“James, you really should be on the stage,” Nick retorted.
Alex looked round the parade ring. The circling horses she thought were beautiful. With their power and the shine on the coats, they were overflowing with health and life.
As the jockeys entered, the two stable hands managed to guide Manarola over to the Hensen group. Stephen Reed, no more than five foot, joined them, donning his cap to first the owner, then the trainer and then to Alex and the other guests.
After a talk on race tactics, Strauss hoisted him into the saddle. It was then that Manarola really started to show his immense power, taking one quick lunge back and then two forward. “Hold on boy,” shouted the jockey, who despite his slight stature soon regained control.
The last Alex saw of the pair they looked the best of friends as they cantered to the start. Horsemanship like that is quite a skill, she remarked to Katherine as they made their way back.
Only a few guests and the waiting staff were in the suite. Everyone else was preparing to watch the race. Some had stayed downstairs, to watch for real or on TV. The rest watched from the balcony and they decided to try their luck there. Alex, aware of her 5' 10” plus heels, found a space away from the very front.
Katherine was in front of her, and they were joined by Tavis, who had brought a whisky with him.
“Confident?” he asked her.
“Fingers crossed.”
Some of those on the balcony watched the horses at the start of the race through binoculars, but Alex and Hamilton concentrated on the big screen.
Manarola walked around at the start, looking a more relaxed character than the fiery beast that she had first seen. Then the first of the runners was led into the starting stalls. Some in the crowd rushed to place late bets.
Manarola was put into stall six in the middle of the field and soon all eleven were in the boxes. “They’re under orders,” the commentator said across the Tannoy. “They’re off!”. Even watching the big screen Alex found it hard to pick out Manarola. But above the noise of the crowd she caught the commentator saying that they were at halfway and Manarola was moving up.
Soon she could make out the colours on the track itself and she could tell Manarola’s jockey was a lot more relaxed than many of the others. While they were pushing and shoving, flapping their whips, Reed sat there hardly moving.
As they climbed the hill towards the finishing line, his stance in the saddle changed. Much lower now, he started to urge Manarola to maximum effort and the colt responded with a burst of acceleration that took him from third place to first in a few strides.
“Go on!” shouted Alex. “Go on!”
“He’s going to win it,” shouted Hamilton.
“YES!” exclaimed Katherine as Manarola crossed the line well ahead of the second horse. The three of them jumped up and down, high-fived and hugged, laughing at their good fortune.
“That's £1,000 to you Miss Anderson. And the company gets its stake back.”
Below, a crowd gathered round Hensen as he made his way to greet his winner. “Well done, he is some prospect,” one racing fan said to the beaming owner.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” he replied.
In the suite, Katherine, Alex and Hamilton toasted the horse. “To Manarola,” Hamilton said “And a wonderful day.”
“Manarola,” said the ladies, clinking glasses.
“I’d better go and see if Nick needs anything,” said Katherine.
“One more whisky?” Tavis suggested to Alex.
“You are terrible,” she remonstrated as they sat down and he poured.
“So, I’m old enough to ask a young girl like you whether you are married or in a serious relationship without it being taken as anything other than pure interest.”
“Ha, don’t put yourself down, Tavis, but no, I’m not married and not in any relationship, serious or not.” She explained that she had forsaken her personal life for her business.
“Not just that, though, eh?” he said, looking directly at her.
The comment startled her.
She shrugged it off. “Yes, just that Tavis!”
“I ought to say that what makes me a good banker is that I am the best amateur psychologist on the planet. I’m fascinated by social interaction, body language, language use, etcetera. It helps tremendously making deals when I know the other person’s body language says they won’t budge any more or that they haven’t given me anything like their best offer.”
“And what is it in my body language and use of language that makes you think that there are other reasons for me being unmarried?”
“Oh, I can’t say, it would alarm you if I revealed my secrets,” he laughed.
“So I am intrigued now. You think what happened in my past?”
“Well, how old are you now, 30?”
“33.”
“And you are American right?”
“New York City, born and bred.”
“And you came here how long ago?”
“Four years.”
“So, at 29, you up sticks, don’t even stay in America, but cross the Atlantic and set up in business here.”
“I like to help pay for the Queen.”
“You ran away from something.”
She was jolted into silence and sipped more whisky to give her the time to think of her reply.
“Tavis, you might be a clever man, but I fear the whisky has gone to your head. Let’s talk about you and your family and I’ll check your body language.”
He laughed. "You must understand reading body language is like reading the results of a lie detector. All those squiggles on the graph. It does take some experience to know what they mean. That is, of course, unless the subject is too obvious with the signals."
"And when they are too obvious?" she asked.
"In my case, you end up marrying them."
"Tell me more."
"Well twenty or so years ago years ago when I was in my mid-thirties I became aware that my, err, body was approaching middle age quite a lot faster than my mind. So I hired a personal trainer. She was married but quite beautiful, not in a perfect symmetrical way but she had a great, smiley personality, the sort of strong facial looks that I like, and, of course being a personal trainer, she was physically in good shape.
