Free to Trade (30 page)

'Of course it's very difficult to know whether it's the clients that lack interest or the salesmen,' said Waigel. He was chewing his steak noisily as he said this, staring defiantly at Cathy. The sweat shone under his thinly plastered hair. 'Selling that Chem Castings deal was very important to the firm. We were left with a block of bonds that lost us a bunch of money. If we had proper international distribution, we just wouldn't have had that problem.'

Cathy kept her cool. 'The problem is that most of our clients just don't like the risk of junk bonds. You can't force them to change their views.'

'You can't force them, but with a body like yours, you could sure as hell persuade them.' Waigel laughed as he said this, took a gulp of wine, and winked at me. I glowered back.

Cathy looked confused, unsure whether to take this as a joke or the insult it clearly was. In the end she smiled thinly.

'Aw, come on, what are you upset about?' said Waigel with a leer. 'A good-looking girl like you could sell anybody anything. I bet you have built great relationships with your clients. After an evening out with you, I'm sure I could be persuaded to take whatever you were selling.' He turned to me, with another wink. 'Am I right, or what?'

'Dick,' muttered Cathy through clenched teeth, 'remember there are clients here.'

Waigel had drunk a lot of wine. 'Paul here is a man of the world. He knows how things work. Now, listen Cathy, I'm an important man in Bloomfield Weiss, and I am going to become more important. You should get to know me. I can be a great help in your career. How about just you and me having a quiet glass of champagne after dinner?'

Waigel was sitting opposite Cathy. Cathy had very long legs. She slid down in her chair slightly. A moment later Waigel let out a cry of pain, and seemed to clutch his napkin in his lap. Cathy stood up, excused herself, smiled curtly to everyone at the table, and walked off, her sharp high heels clacking on the wooden floor.

I got up and followed her to the bar. Her eyes were smarting, and she had to bite her bottom lip to stop it trembling.

'Not very subtle, is he?' I said.

'Bastard!' she muttered.

'Still, I thought you dealt with him quite well.'

'Yes, I enjoyed that,' she smiled. 'But he's right, you know. I'm not going to get very far in my career by kicking Bloomfield Weiss's rising stars in the balls.'

'Sod him. Sod Bloomfield Weiss. Have a drink,' I said.

I got Cathy a glass of wine and myself a Scotch. Cathy sipped her drink. 'Did you hear about Joe Finlay, one of our eurobond traders?' she said.

My pulse quickened. 'No?'

'It's terrible. He was murdered yesterday in Central Park.'

'Really? How awful.' I tried to give my voice just the right amount of concern. Enough to acknowledge the awfulness of murder, not enough to suggest anything more than a brief acquaintance with Joe. 'What happened?'

'Apparently he had been out jogging. It was dark and he was jumped. He got one of his attackers. Killed him. He used to be in the SAS, so they say.' Cathy shuddered.

I was glad Joe was dead, and I didn't feel the slightest guilt about my part in it. There was no doubt at all in my mind that he had been just about to kill me. And now I wouldn't have to look over my shoulder everywhere I went. Life could become normal again. I thought of Joe's wife, Sally. And Jerry. No doubt being brought up without a father would be bad, but it must be infinitely better than being brought up with Joe.

'Have the police caught anyone?' I asked.

'Not yet, but it's early days,' she said. She took a nervous sip of her drink. 'I know this sounds terrible, but I didn't like him very much. He seemed weird. Dangerous.'

'I don't think that sounds terrible at all,' I said, a little too positively.

Cathy noticed my tone, and eyed me inquisitively. Then something caught her eye behind me. 'Look at that!' she said.

I turned to see the bulky frame of Marshall Mills weaving his way through the crowd towards the bar. On his arm was a tall curvaceous woman with fluffy red hair, big green eyes, and full bright red lips that never quite closed. She swung her whole body as she walked, her hips bumping gently into Mills's side with each step.

Just before the couple could make it to the bar they were stopped right next to us by Cash.

'Marshall!' Cash shouted.

'Who the hell are you?' spat an angry Mills.

'My name is Cash Callaghan. I'm a salesman at Bloomfield Weiss. And I would just like to say what an interesting and thought-provoking presentation you gave this morning.'

'I hate salesmen. Go away!' growled Mills.

