On the Edge

by Michael Ridpath

  Then he heard the voice. It was a voice he didn’t recognize, a man’s voice, deep, confident, happy. ‘I’m sorry we can’t come to the phone at the moment. But if you’d like to leave a message for Gavin or Nicky, please do so after the beep.’

  Gavin! Who the hell was Gavin?

  Calder threw the telephone at the wall.

  13

  Calder settled into his seat on the tube and opened the Financial Times. He still used the Underground, although many of his colleagues avoided it and took taxis or drove. At the early hour he travelled into work, there was never any problem getting a seat, even on the notorious Northern Line.

  He spotted an article on Italy. Apparently the Italian press were howling for the blood of Jean-Luc Martel, the hedge-fund manager who was destroying their country’s finances. With somewhat flawed reasoning, the newspapers were blaming him for the economic paralysis gripping the country. The Treasury reaffirmed its determination to see him off by encouraging local banks to support the government bond market. In a further leap of logic Guido Gallotti was saying that the only way to deal with speculators like these was for Italy to leave the euro. It looked as if people were finally listening to him. The DNP was moving ahead strongly in the polls with less than a week to go to the election.

  Calder read the article with interest, but he was glad of his decision to stay well clear of Italy until things had calmed down. There was no way to tell which way this one was going to jump.

  The train lurched into Camden Town and Calder turned to the Companies and Finance section. The front page grabbed his attention. There were rumours that the hidden losses on UEE’s long-term contracts could be even greater than the billion euros mentioned earlier. The credit-rating agencies were considering downgrading the company’s debt to junk status. He scoured the article for new facts, but couldn’t find any. It didn’t matter, he thought grimly. UEE’s bonds would still be trashed. He was grateful to Tarek for getting him to offload half his position, which he had managed to sell at only a small loss.

  Nils was waiting for him, fear written all over his pasty face. He had not experienced a loss like this before. ‘What do you think, Zero?’

  ‘I think we’re screwed. Any prices from the brokers yet?’

  ‘There’s a bid of forty-eight. But it’s only good for a million euros.’

  ‘What shall we do?’ Calder asked.

  ‘I think we should hold on,’ said Nils. ‘Even if there are bigger losses, UEE throws off so much cash I’m sure we’ll get paid out at par eventually.’

  ‘Sure?’

  Nils glanced down at the scribbled calculations in front of him.

  ‘Sure.’

  Calder closed his eyes. Nils might well be right. And if he was, they would earn a handsome profit on the fifty million bonds they had bought at prices in the low sixties. But it might take years, and they would have to go through a lot of pain first. And they might be wrong. Since the Enron debacle several years before, when one of the biggest energy companies in America had turned out to be little more than a pile of fictitious contracts and lots of debt, the risks of hidden losses had become clear. UEE was no Enron, but still…

  This was a bad trade. A really bad trade. Calder had made losses before, many times. But in each case he had taken a risk for all the right reasons. It was the nature of even good trades that you got them wrong sometimes. You took your losses and tried again.

  But this was different. This was stupid. Dumb. He had filled his boots with bonds in the hope that everything would turn out well, ignoring the chance that it wouldn’t. He deserved to lose money.

  ‘Zero?’

  He opened his eyes. Nils was looking at him expectantly.

  ‘We sell.’

  ‘But we’ll take a hit of at least eight million euros!’ Nils protested. ‘And I’m positive we’ll make it back if we hang on.’

  ‘This was a crap trade,’ said Calder. ‘And I don’t want to be staring at those bonds every day thinking what a moron I was to buy them. We were wrong. The eight million’s already gone. We cut our losses and start again.’

  ‘But–’

  ‘We sell.’

  Easy to say. Difficult to do. In the end, Calder was helped out by one of the most experienced bond salesmen at Bloomfield Weiss, Cash Callaghan. Cash persuaded one of his hedge-fund clients who specialized in ‘distressed’ bonds to buy the whole fifty million euros at a price of forty-five.

  Calder walked over to Cash’s desk to thank him. ‘You got me out of a hole on that one,’ he said. ‘A deep hole.’

