone that made mistakes. Ever.

So by the time he got to The Vesuvius, 15 minutes later than he was expected, Richard was slightly red-faced and muttering angrily at the taxi driver, he definitely wasn't in the mood to paint on a polite and friendly smile and socialise.

But he managed to calm down and mask his annoyance, taking three deep breaths and counting slowly down from five.

Four, three, two…

Once he allowed himself to take notice of what was in front of him, he was already changing the restaurant's front in his mind, painting over its brick outside wall that matched the rest of the street, in a tasteful shade of off-white, taking down the metal sign that looked like it was once a more silvery colour than the dark grey it was now. It could be gold, arching over the doorway in a curved rectangle instead of shyly hanging from the side of the building. Of course, the script would swirl Mayfair's, like it did in all the others, the signature oak leaf logo almost visibly fluttering underneath the letter 'y'.

Richard walked through the doors, taking in everything around him and it instantly reminded him of the very first restaurant he'd owned.

He was back there now, back in the quiet building near a park in Camden. It was something he'd planned since leaving school, starting college straight afterwards. He took a course in Business Studies, and when he told a friend what he hoped to do he introduced him to Matthew, a student at the same college who was studying Catering. Throughout the three years, the two students became friends. They collected their degrees at the same time and six months later, opened their restaurant.

At first it was a game, really, children's attempt at running a business. There wasn't really that much money involved, though just enough, and it was the same with the customers. The Apple Tree's staff consisted of Richard as a general manager and accountant, Matthew as head chef, plus a friend of Matthew's who'd done the same Culinary course and also cooked, his younger sister, Megan, a pretty blonde who was just waitressing so she could save up for art school, and a host they'd found through a job agency who claimed to have good charismatic skills.

They drifted through the days and muddled through it all, though it definitely wasn't enough for Richard. He told Matthew about how big they were going to be, about all the money they'd make and how customers would make reservations months in advance in order to ensure a table, and his friend listened, though believing it a lot less. A year and a half later, a second branch opened and Richard's life began to change for his restaurants. More employees were hired, though unlike Matthew, Richard didn't fit in as much with the staff. He wasn't their friend, he was their employer. He was serious. He was strict. He was the boss.

By the third year, all of the original staff was gone and Matthew told Richard he was leaving, going with the promise to keep in touch, though it was broken. The last Richard heard of Matthew was that he'd married Megan.

After that, it changed. The Apple Tree became Mayfair's, more staff changes brought. Richard only took the best.

He knew there was something wrong with him, that he was unusually centred on his work and to be honest, that was why he'd married Angela. Out of curiosity, to see if as soon as he married and had children it would all be different. But it wasn't, and divorce came as a relief from the huge chore that was having a family.

So he carried on as he had, and the restaurants were everything. He'd convinced himself that was all he needed, now.

* * *

"Mr Mayfair? I'm Alan Thornton."

The tall, friendly-looking black man extended his hand and Richard shook it, returning his smile.

"Pleased to meet you," Alan smiled again, and Richard wondered if his welcoming warmth was genuine. As a general disliker of people, he found himself thinking that a lot.

"This is my fiancé, Vanessa Jordan."

A pretty, dark-haired woman appeared at Alan's side, and Richard shook her hand.

"And you know Paul Greenman."

Richard sent a friendly nod in his direction, though he felt slightly disappointed that he was here as well. After all, how was it his business after the introduction? He wasn't going to try and buy the restaurant, as well, was he?

"Let's sit down."