The Fear Index

assets.
    Herxheimer said, ‘How soon do you require an answer from us?’
    Quarry said, ‘We’re looking to hard-close the fund again at the end of this month.’
    ‘So three weeks?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    Suddenly the atmosphere around the table was serious. Side conversations ceased. Everyone was listening.
    ‘Well, you can have my answer right now,’ said Easterbrook. He waved his fork in Hoffmann’s direction. ‘You know what I like about you, Hoffmann?’
    ‘No, Bill. What would that be?’
    ‘You don’t talk your book. You let your numbers do the speaking. I made up my mind the moment that plane went down. There’ll have to be due diligence and all that crap, blah-blah-blah, but I’m going to recommend that AmCor doubles its stake.’
    Quarry glanced quickly across the table at Hoffmann. His blue eyes widened. The tip of his tongue moistened his lips. ‘That’s a billion dollars, Bill,’ he said quietly.
    ‘I know it’s a billion dollars, Hugo. There was a time when that was a lot of money.’
    The listeners laughed. They would remember this moment. It would be an anecdote to savour on the quaysides of Antibes and Palm Beach for years to come: the day old Bill Easterbrook of AmCor put up a billion dollars over lunch and said it used to be a lot of money. The look on Easterbrook’s face suggested he knew what they were thinking; it was the reason he had done it.
    ‘Bill, that is so generous of you,’ said Quarry hoarsely. ‘Alex and I are overwhelmed.’ He glanced across the table.
    ‘Overwhelmed,’ repeated Hoffmann.
    ‘Winter Bay will be in as well,’ said Klein. ‘I can’t say how much exactly – I’m not cleared to Bill’s level – but it will be substantial.’
    Łukasiński said, ‘That goes for me too.’
    ‘And I shall speak to my father,’ said Elmira, ‘and he will do as I say.’
    ‘Do I take it that the mood of the meeting is that you’re all planning to invest?’ asked Quarry. Murmurs of assent ran around the table. ‘Well, that sounded promising. Can I ask the question a different way – is anyone here not planning to increase their investment?’ The diners looked from one to another; several shrugged. ‘Even you, Etienne?’
    Mussard looked up grumpily from his hamburger. ‘Yes, yes, I suppose so, why wouldn’t I? But let’s not discuss it in public, if you don’t mind. I prefer to do things in the traditional Swiss way.’
    ‘You mean fully clothed with the lights off?’ Quarry rose to his feet on the tide of laughter. ‘My friends, I know we are still eating, but if ever there was a time for a spontaneous toast in the Russian manner – forgive me, Mieczyslaw – then I think this must be it.’ He cleared his throat. He seemed on the point of tears. ‘Dear guests, we are honoured by your presence, by your friendship, and by your trust. I truly believe we are present at the birth of a whole new force in global asset management, the product of the union of cutting-edge science and aggressive investment – or, if you prefer, of God and Mammon.’ More laughter. ‘At which happy event, it seems to me only right that we should stand and raise our glasses to the genius who has made it possible – no, no, not to me.’ He beamed down at Hoffmann. ‘To the father of VIXAL-4 – to Alex!’
    With a scrape of chair legs, a chorus of ‘To Alex!’ and a peal of clinking cut glass, the investors stood and toasted Hoffmann. They looked at him fondly – even Mussard managed to curl his lip – and when they had all sat down they carried on nodding and smiling at him until he realised to his dismay that they expected him to respond.
    ‘Oh no,’ he said.
    Quarry urged him softly: ‘Come on, Alexi, just a couple of words, and then it’s all over for another eight years.’
    ‘Really I can’t.’
    But such a good-natured round of ‘No!’ and ‘Shame!’ greeted his refusal that Hoffmann actually found himself getting to his feet. His napkin slid off his lap and on to the carpet. He rested one hand on the table to steady himself and tried to think of what he might say. Almost absently he glanced out of the window at the view – which, because he was now elevated, had widened to take in not only the opposite shore, the towering fountain and the inky waters of the lake but also the promenade where the Empress had been stabbed, directly beneath the hotel. The Quai du Mont-Blanc is especially wide at this point. It forms a kind of miniature park