Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘He’s easily the most astute person I’ve worked with in the City.’

Stephen was watching me. He had blue watery eyes, but they were intelligent. ‘So, if he’s that good, why did you say you didn’t know? What’s wrong with him?’

‘I’m not sure. He might be a bit too aggressive. Sometimes I wonder if he goes just a bit too far, but then later it turns out he’s judged it just about right.’

Stephen clapped my shoulder. ‘Quite honestly, it’s hard to go too far in this business. As long as you don’t get caught.’ He put his glass down on a nearby ledge. ‘I’ve got to go. Nice to see both of you again. Cheers.’

‘Cheers, Stephen,’ Jamie said. Stephen left, but Jamie and I stayed for another.

‘Jerk,’ said Jamie.

‘I don’t know why you bother seeing him.’

‘He’s not always as bad as that. And he’s bright. It’s good to stay in touch. You never know.’

‘But he’s such a grown-up. Balding, wife, kid.’

‘But I’ve got a wife and kid.’

‘Jamie, you are a kid. And you don’t look forty.’

‘It’s funny getting older,’ said Jamie. ‘I mean, I do feel it sometimes. I’ve got a big mortgage. I do have a wife and kid to look after. And I’ve got to take my career seriously. Things have changed.’

‘I suppose they have.’

‘Whatever happens, I don’t want to turn into my parents.’

‘Why not? They’re nice people.’

Jamie snorted. ‘They might be nice but they’re broke, aren’t they? My grandfather was a big landowner. And now my father drives a mini-cab. If I carry on the great family tradition, Oliver will have a career in McDonald’s.’

‘Anyway, you will become your father. You’re just like him. You can’t avoid it.’ I meant it as a joke, but Jamie shot me a dark look.

‘I’m serious. It’s about time somebody made some money in my family.’

I had visited Jamie’s parents a number of times over the years. I was always made to feel welcome as Jamie’s intellectual friend from Oxford. The first couple of times I’d stayed it had been at a lovely farmhouse, which presided over a livery stable. Shortly after Jamie had left Oxford this had gone, and now his parents lived in a rented lodge at the bottom of someone else’s grand drive.

Jamie’s grandfather had owned a small estate at the foot of the Quantocks, and the after-tax remnants of this were still farmed by his uncle. His father had tried to make money out of horses and failed. Jamie told me he now drove a mini-cab, but I wasn’t to mention this to anyone, especially to him.

Whatever their past glories or future worries, Jamie’s parents were unfailingly hospitable. His father was the old rogue that Jamie might one day become, with a winning smile, rugged features and a twinkle in his eye. His mother was tall and striking, even now, and had not lost any of her charm. Jamie was the apple of their eye. He could do no wrong. His every pronouncement was met with rapt interest, his minor successes with applause, his major successes with studied indifference, as if his parents never doubted that he would achieve great things.

And Jamie hadn’t let them down. Head boy of his public school, entrance to Oxford, an occasional place in the university rugby team, and a job in the blue-blooded merchant bank, Gurney Kroheim. Jamie’s move to Dekker Ward had taken his parents a little by surprise, but once Jamie had explained it they understood. Their son was one of the new generation of entrepreneurs they had read about.

I don’t mean to mock this attention. I would have loved half of it. But whenever I achieved something, my father never quite understood exactly what it was.

I drank my beer thoughtfully. ‘I still don’t know what I’m going to do with my life.’

‘Aren’t you going to stay at Dekker?’

‘I don’t know. Sometimes it gives me a great buzz. Like that Brady battle. But then I think about what they did to Dave, and the favela deal, and the drug money.’

‘Oh, forget that,’ said Jamie.

‘But I can’t forget it. It bothers me. Doesn’t it bother you?’

Jamie paused for a moment. ‘I think it might if I stopped to think about it. So I don’t stop to think about it. For Kate and Oliver’s sake, I have to make this a success. I could be really good at this stuff, you know.’

He looked at me for reassurance. I was able to give it. ‘You could.’ From my brief time at Dekker, I could tell Jamie was good. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. Thank you for getting me this job.’

Jamie smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it. Ricardo likes you. I get Brownie points.’

‘Was that true about those Russian traders’ visas? Do you think Ricardo arranged that?’

‘I hadn’t heard about it, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ said Jamie. ‘And if it wasn’t Ricardo who fixed it, it was Eduardo. They don’t like people letting them down.’

‘I can see that.’

We were on to our third pint. The edginess that surrounded Stephen had left with him, and I was slowly enveloped in that special type of warm glow that you can only get from three pints of good bitter with an old friend.

Jamie and I had been through a lot together over the years. In taking the job at Dekker, I had trusted my future to him. But I could rely on Jamie.

‘Kate told me you were quite taken with Isabel,’ Jamie said.

I could feel my cheeks reddening. Which was strange, because normally I found it quite easy to talk to Jamie about women.

‘She’s a nice girl, Jamie.’

‘Oh, really? Nice girl, eh? Now that’s serious. Not just “She’s got fabulous tits,” or “She’s desperate for it.”’

‘No. Neither of those things, actually.’

‘Is there anything going on between you?’

‘No.’

‘But you’d like it if there was?’

‘I can’t deny that. But I don’t think it’s likely.’

‘Why not?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. She just doesn’t seem that keen.’

‘Well, be careful. She’s a strange woman.’ He was struck by a thought. ‘You didn’t talk to her about this money-laundering business, did you?’

I nodded. ‘I did. She agreed with you about not telling Eduardo. But she thought I should speak to Ricardo about it. I’m not going to, though.’

‘Oh, Nick! You shouldn’t even have spoken to her. I told you about her and Eduardo, didn’t I?’

‘You did. But that was only a rumour. I don’t believe it.’

‘You don’t want to believe it, you mean. You saw what happened to Dave. You’d better forget this money-laundering stuff or the same thing will happen to you.’

‘I can trust Isabel,’ I said.

‘The truth is, Nick,’ Jamie said, ‘in this business you can trust no one.’

I wanted to argue, but I didn’t. Partly because I had an uncomfortable feeling he was right.

‘Come on, it’s late, let’s go,’ Jamie said, draining his glass.

‘Yeah.’ I finished up my pint. We spilled out of the pub, Jamie to hail a cab and me to find the tube station. I’d left my bike at Canary Wharf.

The next day was grey and cold, as spring went into remission. High up in the Canary Wharf tower, the Dekker dealing room felt crammed against the ceiling of dark cloud just a few feet above it. The euphoria of victory over Bloomfield Weiss in the Brady battle died down quickly as the reality of trying to sell two billion dollars of Mexican bonds sank in. This was a time to call in favours.

I listened to Jamie perform. He was good. He started with his best customers. He was a different person with each. With some he discussed football and TV, with others modified duration and stripped yields. Sometimes he talked non-stop, sometimes he just listened. But he cajoled and begged and blustered his way to an order from each of them. The orders were large: ten or twenty million in some cases, but they weren’t large enough. It would take a miracle and a few hundred-million orders to shift two billion dollars of bonds.