Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series) (34 page)

We talked about the old times. Jazz ran around the flat sniffing, wagging his tail and then waiting in the kitchen for the biscuit that Gill always gave him. It was something like a time warp. Nothing had changed, except that Bill, my Dad, was no longer there. Gill was like a substitute Mum to me. I was sorry that I hadn't been in contact with her.

'I see that the flats have had a coat of paint,' I said.

'Yes, Jack . . . Thanks so much, we were all paid out in full,' Gill said. 'Your friend gave me something extra. That paid for the decoration.'

'My friend?'

'I forget his name. He came all the way from London to the creditors meeting. It was so funny,' she recalled. 'Baton . . . Remember that horrible man! He tried to get a higher fee. Your friend made some great jokes about liquidators and undertakers. All the creditors laughed and Baton backed down.'

'What did he look like?'

'Distinguished. Tall, long grey-white hair and moustache.'

'Stan Slimcop? He came to Bridlington?'

'Yes, that's him. He was very fond of you, Jack. After the meeting he came back here and wanted to know all about you, your Dad and Mum. I showed him the album you left here and he poured over the family pictures. I hope you don't mind Jack, he took one. I think that he regarded you as a surrogate son.'

I was flabbergasted. I had no idea that Stan had felt that strongly about me. I thought that he was just a good friend and wished that I hadn't sent that stupid letter. Maybe I was some sort of replacement for Sean. I know Leila mixed us up. Despite my letter of apology, I still hadn't heard from them. Why had I been so arrogant, so thoughtless? Stupid! It was bad enough losing parents, but losing a son? I put my head in my hands. Had to find them. Apologise face to face.

'Are you OK, Jack?' said Sandy, coming up and holding my hand.

'Yes I'm fine I'm just an idiot, Sandy.'

Later we left Jazz in the flat and the three of us went out for dinner at the Captain's Table, the pub restaurant that I used to go to with Dad and Mum. It was at the end of the harbour and our table had a view of the sea. One by one, the pleasure cruisers came in; the Yorkshire Belle, the Pirate Ship, some sailing boats and an occasional speedboat. I tucked into my Yorkshire Pudding. As I tasted each mouthful, I realised how much I had missed Yorkshire food. The sun was setting and it was now difficult to spot the boats on the orange reddish sea. We talked and talked until it was dark outside, but for a lighthouse in the distance. Time was still. I was home again.

*   *   *

We spent the night in a small hotel that overlooked Filey beach and sneaked Jazz into the room. Early morning we went for a run and later we drove to Cook's Tavern.

'It was named after Captain Cook,' I said.

'Really, Jack?' replied Sandy sarcastically. 'Was he the guy who founded New South Wales? Didn't know he had anything to do with Australia.'

'Something you don't know, Sandy,' I retorted. 'His voyage began in Whitby, just north of here.'

She gave me a kiss on the cheek. Sandy made me feel good. I wished that I loved her as much as she loved me. I couldn't help myself, I kept thinking about Pearl. It was ridiculous, but she still had a hold on me.

'What's up Jack, what are you thinking about?' asked Sandy who seemed to sense what was going on in my head.

We arrived a little late and I parked the Ferrari next to the tavern garden. We got out of our car, tied Jazz to the fence and walked through the gate. I reckon all my relatives were there - old, young, teenagers, toddlers and babies. It seemed as if there were a hundred there, very different from the few relatives who had turned up at Bill's funeral. They waved when we arrived, but before I could talk to any of them, about twenty men and boys rushed to the car, crying: 'Wow a Ferrari!' Within seconds, the Miners and the Upworths, on my Mum's side, were pushing and shoving each other to get a glimpse of the car. Two boys, who I had never seen before, jumped over the sides and sat in the driver and passenger seats. Jazz began to bark like crazy, but no one took any notice of him. All I could hear were chants of: 'What do you think it cost? 100,000 . . . 200,000??'

'Come on Jack, give us a spin!' shouted the boys.

Uncle Martin and Aunty Peggy came up to me and she gave me the dreaded hug. Peggy was now so fat that she had to cover herself with a tent like pink dress. As she enveloped me, I was reminded of her smell. Pungent stale sweat and cheap perfume. She tried to kiss me, but I avoided her ashtray mouth.

