Free To Trade

CHAPTER 10

I had quite a backlog of work to catch up on. Accounting discrepancies, monthly valuation commentaries, a pile of reading. I ploughed through it all afternoon and the early part of the evening.

I left the office at half past seven and sauntered down Gracechurch Street towards the Monument underground station. I couldn't work out how we could try to get the Tremont money back. I had no idea how Hamilton would go about it, although he seemed confident he would think of something.

I was interrupted by a voice next to me and a hand slipping through my arm. 'Paul, why so miserable?'

It was Claire. I caught the same subtle scent she had been wearing in Luc's the day before.

'I'm not, I'm just preoccupied.'

'With work. But work is over for the day! It's time to play.'

I smiled weakly. I couldn't tear my mind away from the Tremont Capital disaster.

'Look, you've been worrying too much lately,' Claire said. 'You take it all too seriously. I am meeting some old friends of mine tonight. Do you want to come?'

I hesitated.

'Oh, come on!' she said. She raised her arm at a passing taxi which screeched to a halt. She bundled me in. I didn't resist. She was right. All that I had learned over the last few days was weighing heavily on me.

Claire directed the taxi to a small wine bar in Covent Garden. It was dark and wooden and crowded. Her friends were there already. Denis, Philippe and Marie. They had all been to university together at Avignon. Denis was doing a Ph.D. in Anglo-Saxon history at King's College, London, and Philippe and Marie were both teachers in Orleans. They were in England on holiday. And only Denis spoke English.

My French is barely up to conversational standard, but I did my best. I was encouraged with enthusiasm by the others, who derived no end of amusement from my Yorkshire French accent. I got by pretty well, although the conversation took some strange paths since my comments were dictated more by what words I knew than what it made sense to say. The wine flowed. The volume of the conversation rose, punctuated by bursts of hysterical laughter. No one mentioned bonds, markets, interest rates, Tremont, Joe, or Debbie.

As the night wore on, I found it more difficult to focus on what was being said or where the conversation was going. I just sat back in my chair and watched.

In particular, I watched Claire. God, she was sexy! She perched, cross-legged on her chair, her tight black skirt riding up over her well-shaped thighs. Her white blouse was tucked firmly into her skirt, stretching over the curves of her breasts, as she leaned forward to make a point. Her lips were full and pouted frequently as she talked. The French language was made for lips like hers, I reflected.

Suddenly, at a signal that I had missed, everyone stood up. I looked at my watch. It was midnight. We left the wine bar and spent five minutes on the pavement outside in a confusion of goodbyes. Then Denis disappeared in one direction and Philippe and Marie in another, leaving Claire and me alone.

Claire put her arm through mine and we wandered down towards the Strand. We wended our way through groups of people shouting goodbye to each other, hailing cabs and laughing excitedly. The night air was warm and relaxed.

'I forgot to ask you whether you could speak French,' said Claire. 'You were good.'

'After all those years of learning it at school, some of it was bound to sink in, I suppose,' I said.

'That was a nice evening, wasn't it? Don't you like Marie? And Denis is very funny, isn't he? Oh, we all had such fun together at Avignon.'

'I enjoyed it very much. Thank you for bringing me along.'

'Shall we share a cab?' asked Claire. 'Where do you live?'

'Kensington, and you?'

'Oh, that's fine. I live just off Sloane Square.'

We walked along the Strand, trying to get a cab. Eventually we caught one coming over Waterloo Bridge from the south side of the river.

Neither of us said anything in the taxi, but I was acutely aware of Claire's presence beside me. She let her head rest gently on my shoulder.

We pulled up outside her flat. She clambered past me, opened the door, and dropped to the kerb.

'Goodbye,' I said, 'I'm glad I bumped into you this evening.'

The taxi had stopped under a streetlight, so I could see Claire's face clearly. Her eyes smouldered, dark and sensual, just as they had in the restaurant. She smiled. 'Come on,' she said.

I hesitated for a moment, then swallowed, climbed out of the taxi, paid the driver, and followed her into the building. Her flat was on the first floor. It was comfortable, stylishly furnished, with two large abstract paintings hanging on one wall.

That was all I had time to notice. As soon as we were inside, Claire turned and pulled my head down to hers. A long kiss, our bodies pressed against each other, both feeling the other's excitement. Eventually, Claire drew her lips away from mine, chuckled hoarsely and whispered, 'What do you want?'