  Cash was an overweight, fast-talking American, whose Bronx accent had barely softened during the fifteen years he had lived in London. He shook his head. ‘As long as you guys keep digging those holes and jumping in them, we’ll be right there to haul you out.’

  Calder wasn’t in the mood to fire another salvo in the age-old war between traders and salesmen. He smiled weakly and turned back to his desk.

  ‘Hey, Zero!’

  ‘Yes?’ Calder paused.

  Cash stood up and moved over to him, touching him on the arm. ‘I hear you’re getting crapped on by the assholes?’

  ‘You could say that,’ Calder replied cautiously.

  ‘Well, hang in there. A lot of people here have a lot of time for you. They like you. If you can stick it out, you’ll do real well. Believe me, I’ve seen traders come and go, and you’re one of the best.’

  These words jolted Calder. Cash Callaghan was not known for his lavish praise, except when he wanted something, and Calder couldn’t think what he could possibly want that Calder had it in his power to give.

  Cash noticed Calder’s confusion. ‘I’m serious. But if you do decide to quit, come talk to me. I know plenty of people out there who could use a good trader.’ He smiled, clapped Calder on the shoulder and returned to his seat, leaving him momentarily stunned.

  He recovered and returned to his own desk to tot up his losses, which came to slightly over eight million euros. It made a bad year worse. Two months in, and he was already six million dollars down. An unfamiliar pressure, a feeling he had never experienced before, gripped at his chest with slow, gentle, icy fingers. He remembered the time two years earlier, while he was still working in New York, when he had taken a huge position in the zero-coupon bonds of a major oil company with litigation problems. Zero-coupon bonds were bonds that paid no interest, and their prices were particularly volatile. At one point his unrealized losses on that trade had been up to twenty million dollars. But he had never wavered in his conviction that he was right, that he knew what he was doing, that he would make money in the end. And he had, thirty million dollars’ worth, enough to make his reputation at Bloomfield Weiss. But not this time. This time he wasn’t so sure. Not so sure at all.

  Was he losing it? Was the pressure of the last few weeks getting to him? Could he still trade?

  ‘Nice job getting out of that one, Zero.’ Calder looked up to see Tarek hovering by his desk.

  ‘Cash Callaghan bailed me out, thank God. I owe him one. I screwed up.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Tarek, patting him on the shoulder. ‘It’s history. Start thinking about tomorrow’s trade.’

  Calder smiled his thanks. But he didn’t find the confidence of Cash and Tarek in him as comforting as he should have.

  Carr-Jones drifted by. ‘Bad day?’ he said, his voice laden with false concern.

  ‘Very bad day.’

  ‘I spoke to Tessa today. She still hasn’t come into work. She’s not coping well.’

  ‘Poor girl.’

  ‘Have you made up your mind about the Jen problem?’

  Calder glared at Carr-Jones. ‘You mean now that you’ve bribed me and blackmailed me at the same time?’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Carr-Jones with a little puzzled frown.

  Calder knew that if he weighed the pros and cons rationally, just as he should have done in his abortive UEE trade, he would go along with Ca
rr-Jones. But he was not in the mood. He did not like being bribed and he did not like being blackmailed and he did not like Carr-Jones. The decision was easy, really.

  ‘Justin, I believe Jen has been treated appallingly. I will do everything I can to support her.’

  For a moment anger flashed across Carr-Jones’s normally cool expression, betraying itself in a tightening of the lips and a touch of pink in his cheeks.

  Then he got a grip on himself. ‘Mistake, Zero. Big mistake.’

  ‘We have decided to suspend both you and Tessa from work, pending this investigation.’

  Calder stared at Linda Stubbes as she said these words, and then at the other people in her office: Benton Davis, Tarek and Carr-Jones. Benton and Tarek avoided his eyes, Carr-Jones met his gaze with a small smile.

  ‘Is she saying I raped her?’ he asked.

  Linda took a deep breath. ‘No, she’s not. She’s very upset. She knows that it would be her word against yours and she’s ashamed of being so drunk, so she doesn’t want to go to the police.’

