"So when were you going to tell me your wife had written a novel set in the world of funds?" I asked the chairman of the improbably-sized investment company Prandeamus Asset Management when I dropped by to see him this week.
"In an ideal world?" he sighed. "Never. In fact, I was rather hoping nobody would ever find out about the blasted thing." "Ah," I said. "That plan had a couple of fatal flaws."
"The glitzy book launch and the glossy interviews, complete with glossier photos, in a number of national newspapers?" suggested the chairman. "None of that was anything to do with me. This has all been Mrs Chairman's show - she came up with the idea herself, wrote the book herself, published it herself when nobody else would and she has since been using her not inconsiderable network of contacts to publicise it herself.
"Objectively speaking, it's been a hugely impressive operation and yet, while I have always tried my best to be supportive of my wife's many and varied projects over our almost four decades of marriage, I confess this one has been a challenge." "Why?" I asked. "Do you not think the book is up to scratch?" "Au contraire," replied the chairman.
"Indeed, I would actually go so far as to say it will come to be seen as a classic of its genre. Whether that is a genre the world really needs is a different question, of course - but my real concern is for the image of fund management. Obviously Mrs Chairman has based much of the book on her own experiences on the trading floors back in the day but things have changed hugely since then."
"You don't think the book is a proper reflection of how things are in the wonderful world of fund management?" I asked. "Exactly," nodded the chairman. "The episodes she writes about are barely recognisable as anything that goes on these days and I do worry anyone who reads her book will end up with a totally unrealistic and warped view of our industry."
"Oh come on," I said. "I guess I'm a bit surprised to learn your wife would ever write about drugs and dodgy bars and other extra-curricular City behaviour but I hardly reckon anyone these days will think she is bringing fund management into disrepute." "The drugs and the dodgy what ..." spluttered the chairman. "What on earth are you talking about?
"Have you actually read my wife's book?" "Well ... er ... not yet," I admitted. "I just assumed it would be like that other recently self-published exploration of City naughtiness - Playing FTSE by Richard Pease's wife Victoria - especially when I saw the publicity shots of Mrs Chairman at your home with Adair sleeping peacefully at her feet."
"Yes, the little chap got quite a shock when the photographer's flash went off," said the chairman, looking affectionately down at the terrier-sized hamster snoring quietly on his office floor. "Though not nearly as much as the photographer when Adair went for him." "Still, good news the doctors managed to save his hand," I said. "Indeed," nodded the chairman.
"But returning to my wife's book, you're well wide of the mark." "You mean, Mrs Chairman's experience of the City was completely different to Mrs Pease's?" I asked. "Has life on the trading floor really changed so much?" "Of course it has," said the chairman. "It's been decades since fund management businesses have routinely employed tea ladies."
"Tea ladies?" I asked. "Tea ladies," said the chairman. "Did you not know that's how I met my wife? Our first dozen or so exchanges were based solely around whether I took milk and sugar and the respective merits of custard creams versus ginger-nuts. And while such matters obviously retain an immense charm for me, I fear they are not enough to hold the average reader for 400 pages."
"I should imagine not," I said. "So the title of your wife's book is not a nod towards the more X-rated aspects of City life?" "No," said the chairman. "Fifty shades of Earl Grey is a nod towards how my wife really likes tea." "Well," I said. "I suppose that explains the self-publishing."