I didn't get a chance to answer. She led me into the bedroom. She didn't turn on the light, but the curtains were open and the orange glow from the streetlamps outside lit the room. She loosened my tie and undid the top buttons of my shirt. I took off my jacket and undressed. In a moment Claire was standing before me, naked. The headlights of a passing car illuminated her. Her body was round and firm, almost muscular. I only just had time to take my socks off before she pulled me down on to the bed.

Claire was a vigorous, energetic lover. The bedclothes were soon strewn all over the floor. After an exhausting hour of the most intense pleasure, I rolled over on to my back, short of breath, sweating, spent. Claire lay down beside me and we talked and laughed as she ran her fingers over my chest and stomach.

Within a few minutes, relaxed and contented, I rolled over and fell straight to sleep.

I was awakened by Claire kissing me lightly on the nose. She was fully dressed in a blue suit.

'Some of us have to go to work,' she said. 'Make sure the door locks behind you.' She was gone before I could reply.

I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on my clothes, took a taxi home and had a bath. I was late into work that morning.

Hamilton had been thinking, as promised. He beckoned me into the conference room.

'This isn't going to be easy,' he said. 'We need to find out more.' He leaned forward over the sparkling white pad on the table in front of him. All energy and purpose. I listened, ready to follow instructions.

'We can attack this problem from two angles. I suggest I tackle one of them and you the other.'

I nodded.

'Firstly, there is the Netherlands Antilles. I have been through the Tremont prospectus word for word. It calls for a number of conditions precedent before the money can be drawn down, including the signature of the Honshu Bank guarantee. Now, that means that Van Kreef, Heerlen must have had sight of that document before the money was paid out. Either they saw a document that was a forgery, or they allowed the money to be released without seeing anything.

'There is also a requirement for accounts to be audited annually. The auditors are a local firm of accountants. There is nothing in the prospectus which gives us the right to look at the accounts, but they might be filed somewhere.

'Lastly, the money must have been invested or transferred somewhere from the Netherlands Antilles. Professional advisers will probably have been involved there.'

'There may well have been lawyers and accountants involved in all these stages, but they will never tell you anything,' I said. 'The Netherlands Antilles has a reputation for absolute confidentiality to maintain. If they lose it, then half the money invested through the islands would leave tomorrow.'

'That's true. It would be very difficult to find these things out by myself,' said Hamilton. 'But I spoke to Rudy Geer last night, one of the top lawyers in the islands. He is going to help me. As far as he is concerned, the last thing he wants the islands to be known for is as a good place to base a fraud. Apparently Van Kreef, Heerlen sail a bit close to the wind. I hope I will be able to mobilise the local establishment to take our side. They would much prefer the money to be returned quietly without anyone knowing about it, than have an international scandal. I shall fly out there the day after tomorrow.'

'OK, so what do I do?' I said.

'Check out Cash,' said Hamilton. 'You are going to New York soon, aren't you?'

'Yes, in a couple of days,' I said.

'Are you going to see Bloomfield Weiss?'

'I intend to.'

'Good. See what you can find out about Cash and the Tremont deal. But be very discreet. It is essential that Cash isn't tipped off.'

'OK,' I said. 'What about this guy Dick Waigel?'

'I've come across him in the past,' said Hamilton. 'A nasty little man. I wouldn't be surprised if he was involved. He's too clever for his own good. See what you can find out about him, but be careful. If he is working with Cash on this, then he will be wary of people asking questions.'

'What am I looking for?' I asked.

'It's difficult to say,' said Hamilton. 'Anything that ties Cash in to Tremont, and in particular anything that suggests what Tremont will have done with our money. The prospectus just mentions investments in securities, without specifying what those might be.' I had no clue how I would be able to find out what Hamilton was looking for. He saw the look of concern on my face. 'Don't worry, even if you don't turn up anything, I should be able to discover something in Curacao.'

I felt distinctly uncomfortable about all of this. 'Shouldn't we tell someone?' I said. 'The police perhaps, or at least Mr De Jong?'

Hamilton sat down again. He opened his fingers in front of him and sighed. 'I thought about that last night as well. I don't think we should.'

