‘Have the police caught anyone?’ I asked.
‘Not yet, but it’s early days,’ she said. She took a nervous sip of her drink. ‘I know this sounds terrible, but I didn’t like him very much. He seemed weird. Dangerous.’
‘I don’t think that sounds terrible at all,’ I said, a little too positively.
Cathy noticed my tone, and eyed me inquisitively. Then something caught her eye behind me. ‘Look at that!’ she said.
I turned to see the bulky frame of Marshall Mills weaving his way through the crowd towards the bar. On his arm was a tall curvaceous woman with fluffy red hair, big green eyes, and full bright red lips that never quite closed. She swung her whole body as she walked, her hips bumping gently into Mills’s side with each step.
Just before the couple could make it to the bar they were stopped right next to us by Cash.
‘Marshall!’ Cash shouted.
‘Who the hell are you?’ spat an angry Mills.
‘My name is Cash Callaghan. I’m a salesman at Bloomfield Weiss. And I would just like to say what an interesting and thought-provoking presentation you gave this morning.’
‘I hate salesmen. Go away!’ growled Mills.
Cathy giggled. ‘Cash has finally met his match here,’ she whispered.
But Cash wasn’t going to give in that easily. He thought for a moment, trying to figure out Mills’s weak point. Finally he said, ‘Mrs Mills, I loved your latest film. What was it – Twilight in Tangier? I always knew from your photographs in the press that you were beautiful, but I had no idea you were such a great actress.’
Mrs Mills was as taken aback by this as Cathy and I were. But she recovered enough to dip her eyelashes and reply in a languorous Texan drawl, ‘Why thank you, sir.’
‘Not at all, not at all. I trust there will be a sequel soon?’
Marshall interrupted, his voice full of pride, ‘We are planning Moonlight in Marrakesh. We should start shooting in a couple of months. I’m glad you liked Twilight. I think most of the critics missed the film apart from some illiterate bozos who wouldn’t recognise Meryl Streep if she appeared in a school play.’ Mills was breathing heavily, sweat pouring from his brow.
‘Now now, Pooky, watch your blood pressure,’ Mrs Mills drawled.
‘Sorry, Poppet,’ replied Mills.
‘Let me introduce you to two of your most loyal bondholders from England, Cathy Lasenby and Paul Murray.’
My mouth gaped open for a moment, but Cash winked at both of us, and I found myself playing along. We both made polite noises. Mills was clearly surprised that he had any loyal bondholders left, even as far away as London.
‘I hear you are looking for some finance for your latest development,’ said Cash.
‘Yes, it’s a great property off the coast of Ecuador, but I’m told that none of these dumb idiots here want to give me any money. I could teach them a thing or two about investing. What these idiots don’t realise …’
‘Pooky,’ admonished Mrs Mills.
‘I’m sorry, dear.’
‘Well, I think I know someone who may be able to help,’ said Cash. I was shaking my head furiously, determined that I would not let Cash railroad De Jong into this one. The revenues from the oilfield might look good, but only a fool would trust Marshall Mills. Fortunately, Cash pulled Mills and his wife off towards where Madeleine Jansen was standing.
‘He must be crazy if he thinks he can get her to even talk to Mills, let alone give him any money,’ said Cathy. ‘Amalgamated Veterans lost a packet on one of his companies a year ago.’
We watched them talk for several minutes. After about a quarter of an hour, the group broke up and Cash walked back up to us. He had a huge grin on his face and was literally rubbing his hands with glee.
‘Barman, a bottle of Dom Perignon please,’ he called. ‘And three glasses.’
As he poured the champagne, Cathy said, ‘Surely you don’t expect us to believe that Madeleine Jansen agreed to give him any money.’
‘Fifty million,’ Cash said.
‘How on earth did you manage that?’ she asked.
