John Gapper - A Fatal Debt

As I reached the Audi, a slim young man in a dark blue uniform got out and opened the rear passenger door, revealing a man sitting comfortably in the back. He was in his mid-fifties, long-legged and broad-chested, with a pink face. His mottled gray hair was unkempt for a banker’s, brushing his collar at the back and flopping over his forehead so that his nose protruded like a mole’s. His dark gray suit looked expensive but slightly crumpled. He had a rich voice, the product of an English public school, and the self-assurance that went with it.

“Hello there,” he said, shaking my hand. “I’m Felix.”

He’d called earlier that morning as I’d arrived at the hospital, saying that he’d be sharing my flight home if I didn’t mind. His name was Felix Lustgarten, he’d said, and he was an old colleague and friend of Harry’s. I hadn’t felt in a position to refuse, not that there was any reason to, and I was still absorbing the shock of what had happened after I’d called Nora on Tuesday morning.

I’d told her that I wouldn’t be able to see Harry on Wednesday after all, and she ought to take Harry to see another psych-Jim Whitehead, I’d suggested. Nora had been sympathetic but implacable. After asking about my father and expressing her regret, she’d promised to sort it out. After half an hour, she’d called back to say that she’d arranged for me to fly to London and be back to see Harry as we’d arranged on Wednesday. I hadn’t thought she could be serious, but she’d been as good as her word.

“Nora told me your father’s been poorly. I do hope he’s recovering,” Felix said.

“He’s doing better, thanks,” I said.

The Audi pulled away from the hospital and turned onto the A4 back toward London as Felix adjusted the rear air-conditioning. The car was as hushed as its driver; sitting in those deep leather seats was like being swaddled. I could feel myself relax as the driver accelerated silently past an obstructive truck. This was the cocoon I’d yearned for as Jane had poked tactlessly at my raw emotions. Even Felix’s presence was soothing: he had an air of amused detachment that I liked.

“We can shoot you back in comfort, anyway,” he said. “Nora insisted I take good care of you.”

“That’s thoughtful of you, Mr. Lustgarten.”

“Felix, please. No one calls me Mister, not even the doorman at my apartment. Actually, I wish he did. Perhaps I should tip him more for the holidays.” He leaned forward to address the driver. “How does the traffic look, Frank?”

“A bit nasty along the Embankment, but we’re going against it,” the man replied.

“Jolly good. You might tell George we’re on our way and we should be wheels up by eleven.” He turned back and regarded me quizzically. “Now then, I understand you’re not allowed to tell me anything, but I can talk, can’t I?”

“I can’t stop you,” I said.

“Hah! Well, nobody can, apart from my wife, bless her. Anyway, Nora told me about Harry, poor chap. He’s in a bit of a state, isn’t he?”

“That’s what Mrs. Shapiro told you?”

Like Jane, Felix was pushing me about things I didn’t want to talk about, but I didn’t find it uncomfortable because it wasn’t about me. It was a patient whose privacy I wanted to protect, not my own. I was used to that.

“Christ, you don’t give much away,” Felix muttered.

“Do you work here?” I said.

“Nope. New York, where the action is. Mind you, there’s been a bit too much of it lately. Every time I look up, another bank has disappeared. At this rate, there won’t be any money left for my bonus.”

He lapsed into silence for a few minutes, thumbing at his BlackBerry, and I looked out of the window. We reached the Embankment and passed the London Eye, heading east. The hum of the tarmac under the tires was hypnotic, and I could feel myself slipping into a doze when Felix’s BlackBerry rang shrilly, making me start.

“Oh dear,” he said, looking at the name on the screen. “Have you read Wind in the Willows ? As soon as Toad goes to jail, the weasels invade Toad Hall. We’ve got company.” He held his BlackBerry to his ear. “John? … Delighted to have you on board. Lots of room. We’ll be there soon.”

He clicked off and looked balefully at me. “Hell is other people. I’m afraid a couple of investment bankers want to cadge a lift. They’ve been here holding out the begging bowl to the Arabs for capital because Harry lost it all-our new masters, I’m afraid. So much for our chat. I wouldn’t trust John with a secret, although it’s supposed to be his job to keep them. In fact, I don’t trust him, period.”

“I thought you were an investment banker,” I said, puzzled by his contempt for his colleague.

“A banker? Not me, Doctor. I’m just a humble PR man, paid to make them look good. It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it. Where were we? Oh, Harry. Yes, poor old Harry, my boss and protector. Without him, I’m not sure how long I’ve got left at Seligman. I don’t imagine the new guard will approve of our little jaunt. I’d hoped to keep this under wraps, but fat chance now.”

We’d passed north of Tower Bridge and were coasting along by the Thames with Canary Wharf ahead. Felix pointed at it through the windscreen.

“See there? Second tower from the left, a third of the way up. That’s where I worked twenty years ago. We were the only ones in the building, it felt like. Desolate bloody place. The London end was in an awful mess. New York sent Harry over to pull the Brits into shape. God, he nearly screamed the place down. It was a shock for the others, but he took a liking to me.”

“Did you like him?”

“Strangely, I did. He’s a warm-blooded creature, Harry, not a reptile like some of them. He’s got a heart.”

Felix thumped his chest with a fist, on the spot where most people imagine the heart to be. Then, as the golden fish on the roof of Billingsgate Market swam by, he reached out and traced a pattern on the window with one finger.

“You know Harry’s mistake?” he asked. “He reckoned he’d rebuilt Seligman single-handedly-which he more or less did. He thought he could rescue Wall Street and America, too, could take on anything. He stopped watching out for trouble because he thought he couldn’t be beaten. Mind you, he wasn’t the only one who was smoking his own dope. Turns out none of us are as smart as we thought.”

As he spoke, we swung left past some blue concrete blocks and a security barrier on the edge of City Airport. Just ahead, parked in front of a low building, was a small white jet with two engines perched next to its tail and large oval windows running the length of its fuselage. The driver halted next to a man wearing a yellow over-jacket and carrying a clipboard. I was back where I’d arrived that morning, in Harry’s Gulfstream IV.

Harry’s jet felt only distantly related to the regular kind, like a Thoroughbred horse next to a donkey. As we taxied over to the runway and lined up behind a turboprop, I sat in a leather armchair with a cup of coffee beside me in a cork-lined holder. The cabin was covered with gold fittings, from the air-conditioning nozzles to the edges of the walnut panels. Michelle, the blond attendant who’d been my only companion on the way over, hadn’t bothered to give us a safety demonstration. I’d latched my seat belt instinctively, but neither Felix nor the two bankers in the rear, immersed in BlackBerrys, had bothered. Together, we occupied a third of the aircraft’s dozen seats.

“Tell him to cut the bullshit and talk to me. I thought we had this deal done,” the senior-looking one hissed into a phone as the Gulfstream aligned itself at the start of the long runway. “They said they would offer thirty-one, so why don’t they offer thirty-one? … No, you’re not listening … No.”