'But this is a major fraud. Surely we have to report it?' I protested. All my instincts told me to go to the police and leave it with them.

Hamilton leaned forward in his chair. 'Remember I told you I thought I had found a new investor in Japan? Fuji Life? Well, I am pretty sure that they intend to give us five hundred million dollars of their money to manage. All being well, we should get it next month. You know what the Japanese are like. If a group with the prestige of Fuji Life are prepared to give us that much money, others will follow.' He was talking more quickly now. 'This could be the breakthrough De Jong needs. It could make us one of the major fund managers in London.' Hamilton looked me straight in the eye. I could feel the power of his conviction and his will. He wanted to be the most powerful fund manager in London; it was an ambition he was determined to achieve. And I would be cheering him all the way.

He relaxed. 'You know George. He would want to tell our investors immediately. We wouldn't be able to talk him out of it. And once he does that, the reputation of our firm will be significantly harmed. It may never recover. We would certainly never see the money from Fuji Life. And as for the police, that would be even worse.'

Hamilton could see I wasn't quite convinced. 'Look, you and I have a terrific opportunity to really make something of this firm. Can I rely on you to help? If we can get the money back in the next two or three months, then it will be a lot better for the firm and for George De Jong. If we have got nowhere by Christmas, then we will tell him. You've done your duty by telling me about it. You're safe. This mess is my responsibility and I am going to clear it up.'

I thought about it for a moment. Five hundred million dollars from Fuji Life would bring who knows how much money with it from Japan. We would do some serious trading with funds like that behind us. We would move markets, people would have to sit up and take notice of us. And there was no doubt that I would be part of it all; Hamilton had referred to the two of us as a team. I liked that. We had everything to play for. I knew Hamilton was right about George De Jong; he would want to go straight to our investors and spoil it all.

Well, Hamilton had asked for my help and he would get it. 'OK. You are right. Let's find that money.'

I walked back to my desk, excited and a little bewildered. It would be fun working with Hamilton to recover the money. But how on earth would we do it? I had no idea how I would get the information Hamilton had asked for. All I could do was try my best and see what I turned up. Whatever happened, I didn't want to let him down.

On my desk I found a note that Claire had called. I rang her.

'BLG.''

'Hallo. It's me, Paul.'

'Ah, good morning. I am glad to see you made it into work. I have some prices for you.' At the best of times Claire's voice sounded sensual. When I heard it that morning, it brought back the previous night's activities.

'I enjoyed last night,' I said.

'So did I. It was fun.'

'We must do it again sometime.'

There was silence on the other end of the line.

'You know, Paul, I don't think we should.' I had been half expecting this. 'What I said about it being unprofessional for a salesperson to have a relationship with her clients is true. We had a great night. No harm was done. We had better leave it there.'

I was disappointed. There is no pretending I was not disappointed. If she thought professionalism was so important, what had she been up to last night? But… she was right. No harm had been done. And for the first time in a long while I had had a really good time. I should just chalk it up to experience.

'Now, about those prices…'

The Gloucester Arms was as crowded and smoky as usual. In one corner four or five New Zealanders were chatting up a similar number of giggling Italian students. A group of large men propped up the bar, their beer-developed stomachs peeking out underneath too small T-shirts. A mildly eccentric old man muttered to himself as he puffed at his pipe and perused the Daily Telegraph. The seats on either side of him were empty, he looked just a little too crazy for comfort.

The Gloucester Arms was by no means the most attractive pub in London. But it was my local. I probably spent more time in there than I should, unwinding from the day's tensions, reliving good trades and forgetting bad ones. As I sat in the corner watching the laughing, gesturing crowd of people, and slowly sipping a pint of Yorkshire bitter, the cauldron of competing anxieties that had been bubbling in my head cooled down to a gentle simmer. Debbie, Joe, Piper and Tremont were still all there in the background, but I could worry about them properly tomorrow.

I looked up and saw Rob's chubby face over the other side of the room. He caught my eye and pushed through the drinkers towards me. Every now and then we would have a beer in the Gloucester Arms. He lived quite close, so the pub was convenient for both of us.

'Hi. Can I get you another?' he asked. I nodded my assent, and he was soon back with two pints of Yorkshire.

He took a deep swallow of his, closed his eyes and loosened his shoulders. 'I needed that,' he sighed.