"So I became a bit besotted. We used to go running in Regents Park and it became the highlight of my week. Very vulgar thing to say and - excuse me - I used to run behind her and stare at what you in America would call her butt."
"Tavis!"
"So then I started to hire her twice a week, and then three times a week, even though the actual training was a total bore. I'd rather have just taken her to the wine bar or cinema or something"
She laughed. "Reminds me of when I turned sixteen and I went to see a film every day for three weeks because I liked the guy in the ticket office. Not only was he about ten years older than me but I also found out he was gay.”
“Bad luck,” he laughed.
"Sorry, you and the trainer?"
"Well, after about three months and a small fortune in training costs, I noticed her body language was telling me... that - to put it as modestly as I can - she rather liked me too. And not just for the bills."
"How did you know?"
"Oh classic signs are overly-long eye contact, hair touching and - in her case – in the gym I often caught her glancing... oh no, I can't say that, we have just met.”
She guessed what he meant.
"So what happened?"
"She left her husband and we have been married for eighteen years."
"But what about the poor husband?"
"I feel guilty to this day. I never met the man but I think about him quite often and what might have happened in his life since then, and how much he must hate me. I just think myself and Laura - that's my wife - were meant to be together.
"At least there were no children involved but even if there were I can't say we would have acted differently.
"She never once said he was a bad husband or anything, just that - trying to be modest here - she wasn't in love with him but was with me. So what to do?"
She reflected but not for long enough before saying the first thought that entered her mind. “So if the new marriage works out it's OK to destroy someone's life?"
He looked a little aghast and Alex, embarrassed what she had just said, sipped some more drink before trying to rescue herself.
"No, Tavis, you can't expect anyone to stay with someone else in any relationship if they are not happy."
"Anyway, we are now approaching our dotage as much as in love as we were then. We have two fantastic kids and I am totally faithful, not that I am likely to have the opportunity to be anything other nowadays."
Alex liked him despite his infidelity and, for a man she'd only just met, his overly inquisitive questions about her past.
She sipped some more as they talked and joked, and then Katherine came over to the two of them, with a big smile - and her winnings in a bundle of fifty pound notes.
"There you go young lady, here is your reward for showing expert horse racing knowledge...it didn't cost us a penny and you won this."
Alex was hesitant. "But..."
"Shut up, and take it. Like I said, it didn't cost us a penny...or a cent as you would say."
Alex laughed. "OK, I could do with another pair of shoes. Thanks Katherine."
"And how are you Tavis? I hope you haven't been leading this lady astray."
"No not at all. If anything it's been the other way round. She's a terrible flirt but I've made it clear to her that I'm happily married."
"And that you are old enough to be her dad?" quipped Katherine.
"My dear woman, as you know I'm getting on for sixty in body but I retain the mind of a man half that age," he retorted. "You, I have to say, will be happy to age as well as me. " The two of them smiled at each other with what to Alex seemed genuine affection.
Alex put on her own bets for the rest of the day. She welcomed the air and the exercise, and staked £10 on each of Tavis's four “certain winners” which all finished down the field. She reprimanded him for his poor judgement.
Then, with the last race of the day already being run and some of the guests in the suite starting to collect their coats, Katherine came back to them. "You will be joining us at Nick's place to celebrate his - and your - good fortune with Manarola?"
"I'd love to, but Tavis has plied me with whisky, and I think I might fall asleep before I arrived."
With that, Katherine walked briskly to the table where sandwiches and drinks remained, and poured coffee into a cup which carried the logo of the racecourse. "Black and strong, drink it quickly and I'll arrange you a car," she said.
Alex thought quickly and decided it was too good an opportunity to turn down. Good for her business and good for herself as she had such a good day already and really didn't want it to end.
"Are you going Tavis?"
"Yes, of course, lots of free booze, and the opportunity to further work on my assessment of an American with a secret or two."
Chapter two: Celebration party
No sooner had she been ushered into the back of a silver Mercedes with two other guests from the function than she began to worry about her decision. I don't even know where we are going, she thought. And how the hell am I going to get home if we end up miles into the countryside?
She turned to one of her fellow passengers.
"Hi, I'm Alex," holding out her hand to a jolly-looking woman in a floral dress who was probably in her seventies.
"I'm Lady Ashton, very pleased to meet you."
Alex tried not to gulp while pondering how to address a Lady. Not something she was taught in High School back in New York.
"Please call me Eleanor or Ellie, no formalities here, darling." And this is my husband, Lord Ashton. He is a pompous old fool but just refer to him as 'Henry' since that is his name."
White-haired and moustached Lord Ashton leant across to shake Alex's hand.
"Very pleased to meet you, dear. American aren't you?"
"Yes, sir," she replied. "But I have lived in London quite a while now."
"And what brought you over here my girl?"
"Oh..err..it was just meant to be a tourist trip at first but I guess I fell in love with England and decided to stay."
"Well, I'm always pleased to welcome good people from the colonies," he said with a very loud laugh.
