Quiver

“Gold. There’s this small mine, east of Coolgardie. McHuen’s. I want to buy.”

“Gold is down at the moment.”

“I have a strong feeling—you know, one of my blindingly insightful flashes.”

“Leave it with me, don’t buy just yet, give it a day or two.”

“It’s going to go now, I know it.”

“Hey, trust me on this.”

“Fortune favors the brave.”

“Wait a week.”

She grimaced but reluctantly assented. “OK, but then I’m buying.”

He spun around in his chair as soon as she’d left the room, waving and pulling a funny face at her back as he watched her walk out of earshot down the corridor. As soon as she disappeared he picked up his phone.

“Harry? Pick me up twenty thou on gold. A small company called McHuen’s. No questions, OK?”

* * *

Deidre walks back into the dealers’ area. One broker, a young gun in his early twenties, is busy shaving while negotiating a deal on the phone. He’s only been with the company for eight months, yet he’s already on the same salary as Deidre. She checks the trade index figures.

“Congratulations on the Fuji deal. Only you could have pulled that one off.”

“Yeah, nerves of steel.” He turns and in an undertone mutters to his mate, “And heart of ice.” She catches the words faintly, but ignores them.

“Deidre!”

A ripple runs through the banking floor, new blood has entered the arena—she can practically see the testosterone bristling. She turns. Mischa, dressed in his suit and clutching a huge bunch of roses, stands in the center of the floor. He smiles at her. Everyone swings around and stares surprised as Deidre walks up to him.

“I brought you these. I think maybe I insulted you last night.” Deidre, acutely aware of the grinning faces, leads Mischa toward the door.

“This isn’t the place to talk.”

“Are you ashamed that you know me?”

“It isn’t that. The people here, the men, they think I’m a snow duchess.”

“Snow duchess? Is this a good thing?”

“It means that I’m frigid. Cold like snow.”

“They are fools.”

Several of the bankers snigger.

“Mr. Gretchka, I think we should discuss your portfolio in my office.”

She formally walks him out into the corridor. Outside he grabs her hand and leads her toward the fire escape.

“Where does this lead?”

“To the roof.”

Holding her hand he starts climbing. She follows, half of her fighting to regain control, the other half drawn by the determination of this young man. He pushes the trapdoor open, revealing a small square of blue.