'Bad day?'

'You could say that,' Rob said. He shook his head. 'It's my own fault. I bought a load of Bunds yesterday, because I thought today's money supply figures would be lower than expected.'

'So what's the problem?' I asked. 'You were right, weren't you?'

'Yeah. The market went up a point. But instead of taking my profit, I bought more.'

'Why?'

'I don't know, it just felt right. Then that bastard Poehl says that the Bundesbank is still worried about inflation despite the good money supply figures, and the market came off a point and a half.'

'Oh dear,' I said, as neutrally as possible.

'That's right,' said Rob. 'Oh dear. I don't know why I didn't sell right after the figures came out.'

Rob stared gloomily into his pint. I didn't know why he hadn't sold either. But then I didn't understand why he had put on the position in the first place. He had no carefully worked out reason for thinking the money supply figures would be low. It was just 'gut feel'. That was certainly not the way Hamilton would have played the situation, but then more traders were like Rob than like Hamilton.

Rob looked up from his beer. 'That was quite some trade Hamilton did yesterday, wasn't it?' he said. 'I couldn't work it out. Neither could Jeff. In fact I think it upsets him a bit.' Rob reported to Jeff Richards.

'What does?' I asked.

'Hamilton calling the market right all the time.'

'Well, Jeff does all right himself, doesn't he?' I said.

'Yes, he does, on the whole,' Rob said. 'But he can spend days poring over economic research and statistics before deciding which way the market will go. He then has to wait weeks sometimes for the market to catch up with him. I think seeing Hamilton call the market just right, against all that fundamental analysis, irks him. How does he do it?'

'He thinks of everything,' I said. 'He leaves as little to chance as possible, and when the odds are heavily stacked in his favour, he makes his move. You can learn a lot from him.'

'I can see that,' said Rob. 'Bit of a cold bastard, though, isn't he?'

'Yes, I suppose so,' I said. 'But he is fair. I like working for him. Seeing him in action, like he was yesterday, is quite incredible.'

He was a great man to learn from, I thought. One day, if I watched and listened closely, I would be just as good as Hamilton. Secretly, I thought I could be better. That was my ambition. And I was determined enough to make sure I achieved it.

Rob nodded his head in agreement and sipped his pint. 'Aren't you going on a boondoggle soon?' he asked.

'Boondoggle? I am about to embark on a gruelling business trip, if that's what you mean.' I smiled at him.

'To Arizona?'

'Yes, to Arizona. Although I am going to spend a few days in New York beforehand, to catch up with what is happening on Wall Street. And then of course I will have to spend a day in Las Vegas to check out the Tahiti.'

'If that isn't a boondoggle, I don't know what is,' said Rob. 'Mind you, I have an exciting trip ahead of me myself.'

'Oh yes? I didn't know Jeff approved of the expense.'

'Well, he has made a special exception in this case. It's a two-day seminar on central bank approaches to controlling exchange rates. It's in Hounslow. Do you want to come? I hear Hounslow is very nice this time of year.'

'Very kind of you, but no thanks,' I said. 'Anyway, enough of work. How's your love life?'

Gloom instantly returned to Rob's face.

'Not so good?' I asked.

'Terrible,' Rob answered.

'You are still chasing Cathy Lasenby, I take it.'

Rob nodded miserably. 'I had this great idea,' he said. 'Cathy has been avoiding me, there is no escaping that. But I wasn't going to let her go, just slip away. So I thought I ought to engineer something.'

Rob took out a cigarette and lit it. I hardly ever saw him smoke; never at work, and only occasionally outside, when he was worked up about something. 'I sent her a fax,' he went on. 'I said I was impressed with her ideas on the treasury market, but that before doing business with her, I and my colleagues wanted to meet her properly. So I suggested dinner at Bibendum in Chelsea.'

Rob saw my puzzled expression and laughed. 'I signed it John Curtis of Albion Insurance.'

'You did what?' I exclaimed.

'She had told me that Albion Insurance was her biggest prospective customer. She had to come. I gave her De Jong & Co.'s fax number to reply to, so that Curtis wouldn't find out what was going on. Sure enough, she replied.

'Well, I booked two tables for eight, one in the name of Curtis for four, and one in my name for two. I arrived ten minutes early, and propped up the bar. I don't know whether you have ever been to Bibendum?'