Peggy offered me a cigarette, but I shook my head.

'Still don't smoke, Jack?' We really missed you,' said Peggy who was a shameful liar. 'We were going to take you in, but you disappeared.'

'And coom back with red Ferrari,' grinned Uncle Martin. 'The Council were impressed with doonation, Jack. Mighty impressed.'

Uncle John, another 'generous' member of the family came up. He hadn't changed. His face still looked pinched and mean. Small hands and thin arms protruded from a plain white shirt that was tucked into shiny black trousers. His wife Alice awkwardly mumbled that she was sorry that she hadn't made Dad's funeral.

'That was ages ago,' said Sandy.

'It was like yesterday,' said John Upworth glumly. 'Jack's Mum was my sister. Also died young.'

I pulled Sandy away from these ghastly relatives and we went up to my cousins Mike and Sheila who I liked.

'You probably saw that piece in the
Daily Mail,
Jack. A reporter came round asking all sorts of questions about you,' said Mike.

'So you were one of the sources?'

'We just told her about the fish and chip shop, the school, that sort of thing. Took us out for a drink. Was very nice.'

'Sure, charming very charming,' I replied, gritting my teeth.

Other relatives interrupted our conversation. There were so many of them that it became a blur. I can't remember their names nor what they looked like. Didn't have a single drink as I spent most of the time taking kids for a spin in the car. Just before we left, Martin called me over. He was sitting in a quiet spot under a tree.

'You're doing very well, lad. We always knew you were gooing places, but this? Beyond our wildest dreams.'

'Thanks Martin,' I said abruptly.

'Wish could say same for my business. Times are hard.'

I knew where this was heading.

'How can a construction business struggle in a property boom? You're a councillor. Didn't they give you any contracts for the redevelopment?'

'Tha' would be coorruption, Jack. No. Haad to rely on other business. Can I coom see you soom time? With your contacts you could raise capital. It's a good business. Just needs finance.'

I stood over him and looked down. This time I had the money, the upper hand. This was my Dad's brother who wouldn't take me in when I lost both my parents. What a nerve!

'Sure Martin, give me a call. Maybe we can get together,' I said insincerely.

Soon afterwards, we said our goodbyes, got in the car, gave the royal wave and sped away.

19 -
MONEY AND CONTROL

During the autumn, winter and spring natural gas prices soared to around $9 a British Thermal Unit while crude oil surged to $40 a barrel. Heating oil, gasoline and other oil products followed while platinum and palladium also jumped as the metals could be used in fuel cells, an alternative energy source. The market began to worry about inflation and gold, silver and other commodity prices rose. Aquarium's money under management rose to $800 million. The fund was making huge gains and growing numbers of pension funds, wealthy investors and banks were pouring in money. We charged two per cent for annual management services. Regardless of whether the fund went up or down we were paid as much as $16 million. We also earned almost $50 million on our twenty per cent performance fees. My combined salary and profit share came to more than $5 million. I was only eighteen, but with my own money in Aquarium, I was now worth almost $15 million or around £9 million. The way life was going, I would soon have enough to buy a football club!

It was a funny thing about money. I had apartments worth more than £1 million, a Ferrari, holidays in five star hotels and a lovely girlfriend. Everything that I could possibly want. Yet I still wasn't satisfied. Trader publications rated me as one of the top thirty traders of the year. But I wanted to be in the top five. I read the Forbes and Sunday Times rich lists. Compared to those people, I was poor! I would get to the top, buy Newcastle United, my favourite football club, and choose players. For the moment, I had to do with a Chelsea season ticket.

I now understood Leash, who had also started with no money. In fact, I had begun to get on with Leash Grobnick. He shouted and screamed at everyone but left me alone. Maybe because I stood up to him and gave him cheek. Maybe he saw a bit of himself in me.

Sometimes he would take me to Dino's, an Italian restaurant in Mayfair, near our office. He would eat simply. A mixed salad, spring chicken and sparkling water. He was in his mid fifties, but looked ten years younger. He could be very charming when it suited him.

One day we were at Dino's where Leash was eating his usual while I had spaghetti bolognese. I was eating as rapidly as him. Leash did not believe in long relaxed meals.

