Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series) (33 page)

Pearl, dressed as Marie Antoinette, came up.

'Hello, Jack, glad you could make it,' said Pearl. She carefully studied Sandy. 'Who's your friend?'

I introduced them. Pearl didn't show that she was jealous, but I suspected that she was more than curious. Sandy was looking really pretty.

'Thought you were coming alone, Jack,' said Pearl ruefully.

Perhaps that was Faramazov's motive for inviting me to his party. I would be a cover for his mistress.

By this time the party was beginning to hum. The band was good and people were dancing. We joined them. Sandy was having a great time and when the music was slower, we danced closely and kissed for the first time since Bridlington beach. Around midnight, rockets went off and the fireworks display began.

There was no way that we could drive back to London. Instead, given the amount of alcohol in me, we found a cosy bed and breakfast near Pangbourne, a village not far from Faramazov's place. We went up the stairs into the room and collapsed on the bed, undressing each other at the same time. There wasn't much of a shower, so I filled up the bath and climbed in. Sandy followed and sat facing my back, using soap and a cloth to wash and massage it. We shuffled around in the tight space, splashing water while I washed her back as well. Then we faced each other, kissed and with the smooth soap, I ran my hands over her breasts down to her belly button, while she did the same with my chest and tummy. We stood up in the full bath, embraced, grabbed some towels, dried each other and then rushed to bed.

The last time I had experienced such passion was with Maggie, alongside the Scottish loch. Very different from Pearl's cocaine-fuelled sex that had left me with bruises and scratches.

Sandy was all over me, murmuring and shouting with pleasure. When it was all over we fell asleep in each other's arms, before breaking away later into more comfortable positions.

She was still asleep when I woke up early in the morning. I took out my trainers from my overnight bag, put on some shorts and carefully closed the door. I was soon on the road, running on a narrow path until I came to a toll bridge across the Thames. All the memories had come back, but instead of panicking, I wondered what was going on. Ivor Ensworth had hinted that Faramazov had made a lot of money doing dubious deals, but was unsure whether he was one of the Russian mafia. The presence of Boris Krepolovitch and that bearded brute at the party, indicated that they were somehow connected. Had he just employed them for the show, or was there more to it? Pearl Fleecer. Here there and everywhere. Was she working for Faramazov? The presence of the bearded thug indicated that Faramazov could be linked to the Russian hedge fund managers. They were resentful because, through me, they had lost fortunes on coffee and had threatened revenge.

I had become careless about my personal safety. Back in London, I installed an expensive alarm that would receive an almost instant response from the police.

*   *   *

On Monday, Leash held a meeting with Cy, Aram and myself.

'You guys have done well so far this year,' said Leash, smiling.

'We're up 11 per cent this month and the energy market is only beginning to take off,' said Aram.

'There's another source of demand that the market hasn't noticed yet,' said Cy.

'What's that?' asked Leash.

'Pension funds. That's why I suggested we have a meeting.'

'Explain.'

'I've been reading that the buzz words for pension managers are now alternative investments such as hedge funds and commodities. Aquarium is now in fashion as it's a macro hedge fund that mainly specialises in commodities and resource stocks and bonds.'

'Brilliant, Cy. Never thought you had it in you,' shouted Leash, excitedly.

That was typical Leash. A slap on the back and then put-down. Cy, used to his father, smiled wryly. I really liked Cy. He was smart and a decent, nice guy. A highly successful salesman, he genuinely believed in LeashTrade funds, which was easy, as they were all doing well.

'If pension funds intend buying raw materials, a lot of money is going to pour into oil, gas and alternative energy,' I said. 'The market is going to be surprised by the boom. It happened with gold and coffee.'

'It's going to be win, win. Prices going up and money coming in,' shouted Aram enthusiastically.

'We must pitch to as many large American and Canadian pensions as possible before July 4,' insisted Cy. 'It will be much more difficult to get hold of the decision makers during summer vacations. Later we can try the European pensions.'

'Can Jack accompany me, Leash? His fund presentations are excellent.'

'Will you be able to manage the fund alone, Aram?' asked Leash.

'Sure, I'm already running the fund on a day to day basis. Jack's been on the road for some time.'

