A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [36]
Mulberry grunted noncommittally. He hung his bowler hat on the hook behind the door and sat down at the table. Finally he said: “We’ll try it—it might be quite effective. But next time, have the courtesy to consult me before implementing your ingenious ideas. This is my room, after all, and I am the Principal Clerk.”
“Certainly,” Hugh said. “I’m sorry.” He knew he should have asked Mulberry’s permission, but he had been so keen on his new idea that he had not had the patience to wait.
“The Russian loan issue closed yesterday,” Mulberry went on. “I want you to go down to the post room and organize the counting of the applications.”
“Right.” The bank was raising a loan of two million pounds for the government of Russia. It had issued 100-pound bonds which paid five pounds interest per year; but they were selling the bonds for 93 pounds, so the true interest rate was over five and three-eighths. Most of the bonds had been bought by other banks in London and Paris, but some had been offered to the general public, and now the applications would have to be counted.
“Let’s hope we have more applications than we can fulfill,” Mulberry said.
“Why?”
“That way the unlucky applicants will try to buy the bonds tomorrow on the open market, and that will drive the price up perhaps to 95 pounds—and all our customers will feel they’ve bought a bargain.”
Hugh nodded. “And what if we have too few applications?”
“Then the bank, as underwriter, has to buy the surplus—at 93 pounds. And tomorrow the price may go down to 92 or 91 pounds, and we will have made a loss.”
“I see.”
“Off you go.”
Hugh left Mulberry’s office, which was on the fourth floor, and ran down the stairs. He was happy that Mulberry had accepted his tray idea and relieved that he was not in worse trouble over the lost bill of lading. As he reached the third floor, where the Partners’ Room was, he saw Samuel Pilaster, looking dapper in a silver-gray frock coat and a navy-blue satin tie. “Good morning, Uncle Samuel,” Hugh said.
“Morning, Hugh. What are you up to?” He showed more interest in Hugh than the other partners did.
“Going to count the applications for the Russian loan.”
Samuel smiled, showing his crooked teeth. “I don’t know how you can be so cheerful with a day of that in front of you!”
Hugh continued down the stairs. Within the family, people were beginning to talk in hushed tones about Uncle Samuel and his secretary. Hugh did not find it shocking that Samuel was what people called effeminate. Women and vicars might pretend that sex between men was perverted, but it went on all the time at schools such as Windfield and it never did anyone any harm.
He reached the first floor and entered the imposing banking hall. It was only half-past nine, and the dozens of clerks who worked at Pilasters were still streaming through the grand front door, smelling of bacon breakfasts and underground railway trains. Hugh nodded to Miss Greengrass, the only female clerk. A year ago, when she had been hired, debate had raged through the bank as to whether a woman could possibly do the work. In the event she had settled the matter by proving herself supremely competent. There would be more female clerks in the future, Hugh guessed.
He took the back stairs to the basement and made his way to the post room. Two messengers were sorting the mail, and applications for the Russian loan already filled one big sack. Hugh decided he would get two junior clerks to add up the applications, and he would check their arithmetic.
The work took most of the day. It was a few minutes before four o’clock when he double-checked the last bundle and added the last column of figures. The issue was undersubscribed: a little more than one hundred thousand pounds’ worth of bonds remained unsold. It was not a big shortfall, as a proportion of a two-million-pound issue, but there was a big psychological difference between oversubscribed and undersubscribed, and the partners would be disappointed.
He wrote the tally on a clean sheet of paper and went in search of