  ‘The reason she doesn’t want to go to the police is that I did nothing, and she knows that. If she can’t substantiate her accusation you should just ignore it.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that.’

  Calder glanced at Carr-Jones, who was watching the proceedings calmly. Of course it wasn’t as simple as that. ‘Why not?’ he asked.

  ‘This is the second claim of sexual harassment you have been involved in in a month,’ Linda replied. ‘We have to take it seriously.’

  Wait a minute,’ Calder protested. ‘Jen didn’t accuse me of harassing her.’

  ‘No. But there was the suggestion that you and she were carrying on some kind of intimate relationship – ‘

  ‘That’s just a figment of Justin’s imagination!’

  ‘Several other people have made the same comment.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘I can’t say. Their statements were taken in confidence.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Calder looked round the assembled group. Tarek studied his worry beads. ‘You know what’s going on here, don’t you, Linda?’

  ‘We have decided to launch an investigation – ’

  ‘Justin is setting me up,’ Calder said. ‘He wants me to withdraw my statement about how he insulted Jennifer Tan. And all of you are going along with it.’

  ‘Please, Alex, let’s not get personal about this,’ said Benton Davis in a deep authoritative voice. ‘Linda is only doing her job.’

  ‘And where’s Tessa?’ Calder went on. ‘How come she isn’t here to make these accusations? Jen had to sit here with Justin last time we went through this.’

  ‘Tessa says she’s still too upset to see you,’ said Linda.

  ‘And you let her get away with that?’

  ‘I don’t think you appreciate the seriousness of your situation,’ Benton Davis said. ‘Tessa could have gone to the police. You could be facing a rape charge.’

  Calder slumped back in his chair. It hadn’t taken long for Carr-Jones to come through with his threat. He was being stitched up and there was nothing he could do about it. Not for a rape charge – despite her claims, Tessa would never be able to prove that. But for a character assassination at the Employment Tribunal. Tessa would testify there that he had forced himself upon her. The other derivatives traders who just happened to be in the Midas Touch would back up part of her story. Others would testify that he and Jen were having an affair. Carr-Jones would say that his accusations against Calder were justified. Jen’s case relied on Calder’s credibility as a witness, credibility that had just been undermined. It would be Carr-Jones versus Calder and Carr-Jones would win.

  Benton Davis coughed uncomfortably. ‘You should leave immediately,’ he said.

  ‘Are you firing me?’

  ‘No,’ said Linda. ‘That’s not what I said at all. I will put this in writing so we can be quite clear about what is happening here.’

  ‘Surely none of you believes a word Tessa says,’ Calder said. ‘Tarek? Look me in the face and tell me you think I raped her.’

  For the first time Tarek raised his eyes to Calder. ‘No, I don’t believe you raped her. But these are serious allegations and the sooner they’re investigated, the sooner you’ll be cleared.’

  ‘They’re not serious. They’re a joke.’

  Benton Davis shook his head. We’re not laughing.’

  The taxi crept down the King’s Road towards Jen’s flat. She had been supposed to meet her friend Sandy for dinner at a little restaurant in Kensington, but once again Sandy had stood her up. Some crisis at the law firm she worked at. Except there was always a crisis at that firm. But Jen was patient with Sandy. She knew it wasn’t Sandy’s fault, her antisocial and unpredictable hours had made it virtually impossible for her to see anyone. And she was a good friend when they did manage to hook up.

  As Jen reached for her purse to pay the driver, she debated again whether to ring Calder. She hadn’t seen him since that evening in the bar when she had cold-shouldered him. She was beginning to regret that. He had given her an idea, an idea that looked as if it was about to bear fruit: for the first time in several weeks the immediate future was beginning to look brighter than the immediate past. Calder had stuck his neck out for her, behaved like a decent human being in an institution which seemed to be totally lacking in them. And it would be good to have an ally, someone she could trust.

  She pulled out her phone and switched it on.

  As it searched for a signal, she hesitated. Despite his boldness, despite his willingness to take risks, Calder was a Bloomfield Weiss man through and through. He was loyal, at a time when loyalty was as obsolete as the telex machine. A couple of months ago she had admired him for it. Now she thought he was just dumb.