Cathy giggled. 'Cash has finally met his match here,' she whispered.

But Cash wasn't going to give in that easily. He thought for a moment, trying to figure out Mills's weak point. Finally he said, 'Mrs Mills, I loved your latest film. What was it--
Twilight in Tangier?
I always knew from your photographs in the press that you were beautiful, but I had no idea you were such a great actress.'

Mrs Mills was as taken aback by this as Cathy and I were. But she recovered enough to dip her eyelashes and reply in a languorous Texan drawl, 'Why thank you, sir.'

'Not at all, not at all. I trust there will be a sequel soon?'

Marshall interrupted, his voice full of pride, 'We are planning
Moonlight in Marrakesh.
We should start shooting in a couple of months. I'm glad you liked
Twilight.
I think most of the critics missed the film apart from some illiterate bozos who wouldn't recognise Meryl Streep if she appeared in a school play.' Mills was breathing heavily, sweat pouring from his brow.

'Now now, Pooky, watch your blood pressure,' Mrs Mills drawled.

'Sorry, Poppet,' replied Mills.

'Let me introduce you to two of your most loyal bondholders from England, Cathy Lasenby and Paul Murray.'

My mouth gaped open for a moment, but Cash winked at both of us, and I found myself playing along. We both made polite noises. Mills was clearly surprised that he had any loyal bondholders left, even as far away as London.

'I hear you are looking for some finance for your latest development,' said Cash.

'Yes, it's a great property off the coast of Ecuador, but I'm told that none of these dumb idiots here want to give me any money. I could teach them a thing or two about investing. What these idiots don't realise...'

'Pooky,' admonished Mrs Mills.

'I'm sorry, dear.'

'Well, I think I know someone who may be able to help,' said Cash. I was shaking my head furiously, determined that I would not let Cash railroad De Jong into this one. The revenues from the oilfield might look good, but only a fool would trust Marshall Mills. Fortunately, Cash pulled Mills and his wife off towards where Madeleine Jansen was standing.

'He must be crazy if he thinks he can get her to even talk to Mills, let alone give him any money,' said Cathy. 'Amalgamated Veterans lost a packet on one of his companies a year ago.'

We watched them talk for several minutes. After about a quarter of an hour, the group broke up and Cash walked back up to us. He had a huge grin on his face and was literally rubbing his hands with glee.

'Barman, a bottle of Dom Perignon please,' he called. 'And three glasses.'

As he poured the champagne, Cathy said, 'Surely you don't expect us to believe that Madeleine Jansen agreed to give him any money.'

'Fifty million,' Cash said.

'How on earth did you manage that?' she asked.

'Partly price. He's going to have to pay 2 per cent more than the average yield for a new junk issue. But the key is the security. If Mills defaults, or tries any funny stuff, Amalgamated Veterans will have the right to take possession of the copyright of both
Twilight in Tangier
and
Moonlight in Marrakesh
and prevent any further distribution of the films. That ought to keep him straight.'

'Oh, I see. And if his heart gives out, it should keep his widow in line as well,' I said.

Cash laughed. 'Having seen Lola Mills in
Twilight in Tangier,
I am surprised his heart didn't give out long ago. That woman sure is some gymnast.'

I couldn't stop myself laughing with Cash. I had to marvel at his amazing ability to get two such totally different people to do business together.

CHAPTER 15

I dutifully attended breakfast and the morning's presentations. I made sure I was at the Fairway talk. Jack Salmon was there as promised. I sat next to him.

Of all the enthusiastic managements I saw at the conference, Fairway's was the most enthusiastic. There was nothing they didn't know about golf or golf carts. Demand for golf was growing in the US. More people wanting to play could be accommodated in two ways, both of them good for Fairway. One was to build more golf courses, which would need new fleets of golf carts; the other was to make the use of golf carts compulsory on existing courses, in order to get more people round a course in a single day.

Gerry King, Fairway's chief executive officer, knew everyone in the industry. He was unscrupulous in the way he used his contacts. He used top players to sponsor his carts and to suggest minor alterations to make better vehicles. He knew the top course-designers in the country, who could recommend Fairway machines on new courses. And he went to great lengths to explain his close ties with distributors.

