The Marketmaker

15

Wójtek was happy to hear from me, and invited me round to supper. I had first met him when I was studying the Soviet economy, and it was through him that I had gone to Kraków. He had long been a critic of the command economies of Eastern Europe, and he had built up quite a following in his home country. I had told him I was now working in the City, and needed to find out something about Polish economic policy.

I arrived at his flat in Ealing with a bottle of Bison Grass, his favourite vodka.

‘Wonderful!’ he said. ‘Come in! Come in!’

The flat was exactly as I remembered it. Those portions of wall that were not covered by books displayed posters announcing obscure Polish, Russian and French exhibitions. I was sure that each one was carefully selected for its street cred, rather than its direct importance to Wójtek. In an indiscreet, drunken moment he had told me that When Harry Met Sally was his favourite film. But I had been sworn to secrecy on that subject, and there was no sign of that poster.

Although Wójtek was in his late forties, he did his best to look and act like an angry postgraduate student. He sported a full black moustache, he had bushy, tousled hair in a pony-tail, with only the slightest hint of grey, and a white-filtered cigarette dangled from his lips. Despite his appearance, businessmen, politicians and the International Monetary Fund all loved him. He preached an economics that was fiscally and monetarily prudent, and yet didn’t insist that unless unemployment was running at twenty per cent the government were a bunch of wimps. He was one of those teachers who took a strong personal interest in some of his students. I had been so favoured once, as before me had the current finance ministers of Poland and the Slovak Republic.

I liked him. Although he was older than me, and I didn’t see him often, I counted him as one of my friends.

‘So how is the lovely Joanna?’ he asked.

‘In America with the obnoxious Wes.’

‘Good, I never liked her, and whoever he is, I’m sure he deserves her. I’ve cooked a ratatouille, I hope that will do?’

‘Of course,’ I said.

‘Now, let’s get that bottle open.’

We hit the vodka. Wójtek told me about his latest girlfriend, a twenty-three-year-old American student. Wójtek liked girls until they reached the age of about twenty-five whereupon he lost interest. He had married a couple of them, but soon stopped that idea, since the marriages had no chance of lasting more than a few years and ending them was an administrative nightmare.

He served supper in his large kitchen. The ratatouille was excellent, the vodka strong, and within less than an hour we were quite drunk.

As expected, he berated me for going into the City, and then asked me what I wanted.

I cleared my throat, tried to clear my head, and answered him. ‘I was recruited by Dekker because of my knowledge of the Russian language and economics. Now all of a sudden I’m supposed to know about Poland too, but I haven’t followed it for years. I was hoping you could give me a clue so I don’t sound like an idiot.’

‘Ah, Nick, there is very little chance of you sounding like an idiot about anything. But I will tell you.’

Then he proceeded to explain to me clearly and succinctly the story of Poland’s economy since the days of Solidarity. I understood it, it sounded clever, and I hoped I would remember it in the morning.

‘And what about a devaluation? Isn’t the currency too high at the moment?’

‘You’re right!’ said Wójtek, almost in a shout. He stood up. ‘I keep telling them! Devalue now, before the economy is completely ruined. It is better to stay in control and be seen to be choosing when to devalue than wait until an international crisis forces it upon you.’

‘So, do you think they will?’

Wójtek stopped pacing, glanced at me, smiled and said, ‘I don’t know,’ with such a dollop of mock innocence that I didn’t believe him for a moment. He knew what the Poles were going to do, and what they were planning to do made him happy.

We got drunker and drunker, until I thought it was safe to escape.

‘But it’s only ten o’clock!’ protested Wójtek.

‘I know. But I have to be in to work by seven tomorrow. And with what I’ve drunk, I’ll feel bad enough as it is.’

‘Well, great to see you, Nick.’ He embraced me, and I left him alone with the dregs of the vodka bottle.

It was a tough cycle ride in the next day. My head hurt, and my mouth felt dry and furry. I stopped at a corner shop to buy a pint of milk, which I absorbed, rather than drank. Thank God it was downhill some of the way.

Ricardo laughed when he saw me. ‘I see you did your duty last night.’

‘Oh, God, does it show?’

‘It does. Was it useful?’