  The cab pulled up at the corner a few yards from the entrance to her building. She climbed out and paid the driver. As he pulled away, she was jolted by a blow from one side, she lost her balance and fell over, dropping her phone, her bag and her open purse, spilling coins in all directions.

  ‘Oh, madam, I am so sorry. How clumsy of me. Are you all right?’ It was a man’s voice, soft, friendly, with a foreign accent. ‘Are you hurt? Here, let me help you.’

  A middle-aged man with brushed-back dark hair, a moustache and kind brown eyes took hold of one arm and helped her to her feet.

  ‘Uh, I’m OK, I guess,’ she said. Her initial instinct to yell at him was dispelled by his embarrassed smile.

  ‘I was running to catch that bus, I did not see you,’ the man went on. ‘I left my glasses at my hotel. Are you sure you are not hurt?’

  The man’s effusiveness was a little too much. ‘No, I’m fine, thank you,’ Jen said curtly as she gathered up her bag, her purse and the loose change.

  The man went down on his hands and knees to help her. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and hurried off, leaving the man in embarrassed confusion behind her. She passed Mrs Pinney in the entrance to her building, exchanged scowls, and took the lift up to the sixth floor. She unlocked her door and entered the flat, taking off her coat as she did so. She stared at the telephone in the living room.

  Should she call Calder?

  What the hell. She checked her watch – nine thirty, he’d definitely be home from work by now – looked up his home number and dialled it.

  No answer, just the machine.

  ‘Er, Zero, it’s me. Jen.’ Suddenly she got cold feet. Maybe it was lucky he hadn’t answered. Maybe she shouldn’t talk to him. ‘Er…’ Silence. ‘That’s OK. It’s nothing. Bye.’

  She put down the receiver, thinking how stupid she must have sounded. Never mind. If he called back, she wouldn’t answer, she’d let her own machine screen him out. If only there was a way to erase messages on other people’s machines.

  Her phone! Where the hell was her cell phone!

  She grabbed her bag and opened it. Not there. It must have fallen on to the sidewalk and bounced under a car, or something. Unless the man who bu
mped into her had it. Come to think of it, all that seemed a bit suspicious. But he was such a nice man, respectable, not her idea of a regular mugger or pickpocket. Except she didn’t know what a regular pickpocket looked like.

  There was a tap on her door. She hesitated, sliding the chain into its latch before opening it. There was the man. And in his hand was her phone!

  Of course he wasn’t a pickpocket. It was good of him to follow her all the way up to her flat with it. Most people would either have ripped off the phone or left it there.

  She smiled broadly.

  ‘I’m so sorry, madam. I made you drop this.’

  ‘That’s OK. Thank you for bringing it back.’

  ‘Not at all. It was the least I could do.’

  There she was on one side of the door. There he was on the other. With the chain hooked, the door would only open a fraction, not quite enough for him to squeeze the phone through. The man smiled and shrugged.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Jen, unhooking the chain and opening the door wider.

  The man handed her the phone, formally, with the tiniest of bows. It was sort of cute the way he did that, Jen thought. As she took the device from him, she noticed that he was wearing black leather gloves. She turned to put it on the little oak table in her entryway, the table she used for dumping the mail, leaving keys, that kind of thing. The trouble was, there was no space for it: The table was piled high with junk, unopened bills, a DVD overdue from the rental store, some tired lilies shedding their orange pollen left and right, a blown light bulb that she’d put out to remind herself to replace. There was also a photograph of her parents. It was her favourite picture of them: she had taken it on the day of her graduation from college, the love and pride they felt for the photographer radiating from their smiles.

  The door shut behind her.

  14

  The hot water drummed on to his shoulders as he scrubbed himself vigorously. Calder was angry. And as the day had progressed, he just felt angrier. The shower wasn’t helping.

  He could not believe that Justin Carr-Jones had set him up so blatantly and got away with it. Calder had always thought that, provided he worked hard and made money, he would be treated decently at Bloomfield Weiss. And in his experience that had been the case. Until Carr-Jones had appeared on the scene.