Free To Trade

'Yes, I saw that one,' said Cathy.

'It's a shame we can't sell deals like that into Europe,' said Waigel. 'Why is that, I wonder?'

Cathy stiffened. She didn't say anything for a second or two. I could feel the tension rising beside me, and I focused on my plate, pretending to ignore it. 'I don't know,' she said, carefully. 'Our clients just don't seem to have any interest.'

'Of course it's very difficult to know whether it's the clients that lack interest or the salesmen,' said Waigel. He was chewing his steak noisily as he said this, staring defiantly at Cathy. The sweat shone under his thinly plastered hair. 'Selling that Chem Castings deal was very important to the firm. We were left with a block of bonds that lost us a bunch of money. If we had proper international distribution, we just wouldn't have had that problem.'

Cathy kept her cool. 'The problem is that most of our clients just don't like the risk of junk bonds. You can't force them to change their views.'

'You can't force them, but with a body like yours, you could sure as hell persuade them.' Waigel laughed as he said this, took a gulp of wine, and winked at me. I glowered back.

Cathy looked confused, unsure whether to take this as a joke or the insult it clearly was. In the end she smiled thinly.

'Aw, come on, what are you upset about?' said Waigel with a leer. 'A good-looking girl like you could sell anybody anything. I bet you have built great relationships with your clients. After an evening out with you, I'm sure I could be persuaded to take whatever you were selling.' He turned to me, with another wink. 'Am I right, or what?'

'Dick,' muttered Cathy through clenched teeth, 'remember there are clients here.'

Waigel had drunk a lot of wine. 'Paul here is a man of the world. He knows how things work. Now, listen Cathy, I'm an important man in Bloomfield Weiss, and I am going to become more important. You should get to know me. I can be a great help in your career. How about just you and me having a quiet glass of champagne after dinner?'

Waigel was sitting opposite Cathy. Cathy had very long legs. She slid down in her chair slightly. A moment later Waigel let out a cry of pain, and seemed to clutch his napkin in his lap. Cathy stood up, excused herself, smiled curtly to everyone at the table, and walked off, her sharp high heels clacking on the wooden floor.

I got up and followed her to the bar. Her eyes were smarting, and she had to bite her bottom lip to stop it trembling.

'Not very subtle, is he?' I said.

'Bastard!' she muttered.

'Still, I thought you dealt with him quite well.'

'Yes, I enjoyed that,' she smiled. 'But he's right, you know. I'm not going to get very far in my career by kicking Bloomfield Weiss's rising stars in the balls.'

'Sod him. Sod Bloomfield Weiss. Have a drink,' I said.

I got Cathy a glass of wine and myself a Scotch. Cathy sipped her drink. 'Did you hear about Joe Finlay, one of our eurobond traders?' she said.

My pulse quickened. 'No?'

'It's terrible. He was murdered yesterday in Central Park.'

'Really? How awful.' I tried to give my voice just the right amount of concern. Enough to acknowledge the awfulness of murder, not enough to suggest anything more than a brief acquaintance with Joe. 'What happened?'

'Apparently he had been out jogging. It was dark and he was jumped. He got one of his attackers. Killed him. He used to be in the SAS, so they say.' Cathy shuddered.

I was glad Joe was dead, and I didn't feel the slightest guilt about my part in it. There was no doubt at all in my mind that he had been just about to kill me. And now I wouldn't have to look over my shoulder everywhere I went. Life could become normal again. I thought of Joe's wife, Sally. And Jerry. No doubt being brought up without a father would be bad, but it must be infinitely better than being brought up with Joe.

'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.'