flat was small and convenient. Expensive, but unremarkable furniture provided most of the functions that someone needs, to live, but little more. The only pictures were a set of nineteenth-century prints of the abbeys of Scotland. Walls have to have pictures, but it would be difficult to find any greyer than these. I looked curiously through an open door where I could just see a desk.
'That's my study,' said Hamilton. 'Let me show you.'
We went into the next room. There was indeed a desk facing the window. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with shelves and filing cabinets. Thousands of books and papers were held in that small room. It was a bit like a don's room at a university, except that it was perfectly tidy. Everything was in its place. The desk was completely bare except for a computer.
I scanned the shelves briefly. The titles of nearly all the books I saw had something to do with finance or economics. Many of them were written in the nineteenth century. There was one set of shelves which aroused my interest. It held titles such as Gleick's Chaos Theory, Rude's The Crowd in History and even Darwin's On the Origin of Species. There were works on psychology, physics, religion and linguistics.
Hamilton drew up beside me. 'You should read some of these. It would help you understand our job better.'
I looked at him, puzzled.
'Markets are about movement of prices, about groups of people interacting, about competition, about information, about fear, greed, belief,' he went on. 'All these things are studied in detail by a range of academic disciplines, each of which can give you an insight into why the market behaves the way it does.'
'Oh, I see,' I said. Now I understood. In Hamilton's world the great scholars of matter and the mind had made a significant contribution to financial theory. They did have some use after all.
I pulled out The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli. 'And this?' I said showing it to Hamilton.
He smiled. 'Oh, Machiavelli understood power. That book is all about power and how to use it. And so are the financial markets. Money is power, information is power, and analytical ability is power.'
'But doesn't he write about how to become a ruthless dictator?'
'Oh no, that's much too simplistic. Certainly, he believes the means justifies the ends. But although a successful prince will do whatever is required to achieve his goal, he will always maintain the semblance of virtue. That is vital.'
I looked puzzled.
Hamilton laughed. 'In the markets that means be smart, be imaginative, but at all costs keep your reputation. Remember that.'
'I will,' I said, putting the book back on its shelf.
'I like this room,' Hamilton said, relaxed. 'I spend most of my time here. Look at that view.'
It was indeed a remarkable view, looking out over the offices of the City from St Paul's to the East End. De Jong's offices were clearly distinguishable. A source of inspiration for Hamilton whenever he was bogged down in his studies of the markets.
We went back into the living room. 'Scotch?' he asked.
'Yes, please.'
He splashed generous portions into two glasses and added a small amount of water to each. He handed me one and we both sat down.
After a moment's appreciation of his drink, Hamilton asked, 'Do you think she committed suicide?' He studied my face closely.
I sighed. 'No,' I said. 'No matter what the police said, Debbie would never do anything like that.'
'She was concerned about her job, though, wasn't she?' said Hamilton. 'I don't know whether she told you, but we did have a slightly difficult discussion about her future not long before she died.'
'Yes, I know,' I said. 'She did tell me about that conversation and it did upset her for a bit. But she soon forgot it. She was not the kind of person who would allow a little thing like work get in the way of her enjoying life. I am quite sure that is not the reason she died.'
Hamilton relaxed. 'No, suicide doesn't seem like her at all,' he said. 'It
'That's my study,' said Hamilton. 'Let me show you.'
We went into the next room. There was indeed a desk facing the window. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with shelves and filing cabinets. Thousands of books and papers were held in that small room. It was a bit like a don's room at a university, except that it was perfectly tidy. Everything was in its place. The desk was completely bare except for a computer.
I scanned the shelves briefly. The titles of nearly all the books I saw had something to do with finance or economics. Many of them were written in the nineteenth century. There was one set of shelves which aroused my interest. It held titles such as Gleick's Chaos Theory, Rude's The Crowd in History and even Darwin's On the Origin of Species. There were works on psychology, physics, religion and linguistics.
Hamilton drew up beside me. 'You should read some of these. It would help you understand our job better.'
I looked at him, puzzled.
'Markets are about movement of prices, about groups of people interacting, about competition, about information, about fear, greed, belief,' he went on. 'All these things are studied in detail by a range of academic disciplines, each of which can give you an insight into why the market behaves the way it does.'
'Oh, I see,' I said. Now I understood. In Hamilton's world the great scholars of matter and the mind had made a significant contribution to financial theory. They did have some use after all.
I pulled out The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli. 'And this?' I said showing it to Hamilton.
He smiled. 'Oh, Machiavelli understood power. That book is all about power and how to use it. And so are the financial markets. Money is power, information is power, and analytical ability is power.'
'But doesn't he write about how to become a ruthless dictator?'
'Oh no, that's much too simplistic. Certainly, he believes the means justifies the ends. But although a successful prince will do whatever is required to achieve his goal, he will always maintain the semblance of virtue. That is vital.'
I looked puzzled.
Hamilton laughed. 'In the markets that means be smart, be imaginative, but at all costs keep your reputation. Remember that.'
'I will,' I said, putting the book back on its shelf.
'I like this room,' Hamilton said, relaxed. 'I spend most of my time here. Look at that view.'
It was indeed a remarkable view, looking out over the offices of the City from St Paul's to the East End. De Jong's offices were clearly distinguishable. A source of inspiration for Hamilton whenever he was bogged down in his studies of the markets.
We went back into the living room. 'Scotch?' he asked.
'Yes, please.'
He splashed generous portions into two glasses and added a small amount of water to each. He handed me one and we both sat down.
After a moment's appreciation of his drink, Hamilton asked, 'Do you think she committed suicide?' He studied my face closely.
I sighed. 'No,' I said. 'No matter what the police said, Debbie would never do anything like that.'
'She was concerned about her job, though, wasn't she?' said Hamilton. 'I don't know whether she told you, but we did have a slightly difficult discussion about her future not long before she died.'
'Yes, I know,' I said. 'She did tell me about that conversation and it did upset her for a bit. But she soon forgot it. She was not the kind of person who would allow a little thing like work get in the way of her enjoying life. I am quite sure that is not the reason she died.'
Hamilton relaxed. 'No, suicide doesn't seem like her at all,' he said. 'It
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