'He would be based in the New York office for most of the summer. Don't you want him to be in London with you?'

'We'll make a plan, Leash. We'll have transatlantic conference calls.'

The transfer to New York couldn't have come at a better time. My paranoia about the Russians had returned and I wanted to be far away from them. Of course that was illogical as they could follow me anywhere in the world, but that was the way I felt.

*   *   *

I couldn't wait to tell Sandy, who had moved into my Hampstead flat: 'I'm off to the States for a few months. Want to come?'

'Wow, Jack, of course,' she said as she fed my fish in the living room's large aquarium. 'We must get someone to look after our pets.'

'Get packed, I've already sorted out the servicing of the tank. You'll love my New York apartment. It's close to Central Park.'

Those were golden summer days. The guys at LeashTrade's offices in Park Avenue were fun. There were two New York funds. Their managers and analysts were friendly and smart. They concentrated in large and small companies, going 'long and short' by being bullish on some stocks and bearish on other shares. On Sundays we joined them in Central Park and played softball. Sandy was a great antidote to Pearl, who had hurt me a lot.

'Come on, wake up! Time to meditate,' she insisted at the ludicrous hour of 5am. Bleary eyed, I would sit with her and try to rid my mind from random thoughts that kept rushing into my head. Eventually my mind was empty and I would see all sorts of wonderful colours. It was restful, invigorating and the best anti-stress medicine anyone could hope for.

'You're getting there, Jack! The Sivananda Ashram gurus and devotees keep still for hours.'

The Yoga ashram in India had changed Sandy. She was good for me as she was not money mad.

'You've got more than enough, Jack. Why don't you quit your job and travel? We can teach poor kids in India, Asia or Africa.'

'You've already dropped out of your history of art degree, Sandy,' I said as we walked around Whitney Museum of American Art.

We were in Washington DC, as Cy and I had given a presentation to a global investment expert at the World Bank. He advised Third World nations on establishing pensions. Since these nations were raw materials producers, investment in oil rigs, mines and commodities came naturally.

'I'm learning far more here,' laughed Sandy. 'Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, Andy Warhol, Edward Hopper. We get scraps in Australia!'

'That's my point. You're touring North America with me. While I'm pitching to those boring pension managers in New York, Philadelphia and Boston, you're having a great time. We were in the Art Institute of Chicago a couple of days ago. We might as well pitch tents in museums.'

'The Art Institute was awesome, Jack! Not in my wildest dreams did I expect a Midwest city to have such a place. I love Frank Lloyd Wright architecture.'

'Maybe I should buy some art. You can be my expert.'

She squeezed my hand and kissed me.

'Jazz and the Chicago Merc and Board of Trade? What about them?' I asked.

'Loved the Jazz. But the commodity exchanges! Human animals, shouting and screaming in their own self-made pit.'

'We're off to the West Coast, next week. Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles and San Diego. The pensions treadmill, but there will be plenty of sites for you to see. Shopping for you and me?'

'Who cares about shopping, Jack? I've got enough clothes and trinkets. I'll be waiting for you outside the offices to make sure you see something interesting.'

'You could do with some clothes, Sandy. Aren't you bored with the ones you are wearing?'

'Thanks, but no thanks, Jack. Time you went to Macy's and got a decent pair of jeans. That designer stuff you're wearing. Big rip-off. Indian and Chinese textile workers earning almost nothing and living in poverty. It costs about $5 to make a shirt there and the celebrity designer shops are selling them for $200!'

'The chains also buy from India and China. They provide people there with jobs. Yeah, they're paid peanuts, but the cost of living is much lower and at least they work,' I said gently. 'Let's go to the vegetarian restaurant I told you about.'

*   *   *

The American tour was so packed and busy, that it was over all too quickly. It was late summer and a letter was waiting for me at the London office. Michael Braggens, Mayor of Bridlington, was inviting me back to my 'home town' to discuss redevelopment of the town.

We left early Friday for a long weekend with Jazz in the back of the car. I left Sandy at her cousin Sue's house. Sue had changed a lot since I had last seen her. She was still living with her Mum and Dad. But she was now a single parent. Sandy and Sue hugged each other and Sue's Mum gave us all a cup of tea.

