Page 21 of Playing the Game
“Not a word,” Adam said.
“Promise.”
He needed to speak to Steven.
Okay, get them settled then nip out.
“Come on, you lot. Jesus. You wouldn’t think you played football for a living.”
With a last glance at Colin, he led them in.
As usual, Stefano, the owner, was all over them.
“Adam. How good to see you again. Come, come I have the room ready.”
La Piazza had a gorgeous private dining room. Lit by candles and covered in paintings of Italy. They’d had many a good meal in there.
A few other tables had diners whose eyes were on stalks when they saw who’d walked in.
“How you doing, Stefano?” Adam asked.
The restauranteur had become as much of a fixture in their Lancashire town as Brockton FC. When he’d had a heart attack earlier in the year, the lads had come together to pay for a trip for Stefano and his wife to go to Italy and visit relatives.
“I am on cloud nine, Skipper,” he replied. “My eldest son is coming home. Finally he’s realised that Brockton is better than Los Angeles.”
Adam fought a smirk. “That sounds good. You’ll have to bring him to a game.”
“Pah,” Stefano replied. “He’s not interested in that. I’ll try though.”
“Stefano, can I leave you to wrangle these layabouts into order? I need to make a quick call.”
“Sure thing, Skipper.”
Adam left Stefano barking orders at his teammates and stepped onto the street. He got his phone out and dialled.
“Steven.”
“What’s up? It’s not Udo, is it?”
“Nothing like that. Listen, Colin told me that some of the fans are forming a bloody protest group.”
There was no response.
“Steven?”
“I’m here. Shit. I’ll have to call Javier. Will Colin keep his mouth shut?”
“Definitely. He’s pretty upset.”
“Give me five minutes.”
Adam terminated the call. They’d barely begun the season. It enraged him that the players would have to face such nonsense.
He turned and almost leapt out of his skin. Jonas stood in the doorway of the restaurant.
“A protest group?” Jonas asked.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Adam replied. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”
