Lynda Plante - The Talisman

‘Did you make millions, Uncle BB? In America? I thought you were in mining? You’ve got mines in America too, I suppose.’

BB roared with laughter while he picked at the dreadful dinner on the plate before him. Edward gathered that the Van der Burges were in gold-and diamond-mining in South Africa, and that BB must have made a fortune in the early twenties over there and opened up some kind of banking operation in America. He fascinated Edward as he patiently described the mysteries of the Stock Exchange to Harriet. ‘You got different types of markets, Harriet, we give them names. First we got the “bull” market, that’s the one in which the majority of share prices have been, and continue to be, rising. Then you got what we call the “split up” — that’s when the value of a company’s stock goes very high. Market dealings are made easier if the value of the stock is reduced, and the number of shares correspondingly increase as the “split up” happens, understand?’ BB continued to talk, holding forth with gestures so expansive that his wife carefully removed his cut-glass wine and water tumblers from his reach. ‘A man known as a “bear” is a person who believes prices will fall, and the “bull” is a man who expects them to rise.’

Both her elbows on the table, Harriet’s eyes twinkled as she asked BB which of the two he considered himself.

‘You tell me, Harriet, eh? Which one do you think I am, Harriet, lovey?’

BB gave the butler a small nod of his head to clear, and by that small movement placed himself as the head of the table — not that the Judge seemed to notice, he was too busy pouring himself another glass of wine. He was arguing with his wife about the vegetables, telling her they should be lightly boiled and not stewed to a pulp. Mrs Simpson haughtily repeated his suggestions through the hatch to the cook. At the same time Harriet spoke even louder to BB, ‘Does that mean you are rich then? I mean, diamonds are worth a lot of money, Ma’s got a diamond ring and that’s worth thousands, isn’t it Ma? Not as big as Auntie Sylvia’s, though. Did you sell them in America? Is that what you did over there, Uncle?’

Harriet was reprimanded for asking impertinent questions, and it gave Edward the opportunity to talk to BB. Buster appeared at this moment, at least, they could smell him and he had to be removed. He was dragged unceremoniously out of the doors, and the Judge remarked that if the dog was fed the same stewed veg as he was, no wonder he farted.

BB quietly explained to Edward what they meant in the City by ‘selling short’. He smiled and murmured that he was, if anything, a bear, and selling short was a favourite device of a bear. This was done if you believed that a stock was going down. A bear would sell, but the stock he sold was not necessarily his own — or not as yet, because he knew he was able to borrow it from a broker for a time, for a fee. ‘Then, Edward, I deliver the borrowed shares to my buyer, collect the payment and wait for the price to fall. Once it goes down, I buy the same shares at a lower price — you with me? — and give them to the broker to replace the shares I initially purchased... my profit is the difference between the price at which I sold the borrowed shares to the buyer and the price I paid to replace them. Now, you can get yourself in a right bad situation if the prices unexpectedly go up instead of down. In 1930, rules governing the short-selling system were imposed, aimed at the likes of me so that there could be no possibility of the system actually causing prices to fall.’

Bored by her uncle’s conversation, Harriet concentrated on stuffing herself with trifle. Edward asked BB if the Wall Street Crash had affected him. The big man put his napkin down and turned to Edward, although he threw his voice to the whole table. He thumped the table, making the pudding spoons jump, and said he had got out in time. ‘I wish I could say the same for many of my friends — good friends that were bled dry, men who had to face creditors and so gambled on the markets that had already crumbled beneath them.’ He swept the dining table with a theatrical gesture, forcing everyone to listen as he described the fate of many of his colleagues in New York. Mrs Simpson raised her eyes heavenward, having heard this story, like everyone else, many times before.

‘There were men appealing for time, many became foolish, taking risks they would never have attempted before the crash... One close associate who shall remain nameless, but a true, dear friend of mine and my dear wife’s, tried to recoup his losses, based on the old Roman maxim, caveat emptor — buyer beware!’

Richard Van der Burge looked at his mother and yawned, but his father held forth and fixed his son with such an icy stare that the boy pursed his lips and looked down at his plate instead. BB continued, ‘In 1933 the Securities Act effectively made it mandatory in all stock dealings for the seller to beware. It was a tough new legislation, and I was lucky to get out without undue losses. Men were up to their necks in lawsuits, all resulting from disputed market dealings and loans. Bankruptcy is a terrible thing, and a friend of mine who fell foul of the hungry vultures wrote on a notepad over and over again, “My life is worthless, worthless, worthless, I am a failure.” Then he shot himself in a New York cocktail bar. That man’s life had been a veritable victory, rising from nowhere, nothing, to dominate the banking world for ten years.’

BB was finally silenced by Allard waving his spoon in the air and loftily asking if anyone knew what Beau Brummel’s last words were?

‘As they carried the dying Brummel from his impoverished room in Paris, he was heard to say, “I owe no one.”’

When dinner was over, Mrs Simpson stood up, saying she, Sylvia and Harriet would take coffee in the library. Allard and Richard sprang up and both rushed to the doors, giggling. The Judge only lasted until he had drained his brandy glass, then departed to his bedroom, complaining of wind. Edward was thankful they had left him alone with BB, and began to question him in a roundabout, flattering way. BB was a sharp man. He smiled, poured himself a glass of port and held it to the light, murmuring that he hoped it would not be of the same poor quality as the rest of the meal. ‘I am a self-made man, Edward lad, and I am proud of it, proud. I began in South Africa, I went over there with one hundred pounds in my pocket, and eight years later I was a multi-millionaire. Ever heard of the great Kimberley mine, son? Look at this, see, this was the first diamond I mined with my own hands, look at the colours, beautiful, isn’t it?’ He held his tie-pin up to the light, then placed it in Edward’s hand. Edward held it and turned it over, then returned it to BB’s big, open palm.

‘The gold pin was made from my first gold nugget. I struck it rich, my boy; my quarry returned five thousand ounces of gold from thirteen tons of ore, my shares rose from one pound to one hundred and fifty. Those were the days, these hands raking the ground hour after hour, but my God, when you strike, there’s no better feeling on this earth — better than sex, lemme tell you. No woman on earth can give you a climax like the one you get when you strike it rich. I’ve seen a gold nugget the size of that decanter, weighing in at twelve pounds — the Peacock nugget — Jesus God, my friend, I seen men weeping just looking... and I was there, right at the beginning. Gold, it can’t clothe a man like wool, can’t even arm them like iron, warm them like coal, feed them like corn, but — and pay close attention to this, lad — gold can buy all the others, and that’s what it’s all about.’

It was two hours later when Edward and BB joined the rest of the party, BB having consumed an entire decanter of port. His face was flushed and his small eyes glinted, and he strolled into the lounge with his arm around his new friend’s shoulders. The others were playing charades, and BB shattered the relaxed, informal atmosphere as he strode into the centre of the room and declared that he wished his own son had the intellect of his new-found friend. ‘There’s a job waiting for this lad when he gets out of university, and you’re all my witnesses. This lad is going places, I know, I can tell, which is more than I can say for everyone else gathered here. Finance is what rules the world, and I say there would be no war on right now — no bastard Germans herding Jews into the concentration camps — there wouldn’t be a war if there had been no Wall Street Crash.’