‘I think the Poles are going to devalue.’ I explained my conversation with Wójtek, and his barely hidden excitement that the Polish government were following his ideas.

‘Are you sure this guy has the influence he thinks he has?’ asked Ricardo.

‘I’m sure.’

‘Then well done!’ He smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Time to adjust our Polish position.’

He went back to his desk and picked up the phone.

‘Not bad,’ said Jamie. ‘I’m impressed. Don’t tell me, you play rugby with Boris Yeltsin’s doctor.’

‘’Fraid not,’ I said. ‘Wójtek is about the full extent of my influential contacts.’

‘Well, you are an important person. But by the way...’

‘Yes?’

‘You look like shit.’

‘Thanks.’

I was pleased with myself. It was good to be useful to Dekker. Maybe Ricardo would make some money. If he did, he would be bound to remember my part in the profits. That was the good thing about Ricardo. He gave credit where it was due.

The phone rang.

‘Nick? It’s Wójtek.’

His voice sounded thick and horrible. It was a fair bet that he had drunk much more than I had by the time he had passed out.

‘How are you?’

‘Fine,’ he said. I smiled. Liar. ‘Yesterday, Nick. When we talked about Poland. And the devaluation. You remember?’

‘Yes, I do. Thanks, Wójtek. It was very useful.’

‘Yes, well. I like to help you, Nick. But when you asked about whether the Polish government would devalue, I didn’t answer you, did I?’

Oh, God. ‘No,’ I said, trying to sound bright. ‘No, you didn’t say anything at all.’

‘Good. Because if the financial markets found out about the devaluation through me, that would be a real breach of trust on my part.’

‘Of course, I understand.’ My ears were singing. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks.

‘So will you give me your word you won’t tell anyone at your work about what we... didn’t discuss last night.’

Shit! Shit! Shit!

‘Nick?’

What to do? Lie, of course.

‘No. Don’t worry, Wójtek, I won’t guess anything. You just gave me useful background, that’s all.’

I think my voice sounded steady. I was just glad he couldn’t see my face.

‘Good.’ He sounded relieved. ‘It was great to see you again. Keep in touch, OK.’

‘OK, Wójtek. See you soon.’

I slammed the phone down, and took a deep breath. I looked up and saw Ricardo coming towards me.

‘Well done, Nick,’ he said. ‘We’re all set up now. I just hope you’re right.’

‘I’m right,’ I said. But I felt very wrong indeed.

‘Oh, we’re taking some clients out tonight. Very important clients. Would you like to come along?’

Oh, God. More drinking. The last thing I felt like was being nice to people I didn’t know. I wanted to go to bed early. Very early.

But it was clear that I should feel flattered to be asked. So I summoned up a smile, and said, ‘Great.’

I grabbed a cup of coffee from the machine, and reached for the paper. I laid it out on my own desk away from the square. I had earned myself some peace and quiet. The coffee didn’t really seem to help. My head still hurt, and my stomach was queasy. I felt hot. I was sweating gently. Vodka was an occupational hazard of studying Russian. I could see that it would become a problem in this job too, once I became seriously involved with Eastern Europe.

I glanced at Isabel. She was reading through a pile of papers, her hair hanging down and hiding most of her face. God, she was attractive. Since our drink the previous Friday, we had exchanged a few friendly words, but nothing more. I guessed that she wanted to make sure that nothing developed between us. And that was a great shame.

I remembered Jamie’s warnings about her. He was wrong, surely. I was certain I could trust her. But I had no intention of following her suggestion and talking to Ricardo about my suspicions. Prudence suggested I should do nothing, although that didn’t seem right, either. My head hurt. I didn’t come to any conclusion.

‘Nick, what is it?’

‘What?’

‘You’re staring.’

My eyes came back into focus. Isabel was looking at me with an amused smile on her face.

I could feel myself reddening. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. My eyes and brain aren’t well connected this morning. I was out drinking for Dekker last night.’

‘Such loyalty is touching,’ said Isabel.

Embarrassed, I cast my eyes down to the paper in front of me. I leafed through to the arts pages. I had to admit that the film reviews in the FT were pretty good. There was a new Polish film out by Krzysztof Kieślowski. It sounded interesting. I’d try and see it if I got the time.

