The Marketmaker

by Michael Ridpath

  And Jamie hadn’t let them down. Head boy of his public school, entrance to Oxford, an occasional place in the university rugby team, and a job in the blue-blooded merchant bank, Gurney Kroheim. Jamie’s move to Dekker Ward had taken his parents a little by surprise, but once Jamie had explained it they understood. Their son was one of the new generation of entrepreneurs they had read about.

  I don’t mean to mock this attention. I would have loved half of it. But whenever I achieved something, my father never quite understood exactly what it was.

  I drank my beer thoughtfully. ‘I still don’t know what I’m going to do with my life.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to stay at Dekker?’

  ‘I don’t know. Sometimes it gives me a great buzz. Like that Brady battle. But then I think about what they did to Dave, and the favela deal, and the drug money.’

  ‘Oh, forget that,’ said Jamie.

  ‘But I can’t forget it. It bothers me. Doesn’t it bother you?’

  Jamie paused for a moment. ‘I think it might if I stopped to think about it. So I don’t stop to think about it. For Kate and Oliver’s sake, I have to make this a success. I could be really good at this stuff, you know.’

  He looked at me for reassurance. I was able to give it. ‘You could.’ From my brief time at Dekker, I could tell Jamie was good. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. Thank you for getting me this job.’

  Jamie smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it. Ricardo likes you. I get Brownie points.’

  ‘Was that true about those Russian traders’ visas? Do you think Ricardo arranged that?’

  ‘I hadn’t heard about it, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ said Jamie. ‘And if it wasn’t Ricardo who fixed it, it was Eduardo. They don’t like people letting them down.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  We were on to our third pint. The edginess that surrounded Stephen had left with him, and I was slowly enveloped in that special type of warm glow that you can only get from three pints of good bitter with an old friend.

  Jamie and I had been through a lot together over the years. In taking the job at Dekker, I had trusted my future to him. But I could rely on Jamie.

  ‘Kate told me you were quite taken with Isabel,’ Jamie said.

  I could feel my cheeks reddening. Which was strange, because normally I found it quite easy to talk to Jamie about women.

  ‘She’s a nice girl, Jamie.’

  ‘Oh, really? Nice girl, eh? Now that’s serious. Not just “She’s got fabulous tits,” or “She’s desperate for it.”’

  ‘No. Neither of those things, actually.’

  ‘Is there anything going on between you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you’d like it if there was?’

  ‘I can’t deny that. But I don’t think it’s likely.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. She just doesn’t seem that keen.’

  ‘Well, be careful. She’s a strange woman.’ He was struck by a thought. ‘You didn’t talk to her about this money-laundering business, did you?’

  I nodded. ‘I did. She agreed with you about not telling Eduardo. But she thought I should speak to Ricardo about it. I’m not going to, though.’

  ‘Oh, Nick! You shouldn’t even have spoken to her. I told you about her and Eduardo, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did. But that was only a rumour. I don’t believe it.’

  ‘You don’t want to believe it, you mean. You saw what happened to Dave. You’d better forget this money-laundering stuff or the same thing will happen to you.’

  ‘I can trust Isabel,’ I said.

  ‘The truth is, Nick,’ Jamie said, ‘in this business you can trust no one.’

  I wanted to argue, but I didn’t. Partly because I had an uncomfortable feeling he was right.

  ‘Come on, it’s late, let’s go,’ Jamie said, draining his glass.

  ‘Yeah.’ I finished up my pint. We spilled out of the pub, Jamie to hail a cab and me to find the tube station. I’d left my bike at Canary Wharf.

  The next day was grey and cold, as spring went into remission. High up in the Canary Wharf tower, the Dekker dealing room felt crammed against the ceiling of dark cloud just a few feet above it. The euphoria of victory over Bloomfield Weiss in the Brady battle died down quickly as the reality of trying to sell two billion dollars of Mexican bonds sank in. This was a time to call in favours.

  I listened to Jamie perform. He was good. He started with his best customers. He was a different person with each. With some he discussed football and TV, with others modified duration and stripped yields. Sometimes he talked non-stop, sometimes he just listened. But he cajoled and begged and blustered his way to an order from each of them. The orders were large: ten or twenty million in some cases, but they weren’t large enough. It would take a miracle and a few hundred-million orders to shift two billion dollars of bonds.

  Ricardo was working the phones furiously himself. The really big orders would come from calling in the really big favours, and that was something only Ricardo could do. Every now and then he would get up and pace the room, checking up on us. Despite the pressure that we all felt, he was encouraging, praising a five-million order from a difficult account or commiserating if a client failed to bite. We were all in this together, he took our commitment as given.

  But Ricardo was capable of dealing with more than one problem at once. That afternoon, I felt a tap on my shoulder, as I was sitting hunched listening to Jamie at work. ‘How much do you know about Poland?’

  ‘Not much. I’ve been there once. To the University of Kraków.’

  ‘What do you think are the chances of a devaluation?’

  Honesty was always the best policy with Ricardo. ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Do you know anyone who might have an idea? A good idea?’

  I thought a moment. ‘As a matter of fact I do. There’s an economist I know who’s at the LSE. He taught the finance minister fifteen years ago. I know they keep in touch. I could talk to him. I’d have to drink a bottle of vodka to find out, though.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Ricardo said. ‘Drink a gallon. And put it on expenses.’

  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.
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  ‘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 tellin
g 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.’