The company was winning market share from its competitors and its cash flow had grown 25 per cent for each of the last two years. It had borrowed heavily to finance its growth, and I realised I would have to do some careful analysis when I got back to London to make sure it could support this debt. Provided the results of that were positive, it looked to me as though Fairway would make a good investment.

After the presentation, Jack said, 'Wow! How do you like that company? I can't wait to get my hands on some of those bonds. What do you think, Paul?'

'Hmm, it does seem rather good,' I said.

Jack laughed. 'Rather good,' he said, mimicking an English accent, 'it's goddamn dynamite!'

'I'll see you at your office tomorrow,' I said, and left him.

Outside the room there was a woman taking names for the trip to Las Vegas the next afternoon. There were to be visits to three casinos. The high point was to be the newly opened Tahiti. I went up to her table, and added my name to the list. I still wasn't sure why Debbie had been killed. It could have something to do with Tremont Capital. Or it might have something to do with Piper. I was looking forward to seeing him. There was a lot more I wanted to find out about Irwin Piper.

The lunchtime speaker was a famous American chat-show host whom I had never heard of. I decided to skip lunch and find a nice spot by a pool to have a nap.

In addition to the main swimming-pool, there were a number of small pools dotted round the hotel grounds. There was one I had noticed earlier that was out of the way, on the edge of the hotel premises. It was in the middle of a Spanish-style courtyard, and looked like an excellent place to while away an hour or two.

There was no one by the pool, and I found a spot in the sun, lay down and closed my eyes.

I must have drifted off, because I was awakened by the gentle splash of someone diving into the pool. I opened my eyes and saw the long, lithe form of Cathy gracefully stroking through the water. She was an excellent swimmer, scarcely causing a ripple as she glided up and down the pool.

After a few minutes she hauled herself out of the pool and dried herself on the other side of the courtyard from me. I wasn't sure whether she had recognised me or not, since I was lying facedown on a sunbed. Out of one eye half closed in the sunlight, I watched her as she slowly rubbed her towel over first one long, slim golden brown leg, and then the other. As she stood up to dry her shoulders, I admired the gentle curve of her back, teasingly revealed by her swimming costume.

She lay down and closed her eyes. After five minutes or so, someone else entered the little courtyard. I recognised the balding head of Dick Waigel. A spare tyre of fat rolled over the elastic of his Bermuda shorts. I don't think he even noticed me, as his attention was immediately caught by the prone Cathy. He waddled over to her, squatted down beside her, and began to talk. I couldn't hear what was said, but I could see Cathy sit up and talk politely back.

Then I saw Waigel let his hand drop almost casually on to Cathy's thigh. She brushed it off immediately, but he replaced it more firmly, and began to move his other arm over her shoulders.

Without waiting to see Cathy's reaction, I leapt to my feet and ran round to the other side of the pool. I grabbed hold of one of Waigel's arms, and pulled him to his feet. Waigel was small, surprised and off balance. I made the most of my advantage by landing one clean blow straight on his chin. He went flying backwards into the swimming-pool.

He was momentarily unconscious, but as his head submerged under water he spluttered and came to. He gasped for breath and waded through the water to the opposite side of the pool from where I was standing. He hauled himself out, water and fat slopping on to the paving-stones. 'What the fuck did you do that for?' he screamed at me, his wet face red with anger. 'I was just talking to the bitch. You can't hit me like that and get away with it. You had better watch your ass! I'll trample all over you, Murray!'

He picked up his towel and stalked out of the courtyard, still muttering insults and threats. I just watched him go.

Cathy was sitting hunched up on the sunbed, her chin resting on her knees.

'Do you think Waigel is finally going to get the message that every time he makes a pass at you he is going to get hurt?' I said.

'I hope so,' she said, staring at a point on the ground just in front of her feet.

I sat next to her on the sunbed. Neither of us said anything. I could feel the anger seething within her slowly subside.

'I hate this company, and I hate the people who work for it,' Cathy muttered.

I didn't reply. I felt sorry for her, having to work for scum like Waigel, to be at his beck and call, to put up with his lechery. No wonder she hated it. I didn't know why she took it. She seemed a strong person. Why didn't she just tell them to shove it, and walk out? She just didn't like to give up, I supposed.