Michael Ridpath - Free To Trade

Fat chance, I thought, as I put down the phone.

'How on earth did you get him to pay 99½? asked Debbie.

'The only reason I could think that an outfit like Leipziger Bank should be buying these bonds is if they are DGB's local bank. If DGB are desperate to buy the Gypsum bonds, then they can afford to pay up for them. Can you believe that guy only bid 95 when he was prepared to pay 99½? Remind me not to deal with them again.'

'So how much are we up?' asked Debbie.

'We bought those two million at 82 and sold them for a 17i point profit,' I said. 'That's three hundred and fifty thousand dollars we've made! Not bad. And we got rid of our original half-million position. I wonder where our shares will be when New York comes in?'

Debbie looked thoughtful.

'What's up?' I said.

'Someone must have known about the takeover,' she said.

'Of course they did,' I said. 'They always do. That's the way the world works.'

'Maybe we shouldn't have bought those shares,' she said.

'Why shouldn't we? We had no knowledge there was going to be a takeover. We just guessed. We haven't broken any rules.'

'Somebody knew. Why else would the stock shoot up?'

'Look,' I said, 'You are the compliance officer. You know the rules. Have we broken any of them?'

Debbie thought a little. 'Technically, I suppose not,' she said.

'Good. Now pass me some tickets so I can log this trade.'

The next day, Wednesday, was an infuriating one. I was supposed to produce a report for one of our clients, and I was having severe trouble reconciling the performance figures produced by administration with what I knew we had achieved. I spent two hours in the afternoon staring at the same columns of numbers before I spotted the mistake, which had been staring back at me the whole time. Cursing myself for my stupidity, I went through to administration to point out the error. There was still many hours' work involved to straighten it out, and what with constant interruptions from salesmen, I would be lucky to get out before midnight. Debbie offered to help me, and I accepted with relief. Even so, it was not until eight o'clock that we finished. I put the report on Karen's desk, ready to be sent out first thing the next morning. Debbie and I looked at each other. 'Drink?' she said.

'Somehow I thought you would suggest that,' I said. 'Where shall we go?'

'Have you ever been on that boat on the Thames? You know, the one by Temple tube station?'

'That's fine with me,' I said. 'Just let me get my briefcase.'

'Oh, sod your briefcase!' said Debbie. 'All you are going to do is take it home and bring it back to work unopened, aren't you?'

'Um, well…'

'Come on!'

I looked round the trading room. Rob and Hamilton were still there, Hamilton going through piles of papers, Rob fiddling with his computer. It was no surprise at all to see Hamilton at this time of night, but Rob was a rarer sighting after six o'clock. It was dusk, and the red evening sunlight shot into the trading room, driving a broad band of orange between city and sky, both looming shapes of grey and black.

'It's going to rain…' I said.

'Oh, do come on.'

We got to the boat just before it started to rain. We sat at a table in the main cabin, looking out at the grey Thames rushing up towards Westminster on the floodtide. Powerful eddies whirled around the poles driven into the river-bed just next to the boat. It was strange to see such a wild, untamed force in the middle of a late-twentieth-century city. Man might be able to build river walls and elaborate barriers to contain or channel the flow, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Just then it started to rain, lashing down on to the water, so that river, city and sky became blurred in the gathering darkness. The wind had got up and the boat began to rock back and forth gently, creaking as it did so.

'Brrr,' Debbie shivered. 'You would hardly think it was summer. Mind you, it's quite cosy in here.'

I looked round. The varnished wooden interior of the boat was softly lit. There were a few small groups of people at the tables running up both sides of the cabin, and a larger group of drinkers at one end. The swaying and creaking of the boat, the murmur of relaxed conversation, and the damp but warm atmosphere did make it snug.

We ordered a bottle of Sancerre. The waiter returned with it right away and poured us both a glass. I raised mine to Debbie. 'Cheers,' I said. 'Thank you for your help this evening. I would still be there now if you hadn't done your bit.'

'Not at all,' Debbie said, taking a sip of her wine. 'You see, I'm not quite the lazy slob I'm cracked up to be.'

'Well, I'm sure Hamilton noticed.'

'Oh, screw him. I only did it because you looked so miserable all day. The language you used about that accrued interest reconciliation made me blush.'

'Well, thank you anyway,' I said. I thought it highly unlikely that any language I could use would make Debbie blush, although looking at her now, her round cheeks were beginning to glow in the fuggy, alcohol-ridden atmosphere.

'You do seem to have been working abnormally hard recently,' I said. 'Are you sure you are all right?' Debbie had had her head down all day.

'Well, it's you who gave me all those prospectuses to read, thank you very much.' She frowned. 'There are a couple of things that bother me, though. Bother me quite a lot.'

My curiosity was aroused. 'Such as?'

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. 'Oh forget it. I've spent enough time worrying about those bloody prospectuses today, it can wait till tomorrow. We'll have a chance to talk about it soon enough.'

I could tell she was worried about something, and for Debbie to be worried, it must be something interesting. But she clearly didn't want to talk about it now, so I changed the subject. 'You know some of the traders at Bloomfield Weiss, don't you?'

'Yes, why?'

'Do you know which one trades the Gypsums?'

'Yes, Joe Finlay. He trades all Bloomfield Weiss's US corporate book. He is very good. He is supposed to be the best corporate trader on the street, makes money month in and month out. Traders at the other houses try to keep him sweet.'

'Why is that?'

'He is a total bastard.' Debbie said this with such certainty that I assumed she had come to this conclusion from personal experience. Something about the tone in which she said it put me off asking her to explain more.

'Is he honest?'

Debbie laughed. 'A trader from Bloomfield Weiss? I would think that highly unlikely, wouldn't you? Why do you ask?'

'I was just wondering why Bloomfield Weiss showed so much interest in the bonds just before the takeover announcement.'

'You mean you think Joe might have known about it? I wouldn't be at all surprised.'

I refilled both our glasses. 'What are you going to spend your Gypsum profits on?' she asked, mischievously.

'You mean from the shares we bought? I don't know. I suppose I will just save them.'

'What for? A rainy day?' said Debbie, nodding towards the driving rain outside.

I smiled, feeling foolish. 'Well, what am I supposed to spend it on? My flat is perfectly adequate. De Jong give me a car. I don't seem to get time to take any holiday.'

'What you need is a very expensive girlfriend,' said Debbie. 'Someone you can lavish your ill-gotten gains on.'

'None of those about at the moment, I'm afraid.'

'What, an eligible young financier like you? I don't believe it,' said Debbie in mock astonishment. 'Mind you, you are a bit rough around the edges, and that nose could do with improvement. And it is a while since you last had a haircut, isn't it? No, I can quite see your problem.'

'Thank you for the encouragement. I don't know, I just don't seem to get the time.'