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favor."
    How can I believe him? However, I decide to let it go. I don’t really
want to know. It would only make me even more anxious about him. If
he’s off to Montagnola, he will be off my back for a while, and right now
with the Sanvino affair still lurking in the background I welcome that.
    Carlo actually hugs me good-bye after finishing off the casserole and
most of the wine. I’ve hardly eaten any, but I make it to Aikido in time.
     
     
    Friday, 17 th October, 10:40 a.m.
     
    A call on the internal office phone.
    "Miss Walker, come to my office." It’s Garland. Addressing me by my
last name doesn’t sound promising, nor does the lack of ‘please’. What
now?
    "Right away, sir," I reply, but he has already hung up.
    Again, I compose myself for a couple of seconds before knocking on
his door. This time he calls out "enter" — not French, another bad sign.
    As last time, he waves me into a chair and walks around the desk. "To
come right to the point, Miss Walker, I’ve received a highly abusive call
from this Carvaggio of Ventura."
    As if I didn’t know the man’s affiliation.
    "He accuses us of incompetence, or worse, of deliberately having cost
him two million pounds."
    Yes, Carvaggio would talk as if it were his own money. It’s more
likely to be laundered Mafia funds. I brace myself to lose the Ventura
account.
    "He demands that we compensate him for the loss. He also demands
that I assign him to another broker."
    So the axe has fallen. "Sir, he agreed to the sale," I barge in. "He
cannot hold us liable."
    "It’s not that simple, young woman. He claims that your advice was a
deliberate ploy to make him agree to the sale, and that you must have
known the real situation. To put it bluntly, he is convinced that you
arranged for another broker to buy the shares and then sell them again
after the Sanvino announcement on the Singapore Airlines deal."
    "But that’s outrageous! I would never do anything of the sort. Not only
is it unethical, but it’s also illegal. If it’s discovered, it would lead to my
immediate and permanent ban as a broker, as well as a lengthy jail term."
    "That may be so, but let me ask you frankly, and I expect a truthful
answer. I may still manage to limit the damage. Did you or didn’t you do
what he accuses you of?" He is towering threateningly over me, his eyes
boring into mine.
    "Sir, I did not."
    He looks at me for several seconds, slightly bending his head, as if he
could penetrate my scull and scan the chemical connections in my brain
to unravel the truth. "This is your final word?"
    "Yes, sir. I’ve never engaged in any fraudulent trading of any sort."
    Again, he remains silent for a while. "I hope you understand that I
have no choice but to give the Ventura account to somebody else. Pass
the entire dossier, including all electronic files, to Grant Hanson."
    "But, sir, Signor Carvaggio hardly speaks English. He always insists
on conversing in Italian."
    "His English was good enough to abuse me." He dismisses me with a
wave of his right hand.
    I make a detour via the ladies’ room, to gain time, to compose myself,
before returning to my desk. It takes me almost an hour to assemble all
papers and send all electronic files on Ventura to Grant Hanson. Edward
Long several times looks over the partition, wanting to know what I’m
doing.
    "Cleaning out, sheila? Did you finally get the sack? I’d be willing to
help out, if you run short of money … obviously you understand, for a
little service of an intimate nature." He expels his usual goat snigger.
    By the time I’m finished, I see Hanson and Long walk past my cubicle,
out for lunch. From the snippet of conversation I overhear, Hanson is
telling Longs that Garland assigned him the Ventura account.
    "How unfair!" Long exclaims. "It should have been mine."
    I don’t catch Hanson’s response. I place the box of paper documents
on his desk and then also leave for a bite at a nearby café, staying well
clear of the pubs and