"Oh please, Henry, leave her alone," said Lady Ashton. "She doesn't want to be bothered by a bumbling old fool like you."
Alex blushed. "Oh not at all Lady..err..Eleanor...Lord Ashton is not bothering me at all."
"See, my dear, I still have it in me," the Lord said to his wife and broke out into another very loud laugh.
The traffic leaving the racecourse was heavy and progress was slow. Alex spotted a sign 'London, 25 miles', but had no idea whether that was the destination, or whether the next roundabout would divert them as far away as the Cotswolds or wherever else Nick Hensen might have chosen to buy a home with his considerable fortune.
She decided she could bear it no more and risked making herself look foolish.
"This sounds really silly, but I accepted an invitation to Mr Hensen's post-race party to celebrate his win today, and I have actually no idea where he lives," she said, trying to give the impression that their destination was of little importance.
"Scotland, dear girl," said Lord Ashton with another hearty laugh.
"Oh, don't be silly, Henry," his wife rebuked him.
"Nick lives in Mayfair, London, Alex, and please don't worry about getting home afterwards because you are welcome to stay with us once the party is over.
"And where do you live, my dear?"
"Nowhere so glamorous as Mayfair, I'm afraid. I live on the east side.. Shoreditch - I don't know if you have heard of it?"
"I've heard of it. Sewer Ditch!" blasted Lord Ashton. "That's where it got its name from, used to be a bog you know."
Lady Ashton looked at Alex. "Forgive him, dear. He reads a lot but tends to remember the myths and forget the facts."
"Not at all, Ellie, old girl. I just read a history of London and I know that Shoreditch was named after a sewer, Mayfair was named after a fair that took place in May....And the Isle of Dogs was so named because that was where King Henry VIII kept his hunting dogs - on an island so he wouldn't hear them bark at night."
Alex tried not to laugh. She liked the banter between the Lord and Lady, the same as you'd hear from the locals in any London pub. Finally, and at the risk of offending a Lord, she was could suppress her laughter no more after Lady Ashton remarked: "Mayfair means a fair in May? My dear Henry, you don't have to be a genius to work that one out."
She was still smiling discreetly as they entered London.
The driver, in front of a glass partition, apparently oblivious to their conversation, kept the car at a modest pace and in the same lane while now even heavier traffic fought for road space wherever they could get it.
Eventually they arrived in Park Lane and the Mercedes came to a stop outside a block of twelve stories made up of a striking mix of old brick with a contemporary steel and glass extension on top.
"Right let's get out and stretch my legs," said Lord Ashton, not waiting for the driver to open the door for him, grabbing at the handle and jumping out with impressive alacrity for a man who, Alex thought, was five to ten years older than his wife.
"Madam," said the driver after opening the door next to her. She got out, thanking him, and walked round the car to join Lord Ashton. His wife, ample in stature, took quite some time to do the same. The three of them entered the revolving doors of the block where a uniformed porter, a small, bald man of about sixty, greeted them.
"Lord and Lady Ashton and Alex...err.." announced the Lord.
"Anderson," said Alex.
"We are here to see Nicholas Hensen," he added.
"Yes, the thr
ee of you are expected," the porter replied. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
Expected? That Katherine Price is sure good at her job, Alex thought.
"No, old boy, we'll be fine. We'll just go up if we may," said the Lord.
"I've been here a couple of times before, top floor and straight in?"
"Yes that's right, sir. Have a pleasant evening."
The three of them entered a lift which for Alex's taste was rather too mirror-and-lights glitzy.
But, when they arrived at floor twelve, this particular elevator also revealed its practical side. When the metal door opened it revealed a glass door behind, preventing them from entering the flat, although allowing them to see inside and the people there. Bullet proof and unbreakable, she guessed.
Inside, from a crowd of about fifteen people, Katherine Price approached, pressed some buttons on the wall and the glass opened. "Hello everyone, glad you all came. We are waiting for six more after you and then that should be it. That's unless someone turns up who wasn't invited," she smiled.
Alex was stunned. She had seen apartments like this in glossy magazines, both sides of the Atlantic, but never experienced in person what you actually get for your millions of dollars or pounds.
"It's certainly bright and very white" she thought and remembered the way she had left her rather scruffy flat with her jeans on the bedroom floor and unwashed dishes in the kitchen.
She pondered more. Whoever had designed the flat had left no expense spared. The tiled flooring, the beautiful art, the very expensive furniture and a massive ultra thin TV hanging on the wall. There was gentle classical music playing, piped it seemed from the walls, floor and ceiling.
She thought that her Democratic-voting sister might consider the place an ostentatious show of wealth. And, worried that she would be the guest who spilt red wine on the nearly-white seating, considered whether she could ever feel comfortable in such a home.
I suppose, she concluded, that if you can afford a place like this it doesn't really matter if you ruin a couch that would probably cost a year of her salary.
The views from the flat were breathtaking. Depending on which room, you could see the financial area of the city, the greenery of Hyde Park or South Bank with its theatres and London Eye.
Special Relationship Page 2