I shook my head. 'No, but I've heard of it.'

'It's quite stylish. It's in the old Michelin Building, 1920s architecture, great service, delicious food. A good choice. Anyway, Cathy arrived ten minutes late. She looked stunning in a black dress that showed everything off. The waiter led her past me to her empty table, which was right by where I was standing. She made a half-hearted attempt to ignore me, but couldn't really get away with it; she was only ten feet away.

'She caught my eye and I walked over to her table. We both discovered we were waiting for someone-I told her I was waiting for my uncle. She agreed to have a drink with me at the bar. She was nervous, and looked like she needed one.

'I ordered a bottle of Taittinger, saying that my uncle always drank it, and would order one anyway. We had a glass and then another glass. Cathy took a while to relax. She told me she was very keen to make a good impression on Curtis. After a while she wound down.

'By nine o'clock neither my uncle nor Curtis had turned up. I suggested that if they didn't show up in the next ten minutes, we should have dinner together. She agreed. Not surprisingly, nobody showed. The dinner was marvellous. The champagne flowed. We had a great evening.'

'So far, so good,' I said.

Rob smiled to himself as he took a swig of his beer. 'We had just finished a terrific summer pudding, and were sitting back replete, when Cathy said that she was glad that Curtis hadn't made it. We agreed it had been a wonderful evening. And then

'Don't tell me,' I said, seeking refuge in my pint. But there was no escape.

'Then I told her that I had set the whole thing up. My uncle wasn't coming. Curtis and his colleagues weren't coming.'

'And she didn't like that?'

'She didn't like that,' Rob admitted. 'She didn't like that one little bit.'

'What did she do?'

'She went wild,' Rob said. 'She went bright red. She said she had never been made such a fool of. She said I was devious and totally untrustworthy.' Rob paused, clearly uncomfortable at the memory of the scene. 'I told her that I loved her, and I knew she loved me.'

'What did she say?' I asked.

'She told me to go to hell,' Rob answered miserably. 'She said I was an idiot, and I should make sure I never bothered her again. Then she got up, and left.'

'Bibendum, eh? That must have set you back a bit,' I said.

'It did. It would have been worth it if she had stayed. I can't work out why she didn't. I mean, we got on so well. I know we had a good time together, she would have to admit that.'

I shrugged my shoulders. 'Well, there is not much you can do now.'

'I don't know,' said Rob. 'Maybe if I did something dramatic. You know, really romantic. Something that would make her realise how important she is to me. Women like that sort of thing, you know.'

I raised my eyebrows, but didn't say anything. I dreaded to think what Rob would classify as 'dramatic'. I thought about trying to talk him out of it, but decided it was a waste of time. When Rob's mind was made up, his mind was made up.

It was extraordinary the way he was able to switch his affections from one woman to another, and within a week or so form a passionate attachment to someone completely new. Almost the mirror opposite of myself, I thought. I remembered Debbie's encouragement to me to get involved with women again.

It was hard to think of Debbie and Rob together. Debbie's bubbly repartee and Rob's earnest declarations of devotion didn't seem to me to mix very well. Perhaps that is why the relationship had not lasted very long.

Almost without thinking I said, 'I miss Debbie.'

Rob looked at me. 'Yes,' he said, his voice firmly in neutral.

'You and she saw a lot of each other at one stage, didn't you?' I asked.

'Yes, we did,' Rob answered. He clenched his pint in front of him. His face reddened noticeably.

'It's funny, I never would have guessed,' I said.

'We were very professional about it. We never let it interfere with work. Anyway, once it was over, it was over.'

That wasn't what Felicity had said. I remembered what she had told me about Rob pestering Debbie just before she died, to ask her to marry him. I needed to know what had happened.

'I saw Felicity the other day. You know, Debbie's flatmate.'

Rob didn't say anything so I ploughed on. 'She said that you asked Debbie to marry you the week before she died.'

Rob stiffened, and looked at me sharply. He was bright red now, the blood had spread out from his cheeks to his ears and his neck. He breathed deeply, his whole body racked with emotion. His chin shook, and his eyes blinked. For a long, painful moment he couldn't bring himself to say anything.

I had gone too far, and I regretted it, but there was nothing I could do to take my words back.

