Free To Trade

'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