Money talks
The new Sebastian Faulks thriller, A Week in December, takes place during seven days in London at the end of 2007. The book draws together a fascinating cast of characters whose lives run along parallel tracks but — as the reader learns — are elaborately interrelated. At the centre of the story is John Veals, a Dickensian hedge fund manger, who juggles billions before breakfast.
When Veals and his colleagues go to expensive restaurants to dine, they don't bother to look at the menu. They simply summon the waiter.
"Right, we'll start with a plate of ribs in the middle of the table here. Then I want carpaccio of beef with a thin mustard sauce.What? No, I'm not interested in that. I want it very thin, with Dijon mustard in the sauce and a few green leaves, maybe rocket. Then I want roast chicken. No, I don't want coq au vin. I want plain roast, lots of salt on the skin, roast potatoes, not small ones, proper size and cauliflower cheese. That's it. OK? And some gravy. No, not fucking jus. Gravy! And my friend will have a cheeseburger."
"Sir, we do not have — "
"Yes, you do. You have filet mignon. Mince it up. Get a bun. You have a cheeseboard here. Look. It says here, £5 supplement! Get a slice off it. You can do it. It's what you do."
It was even worse when the heads of the American banks were with him. Even when one of them had been persuaded to have something that was actually on the menu he would change his mind after it had been delivered and send it away again."Just bring me some clams."
"Sorry, sir, we have no — "
"Here's £50. Go and buy some."
Faulks is superb on the workings of the money markets and his depictions of those who trade vast sums daily are truly hair-raising. A Week in December will have you waking up at 4 am. Terrified.