‘Partly price. He’s going to have to pay 2 per cent more than the average yield for a new junk issue. But the key is the security. If Mills defaults, or tries any funny stuff, Amalgamated Veterans will have the right to take possession of the copyright of both Twilight in Tangier and Moonlight in Marrakesh and prevent any further distribution of the films. That ought to keep him straight.’
‘Oh, I see. And if his heart gives out, it should keep his widow in line as well,’ I said.
Cash laughed. ‘Having seen Lola Mills in Twilight in Tangier, I am surprised his heart didn’t give out long ago. That woman sure is some gymnast.’
I couldn’t stop myself laughing with Cash. I had to marvel at his amazing ability to get two such totally different people to do business together.
15
I dutifully attended breakfast and the morning’s presentations. I made sure I was at the Fairway talk. Jack Salmon was there as promised. I sat next to him.
Of all the enthusiastic managements I saw at the conference, Fairway’s was the most enthusiastic. There was nothing they didn’t know about golf or golf carts. Demand for golf was growing in the US. More people wanting to play could be accommodated in two ways, both of them good for Fairway. One was to build more golf courses, which would need new fleets of golf carts; the other was to make the use of golf carts compulsory on existing courses, in order to get more people round a course in a single day.
Gerry King, Fairway’s chief executive officer, knew everyone in the industry. He was unscrupulous in the way he used his contacts. He used top players to sponsor his carts and to suggest minor alterations to make better vehicles. He knew the top course-designers in the country, who could recommend Fairway machines on new courses. And he went to great lengths to explain his close ties with distributors.
The company was winning market share from its competitors and its cash flow had grown 25 per cent for each of the last two years. It had borrowed heavily to finance its growth, and I realised I would have to do some careful analysis when I got back to London to make sure it could support this debt. Provided the results of that were positive, it looked to me as though Fairway would make a good investment.
After the presentation, Jack said, ‘Wow! How do you like that company? I can’t wait to get my hands on some of those bonds. What do you think, Paul?’
‘Hmm, it does seem rather good,’ I said.
Jack laughed. ‘Rather good,’ he said, mimicking an English accent, ‘it’s goddamn dynamite!’
‘I’ll see you at your office tomorrow,’ I said, and left him.
Outside the room there was a woman taking names for the trip to Las Vegas the next afternoon. There were to be visits to three casinos. The high point was to be the newly opened Tahiti. I went up to her table, and added my name to the list. I still wasn’t sure why Debbie had been killed. It could have something to do with Tremont Capital. Or it might have something to do with Piper. I was looking forward to seeing him. There was a lot more I wanted to find out about Irwin Piper.
The lunchtime speaker was a famous American chat-show host whom I had never heard of. I decided to skip lunch and find a nice spot by a pool to have a nap.
In addition to the main swimming-pool, there were a number of small pools dotted round the hotel grounds. There was one I had noticed earlier that was out of the way, on the edge of the hotel premises. It was in the middle of a Spanish-style courtyard, and looked like an excellent place to while away an hour or two.
There was no one by the pool, and I found a spot in the sun, lay down and closed my eyes.
I must have drifted off, because I was awakened by the gentle splash of someone diving into the pool. I opened my eyes and saw the long, lithe form of Cathy gracefully stroking through the water. She was an excellent swimmer, scarcely causing a ripple as she glided up and down the pool.
After a few minutes s
he hauled herself out of the pool and dried herself on the other side of the courtyard from me. I wasn’t sure whether she had recognised me or not, since I was lying face-down on a sunbed. Out of one eye half closed in the sunlight, I watched her as she slowly rubbed her towel over first one long, slim golden brown leg, and then the other. As she stood up to dry her shoulders, I admired the gentle curve of her back, teasingly revealed by her swimming costume.
She lay down and closed her eyes. After five minutes or so, someone else entered the little courtyard. I recognised the balding head of Dick Waigel. A spare tyre of fat rolled over the elastic of his Bermuda shorts. I don’t think he even noticed me, as his attention was immediately caught by the prone Cathy. He waddled over to her, squatted down beside her, and began to talk. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I could see Cathy sit up and talk politely back.
