Michael Ridpath - Free To Trade

I looked over to Rob's desk. He was staring at his screen and biting his lip. He had a position that was going against him. His line flashed and his hand shot out to pick up the receiver. He listened for a few seconds, scowled, and flung the receiver to his desk. Rob was not happy this morning.

I tried to remember any telltale sign of something between Rob and Debbie, but I couldn't think of anything. No sideways glances, no attempts to avoid each other, no embarrassed silences. They were always friendly towards each other. I hadn't heard any gossip about them either, but then Debbie herself would have been the principal source of gossip. I wondered if anyone else had known.

I stood up, and walked over to the coffee machine. 'Would you like a cup?' I asked Karen as I passed her desk.

'Oh, yes please. White, no sugar.'

I returned a minute later with two cups, and gave one to Karen. I perched on her desk. She looked surprised. I was not really one to stop and chat.

'I heard something very strange yesterday,' I said quietly.

'Oh yes?' said Karen, her interest aroused.

'It was about Debbie. And Rob.'

Karen raised her eyebrows. 'Oh, is that all? Didn't you know? Mind you, that was a long time before you joined here. Must be two years.'

'I would never have guessed it.'

'Well, it didn't last long. They tried to keep it a secret but everybody knew. But it's old news now. Poor Rob, he must have taken what happened to her very badly.'

'Yeah. Poor guy,' I said, and walked back to my desk. You did have to feel sorry for him. He was seriously confused.

I was still struggling to focus my mind on the market when Felicity called. 'I found out who was dealing with the Piper case,' she said. 'It was Robert Denny, our senior partner.'

'Oh,' I said. 'Would he have time to see me, do you think?'

'Don't worry,' said Felicity. 'He's a very nice man, not a bit self-important. And he was fond of Debbie. He was quite upset that she left. I mentioned that you might want to talk to him and he said all you had to do was arrange an appointment with his secretary.'

I thanked her and did just that. Mr Denny's secretary was friendly and efficient. Thursday at three o'clock.

Then I rang Cash. There was a lot I wanted to talk to him about. Like what did he know about the investigation into Gypsum of America share purchases? Who had he been acting for when he had bid for our Gypsum bonds? Could he tell me some more about Irwin Piper's background?

'Bloomfield Weiss, purveyors of fine bonds to the gentry,' he answered.

'Hallo, it's Paul. I wonder if I could ask you a few questions?'

'Sure, fire away.'

'No, not on the phone. I think it would be better if we met up for lunch or a drink or something.'

Cash caught the serious tone of my voice. After a pause he said, 'I'm a bit tied up this week. Can it wait until Henley on Saturday?'

'No, I'd like to see you much sooner. Like today or tomorrow,' I insisted.

Cash sighed. 'OK, OK. You are seeing Irwin Piper at his hotel this evening, aren't you? How about after that? I'll join you there and we can go on for a quiet drink afterwards. How's that?'

'Fine,' I said. 'See you then.'

Irwin Piper was staying at the Stafford, a small but elegant hotel just off St James's. We were supposed to meet at seven. I arrived a few minutes early. I made my way to the bar. The room was softly lit with wood-panelled walls and green leather upholstered chairs. It achieved the effect of warmth, comfort and exclusivity. It was almost empty except for an elderly American couple sipping martinis in a corner. I felt like asking for a pint of Young's, but that didn't really seem appropriate in a place like this so I asked the barman for a malt whisky. He showed me a menu with an impressive list of spirits, the cheapest being a Glenlivet and the most expensive being an 1809 Armagnac. Not having the eighty-nine pounds necessary for the Armagnac, I settled for a glass of Knockando, and sipped the light gold liquid carefully whilst I waited for Piper.

I didn't focus on the tall, expensively dressed man who entered the bar until he approached me and said, 'Mr Murray?' He was not the kind of man who you would have thought would own a casino. He was dressed from head to toe in English clothes, all handmade, no doubt, and probably bought within a quarter of a mile of the hotel. But no Englishman would wear them the way he did. The sports jacket, the brogues, the green tie with pheasants on it, were all worn with a gloss which belied their 'casual' status. Piper was an inch or two taller than me, with iron-grey hair carefully combed back and a film star's jaw. A waft of expensive aftershave followed him in.

'Yes, I'm Paul Murray.' I descended from the bar stool and held out my hand.

'Good evening, Paul. Irwin Piper. Pleased to meet you.' We shook hands. 'Why don't we sit down over there?' He led me to the corner of the room opposite the American couple. He beckoned a waiter and ordered a whisky and soda.

'Have you been in London long?' I asked.

'Just a week or so,' Piper answered. 'I am planning to come back next month. I will be going grouse shooting in Scotland.'

My own experiences of beating grouse moors in Yorkshire, for five pounds a day and a bottle of beer, came to mind, but I thought it best not to mention them. My immediate problem was how to question Piper to find some clues to any weaknesses in his past. If he had been intimidating, that would not have bothered me. I was quite happy to match aggression with aggression. The difficulty was that he had a mixture of charm and authority which made awkward questions seem very awkward.

'Thank you very much for taking the time to see me,' I began. 'I wonder if we could start with your own background in casinos.'

Piper's brows came together in a sign of mild disapproval. 'I wouldn't say I have a background in casinos. Sure, the hotels I build have casinos in them, but they are primarily centres for entertainment not gaming.' His voice was cultured, almost English in intonation. It sounded like the accents of wealthy men in pre-war American films. To one of his countrymen, I guessed it sounded affected.

'But you do make your money from the gaming, don't you?'

'Yes, that's true.' Piper held out his fingers in front of him and examined his manicure. They were clean hands, he was saying. 'But I don't get involved with the gaming much myself. I'm an organiser. I hire the best.'

He was getting into his stride, beginning to talk faster now. He counted off on his fingers, 'I have the best showman in the casino industry working for me, Art Buxxy. I have a guy with a Ph.D. in mathematics from Princeton who makes sure that the odds are always, how shall we say, correctly balanced. I hired the manager of one of the top hotels in Geneva and I have a software genius who has built up the most advanced customer-information database in the industry.'

'So what's your role in all this?' I asked.

'I put them all together. Arrange the financing. Make sure the numbers add up.' Piper smiled. 'Art takes most of the operational decisions. He's the front man.'

'So you have no interest in the Tahiti itself?' I asked.

'Oh no, you misunderstand me,' he said. 'I wanted to build the greatest hotel in the world. The Tahiti is the greatest hotel in the world. It may not suit my tastes exactly,' he glanced approvingly around the Stafford's bar, 'but people will flock there, believe me.'

'Have you invested in casinos, I mean hotels, in the past?' I asked.

'One or two.'

'Could you be more specific?'

'I'm afraid not. They were private investments.' Piper saw my concern. 'Everything was declared to the Gaming Commission if that is what you are worried about,' he said, sounding offended. He looked at me questioningly.