crossing the line for my bronze.
My mother had never come to terms with my ambitions. Whilst my father was 'away', she had wanted my sister to marry a local farmer, and me to go to agricultural college so that I could look after the farm. My sister had obliged her, but I had not. After the accident, I could not face farming. But, in order to make her world habitable, my mother had decided that I was studying at an agricultural college in London. At first I had tried to contradict her, but she hadn't listened, so I gave up. She had been proud of my achievements on the track, but worried in case they were interfering with my studies.
'It's a lovely afternoon,' I said, to try to change the subject. 'Let's go for a walk.'
We left the cottage and struck up the hillside. My mother was a regular walker and we soon made it to the saddle between our valley and the next. We looked down on to Helmby Hall, an austere mansion built at the beginning of the twentieth century by an earlier Lord Mablethorpe with the profits from his textile milling interests.
My mother paused for breath. 'Oh, I didn't tell you, did I? Lord Mablethorpe died last month. A stroke. Your father will be sad when he finds out.'
'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,' I said.
'So am I,' she said. 'He was always very good to me. And to lots of people in the village.'
'Does that mean his moronic son has taken over Helmby Hall?'
'Paul, really. He's not daft. He's a charming young gentleman. He's clever too. He works in a merchant bank in London, I believe. I hear he is still going to spend most of his time down there. He'll just come up here at weekends, like.'
'Well, the less he has to do with Barthwaite, the better,' I said. 'Has Mrs Kirby met him yet? I wonder what she thinks of him,' I asked my mother innocently.
My mother laughed. 'I wouldn't put even that past her,' she said.
We got back to the cottage at about seven, tired but contented with each other's company.
Then, just as I was getting in the car for the drive home, she said, 'Now then, make sure you study hard, dear. Your father told me before he left that he was sure you would make a good farmer, and I am sure you can prove him right.'
I drove home as I often drove home after visits to my mother, sad and angry at the unfairness of life and death.
I was sitting at my desk early on Monday morning when Rob arrived, a huge grin on his face. I knew that grin of old. He was in love again, and things were going well.
'OK, what happened?'
He was bursting to tell me. 'Well, I rang Cathy yesterday and persuaded her to come out with me. She made all sorts of excuses, but I wasn't going to let her get away with any of them. She finally gave in and we went to a film she said she had wanted to see for years. It was some French rubbish by Truffaut. I thought it was extremely boring and lost all track of what was going on, but she was glued to the screen. Afterwards we had dinner. We talked for hours. She really seems to understand me in a way no other girl ever has.'
Or at least not since Claire last month and Sophie three months ago, I thought a little cruelly. Rob could get quite carried away when he poured his heart out to girls. The funny thing was, often they would get carried away too. But I wouldn't have put Cathy down as a push-over for Rob's technique.
'So what happened?' I asked.
'Nothing,' Rob smiled. 'She's a nice girl. She doesn't go in for that sort of thing on a first date. But I'm seeing her on Saturday. I'm going to take her sailing.'
'Good luck,' I said. This was shaping up to be like Rob's other affairs. He was at the pedestal-building stage, I thought. You had to hand it to him, though. He seemed capable of cracking even the toughest nut.
The light flashed on my phone board. It was Cash.
'I got a couple of things,' he began. 'First, are you coming to our conference?'
'Yes, I'd love to come. Thank you very much,' I said.
'Good,' Cash said. 'And I promise I will set up a meeting with Irwin Piper when he is over. Now, I have another suggestion. Would you like to come to Henley as a guest of Bloomfield Weiss? The firm has a tent every year, and I hear it's a blast. Cathy and I will be there. Bring someone from the office if you like.'
My heart sank. I had no interest in rowing. And I had no interest in this kind of corporate entertainment. It would involve lots of drinking with a crowd of people I didn't know, and didn't want to know. The only good thing was no one would be paying any attention to the rowing. I wanted to say no, but it was always difficult to say no to Cash.
'Thank you very much, I'll have to check whether I am doing anything that weekend. I'll let you know.'
'OK. Give me a call.'
I hung up. Effusive American meets polite Englishman, and neither is comfortable with the result, I thought, feeling slightly guilty.
'What's up?' asked Rob.
'I've been invited to Henley by Bloomfield Weiss, and I feel bad about saying no.'
Rob perked up. 'Bloomfield Weiss, eh? Will Cathy be there?'
'Yes,' I said.
'Well, I think you should go. And I think you should take me with you.'
I protested, but it was useless. The persuasive powers of Rob and Cash combined were too much for me. I rang Cash back to say I would be delighted to come, and I would bring Rob. Cash sounded pleased.
I was sitting at my desk watching the market struggle through the summer doldrums, ably assisted by Debbie. I was bored and irritated. Debbie seemed quite happy with the situation. I watched her work her way through the
There were one or two bonds with NV after their name. That reminded me.
'Debbie.'
'Not now, can't you see I'm busy,' she said.
'Did you check the Netherlands Antilles issues? Do we have to worry about those changes to the tax treaty?'
Debbie put down her paper. 'Amazingly enough, I did.' She pointed to a pile of prospectuses. 'I've checked over all our portfolios, and we are all right. None of our bonds is affected. The only Netherlands Antilles bonds we hold are trading below a hundred, so we will make money if the issuer calls them at par.'
'That's a relief. Well done. Thanks very much for doing all that,' I said.
'Hang on a moment. We may be OK on the tax legislation, but I have stumbled across one bond that smells fishy, very fishy indeed.'
'Go on.'
'It's this one.'
She put a bond prospectus down on to the desk in front of me. I picked it up and looked at it. Written on the cover in bold was 'Tremont Capital NV secured 8 per cent notes maturing 15 June 2001', and underneath in slightly smaller type 'guaranteed by Honshu Bank Ltd'. Beneath that was 'Lead Manager Bloomfield Weiss'.
'Well, what's wrong with this?' I asked.
'It's difficult to say exactly,' Debbie began. Then she sat up bolt upright in her chair. 'Christ! Did you see that?'
'What?' I said.
'On Reuters.' She read from the screen in front of her,' 'Gypsum Company of America announces agreed offer from DGB…' Who the hell are DGB?'
'It's a German cement company, I think,' I said. 'We were right. There was something going on.'
The lines began to flash. I picked one up. It was David Barratt.
'Did you see DGB has bid for Gypsum?'
'Yes,' I said. 'Reuters suggests it's a friendly. Any reason why the bid shouldn't go through?'
'I don't think so,' said David. 'DGB doesn't have any US operations, so there won't be any anti-trust problems.'
