Sowerbutt's Coffee

"You want me to lose all my customers, Mr Sorbay? Every time you visit, you order more clothes and my other customers have to wait. They will go to my slap-dash rivals across the road,” the dapper little man with brilliantined black hair smiled.

“No Jack, I am wearing your recent work as you can see. Dressed to kill some would say,” Sowerbutt said.
“I hope I am still a friend, not your enemy. But look at your beautiful jacket. It took me hours to cut and sew  and now a scratch on the leather of your sleeve. You must oil it like I showed you. Nobody ever listens to me.”
Sowerbutt laughed. He enjoyed his visits to Jack Shakes, born Yacob Shakhnarovich, in his shop off Whitechapel Road for the conversation almost as much as the workmanship. Jack, his parents and sister had fled Moscow in 1917 after the Russian Tsar abdicated. Most of the Russian exiles settled in Paris, waiting for the Romanov family to be restored to the Imperial throne. Jack’s father had no false hopes, starting a tailoring business in Whitechapel which quickly won a reputation across the City.
“Then you are here to sell me material, Mr Sorbay? I only deal with reputable suppliers who give me 60 days’ credit, you are a cash man. But that bolt of tweed you sent me the other day was superb, some of the best I have seen. I have made up some of it into a suit for a VIP. Even he, with his spreading stomach, looks good.”
“I simply dropped by for a cup of your excellent coffee, Jack. Or are refreshments only for your paying customers?”
“No peace for a poor tailor,” Jack muttered as he disappeared into the small kitchen, returning minutes later with two large cups of coffee and a plate of fresh Mandelbrot.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-of-Red-ebook/dp/B00B1CWM5M/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1358353851&sr=1-1