‘I demand to listen to them.’
‘No.’
Ian was hiding something. Chris was now certain of that.
‘Put me on to Larry Stewart,’ Chris said. He wasn’t exactly sure how the reporting lines worked at Bloomfield Weiss, but he knew Larry would be somewhere up above Ian.
‘Do you think he’d listen to you?’ said Ian, with something close to a sneer.
For a moment, Chris’s confidence nearly deserted him. Ian knew Chris’s reputation. If it was his word against Chris’s at Bloomfield Weiss, Ian was pretty confident that his would be believed. Then Chris pulled himself together. Larry knew Chris had done nothing wrong three years before. Chris was willing to gamble that Larry had at least a scrap of humanity left in him somewhere.
‘Yes, Ian. I think Larry would listen to me.’
There was silence at the other end of the phone as Ian tried to decide what to do. Chris had got him!
‘Chris, I really don’t think it would be a good idea for you to listen to those tapes.’
‘Put me through to Larry, or I’ll hang up and dial him direct.’
‘I can explain.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Not here,’ said Ian in a whisper. ‘Let’s talk about it later. Out of the office.’
‘Let’s talk about it now.’
Chris could hear Ian exhaling down the phone. ‘OK. There’s a café at the bottom end of Liverpool Street. Ponti’s. I’ll meet you there in half an hour?’
‘See you there,’ said Chris.
It took Chris twenty minutes to get there, but Ian was already waiting. The ten years since the programme showed. Lines had begun to etch his face, in particular a frown crease between his eyebrows. He was still trim; in fact, he exercised at the gym three times a week. His suits were tailor-made, his shirts hand-made, his ties the latest fashion from the latest fashionable house. His hair was cut rakishly and frequently. He looked older than his thirty-three years, and more experienced. The only clue that belied the veneer of elegant self-confidence was his fingernails, which were still bitten down to the quick.
Chris fetched a black coffee and joined him. ‘Well?’
Ian played with the froth on his cappuccino with a spoon. He stirred the bubbly cream for several moments before replying. Finally, he looked up, straight at Chris.
‘Lenka and I were seeing each other,’ he said simply. ‘That’s why I don’t want you to hear the tape.’
‘Seeing each other? What, sleeping together?’
‘Call it what you like. We were doing it.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Chris.
Ian shrugged.
‘But why would Lenka...?’
Ian frowned. ‘Come on Chris. There are a lot of women who don’t find me that unattractive.’
‘Yes, but Lenka?’
‘You know I always liked her. Turns out she liked me too.’
‘No.’
‘Stop saying that!’ snapped Ian. ‘She and I were seeing each other, OK? Now we’re not, because she’s dead. Do you understand that?’
‘Sorry,’ said Chris. ‘How long had this been going on for?’
‘Not long. Remember we had that European High Yield Conference in Barcelona last month? We both got a bit drunk. That’s when it started.’
‘Was it serious?’
‘Not really. But it wasn’t totally meaningless either. It was just fun. I knew there was no point in getting serious with Lenka.’
‘No,’ said Chris. Lenka never got serious with anyone. He tried to remember any clue that Lenka had given that she and Ian had had a relationship. Nothing. Ian had been phoning her more frequently over recent weeks, but Chris had always assumed that was the flow of business. It had obviously been something more.
‘And this comes out on the tape?’
‘Probably. I haven’t listened to that particular conversation, but there’s probably something there that would suggest we had more than a business relationship.’
‘OK. Let’s listen to it then,’ said Chris. ‘Just you and me.’
‘We can’t do that,’ said Ian. ‘An IT geek needs to be there as well. To make sure no one messes with the recording.’
‘All right. We’ll have the IT geek as well.’
‘Please, Chris.’
‘I understand why you wanted to warn me. And I certainly understand why you don’t want anyone else to hear. But I want to listen to the tapes. Now more than ever. I want to know why Lenka bought those bonds, and the fact that you and she had something going just makes me more suspicious.’
Ian sighed. ‘I guessed you say that. Just stay here for twenty minutes, while I dig them out.’
‘No,’ said Chris. ‘Call whoever you need to call on your mobile. We’ll go and listen together.’
‘Don’t you trust me?’ asked Ian.
‘No,’ said Chris. ‘I don’t.’
Chris followed Ian through Broadgate Circle to the entrance of Bloomfield Weiss. They passed the twenty-foot iron phallus standing at an angle outside, rusting. It seemed exactly right for the firm. Chris felt a shiver as he entered the squat, marble-clad building; he hadn’t set foot in there since that awful day three years before.
They took the lift to the third floor, passed quickly through the deceptively sedate reception area, and entered one of the largest trading rooms in Europe. Chris tried to look straight ahead as he followed Ian weaving his way through the desks, but he couldn’t help noticing the activity around him. The familiar cries, the bustle, the oaths, the screens, and the paper. Paper everywhere. There were some faces he recognized, but most he didn’t. Turnover at investment banks is high; traders come and traders go. He spotted his own desk, occupied now by a youth who didn’t look a day over twenty, lolling back in his chair, cradling the phone. Near the far wall of the room, he spied Herbie Exler. Their eyes met. A rush of pure disgust coursed through Chris’s veins, taking him by surprise, and he was gripped by an urge to vault the desks, grab the little American’s head, and ram it into a screen.
‘Come on,’ said Ian. ‘Don’t make a spectacle of yourself. Let’s get this over with.’ He steered him towards a conference room in the far corner.
‘This is Barry,’ said Ian, introducing Chris to a skinny man with a shaved head who was facing a computer screen. ‘Things have changed since your day. All the tapes are voice activated now, and they’re not actually tapes. We record to disk. Barry will have to listen to everything that’s said, but don’t worry, he’ll keep it all confidential, won’t you, Barry?’
Ian managed to lace these last words with a heavy dose of threat.
Barry seemed unconcerned. ‘That’s right, Ian,’ he said.
Barry handed Ian a log to sign, and then tapped commands into the computer. Barry and Ian put on headphones and listened, searching backwards and forwards until they found the conversation. Chris couldn’t complain about this. It would be unthinkable that Ian could let him listen to a conversation with another client.
After about five minutes, in which Chris fidgeted uncomfortably, Ian held up his hand. ‘I think I’ve got it.’
‘OK,’ said Chris. ‘Let’s hear it. But I want the whole conversation, mind.’
‘All right, all right,’ said Ian. He took off his headphones and flicked a switch. The conference room was filled with the sound of Lenka’s voice. Ian hurriedly turned the volume down, and checked that the door was closed.
‘Hi, babe, how are you?’
Babe! She called him ‘babe’. For the first time, Chris realized how difficult this was going to be. Lenka had been able to say what she liked to Ian without fear of being overheard. Chris had been away on holiday, and Ollie and Tina would have been too far away and too busy to hear.
‘I’m OK,’ drawled Ian. ‘I’m really feeling pretty good.’