Oh, damn! I hated having to lie to Wójtek. I had betrayed his trust. Of course, it was partly his fault. Mostly his fault. I had gone there telling him who I was and what I wanted. He had been stupidly indiscreet. He knew it: that’s why he had just rung me in a panic. It was his fault. His fault that I had betrayed his trust.

No. It didn’t work. Wójtek would be seriously upset with me if he ever found out what I had done. I would just have to hope that he never did.

Stephen’s words echoed to me, in that pompous accent of his. ‘Quite honestly, it’s hard to go too far in this business. As long as you don’t get caught.’

Ugh.

After a couple of glasses of wine, my brain began to clear, or at least the pain softened. We were in Vong’s, a smart New York restaurant that had migrated to Knightsbridge. There were seven of us and five of them. Ricardo was there, with Eduardo, Jamie, Miguel, and a couple of others. Our guests were officials of a central bank. This trip to London had become something of an annual event, a thank-you from Dekker for business done in the past and to be done in the future.

I had to admit that, for civil servants, these people were quite fun. The food was delicious, the drink flowed, and with it the laughter.

I was sitting next to Eduardo, but we spoke little, until towards the end of the meal he leaned over to me. ‘You’ll learn a little about how business is done tonight,’ he said, with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Yes. It’s important to give your customers what they want. And that’s not just the best prices or the best deal. Ricardo can do all that. But someone has to look at the broader relationship. That’s my speciality. Do you know what I mean?’

He looked at me closely, his lips parted in a smile.

‘I’m not sure,’ I said.

‘Well, you have to know what your customers like. Now, I happen to know that this group all like women. That’s easy. Except for that man at the end of the table.’ He pointed to a good-looking balding man, listening with great interest to a story Jamie was telling. ‘I happen to know he prefers boys. His colleagues don’t know that, nor does Jamie, but I’m sure he will appreciate being seated next to the prettiest one among us.’

I couldn’t help myself smiling at this. It was true that Jamie’s good looks could attract interest from either sex, which caused him intense irritation. He would go spare if he knew Eduardo was using him in this way.

‘You won’t tell him, will you?’

‘I will one day,’ I said. ‘I won’t be able to resist it.’

‘OK, but not tonight. Tonight you will see why these people always deal with us, and never with Bloomfield Weiss.’

At about eleven, we left the restaurant, amid cries of ‘Eduardo!’

‘What happens now?’ I asked Jamie.

‘We go back to Eduardo’s flat for more entertainment.’

I was intrigued. I had caught a second wind, and the exuberance of the crowd was infectious. I bundled into one of the three cabs we commandeered outside the restaurant.

Eduardo’s flat was in Mayfair, not more than half a mile away. He had a large living room, with plenty of chairs and sofas, and heavy expensive curtains and carpets. The light was dim. We piled in, taking off jackets and loosening ties. There were bottles of champagne waiting on a sideboard, guarded over by a very attractive blonde waitress. I accepted a glass, and slumped into a sofa.

The man next to me, Felipe, was talking about a notorious conference that Dekker had set up in Acapulco two years before. I had difficulty following all of it because he was speaking fast, he had a thick accent, and in his excitement he didn’t make much sense. But the others around him were nodding and laughing at the memories.

The champagne was excellent, the flat was warm, the chair very comfortable, and I sat back in a relaxed fug. I stopped trying to focus on the noise around me. This was really rather nice.

A light flashed in my eye, and startled me. I looked over to its source. It was a small mirror. Eduardo and two of our guests were hunched over it arranging some lines of white powder.

I smiled at the irony of the situation. Having spent the last ten years of my life in universities, I was used to seeing drugs around me and avoiding them. Things were obviously not much different here. I sank further into my chair, and hoped they wouldn’t notice me.

The mirror attracted most of the men in the room, including Jamie. He caught my eye and shrugged. I knew Jamie wasn’t a coke user. This was probably another one of those things he did to fit in.

I looked around for Ricardo. He had slipped away. Everyone else had stayed. His privilege, I supposed.