Then I saw Waigel let his hand drop almost casually on to Cathy’s thigh. She brushed it off immediately, but he replaced it more firmly, and began to move his other arm over her shoulders.
Without waiting to see Cathy’s reaction, I leapt to my feet and ran round to the other side of the pool. I grabbed hold of one of Waigel’s arms, and pulled him to his feet. Waigel was small, surprised and off balance. I made the most of my advantage by landing one clean blow straight on his chin. He went flying backwards into the swimming-pool.
He was momentarily unconscious, but as his head submerged under water he spluttered and came to. He gasped for breath and waded through the water to the opposite side of the pool from where I was standing. He hauled himself out, water and fat slopping on to the paving-stones. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’ he screamed at me, his wet face red with anger. ‘I was just talking to the bitch. You can’t hit me like that and get away with it. You had better watch your ass! I’ll trample all over you, Murray!’
He picked up his towel and stalked out of the courtyard, still muttering insults and threats. I just watched him go.
Cathy was sitting hunched up on the sunbed, her chin resting on her knees.
‘Do you think Waigel is finally going to get the message that every time he makes a pass at you he is going to get hurt?’ I said.
‘I hope so,’ she said, staring at a point on the ground just in front of her feet.
I sat next to her on the sunbed. Neither of us said anything. I could feel the anger seething within her slowly subside.
‘I hate this company, and I hate the people who work for it,’ Cathy muttered.
I didn’t reply. I felt sorry for her, having to work for scum like Waigel, to be at his beck and call, to put up with his lechery. No wonder she hated it. I didn’t know why she took it. She seemed a strong person. Why didn’t she just tell them to shove it, and walk out? She just didn’t like to give up, I supposed.
We sat together for several minutes, both wrapped in our own thoughts. Finally, Cathy uncurled herself and stood up. She gave me a quick, nervous smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said in a small voice. Biting her lip, she grabbed her clothes and ran out of the courtyard.
Presentations began again at two o’clock. I watched the chief executive of a cable-TV company explain his plan to operate the biggest and best network in the country, but none of it sank in. Nor did the presentations of the two companies that succeeded him. My mind was preoccupied with Cathy. In those few minutes by the pool, I had felt so close to her. Her vulnerability still tugged at me. The aggressive corporate woman I had first seen in De Jong’s offices in London had become a brave but persecuted girl who needed a protector.
The programme for that evening was drinks and a barbecue by the main swimming-pool. A breeze blew down from the Camelback, cooling the air and ruffling the surface of the pool. The reflections of the glowing charcoal, the white tablecloths and the milling crowd of blazers and summer dresses, danced across the water as I approached. The sound of relaxed laughter carried across the pool towards me, mingling with the chuckling of the crickets. All this was under a starlit sky that looked like the backdrop to a Hollywood musical.
It was a lovely evening, and I drifted amongst the earnest young men and women who were winding down after a hard couple of days. I chatted lightly and pleasantly to a number of people, always keeping one eye open for Cathy.
Looking over the crowd, I caught Waigel’s eye. This man is not going to forgive and forget, I thought.
‘Paul?’ I heard a woman’s voice call my name from behind me. I turned round. It was Madeleine Jansen.
‘Oh hallo.’
‘How are you finding the conference?’
‘Oh, um, very interesting,’ I said, looking over her shoulder.
Madeleine said something else, and looked at me expectantly.
None of it sank in. ‘Sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t catch that. It’s been a busy day,’ I said.
‘Did you see any companies you liked?’
‘Yes, there was one. Fairway. I thought they were good.’ Where was she? She had to be around somewhere.
‘Oh yes?’
Finally I saw her. ‘Excuse me,’ I said to Madeleine and pushed my way through the crowd towards her.
She was talking to Cash amidst a small group of people. I stood for a moment, just looking at her, admiring her. The glow from the barbecue danced across her face, lighting up her smile. The shadows made her dark eyes even larger than usual. I fought my way over to her. ‘Cathy,’ I said.
