Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

I looked around for Ricardo. He had slipped away. Everyone else had stayed. His privilege, I supposed.

Then Eduardo caught my eye, and called across to me. ‘Want some, Nick? You should try it.’

Damn. ‘No, thank you,’ I said, trying not to sound too prim.

‘Hey, try it. It’s good stuff. A little bit won’t do any harm. Get you in the party mood.’ His thick lips broke into a broad smile, but his eyes were hard, commanding.

‘No, sorry.’

He moved over towards me. He sat down on the arm of the sofa. I could smell his eau-de-Cologne. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and I could see black tufts of hair and the glint of gold. He put his arm round me, and patted my cheek. I wanted to hit him so badly.

‘Come on, Nicky, my friend. Enjoy yourself! Party! Hey, what you need is someone to play with.’ Just then the doorbell rang. ‘And here she is!’

He stood up and made an announcement to the group of expectant central bankers. ‘These are some friends of mine. They all work in the modelling business.’ He winked. ‘I’m sure you’ll like them.’

He opened the door to a procession of about a dozen stunning women, all with different colours of hair and skin, and all wearing revealing but expensive cocktail dresses. Immediately the men stood up, the noise level rose, champagne corks were popped. The excitement in the room was almost palpable.

I stayed stuck in my chair. Eduardo put his arm round the waist of a tall girl with red hair and extremely long legs, and steered her towards me.

‘Nick, Melanie, Melanie, Nick,’ he said. ‘She’s a beautiful woman, Nick, I’m sure you will like her.’ Then he left us, much to my relief.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hallo,’ I replied, smiled politely, and ignored her. She sipped champagne, making small-talk in an upper-middle-class accent, to which I didn’t respond. I was very tired, and I wanted to go home. None of these women interested me like Isabel did, and the artificiality of the situation made me queasy. I looked around at the smartly dressed, wealthy men, all with wives and girlfriends, talking animatedly to these women whom they had never met before. Two couples, they were couples already, began to dance, slow and close. I felt ill.

I stood up, smiled politely at the redhead next to me, retrieved my jacket, and headed for the door.

‘Nick!’

Jamie extricated himself from a blonde, and rushed up to the door. I waited.

‘Nick, where are you going?’

‘Home.’

‘Look. Stay here. Eduardo won’t like it if you go now. Come on. You’re not even married.’

‘Maybe that’s why I don’t want to stay,’ I said. ‘And screw Eduardo.’

I woke up late the next morning — nine o’clock. I brewed some fresh coffee, made some toast and read the paper. The Polish devaluation was on page eight. More money for Dekker. I finished my coffee, left the flat and strolled up Primrose Hill, with its stunted black lamp-posts, and its daffodils neatly trussed up now they had finished blooming. It was a cool day for May, and a breeze bit into my skin. It felt good, refreshing.

Just below the brow of the hill, I sat down and looked out over London. In front of me was the extraordinary polyhedron that was the aviary at London Zoo, and beyond that St Paul’s and the skyscrapers of the City. Even further away, barely visible through the new leaves of the trees on the hill, was Canary Wharf.

The Dekker people would be there now, toiling hard, pretending that they could function normally after the night before. They would be exchanging knowing glances with each other, lying to their customers about what a wonderful place Mexico was, ticking up the trades, ticking up the profits.

I considered the last few weeks. The favela deal, the money-laundering, Dave’s sacking, my own lying to Wójtek, the sleaze of the previous night. All of these things I could handle individually. But together they made me feel sick.

I didn’t fit. I could pretend that I did, but only for so long. Or I could change, as Jamie had. Change so that I could lie happily, ignore what needed to be ignored, do what needed to be done. If my conscience couldn’t hack it, then I should just change my conscience.

Or leave.

Was I running away? Was it just that I couldn’t take the real world, the commercial world?

I honestly didn’t think so. There was no doubt that the attack on Ipanema beach had shaken me. But I was sure I wasn’t letting that affect my judgement. I would have to face up to the fact that I had made a mistake in joining Dekker. It was a real cock-up. I was proud, and I didn’t like admitting to mistakes. But there was no hiding from this one.

Still, as Ricardo would say, a good trader knows when to take his losses. And the time had come.

It was eleven o’clock by the time I made it to my desk. I nodded to Isabel.

‘Have a good night, did you, last night?’ she said coolly.

‘No, actually. I found it pretty unpleasant. I left early.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said, and returned to her work. She didn’t believe me, of course. I was just telling the same sort of lie that people at Dekker always did. That made me angry.

I considered telling her what I was going to do, but then decided against it. She would probably say I was foolish, I should accept what I saw. And she’d have good reasons. I’d made up my mind, and I didn’t want to have it unmade.

Jamie rushed over to me. He seemed on edge.

‘Nick, what time do you think this is? We’ve all been in since seven. You’ve got to show you can take a heavy night.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ I said.

Jamie looked at me as though I was just being difficult. ‘Anyway, about last night,’ he said, low enough for no one else to hear. ‘You know I normally don’t do drugs. Only when I have to. Like last night.’

‘I know,’ I said grimly.

‘And those girls. I didn’t do anything with any of them. Just talked, you know.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘You won’t tell Kate, will you? I mean, you should have stayed too.’

I now realized why Jamie had been sorry to see me go. He wanted me to be an accomplice in crime. Then he would feel better about it.

I sighed. ‘I won’t tell Kate,’ I said. And I wouldn’t. Even in my current negative mood, I wouldn’t stuff a friend like that.

Jamie seemed relieved. ‘Good. I’ll see you later.’

As he left, Ricardo approached. He pulled up a chair next to my desk, and sat down.

‘In a bit late this morning, aren’t you?’

‘Sorry,’ I said.

‘Whatever you’ve been doing the night before, you have to be in by seven. It’s an unwritten law here. A point of pride, almost.’

‘It was two nights,’ I said.

‘Oh, yes, I forgot about your Polish friend. By the way, I was very pleased to see the devaluation come through so quickly. Good work. But the point is, sometimes you’ll have to do seven consecutive nights like that, especially when you travel.’

It was just a mild ticking-off. A preliminary warning. But it didn’t matter any more.

I had to tell him now. While I was determined. Before I thought too hard about it. It was strange, with Ricardo here in front of me, the decision suddenly seemed more personal. I was letting him down.

Enough of that. Tell him now.

But he had started talking again. ‘It’s about time you did some real work. Isabel is going down to Brazil, and I’d like you to go with her.’

I shut up and listened.

‘The City of São Paulo are very keen to go ahead with their own favela deal. And it will be a good opportunity to persuade our friends in Brazil of the merits of Mexico. You’ve heard Jamie talk about the deal all week, so you should have the story down pat.’