Then Eduardo caught my eye, and called across to me. ‘Want some, Nick? You should try it.’

Damn. ‘No, thank you,’ I said, trying not to sound too prim.

‘Hey, try it. It’s good stuff. A little bit won’t do any harm. Get you in the party mood.’ His thick lips broke into a broad smile, but his eyes were hard, commanding.

‘No, sorry.’

He moved over towards me. He sat down on the arm of the sofa. I could smell his eau-de-Cologne. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and I could see black tufts of hair and the glint of gold. He put his arm round me, and patted my cheek. I wanted to hit him so badly.

‘Come on, Nicky, my friend. Enjoy yourself! Party! Hey, what you need is someone to play with.’ Just then the doorbell rang. ‘And here she is!’

He stood up and made an announcement to the group of expectant central bankers. ‘These are some friends of mine. They all work in the modelling business.’ He winked. ‘I’m sure you’ll like them.’

He opened the door to a procession of about a dozen stunning women, all with different colours of hair and skin, and all wearing revealing but expensive cocktail dresses. Immediately the men stood up, the noise level rose, champagne corks were popped. The excitement in the room was almost palpable.

I stayed stuck in my chair. Eduardo put his arm round the waist of a tall girl with red hair and extremely long legs, and steered her towards me.

‘Nick, Melanie, Melanie, Nick,’ he said. ‘She’s a beautiful woman, Nick, I’m sure you will like her.’ Then he left us, much to my relief.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hallo,’ I replied, smiled politely, and ignored her. She sipped champagne, making small-talk in an upper-middle-class accent, to which I didn’t respond. I was very tired, and I wanted to go home. None of these women interested me like Isabel did, and the artificiality of the situation made me queasy. I looked around at the smartly dressed, wealthy men, all with wives and girlfriends, talking animatedly to these women whom they had never met before. Two couples, they were couples already, began to dance, slow and close. I felt ill.

I stood up, smiled politely at the redhead next to me, retrieved my jacket, and headed for the door.

‘Nick!’

Jamie extricated himself from a blonde, and rushed up to the door. I waited.

‘Nick, where are you going?’

‘Home.’

‘Look. Stay here. Eduardo won’t like it if you go now. Come on. You’re not even married.’

‘Maybe that’s why I don’t want to stay,’ I said. ‘And screw Eduardo.’

I woke up late the next morning — nine o’clock. I brewed some fresh coffee, made some toast and read the paper. The Polish devaluation was on page eight. More money for Dekker. I finished my coffee, left the flat and strolled up Primrose Hill, with its stunted black lamp-posts, and its daffodils neatly trussed up now they had finished blooming. It was a cool day for May, and a breeze bit into my skin. It felt good, refreshing.

Just below the brow of the hill, I sat down and looked out over London. In front of me was the extraordinary polyhedron that was the aviary at London Zoo, and beyond that St Paul’s and the skyscrapers of the City. Even further away, barely visible through the new leaves of the trees on the hill, was Canary Wharf.

The Dekker people would be there now, toiling hard, pretending that they could function normally after the night before. They would be exchanging knowing glances with each other, lying to their customers about what a wonderful place Mexico was, ticking up the trades, ticking up the profits.

I considered the last few weeks. The favela deal, the money-laundering, Dave’s sacking, my own lying to Wójtek, the sleaze of the previous night. All of these things I could handle individually. But together they made me feel sick.

I didn’t fit. I could pretend that I did, but only for so long. Or I could change, as Jamie had. Change so that I could lie happily, ignore what needed to be ignored, do what needed to be done. If my conscience couldn’t hack it, then I should just change my conscience.

Or leave.

Was I running away? Was it just that I couldn’t take the real world, the commercial world?

I honestly didn’t think so. There was no doubt that the attack on Ipanema beach had shaken me. But I was sure I wasn’t letting that affect my judgement. I would have to face up to the fact that I had made a mistake in joining Dekker. It was a real cock-up. I was proud, and I didn’t like admitting to mistakes. But there was no hiding from this one.

Still, as Ricardo would say, a good trader knows when to take his losses. And the time had come.

It was eleven o’clock by the time I made it to my desk. I nodded to Isabel.

