Michael Ridpath - Free To Trade

'Too busy working?'

'Too busy working, too busy running.'

'Typical. So, what are you? The virgin toiler?'

'It's not quite that bad,' I said smiling.

'Oh yes? Tell me more,' said Debbie, leaning forward, all curiosity.

'It's none of your business,' I said half-heartedly.

'Of course it isn't,' said Debbie. 'Tell me.'

She was leaning across the table, her bright eyes dancing over my face, begging me to talk. Despite some reluctance, I couldn't disappoint her.

'Well, there was a girl at university called Jane,' I said. 'She was very nice. Very patient.'

'Patient?'

'Yes. I was almost always in training. I used to run at least forty miles a week, and that didn't include weights and sprint training. And then I was trying to get a good degree. There wasn't a lot of time for much else.'

'And she put up with that?'

'For a while. She was really very good about it. She would always watch me compete, and sometimes she would even watch me train.'

'She must have been quite taken with you,' said Debbie.

'I suppose she was. In the end she had had enough. It was either my running or her. You can guess which I chose.'

'Poor her.'

'Oh, I don't know. She was better off without me. Two months later she met Martin, one year later and they were married. She probably has two kids now and is very happy.'

'And no one else since then?'

'One or two. But none of them really lasted.' I sighed. Every relationship I had started had soon become a struggle between a girl and my running, and I had never been willing to compromise on my running. Sometimes I regretted it, but it was just part of the price I had had to pay to get to the Olympics. In the end I was always prepared to pay it.

'Well, what's to stop you now?' Debbie asked.

'Stop me what?'

'You know, getting a girlfriend.'

'Well, you can't just go out and get one, just like that,' I protested. 'I mean, it's not that easy. There's no time, what with work and everything.'

Debbie laughed. 'Surely you could fit in some time between nine and nine-thirty on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That should be enough, shouldn't it?'

I shrugged and grinned. 'Yes, you are right. I am just out of practice. I will rectify the problem immediately. By this time next week I will have three women ready for your inspection.'

We polished off the bottle, split the bill, and got up to brave the wind and the rain outside. We walked along the covered gangway, bucking on the choppy water, and stood under the awning on the pavement. Neither of us had coats or umbrellas.

We were standing staring in dismay at the cold wet night, when a man pushed past us. He stopped for a second in front of Debbie, thrust his hand up to her blouse and squeezed. 'Miss me, love?' he said and gave a short dry laugh. He turned to me for just a second, looked at me with strangely limp blue eyes, twitched the corners of his mouth in a fake smile and ducked into the rain.

I stood still for a moment in surprise, my reflexes dulled by the wine. Then, as I lunged out into the rain to catch him, Debbie caught my sleeve. 'Don't Paul! Stop!'

'But you saw what he did,' I said, hesitating, with Debbie pulling on my arm.

'Please, Paul. Don't bother. Please.'

I looked into the gloom, but the man had already disappeared. Debbie's face was pleading, and, for once, dead serious. And she was afraid.

I shrugged my shoulders and got back into the shelter of the awning, soaked from just a few seconds in the rain.

'Who the hell is he?'

'Don't ask.'

'But he can't just do that to you.'

'Look, Paul. Please. Just drop it. Please.'

'OK, OK. Let's get you in a taxi.'

Not surprisingly, given the rain, no taxis appeared, and after five minutes we agreed to depart to our respective tube stations, Debbie hunched under her umbrella to get to the Northern line at Embankment, and me sprinting through the rain to Temple.

As the underground train lurched westwards on its never-ending journey round the Circle line, I wondered about the man I had seen grope Debbie. Who could he have been? A former lover? A former work colleague? A total stranger? A drunk? I had no idea. Nor had I any idea why Debbie refused to tell me anything about him. She had looked scared, rather than shocked or offended. Very odd.

I had caught a good glimpse of him in the moment he had turned to me. He was thin and wiry, about thirty-five, and wearing an unremarkable city suit. I could still see his eyes. Pale blue, dead, the pupils almost invisible pinpricks. I shuddered.

The train stopped at Victoria. A crowd of people barged off, and one or two got on. As the train jolted into motion again, my mind wandered. I tried to read the newspaper of the old man sitting opposite me, but I couldn't quite make it out. The conversation I had had with Debbie about my girlfriends, or rather lack of them, drifted back into my mind. I had just not tried over the last few years as far as women were concerned. It wasn't that I disliked female company, far from it, it was just that so many relationships had started with high hopes and ended in disappointment that it did not seem worth the effort. Well, I should probably change that. Debbie was right; however single-minded I was about succeeding at work, there had to be time for some other things.

The thought of Debbie made me smile. Her good humour was irrepressible. I realised that I looked forward to facing her wide grin and gentle teasing as I came into work every day. I had grown very fond of her over the last few months.

Hold on. Had Debbie anyone in mind when she was encouraging me to find myself a girlfriend? It would be typical of me to miss a come-on like that. No, I was just imagining it, surely. Not Debbie. Not me. Still, in some strange way, the idea appealed.

I was busy the next morning. The phones didn't stop ringing. The market was active. Institutional fund managers were switching out of Deutschmarks into dollars ahead of what they believed to be an interest rate cut by the Bundesbank. The Street had been taken by surprise. The build-up of supply of eurobonds that had preceded the recent Sweden issue had almost all been bought, and a number of brokers had been caught short. Salesmen were calling us to try to tempt us to sell our positions to them. But we were hanging on. Let them sweat.

Debbie was late, so I had to answer all the phones myself. It was hard work.

At nine I called over to Karen, 'Heard anything from Debbie?' We hadn't had that heavy a night's drinking last night; she should have been able to make her way in.

'Nothing yet,' she said.

At nine thirty, Hamilton wandered by my desk. 'Any sign of Debbie?'

'Not yet.'

'You would think she would at least have the good grace to call in sick,' he said.

I didn't argue. If nothing else, it was a bit stupid just not to show up. Any excuse was better than no excuse. Debbie had days off sick quite frequently, but she usually called in with a story.

The morning progressed. I had managed to hold on to all our positions, despite the best efforts of Cash, Claire, David and the other salesmen to tempt them away from me.

My concentration was broken by Karen's voice. A note of concern, almost fear, in it attracted my attention and that of the others in the room.

'Hamilton! It's the police. They want to talk to someone about Debbie.'

Hamilton picked up the phone. We all watched him. Within a few seconds, his eyebrows had pulled together slightly. He talked quietly for five minutes or so. Then he slowly replaced the handset. He stood up and walked over to stand by my desk, by Debbie's desk. He motioned for everyone to gather round.

'I have some bad news. Debbie is dead. She was drowned last night.'