Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less by Jeffrey Archer Page B

must
have made millions playing on this particular characteristic in his countrymen.
    Over lunch Jean Pierre told David in more
detail how he had built up his business over the past fifteen years from a
small gallery into its present size with quite an impressive stock of minor
Impressionists.
    “But,” he continued, “one day I hope that my
gallery will be as respected as Agnew’s or Tooth’s.”
    “I’m sure it will,” said David. “There is so
little enterprise or hard work going on in this country, anyone with your sort
of initiative will undoubtedly succeed, but what made you leave France?”
    “Ah, a fair question. Let’s just say that I
nearly married the daughter of the chairman of the Bernheim Jeune. Also there
are enough Frenchmen trying to set up art galleries in Paris. But that’s enough
of me.” (Not that Jean Pierre ever really felt there was enough of him.) “What
line of business are you in?”
    “I work with a small oil company called
Discovery Oil, who are exploring prospects in the
North Sea.”
    “Had any success?” enquired Jean Pierre.
    “Well, confidentially, we are rather excited
about the future. It is no secret that the company shares have gone from three
to seven dollars in the last few weeks, but no one knows the real reason.”
    “Would it be a good investment for a little
art dealer like myself?” asked Jean Pierre.
    “I’ll tell you how good an investment I
think it is,” said David. “I am investing three thousand dollars in the company
on Monday, which is all I have in the world–now that I have captured Venus,
that is. We are shortly to make a rather special announcement.”
    A twinkle came into Jean Pierre’s eye. A nod
was as good as a wink to one of his Gallic subtlety. He did not pursue the line
any longer.
    The rest of the meal was spent in discussing
their mutual interest, sports. They were so engrossed in their conversation,
they didn’t notice the waiter hovering anxiously to clear their table; he
wanted some time off that afternoon. Finally, they parted, both surprised that
it was nearly four o’clock.
     
    “When is the strike going to be announced,
Bernie?”
    “We expect it to be early next week. We’ve
had a few problems. Nothing we can’t lick though.”
    That gave David some relief, as he had taken
up 500 shares himself that morning, investing the remaining $3,625 from his
bonus. Like the others, he was hoping for a quick profit.
    “Rowe Rudd.”
    “Frank Watts, please. Jean Pierre Lamanns.”
    “Good morning, Jean Pierre. What can we do
for you?”
    “I want to buy twenty-five
thousand Discovery Oil .”
    “Never heard of them. Hold on a minute... Canadian
company, very low capital. A bit risky, J.P. I
wouldn’t recommend it.”
    “It’s all right, Frank, I only want them for two or three weeks; then you can sell them. I’m
not going to hold on to them. When did the account start?”
    “Yesterday.”
    “Right. Buy them today and sell them by the end of
the account, or earlier. I’m expecting an announcement next week, so when they
go over ten dollars you can get rid of them. I’m not trying to be clever, but
buy them in my share company name, as I don’t want the deal traced back to me–it
might embarrass the informant.”
    “Right, sir. Buy twenty-five thousand Discovery Oil and
sell during the last few days of the account, or sooner if instructed.”
    “I will be in Paris all next week, so don’t
forget to sell if they go over ten dollars.”
    “Right, J.P., have a good trip.”
     
    The red telephone rang.
    “Rowe Rudd are looking for shares. Do you know anything about it?”
    “No, Harvey. It must be David Kesler again.
Do you want me to speak to him?”
    “No, say nothing. I have released
twenty-five thousand shares at $7.80. Kesler’s only got to do one more big one and I’ll be out. Prepare our plan for a week
before the end of this account.”
    “Right, boss. Quite a few people are also
buying small