Cat O'Nine Tales and Other Stories - Jeffrey Archer [16]
Enter Mr. Dennis Cartwright, who worked for another of Her Majesty’s establishments.
Mr. Cartwright was an inspector with the Inland Revenue. He rarely ate out at a restaurant, and certainly not one as exclusive as Mario’s. Whenever he and his wife Doris “went Italian,” it was normally Pizza Express. However, he took a great interest in Mr. Gambotti, and in how he could possibly maintain such a lifestyle on the amount he was declaring to his local tax office. After all, the restaurant was showing a profit of a mere £172,000, on a turnover of just over two million. So, after tax, Mr. Gambotti was only taking home—Dennis carefully checked the figures—just over £100,000. With a home in Chelsea, three children at private schools and a Ferrari to maintain, not to mention the yacht moored in Monte Carlo, and heaven knows what else in Florence, how did he manage it? Mr. Cartwright, a determined man, was determined to find out.
The tax inspector checked all the figures in Mario’s books, and he had to admit they balanced and, what’s more, Mr. Gambotti always paid his taxes on time. However, Mr. Cartwright wasn’t in any doubt that Mr. Gambotti had to be siphoning off large sums of cash, but how? He must have missed something. Cartwright leaped up in the middle of the night and shouted out loud, “No credit cards.” He woke his wife.
The next morning, Cartwright went over the books yet again; he was right. There were no credit-card entries. Although all the checks were properly accounted for, and all the customers’ accounts tallied, when you considered that there were no credit-card entries, the small amount of cash declared seemed completely out of proportion to the overall takings.
Mr. Cartwright didn’t need to be told that his masters would not allow him to waste much time dining at Mario’s in order to resolve the mystery of how Mr. Gambotti was salting away such large sums of money. Mr. Buchanan, his supervisor, reluctantly agreed to allow Dennis an advance of £200 to try to discover what was happening on the inside—every penny was to be accounted for—and he only agreed to this after Dennis had pointed out that if he was able to gather enough evidence to put Mr. Gambotti behind bars, imagine just how many other restaurateurs might feel obliged to start declaring their true incomes.
Mr. Cartwright was surprised that it took him a month to book a table at Mario’s, and it was only after several calls, always made from home, that he finally was able to secure a reservation. He asked his wife Doris to join him, hoping it would appear less suspicious than if he was sitting on his own, compiling notes. His supervisor agreed with the ploy, but told Dermis that he would have to cover his wife’s half of the bill, at his own expense.
“It never crossed my mind to do otherwise,” Dennis assured his supervisor.
During a meal of Tuscan bean soup and gnocchi—he was hoping to pay more than one visit to Mario’s—Dennis kept a wary eye on his host as he circled the different tables, making small talk and attending to his customers’ slightest whims. His wife couldn’t help but notice that Dennis seemed distracted, but she decided not to comment, as it was a rare occurrence for her husband to invite her out for a meal, other than on her birthday
Mr. Cartwright began committing to memory that there were thirty-nine tables dotted around the restaurant (he double-checked) and roughly a hundred and twenty covers. He also observed, by taking time over his coffee, that Mario managed two sittings on several of the tables. He was impressed by how quickly three waiters could clear a table, replace the cloth and napkins, and moments later make it appear as if no one had ever been sitting there.
When Mario presented Mr. Cartwright with his bill,