It was clearly a manoeuvre planned to break up our little conversation. My guess was that Purdy didn’t want me talking to Alice. The question was “Why?”.

Chapter 7

It was immediately clear to me that Purdy had sent his henchman over to find out who I was and what, if anything, I thought I was up to. He could not afford to show that he was upset by my question.

“I found it very interesting,” I said. “Are you an investor, or a potential investor?” he asked, looking again at my badge.

“I’m semi-retired,” I answered. “I came along because I have several clients whose money I look after. The kind of people that AIM seems to be interested in. So I thought I’d find out what you have to offer.”

“Interesting. Have you got ten minutes? I could perhaps give you some more insight into our approach if you have the time and, if you think it worth it, we could arrange a more formal meeting later. Do you live in Edinburgh?”

“No. I live over in Fife in a small village called Letham. Do you know it?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Look, we have some meeting rooms here. Why don’t we take five minutes if you’re not in a hurry?”

It was a good salesman’s pitch and I decided to go along with it. Perhaps I’d learn a bit more.

Firkin’s colleague had by now joined us, having helped Alice on her way and we repaired to a small meeting room just off the lobby.

The room had been set up for just such eventualities. There was a table in the centre with six chairs around it. There was a jug of coffee, cups and biscuits on a buffet standing against the wall. The view from the window down Princes Street was magnificent.

“Coffee? Let’s sit down.” Firkin’s colleague, who was so far nameless, pulled out a chair for me and I took my place. He sat down opposite me and Firkin brought us three coffees. “No Name” looked about thirty. He was fairly big and muscular and, although he was dressed as all the others in a grey suit, shirt and tie, none of these things looked as if they belonged to him. He didn’t look like a young investment banker. He seemed to me more like a scrubbed up truck driver. But then appearances can be misleading, as Dad had always told me.

We chatted generally for a while. Firkin gave me the pitch about the personal approach to investing – the fact that AIM specialised in advice to suit individual circumstances. He was smooth, but there was no doubt he was trying to wheedle out of me as much information about myself as he could. How many clients? About a dozen. What kind of investment amounts? On average about a couple of hundred thousand. Where did my clients come from? All over the place – mostly in the country or in smaller towns. I kept away from the big cities.

No Name was taking notes, laboriously. His pen didn’t really seem at home in his large hand but he was making a valiant effort.

After about ten minutes I had had enough and said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to go now. I have a train to catch in fifteen minutes.”

“No problem. It was really nice meeting you and don’t hesitate to call me next time you come through to Edinburgh and perhaps we can have lunch and discuss what AIM can do for your clients.”

I got up and turned towards the door.

“Just before you go, Mr Bruce . . .”

I turned back. “I presume you are who you say you are, but, if by any chance you are not, I would be a bit more careful about the way you ask questions in a public conference.”

Firkin said this with a smile. No Name had stood up, towering above his colleague by a good six inches, flexing his fingers after all the unaccustomed note-taking he had been doing. There was no smile on his face.

“That sounds rather like a threat to me.” “Just some friendly advice.” “Thank you,” I said and left the meeting room. The lobby was practically empty by now but I did see Purdy sitting in an armchair in the corner talking earnestly to Gavin Reid, the lawyer I’d met through Keith. I noticed them but made sure that they didn’t realise I had seen them.

On the drive home I thought over what had happened that day and promised myself to call Alice and get a decent chance to speak to her.

Pierre and I had agreed that we would have supper together and compare our impressions of the day. I had invited him round to the house and, not being the best of cooks, decided on a carry out Indian meal from the Rajput in Cupar, which was only five miles away. I figured it would also be fitting as Dad had been a great fan of Indian cuisine.

Pierre arrived, as agreed, about seven and we settled ourselves comfortably in my small dining room with a mountain of spicy food and rice and a few bottles of beer.

Once the edge had been taken off our hunger I asked Pierre about his few days up north. He had had an excellent time. The weather had been fine. He’d played a couple of rounds of golf. He’d visited a couple of distilleries and had brought back two of bottles of whisky for Mike and me. They were in the hotel.

We then got onto the day’s events. I told him about Steven and the fact that there might be some comment in the papers the next day.

“Your question was just right,” said Pierre. “I was watching Purdy when you delivered the missing three and a half million. I’ve rarely seen a guy look quite so concerned – and he did not like it one bit.”

“I have to admit he recovered rather quickly,” I replied. “Sure. But as far as I’m concerned he definitely showed signs of being very uncomfortable.”

As I opened another beer, he asked me if Steven had any background knowledge of AIM.

“No, but he has agreed to do a bit of discreet digging.” Pierre added a few more observations. “When I joined Purdy afterwards he seemed to be only three quarters there. He was chatting to everyone more or less as normal but you could see that his brain was churning away in the background. I noticed him glance across at you a couple of times.”

“I know. I saw it too – especially when I was talking to Steven. Did you see me with the little old lady? She told me before we went in that she was worried about the return she was getting from her investment and that was why she was there. When she came up to me afterwards it didn’t take long for Purdy to send over a couple of guys to break up our conversation. Interesting, isn’t it? She gave me an envelope of papers to look at and asked me if I could give her a call because she wanted some advice from me. Hold on a minute.”

I got up and went through to the sitting room where I had deposited Alice’s papers and brought them back to the table.

“Have a look at these and see if they seem familiar to you.”

I handed the envelope to Pierre and he pulled out what turned out to be a couple of statements full of numbers and copies of a few letters and standard quarterly news bulletins.

Pierre perused them one by one and handed them over to me.

“Just like the stuff I get,” he said. “Bloody hell,” I said, looking at one of the statements. “Are you telling me that they hit you guys with a two and a half per cent management fee as well?”

“Sure. It’s standard practice, so I’ve been told. Mind you who knows if everyone has the same level of management fee? There’s potential there for a bit of fiddling.”

I did a quick calculation. “At two and a half per cent that’s a hundred grand for you,” I said.

“I know,” Pierre replied ruefully. “Not funny is it?” I grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. “Let’s see now. If he is buggering about with clients’ money and siphoning off, say, three per cent just to be conservative, that’s one and a half million on fifty.

If he’s taking two and a half per cent management fees as well from everybody that’s another one and a quarter million which makes a nice round sum of two and three quarter million quid.”

I paused for a second as I did a few more mental calculations.