‘Have a good night, did you, last night?’ she said coolly.

‘No, actually. I found it pretty unpleasant. I left early.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said, and returned to her work. She didn’t believe me, of course. I was just telling the same sort of lie that people at Dekker always did. That made me angry.

I considered telling her what I was going to do, but then decided against it. She would probably say I was foolish, I should accept what I saw. And she’d have good reasons. I’d made up my mind, and I didn’t want to have it unmade.

Jamie rushed over to me. He seemed on edge.

‘Nick, what time do you think this is? We’ve all been in since seven. You’ve got to show you can take a heavy night.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ I said.

Jamie looked at me as though I was just being difficult. ‘Anyway, about last night,’ he said, low enough for no one else to hear. ‘You know I normally don’t do drugs. Only when I have to. Like last night.’

‘I know,’ I said grimly.

‘And those girls. I didn’t do anything with any of them. Just talked, you know.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘You won’t tell Kate, will you? I mean, you should have stayed too.’

I now realized why Jamie had been sorry to see me go. He wanted me to be an accomplice in crime. Then he would feel better about it.

I sighed. ‘I won’t tell Kate,’ I said. And I wouldn’t. Even in my current negative mood, I wouldn’t stuff a friend like that.

Jamie seemed relieved. ‘Good. I’ll see you later.’

As he left, Ricardo approached. He pulled up a chair next to my desk, and sat down.

‘In a bit late this morning, aren’t you?’

‘Sorry,’ I said.

‘Whatever you’ve been doing the night before, you have to be in by seven. It’s an unwritten law here. A point of pride, almost.’

‘It was two nights,’ I said.

‘Oh, yes, I forgot about your Polish friend. By the way, I was very pleased to see the devaluation come through so quickly. Good work. But the point is, sometimes you’ll have to do seven consecutive nights like that, especially when you travel.’

It was just a mild ticking-off. A preliminary warning. But it didn’t matter any more.

I had to tell him now. While I was determined. Before I thought too hard about it. It was strange, with Ricardo here in front of me, the decision suddenly seemed more personal. I was letting him down.

Enough of that. Tell him now.

But he had started talking again. ‘It’s about time you did some real work. Isabel is going down to Brazil, and I’d like you to go with her.’

I shut up and listened.

‘The City of São Paulo are very keen to go ahead with their own favela deal. And it will be a good opportunity to persuade our friends in Brazil of the merits of Mexico. You’ve heard Jamie talk about the deal all week, so you should have the story down pat.’

Go to Brazil. With Isabel. That seemed like quite an attractive idea. Perhaps the resignation could wait until I returned.

‘That is, if you’re OK with that,’ Ricardo said. ‘After what happened last time, I’d understand if you were a bit reluctant.’

I was nervous. But I’d be OK down there as long as I was careful. And, even though I was planning to resign, I didn’t want to show Ricardo, or myself for that matter, that I was a coward.

‘No, that’s fine. When do we go?’

‘Tonight.’

‘Tonight!’

‘What’s the matter? You had a lie-in this morning.’

He smiled and went back to his desk. I looked across to Isabel, who had been listening. ‘Is that OK with you?’ I said it without thinking. I suspected she had been distancing herself from me for the last week, and clearly she was not impressed with my participation in the previous night’s events.

But she smiled. ‘Of course it is. It makes a lot of sense. You know the details of the Rio deal, and Ricardo’s right, you know a lot more about the wonders of Mexico than I do.’

I caught the irony in her voice. ‘A fine investment opportunity,’ I said.

She gathered together a pile of paper on her desk and handed it to me. ‘Here, copy that. Read it. And I’ll see you at the Varig lounge at Heathrow, Terminal Three, at eight thirty. The flight leaves at ten. I’ll have the tickets.’

‘OK,’ I said, and toddled off to the photocopier.

Later, on my way out of the office, I stopped at Jamie’s desk.

‘I’m off. I’m going to Brazil tonight.’

‘Really?’ He frowned. ‘Be careful this time.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I will be.’

‘Are you going with Isabel?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, have fun.’ He grinned.

I was about to answer, ‘I will,’ but I stopped, confused. ‘We’ll see,’ I said in the end.