She turned and looked at me. For a moment, her smile changed from polite to radiant. She reddened a little and said, ‘Hallo.’
‘Hallo.’
A pause. Not awkward or difficult, just a pause.
‘Are you feeling better?’ I asked.
‘Oh, you mean after this afternoon?’ she said. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for what you did.’ Her voice told me she meant it, she wasn’t just being polite. She smiled.
I looked around at the crowd of people under the canopy of the desert night. ‘Have you ever been to anything like this before?’ I asked.
‘No, but I’ve been to Phoenix once,’ she said, ‘on a Greyhound bus. It was several years ago. I was a student then, so we didn’t stay anywhere like this. We slummed it all over America.’
‘Did you go alone?’
‘No. With a boyfriend.’
I pictured Cathy as a student travelling through the Arizona heat. Jeans, a T-shirt, long hair tied back, carefree. ‘Lucky chap,’ I thought, and then reddened myself as I realised I had spoken it out loud.
Cathy laughed. ‘I haven’t seen him in years.’
‘Is there anyone you do see? Now, I mean?’ I blurted it out. Only once I said it, did I realise how important the question was to me, and how desperately I hoped for the right answer.
She gave it. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No one.’ She paused, and looked up at me. ‘And you?’
I immediately thought of Debbie. Her round face, her smiling eyes and the conversation we had had the night before she died. That conversation had unlocked something. A realisation that life was there to be enjoyed, and to be shared with other people. One of those other people could have been Debbie. But although she was gone, her vitality lived on; I could almost hear her urging me on with Cathy, teasing me for being shy. But I couldn’t explain all this.
‘No, nobody,’ I said. It seemed to me that Cathy seemed to relax at this. I was encouraged. ‘So, where else did you go on your bus?’ I asked.
She told me all about her trip round America, and about many other things besides. Friends, family, university, books, men. And I talked too, long into the night. We sat on a grassy bank overlooking the pool, watching the other conference attendees slowly drift off to bed. Finally, at two thirty, long after everyone else had gone, we got up to leave. Afraid of risking anything that might ruin the evening, I said good night, kissed her cheek, and made my way back to my own room, singing softly to myself.
I took a taxi downtown to keep my appointment with Jack Salmon. I looked out of the window at the forest of billboards and sun-baked
wooden stores which lined the road into Phoenix, and thought of Cathy, her dark eyes and intelligent face glowing softly in the starlight, and of the vulnerability I had felt in her as we had sat together by the pool the day before.
But she was not the only one who was vulnerable. My own feelings were exposed, laid bare to the open air, for Cathy to do with them what she wished. Since my father’s death I had been careful to protect my emotions, to shield them from outside events, such as my mother’s mental illness. I had channelled my emotional energy first into running, and now into trading. Will-power, determination and self-discipline. That is what had got me an Olympic medal. That is what would make me a great trader.
And now I found myself wanting to loosen this iron grip that I had developed over the years. I was a bit scared, but also exhilarated. Why not? The risk was worth it. I was curious to see what would happen.
But would she have me? Rejection would be hard to take. Very hard.
Phoenix Prosperity’s offices literally shone in the sunlight as the taxi approached them. They seemed to be built of the same type of glass as those sunglasses in which you can see your own reflection. The giant gleaming cube rose above the debris of concrete, tarmac, wood and dust that was the undergrowth of a modern American city.
The taxi pulled into the carpark which was three-quarters empty. I got out and walked towards the building. Despite the traffic speeding along the road near by, the building had a quiet menace about it. No one walked in or out. It reminded me of one of those secret evil installations that crop up towards the end of James Bond films. I expected to be greeted by impassive automatons in exotic uniforms. In fact an overweight security guard glanced up from his paper, and waved me towards the lift.
The investment department was on the second floor. I was met by a secretary who asked me to sit down in one of a cluster of four leather armchairs set in the middle of a vast empty reception space.
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