by Gian Bordin
Yes, and unexpected, but then I may have saved his neck — not something I’m going to mention to Mr. Levy, so I just nod and let him continue.
"However, reinstating you simply into the position you held before would be a waste of your talents and a missed opportunity for Lewis Stockbrokers. Mr. Garland has done you a great injustice, but, as his job reviews show, even he recognized your potential, not only for your skillful and efficient trading and valuable knowledge of several important continental languages, but also for your savvy and smooth ability to pull off large deals. The trading record shows that you are by far the most prolific stockbroker of the London branch. Both senior stockbrokers here confirmed that in spite of the negativity displayed toward you by some of the junior staff, you never lost your cool and showed a remarkable maturity for someone of such a young age. And from how you handled this unfortunate affair and the initiative you showed, I also think that you have great leadership potential. After consultation with the New York office, I have been authorized to offer you the position of manager of this branch."
The shock hits me unprepared. So that explains the courtesy of the staff. They must have heard that I will be offered this position and don’t want to be on the wrong foot with their new boss.
"I see you are surprised —"
"Surprised is hardly the word for it, sir. Overwhelmed fits better."
"Miss Walker, I have not taken this decision lightly. I have checked and consulted widely. I realize that you may not have the years of experience that are usually a prerequisite for such a position, but it is clear that you are quick, highly intelligent, and from what I hear, able to assess when you need help and advice and not afraid to ask for it, nor it seems does success make you overconfident or go to your head. So I’m confident that if you need help, you will consult with the appropriate person at head office. When do you expect that you will be able to take up your new position?"
What an undreamed of opportunity! Manager of the London branch, getting my share of the commissions on all transactions executed by all stockbrokers, not just my own! I must admit that for a moment I’m tempted to accept, and then sanity returns.
"Mr. Levy, I feel greatly honored by the trust and belief in me conveyed by this unique offer, but I don’t think that I should accept for a number of reasons. I would go from stockbroker to manager, jumping ahead of two loyal senior members of the London branch with many more years of experience. It would cause bad blood —"
"I’ve considered that aspect carefully. I even spoke to Bob Kent and Lucas Waszinsky. The latter is close to retirement. He told me he is not interested in the position and fully supports your choice. Bob Kent was rather taken aback, but I don’t think because of being bypassed — Fred Garland was also appointed ahead of him — but by your young age. However, on further probing he could not raise a single objection as to your suitability."
"Again, I feel honored by their trust in me. However, the second reason why I think it would be a mistake to make me manager is the resentment that this would create among the junior staff of which I was part just three weeks ago —"
"The ones that have shown a lot of negativity toward you?"
"Yes. You know yourself that a manager has to rely on the willing support and commitment of the staff —"
"As manager you have the authority to fire any staff member who fails to give you that support."
"Firing a staff member is not something to be taken lightly. It may have serious effects on staff morale. The mistaken perception is that authority over subordinates is vested in the position of a superior, but in reality it is the subordinates who grant authority to the superior, and there are many subtle ways of withholding that other than straight disobedience. I’m afraid that some of the eight junior staff with whom I shared the trading room would find ways to make life difficult for me. Their acts would not be of a nature that would warrant sacking them. This would just be a constant irritant that would divert my energy away from where it should be, namely managing the branch successfully and making it grow."
"What you tell me convinces me even more that you are the right person. I would have been surprised, to be quite frank, if you had jumped at the offer, but the fact that you reflect on it so carefully and perceptively reinforces my wish that you accept."
"Thank you, sir, you’re kind. There is one further reason and it is from my point of view the most important one. I was very enthusiastic when I accepted the job as stockbroker. I found it a challenge that I wanted to conquer —"
"And you did admiringly well."
"However, if I may speak frankly, as time went on, the hothouse pressure atmosphere of the business with its aggressive culture of gamesmanship made me reflect on whether I wanted to be part of this in the long run. I also became somewhat disillusioned that our activity does not add any productive value to wealth. Most trading is to help speculators play the market. I have no objection to people playing lucrative games, but I don’t necessarily wish to be one who facilitates that. Furthermore, I’ve also come to realize that the intrinsic value of a firm does not change by a change in the value of its shares. Although in theory, stock exchanges may be efficient vehicles to produce a global market equilibrium of all shares, in practice they don’t even get close to that. The short-run behavior of stock prices is irrational, feeding on rumors, neuroses of the masses, and speculators fleecing naive investors. Given my disillusionment with stock trading, accepting your offer would be unfair to Lewis."
"I’m regret you see it that way. I’ve always seen our role as essential for the smooth functioning of the market. But I realize that it takes a special person to cope with the constant stress of the stock market."
Should I point out that I cope well with the pressure and stress of the job? That in fact I thrive and do best when under pressure, that my disenchantment with the profession and its environment is of a substantive nature, but decide not to bother. He is unlikely to hear it, seeing it as excuses for not being capable to cope under such pressure.
"Won’t you reconsider your position?" he continues, seemingly baffled. My rejection of what he sees as a fabulous and unique offer takes him as much by surprise as the offer took me. "I would be willing to offer you a senior position if you don’t feel ready at this stage in your career to take on the role of branch manager."