Leash was always direct and to the point: 'If you eat all that, you'll get fat, Jack! Are you getting enough exercise?'

'Yeah. I go to the gym and have a swim afterwards. On the weekends I go for a run with my dog.'

'Then you must cut down eating and drinking. Exercise is good but it's an inefficient way to lose weight.'

'I suppose you're right. When I'm finished in the gym I can have two or three beers, fish and chips, chocolate. I love chocolate, Leash.'

'Cut them out, Jack, cut them out. You know there's something funny about being rich.'

'What?'

'The more you have, the less you eat.' We laughed.

'Don't worry Jack. Just keep fit and thin. Work hard; enjoy life. Don't be like me. Don't get married too soon.'

Silence. Me thinking.

'What about that pretty girlfriend of yours? Is she going to hook you, Jack?'

'Not yet, but she would like to,' I replied.

'You've got money; you're not bad looking. You can get as many as you want. Live Jack, live!'

He laughed for a few seconds and then became serious again. 'You and I know what it's like to be poor. People think that I'm greedy, but they're wrong.'

I observed him, quietly, as he sipped his sparkling water.

'I want more money because I have this awful feeling . . . That I could lose it all.'

I nearly fell over. The rich lists showed that Leash was worth around around $400 million, perhaps even more. The way LeashTrade and his investments were going, his fortune was growing even larger.

'You wonder why I worry? Why I push my sons? Fund managers like you? My grandfather was a rich man, but he lost everything in the 1929 crash. The family moved from a big Manhattan apartment to a boarding house in Brooklyn.'

'Something like Arthur Miller?'

'Almost identical. My father didn't finish school and became a tailor in a sweatshop. We had no money. Roast chicken was a luxury. My father tried, but he couldn't come back. His old friends ignored him and he couldn't get finance for any new business ideas. My mother left us. How can you respect women after that?'

So that's why he went through three wives and umpteen girlfriends, I thought to myself.

'How did you make your money, Leash?'

'I'll tell you someday,' he said, sipping some more water. 'You know what I like about money most?'

'What?'

'Control. My father and his family were always living on the edge. Me? I'm in control of my life, my family, my sons . . . everyone.'

'Everyone?'

'Try it someday, Jack. If someone works for you; wants to borrow some money; wants you to invest some capital; buy something, you're in control. It's like walking into a five star hotel in Bangkok. They're all over you. Clean the floor in front and behind you. Feels good, doesn't it? You've got the money. They want it. What about you, Jack? Come across anyone who wants something from you?'

Leash had the knack of drawing out resentments.

'My Uncle Martin. He's asked me to lend him some money. Bit of a cheek. He didn't help me when my Dad died.'

'If you don't like him, keep him waiting a little longer. Then see him . . . I'll tell you what to do.'

He leaned across the table and whispered his plan.

*   *   *

A few days later, I put Leash's advice into practice. I emailed Uncle Martin and told him to come to London to meet me. Maisie booked a table at Tony Jay's, the celebrity chef's Soho restaurant. It was intimate and expensive. Actors, directors, writers, agents, politicians, editors and top business people went there.

Martin arrived ten minutes late, flustered and puffing. After being in the train for several hours his dark grey suit was creased. He was sweating and stressed. I stood up and was as gracious as possible, but deliberately looked at my watch to embarrass him.

'Leeds to London train. Always late,' he muttered. 'The traffic . . .'

'Sit down, Martin. Relax, we don't want you to have a heart attack do we?'

I knew that I had immediately found a weak spot. He flinched and touched his chest with his left hand, breathing rapidly. I was sure that his doctor had warned him about his heart. He was overweight and had smoked all his life. I smiled insincerely.

'Have a drink, Martin. Some wine?'

The waiter took a bottle of Chablis out of an ice bucket and poured some wine into his glass. Martin swallowed so quickly that he didn't have time to savour it. Philistine! I looked on, following Leash's advice, smiling superciliously. Showed him that I was totally in control. Martin looked around and noticed a couple of TV stars.

'Did you see . . .?'

I nodded, knowingly.

'You've become soophisticated, Jack. Remember when we kicked ball on lawn.'