their lips. Even Jeff rubbed his hands in anticipation. He had his own reason to be happy. Overnight the dollar had finally done what his economic model said it should.
She was back in quarter of an hour clutching an ice-bucket in which nestled a bottle of champagne. I had no idea where she had got it from at that time of the morning. Glasses and orange juice were fetched from the fridge, and within a couple of minutes we were all toasting the Gypsum Company of America.
'We should have this every morning,' said Rob, staring appreciatively at the bubbles rising in his glass.
'Our lord and master would have a fit,' said Gordon.
'No chance,' said Debbie. 'I can't imagine him actually having a fit about anything. It would be more a cold stare and a quick lecture. 'De Jong & Co. prides itself on its professionalism, and you, Robert, are not acting in a professional manner,'' she said in a prim Scottish accent, which somehow managed to capture the essence of a typical Hamilton put-down.
Rob laughed. 'Well you had better get rid of that,' he said, pointing to the empty magnum on Debbie's desk.
'Oh, he won't be in till lunchtime,' Debbie said.
'Oh won't I now?' said a quiet measured voice from the door of the trading room. Instantly the room was silent. Jeff turned to his sheets of computer print-outs and Rob, Gordon and Karen all melted back to their desks. It was as though the Upper Fifth had been caught misbehaving by the headmaster.
This was ridiculous. We weren't schoolchildren and Hamilton was not a headmaster.
After a long silence, I raised my glass to Hamilton. 'Welcome back. Cheers.'
Hamilton just looked at me.
Emboldened by my greeting, Debbie approached Hamilton with the bottle and a glass. 'Won't you have one?' she asked.
Hamilton's gaze turned to her. He ignored her offer. 'What are you celebrating?' he asked.
'I have just made a killing!' said Debbie, her enthusiasm undimmed.
'That's good to hear,' said Hamilton. 'What was the trade?'
Debbie laughed. 'Oh no, it's not De Jong that made the killing, it's me. I bought some shares yesterday and they are up 50 per cent today.'
Hamilton stared at Debbie for a few seconds. Then he said in a quiet, reasonable voice, showing no trace of anger, 'Just let me put down my things and let's go into a conference room.'
Debbie shrugged, put down her glass and followed him to his desk, and then out of the trading room.
'Whew,' said Rob, 'I wouldn't like to be in there.'
Ten minutes later Debbie came out. She stared at a fixed point on her desk and walked straight towards it, looking neither left nor right. Her cheeks were slightly reddened. Her mouth was clenched firmly together. There was no sign of tears, but she looked afraid that if she relaxed one muscle in her face, they would break out. She sat down, stared at her screen and began to tap bond yields furiously into her calculator.
Hamilton entered the room and walked through the silence over to his own desk. He took some papers off the pile that was his in-tray and began to read. The tension was only broken by Rob, who answered a call from a broker with an elaborate display of cheerfulness.
After half an hour or so, Hamilton came over to my desk and sat in a chair beside it. Debbie studiously ignored him, punching numbers into her calculator. Although I had worked with Hamilton for six months, I always felt nervous talking to him. It was difficult to have a casual conversation; he seemed to listen to everything I said so carefully that I was always scared of saying something foolish or banal.
He just sat there leafing through the position sheets which outlined all the trades we had done whilst he had been away.
'You were back a little earlier than we expected,' I said, to break the silence.
Hamilton smiled slightly, 'Yes, I got an earlier flight.'
'How was the trip?'
'Good. Very good. De Jong is beginning to build a bit of a name for itself in Japan. There is one insurance company, Fuji Life, that I have high hopes for. They sound as though they might give us some money to manage, and if they do, it will be big.'
'Great.' It was good news. A fund management firm like De Jong is only as good as the size of funds it manages. A big new investor could really put us on the map.
'How have you been doing here?' Hamilton asked, running his finger down the position sheets.
'Well, we had some fun with a new issue, as you know.'
'Ah, yes. How is the Sweden doing?' he asked.
'Moving up slowly but surely,' I said, trying to keep the pride out of my voice.
'Well, don't be too quick to sell it, it has got a long way further to go.'
'OK.'
'And watch out for any other new issues. After the success of the Sweden, people will be looking to buy anything as long as it is at a halfway-decent price. Now, what are these two million Gypsum of Americas I see we have bought? I have been trying to sell our position for over a year.'
I paused for a moment, disappointed and a little angry. No 'Well done'. Not even a smile. I realised I had been looking forward to Hamilton's return and the approval I felt I deserved. More fool me. In Hamilton's world, taking risks and getting it right were taken for granted.
Trying to keep the indignation out of my voice, I described Cash's excited bid for our bonds, and my decision not to sell. I then told Hamilton why I had decided to buy some more.
'Hmm,' said Hamilton. 'And where are they trading now?'
'They are still bid at the price I bought them, 82,' I said. 'But the stock is up to eleven and a quarter dollars. The bonds should follow soon.'
'Yes, Debbie told me you had bought some stock as well, for your own account.' Hamilton looked hard at me. 'Be very careful, Paul. You won't be lucky all the time. And when you do get unlucky, make sure it doesn't wipe you out.'
I could feel my face getting hot. I had made good money on the Swedish issue and it looked very much like I was going to make some more on the Gypsums. I deserved some encouragement, for God's sake! Of all people, Hamilton was the last person to criticise anyone for taking risks.
'Thank you,' I said. 'I'll remember that.'
'Good,' said Hamilton. 'Now, have you got anything interesting coming up this week?'
'Actually, yes,' I answered. 'Cash is coming in this afternoon with his sidekick, to try to sell us a new deal.'
'Not another one,' said Hamilton. 'I would have thought one would have been quite enough for one week.'
'No this is different. It's a junk bond issue. It's for the Tahiti, a new hotel in Las Vegas. It's a risky deal, since almost the whole cost of the construction of the casino has been financed with debt. But it yields 14 per cent.'
'Now, that is a lot. I hope we can live with the risk. This is where you earn your crust.'
I sincerely hoped so. Junk bonds, or 'high yield bonds' as they are sometimes more politely called, can be very profitable. They can also be very dangerous. The name 'high yield' comes from the high interest coupon that these bonds pay. The name 'junk' comes from the high risk that they represent. They are usually issued by companies burdened with high levels of debt. If everything goes well, then everyone is happy; the investors in the junk bonds get their high coupon, and the owners of the company make a fortune out of an often small initial investment. If everything does not go well, then the company is unable to earn enough cash to meet its interest bills and it goes bankrupt, leaving its junk bondholders and its owners with paper fit only for the waste-basket. The secret to investing successfully is picking those companies that will survive. This was where my experience as a credit analyst came in. Hamilton wanted to begin buying junk bonds, and he had specifically hired someone with credit skills to help him do it. I was looking forward to my first opportunity to display those skills, although I knew nothing about casinos, and was more than a little suspicious of Bloomfield Weiss's new deal.
'Well, let me know how it goes,' Hamilton said. With that, he stood up and went back to his own desk.
Debbie muttered something that sounded very much like 'Bastard!'.
'What was that?' I asked.
She looked up just for a second, her face still clenched with the effort of keeping control.
'Nothing,' she said and bent over her calculator. The anger radiated from her desk.
I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to twelve.