Finally it all came out in a torrent of words. 'The stupid, stupid, stupid bitch. I loved her. She knew that. Why didn't she say yes? If she had only said yes, she…'

He broke off and stared at me through watery eyes. He bit his lip, slammed down his beer on the table with such force that I was surprised the glass did not shatter, turned away from me and left the pub.

I sat there for several minutes, stunned by the heat of Rob's outburst. I had never seen anyone so emotional. It had seemed to me to be a mixture of anger, regret, with a vicious undercurrent of pure misery. I felt terrible that I had been responsible for setting him off. I had never taken Rob's passion for women seriously, I couldn't quite believe that it was for real. I now knew it was. I should treat it with much more respect in future.

I drained my glass and left the pub. I was beginning to see what Claire had meant when she had said there was something strange about Rob. No normal person would behave as he did. His outburst had frightened me. I wondered what those phone calls to Debbie must have been like. No wonder she had been shaken by them.

And now, less than a month later, his attentions had turned to Cathy. Still, she looked like she could take care of herself. They probably deserved each other.

It was a nice warm evening, and the glow of the beer slowly restored my spirits. It had rained heavily earlier in the day, and the headlights of passing vehicles danced with the streetlamps in the puddles, occasionally joined by the darting orange of the indicator of a turning car. A group of youths were shouting incoherently outside a pub on the other side of the road. I turned to look at them as they began to make their unsteady way up the street. As I turned away from them, I caught something in the corner of my eye.

Joe.

He was there, sitting by the window of the pub, watching me.

Or was he?

I looked more closely, and saw a lean figure inside the pub stand up and move away from the window. It was his size, but I couldn't be sure it was him. I had only caught a glimpse of him. Perhaps I was imagining it. Or perhaps…

I hurried down the road and suddenly turned right into a mews. It was dark. Too dark. My feet splashed through the newly formed puddles lurking against the side of the road.

I stopped for a second. I thought I could hear a rustle behind me. I felt as much as heard footsteps, but I couldn't wait to check if anyone was there. There was an illuminated phone box a hundred yards ahead, just outside a wine bar.

I strode rapidly towards the source of light, reflected off the pools of water in the road and the glistening leaves of the privet hedges which loomed up on either side of the street. The back of my neck tingled, I expected at any moment to feel an arm round my throat or an iron bar on the back of my head.

I jumped as a couple tumbled out of the wine bar right in front of me. I paused to let them pass, laughing and swaying, on their way back to Gloucester Road.

I made it to the phone box. I pushed the door and squeezed myself inside. From what I could see, there was no one in the mews. The problem was that because the phone box was lit from the inside, it was very difficult to see anything outside.

I lifted the receiver to my face, ready to dial 999 at any sign of trouble.

There was none.

This was ridiculous. After a couple of minutes I replaced the receiver and left the phone box. I walked briskly down a narrow pathway, and then along a road next to a church. There was a path through the churchyard which formed a shortcut to my flat. I took it.

I had only walked a few yards when I thought I heard a soft thud behind me and to my left. Even though I was in the middle of a city, the churchyard was eerily quiet. The usual urban sounds were reduced to a muffled far-off rumble by the wall and the church. I waited, eyes and ears straining to pick out any sound or movement. Then I thought I saw a shadow flit behind a gravestone.

I ran.

I sprinted through the churchyard, flying past gravestones and moonshadows, concentrating on the churchyard gate. I reached it unscathed, and although it must have been almost five feet high, I hurdled it without slowing down. I ran on through another mews and on to the main road and didn't stop running until I reached my flat.

I let myself in, poured myself a large whisky, and threw myself on to the sofa, still gasping for breath.

As my pulse and my breathing began to settle down, so did my brain. I was jumpy. Way too jumpy. I had never actually seen Joe clearly. I had thought I had seen and heard someone following me, but could I be sure? Was I going to spend every day from now on looking over my shoulder, running from shadows? I was a little drunk and more than a little scared.

I pulled myself together. Yes, I was up against some unpleasant people. They were unpredictable and probably dangerous. Joe, in particular, didn't seem to like me very much. But there was nothing I could do about that. I wasn't going to let him ruin my life. If I was careful and kept my wits about me, I would be all right. Or so I told myself as I took another gulp of whisky.