"Thank you, sir, but the Sanvino affair has made me realize that I do no longer enjoy working in this profession. So I shall not return to Lewis Stockbrokers."
The smile that has hovered on his face for most of the discussion vanishes for good. "Is this really your last word, Miss Walker?"
"Yes, Mr. Levy, it is."
"I cannot express how disappointed I am. I really had been looking forward to working with you, but I also appreciate your frankness and since you have been so frank with me, what is your opinion about appointing Bob Kent to the managing position?"
"I guess he would do an adequate job and be fair to the employees, but he lacks vision and drive. Bringing in new blood from outside would seem a better option. A new person won’t be burdened by the current culture of the branch."
"Which I perceive you think is not healthy. There you see that my assessment of your managing potential is spot on. I’m really sorry that you are not willing to reconsider." He pauses, eyeing me expectantly for several seconds. When I remain silent, he sighs and continues: "So the only aspect left for me to do is to negotiate a fair departure settlement with you." Again he pauses. "The usual period of notice is one month. The records show that you have accumulated leave of three weeks. However, to be fair to you and do some reparation for what happened, we will also make up for the commission income on which you missed out, based on your commission income during this year. Does that sound fair to you, Miss Walker?"
"Yes, sir, thank you."
"I’ll type that agreement, and once you’ve signed it, the funds will be deposited in your bank account. I also see that Lewis holds quite a nice portfolio of shares for
you. What are your instructions on that?"
"I’ll take possession of them when I return the signed agreement. That is the simplest."
"And what are you going to do with yourself now, if I may ask?"
"I’ve made no decision on that yet. There are several things that require my attention for the coming weeks."
"Miss Walker, my offer for a senior stockbroker position remains open, should you decide to change your mind."
The interview is over. It still feels unreal. Did I make the right decision? Part of me tells me that I’m crazy to turn down such a unique opportunity, while another part feels like I’ve escaped a horrible trap.
When I get back into the trading room, silence falls and all eyes turn again on me. It is Long who musters the courage to ask: "Miss Walker, are you our new boss now?"
"No, Edward, there is no need to fret. I’ve turned the position down. In fact, I’ve resigned from Lewis."
"She’s crazy," someone mutters. It is Grant Hanson’s voice.
"Maybe, Grant, but look at it from your personal point of view. The Ventura account is safe with you, although I won’t be surprised if Carvaggio switches brokers."
"But why did you resign?" questions Long.
"Because the money is no compensation for the sick culture that rules stockbrokers. Can you understand that, Edward?"
He averts his eyes and murmured: "Sorry, Miss Walker, I misjudged you. I thought you were a climber."
"It’s all right, Edward. I think we’ve settled our differences. Goodbye to you all."
With that I walk out. While waiting for the lift, I hear Grant’s loud voice. "Good riddance," answered by another voice I think is Long’s: "But she is a much better broker than you."
I make a detour via the hotel to pick up my sports bag. In the underground on my way home, I make a few quick calculations about my financial position: about 320,000 pounds in shares, even at the current slump in prices, 60,000 in commissions which Garland withheld from being paid out, and another 30,000 plus in compensation for lost earnings promised by Levy. I can afford to remain unemployed for a while longer.
Wednesday, 12:40 p.m.
Back home, I call my father. I arm myself to receive a severe dressing down for refusing the offer as branch manager. He doesn’t disappoint me.
"Yes, dad, I know I may be throwing away a unique opportunity, but I simply couldn’t see myself spending years and years in a career that has lost its challenge —"
"But being in charge of your own branch, that is a tremendous challenge at a young age like yours."
"True, but it wouldn’t have satisfied me. I wouldn’t have enjoyed it. Besides, you know yourself what kind of foul culture that outfit breeds. No, dad, I wouldn’t be happy there. I want a career where I can have a family, where I can devote ample time to the upbringing of my children and not be burned out every day when coming home from work."
"Maybe you are right," he replies after a pause. "Anyway, it’s your choice. I shouldn’t interfere. Are you serious about this Italian chef?"
"Yes, I am and so I feel is he, but he has to get a divorce first —"
"He is already married? You didn’t tell me. That’s no good."
"Yes, he’s married. He has a four-year-old daughter. His wife ran away with another guy shortly after the birth of the girl. So for all intents and purposes the marriage ended four years ago." I don’t think there is a need to say more at this time.
"All right, it’s not for me to judge. He seems to be a nice fellow."
"Dad, another thing … are you willing to meet Carlo, reconnect with him as a father?"
He takes a moment to answer. "All right, at your place or on neutral ground."
"No, at your place for a meal with the family. Then both of you will have to behave in front of the girls."
"You have it all figured out. I’ll have to ask Lucy."
"You do, but I’m certain she will agree. You see, the girls have already taken a liking for their long lost brother."
Wednesday, 6:30 p.m.
Fausto arrives exactly on time. I guess he must have waited in the parking area. Carlo and I are sitting at the bar. Silvio is in the kitchen, giving last minute instructions. When I see Fausto enter, I go to meet him partway. We shake hands and then I surprise him with the traditional brushing of cheeks. He seems taken aback by it, but recovers fast, a pleased smile on his face.