'It would be good to see Tom and Joe. Do you know where I can find them?' I asked.

'Tom is making good money. He's a plumber and is working in York. Joe's at Leeds University,' replied Sue. She phoned their parents, but they were both away. Pity, but I doubted if I now had anything in common with my old mates.

I left Jazz with Sue. He was terrified of the toddler and crept under a table.

Later I arrived at Bridlington Town Hall, a wide brown Edwardian brick building with a clock tower. Braggens, overweight and balding with a fixed smile, came up and shook my hand. He took me into the Mayor's meeting room where five other councillors were around a table. One of them jumped up and rushed over to me, shaking my hand warmly. It was Martin Miner, my uncle. His beer belly was now so big that it bulged over his trousers and he looked like a prime candidate for a heart attack.

'I oope you doon't mind, Jack, but I arranged family reoonion for you,' he said in his thick Yorkshire accent.

I remembered the last time I had seen him and tried to be as civil as possible. Martin, my Dad's brother, had totally rejected me when Bill died. I had just turned sixteen and not a single one of my relatives was prepared to look after me. I was to leave school, get another job in a fish and chip shop and take care of myself. How could I forget such 'generosity'?

'Sure, I'll come,' I said without any enthusiasm: 'Where is it?'

'Loonchtime tomorrow a' Cook's Tavern . . . Just ootside Filey,' he said, smiling sheepishly. He seemed to know what I was thinking.

'Yep, I know it . . . the place where Sheila and Mike got married,' I said.

'I've been reading aboot you in newspapers,' said Uncle Martin, pompously. 'Told me colleagues that a Miner would put sommet back into town.'

'Come on, let's get on with the meeting,' said Braggens, clearly irritated with Uncle Martin. 'We've got a long agenda.'

I cannot understand why people go into politics, especially local politics. I was wearing a red Lacoste T-shirt, but the stuffy councillors kept their jackets on during that hot summer's day. They sweated like crazy while they argued about boring issues. Planning permission, road signs, oneway systems, pedestrian crossings, nurseries and school budgets.

The main topic, which was why I was there, was the fundraising campaign. When they finally came to the Bridlington development item on the agenda, they asked me if I knew any potential sponsors. That was as broad a hint as any. I pulled out my Coutts chequebook and wrote out a cheque for £80,000, insisting that the money had to go towards the development of Bridlington's tatty seafront. From the way they sucked up to me, the donation must have been the biggest that they had ever received.

'Oonly eighteen and look what ee's achieved,' beamed Martin. 'That's a Miner for you!'

*   *   *

Later that afternoon I picked up Sandy and Jazz at Sue's place, a small terraced house overlooking the beach.

'I want you to meet an old friend, Sandy,' I said as we drove off. I found a parking place near the harbour and we walked to the seafront. All sorts of memories flooded back. The fish and chip shop was gone and a tatty tourist shop was in its place. The block of flats where I used to live, looked much whiter and cleaner. Major renovations of the harbour were taking place, reducing the space to squeeze through the crowd. The fairground, nearby, was as popular as ever. Jazz pulled like mad. I let him off the lead and he led the way, rushing up the stairs towards our old flat. He stood outside one of the doors waiting and panting.

Gill Derby opened the door and cried: 'Jack Miner! What a surprise!'

Before she had time to hug me, Jazz got in first. He broke away from me and jumped on her, licking her face and vigorously wagging his tail. It was as if he had found his long lost owner. When Jazz was finished, Gill grabbed me and gave me a long tearful hug. The soapy smell of her skin came back to me and I enjoyed her warmth. I was embarrassingly emotional and turned away from Sandy, so that she couldn't see my tears.

'Jack, thanks for the Christmas cards, but why haven't I heard from you?'

'No excuses, Gill . . . This is Sandy.'

She looked at both of us and beamed: 'Hello Sandy. What a lovely girl, Jack! Let me take a good look at you. You've filled out Jack . . . taller too.'

We went into her living room where there was a framed photograph of us, just after my sixteenth birthday. I was thin as a reed. I peered into the large oval mirror in the centre of the room. Yes, I had filled out, I thought, as I admired my muscles. Gill had hardly changed.