Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

It was absurd. It probably never would have worked. And now, because of Zico and his friends, I might never know what might have been.

But I couldn’t accept that.

Was she really dead? Nelson thought she was. Luís thought she wasn’t. We hadn’t heard a word from Zico.

Logic suggested Nelson was right, and he had experience of these situations. But until we had proof that she was dead, I couldn’t believe it. I was with Luís. I had to hope and pray she was alive, whether it made sense or not.

Finally, near the summit of the steep hillside, I stopped and sat down. I could just see the fazenda nestling in the valley below.

It had been a horrible couple of days. Luís had been like a ghost. Cordelia had gone into hospital: her doctors were worried about the effect all the stress was having on her pregnancy. Nelson Zarur had offered to waive his fee, but in the end Luís had paid it.

I had phoned Ricardo and told him that it looked as if Isabel might have been killed. It was difficult. He had tried to take it coolly, but his voice sounded dead, empty. I told him I would be coming back to London soon. He cut the conversation short. Isabel had been right: she had meant something to him.

‘She’s still alive, you know.’

It was evening. Through the french windows behind us, the last red embers of the sun were crumbling behind the mountain at the head of the valley. In front of us was a roaring fire. We had been sitting staring at it in silence for half an hour, each holding a glass of Ballantine’s.

I nodded. ‘I know.’

‘We have to believe that, no matter what Nelson or Zico or anyone else says.’

‘I know.’

Silence.

Then Luís stirred. ‘What was she like? At work?’

‘She was quiet. Serious. Very good at her job. She got on with things. I think people respected her.’

Luís shook his head. ‘I’m surprised she went into banking. Disappointed, in a strange kind of way. She seemed so idealistic. Of course I disagreed with her, and we had arguments. But I respected her ideals. And then she went to the United States, and came back eager to prove to the world that she could be a better banker than me. Why?’

‘I don’t know. But she certainly was driven. She did want to prove something, and I think it was to you.’

‘But she didn’t have to!’ said Luís. ‘It was enough for me that she was my daughter. I didn’t expect her to become a great financier as well.’

I thought about this for a moment. ‘Perhaps it was the fact that you didn’t expect anything of her that drove her on. I don’t know. But don’t blame yourself. You brought up a wonderful daughter. You should be proud.’

Luís just stared into the fire.

‘She hadn’t lost her ideals,’ I said. ‘That favela deal was a brilliant idea. And she believed in it. For her it was a chance finally to use her skills to do some good.’

‘It was good. It’s a shame it didn’t work.’

‘That was only because Ricardo Ross destroyed it.’

‘Oswaldo Bocci is scum. Ricardo is a fool to have anything to do with him. I know Dekker Ward are very good, but sometimes they go too far. I wish Isabel had worked for someone else.’

‘They have a bad name?’

‘Yes, they do. They’re not exactly corrupt, Ricardo isn’t that stupid. But there is a...’ he searched for the word ‘... smell about them. They deal with people they shouldn’t. Like Oswaldo Bocci. They bend the rules when they shouldn’t.’

I wasn’t surprised. ‘Presumably Isabel knew this when she joined them.’

‘Yes,’ said Luís. ‘I tried to talk her out of it, but that probably only egged her on. She said that it was a great career opportunity for her and that she would be completely honest. And I think she has been. She has a good reputation in Brazil.’

The fire crackled and spat. It was almost totally dark now, and the room was illuminated by the glow of the flames.

‘I’m going to resign when I get back to London,’ I said.

‘Are you?’ Luís straightened in his chair. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t like banking. Or maybe I just don’t like Dekker. I had decided before I came out here with Isabel.’

Luís didn’t answer. We lapsed into silence again. Our thoughts drifted back to Isabel.

‘We can save her favela deal,’ Luís said.

‘How?’

For the first time in days Luís smiled. It was a small smile. The way he twitched the corners of his mouth reminded me of Isabel. ‘Bocci is an upstart in the Rio media world. I have friends with bigger papers. We can turn Ricardo’s strategy against him. It will hurt him. And it will be something we can do for Isabel.’

I went into work with trepidation on Monday morning. But there were smiles and nods, sympathy, questions delicately put. In a way it felt as if I was returning home. That wouldn’t last long.

After the meeting had finished, I crept back to my desk. Paper had accumulated on it in the three weeks I had been away. I glanced over to Isabel’s desk. Empty. Tidy. Waiting for its next occupant.

Ricardo drifted over, pulled up a chair and sat next to me. It was quiet here, away from the square of traders and salesmen who were already hitting the phones.

‘How are you feeling?’

I just shrugged.

‘It shook us all badly here,’ Ricardo went on. ‘It’s been tense this last couple of weeks. And then, just as things were going so well, suddenly everything fell apart.’

I nodded.

‘It must be tough for her father. He meant a lot to her.’ Of course. Isabel must have told Ricardo all about herself and her family, much the same as she had told me. I wasn’t sure I liked that idea.

‘It is hard for him. Not knowing whether she’s alive or dead.’

‘And this man Nelson Zarur thinks there’s no chance that she’s still alive?’

‘There’s always a chance. But he’s not optimistic. Neither are the police.’

We sat in silence. I didn’t want to talk to Ricardo about all this. But, once again, there was something beguiling about his frankness. ‘I liked her,’ he said. ‘And, if I’m not mistaken, you did too.’

‘I did,’ I said quietly. ‘I mean, I do.’ I hated to talk about Isabel in the past tense. To me she was still alive. She had to be alive.

‘Sorry,’ said Ricardo. ‘You’re right. I can’t accept that she’s... not alive either.’ His voice held a gentleness I had never heard before. ‘People respond to this kind of thing in all sorts of different ways. I don’t know how you feel about it. Take it easy if you like for a bit. Or maybe you want to get stuck into the work to take your mind off it. You do whatever you think is best. We can be patient here.’

Until you read the Brazilian newspapers, I thought. Luís had said the story would come out at the beginning of this week. I began to feel second thoughts about that. In Luís’s sitting room, in front of the fire, thinking about Isabel, it had seemed a good idea. Now, I wasn’t so sure. I had to make sure I wasn’t around when the story broke.

‘Ricardo?’

‘Yes?’

‘There’s something I want to tell you.’

He waited.

‘I resign.’

‘What?’

‘I said I resign.’

Ricardo was about to say something, but saw the expression on my face, and kept quiet. He settled himself, and his eyes sought mine. I held them.

‘Why?’ he said quietly.

‘I was thinking about it when I went down to Brazil. And after what happened to Isabel... I just don’t want to work here any more.’

‘Nick, it’s natural you’re upset. Take some time off—’

‘No, it’s not just Isabel.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think I can do things the Dekker way.’