"Cecilia, I hardly recognize you all dressed up. Sei stupenda."
I’m wearing the same outfit as for the dinner with Silvio in my apartment, except that I also wear underwear. My high heals make me as tall as Fausto.
"Thank you Fausto. Come, join us at the bar. Silvio will be with us shortly."
Carlo and Fausto exchange greetings.
"What would you like to drink?" I ask.
"What are you drinking?"
"Barbaresco."
"The real thing or a generic?"
"Silvio only serves the real thing."
"Then I take the same."
Ettore pours him a glass. Fausto takes a sip. "That is genuine. Who would have thought I had to come to London to taste it? It’s difficult to get in Milan."
A while later, Silvio joins us, and I introduce the two. Both scrutinize each other, Silvio somewhat wary, Fausto full of curiosity, but with an approving smile. "Signore, you are a most fortunate man to have gained Cecilia’s favor. I admit I envy you. There are not many women like her."
"Please, call me Silvio, and I fully agree. She is a rare pearl."
"You two getting serious?" interjects Carlo.
"Yes." Silvio and I answer simultaneously and then we break into a smile.
"So Fausto, has Garland transferred the money?"
"Yes, he has, and il capo wants you to invest it for him."
"Unfortunately, Fausto, I’m no longer employed by Lewis Stockbrokers."
"But il capo told me that he asked the New York boss to put you again in charge of his account."
"Yes, the New York boss offered me Garland’s position, but I turned him down and resigned. I’m looking for a new challenge, one that I will enjoy."
"Il capo won’t like this."
"So?" I say, shrugging my shoulders.
"Does that new challenge by chance also involve me?" interjects Silvio.
I smile. "I hope so."
"I ask because Carlo helped me search the Internet for restaurants for sale or rent in Northern Italy, and there are several that look promising. There are even two in Venice, although the asking prices there, even without ownership of the premises, are outrageous — impossible to make a profit or even survive. Of the others, one is in the mountains, in Friuli, reasonably priced."
"What about the one on Lago di Lugano, in Morcote?" interjects Carlo.
"It’s a hotel, not just a restaurant and way out of my price range."
"What’s the asking price?" I question.
"One point six million Swiss francs. That’s over a million euros."
I make some quick calculation. My funds amount to about 800,000 Swiss francs. If Silvio has another two hundred thousand, that should be enough to support a mortgage of seven to eight hundred thousand Swiss francs. "I wouldn’t rule that out off hand. I could manage the hotel part and you can make the restaurant famous. Didn’t you say your first preference is at one of the lakes? So it’s in Switzerland, rather than Italy, and you can see Italy from Morcote." I wink. "Morcote is a gem, and the mountains to the north and Milan to the south, both only an hour away. Let’s explore it fully tomorrow."
"But we would need at least eight hundred thousand Swiss francs for that."
"I think we should be able to manage that."
"Are you serious? Don’t raise my hopes in vain, Ceci."
"I’m serious, Silvio." I turn to Fausto. "What are you grinning about?"
"Ceci, your nick name." He laughs. "That’s the last thing I would have expected."
"Carlo called me that when he started talking and couldn
’t manage Cecilia, and I like it."
"Yes, it has an amusing ring to it." He chuckles again. "Silvio, this wine is a dream." He holds up his empty glass. Silvio signals to Ettore for a refill. "If the food is a good as the wine and the company, I will enjoy myself thoroughly tonight."
"I can promise you that it will be better than anything you’ve tasted in London," I preempt Silvio.
"And you deprived me of that until today. Shame on you, Cecilia."
"I first had to establish that you deserved it."
"And I did?"
"Yes, Fausto, you proved yourself."
"It was an experience I will fondly remember to my old age."
"Then make sure you reach an old age."
He shrugs his shoulders and takes another sip of the wine. "But if you run a hotel restaurant in Morcote, I will have the pleasure of seeing you again. I will be one of your faithful clients and I’ll bring you lots of business."
Yes, and most will be mafiosi. "Fausto, you will always be welcome, but don’t bring the likes of Massimo. I’m not even sure I want to meet Carvaggio face to face."
"You know, Cecilia, one of the features I so like about you is that you say it straight. No beating about the bush. With you, if one is willing to listen, one always knows where one stands." After a pause, he adds, grinning: "And if one doesn’t listen it can become quite painful, as I can attest from personal experience."
I wag a finger at him.
"People, let’s now move to our table," suggests Silvio, putting a hand on my shoulder and directing me toward a table at the back of the restaurant.
EPILOGUE: Monday, 8th September, 8:20 p.m.
I’m sitting at my desk on the fourth level of the Hotel Cecilia in Morcote, looking across Lago di Lugano toward the tree-clad ridge rising sharply from the opposite shore. Hardly a ripple disturbs the surface of the dark green water. To the southwest, the Italian town of Porto Ceresio — the black silhouette of a church tower contrasts sharply against the last shimmer of dusk. From time to time, the muffled noise of a car passing by on the street below breaks the serene silence of the evening.