We walked on through to the sales-ring building itself, an octagonal amphitheatre with steeply raked seating and high-up lantern-style windows, all of it dedicated to the promotion of Thoroughbred horseflesh as the greatest saleable commodity on earth.
‘It looks a bit bland now,’ Kate said as we walked in, ‘but it’s really exciting on sale days, especially for Book One, when there’s not a spare seat to be found. Latecomers have to sit in the gangways.’
The ring itself at the centre was not round but an oval and the whole place was a lot smarter than I had imagined. But I suppose, if you’re going to pay four million guineas for an untested racehorse, you’d want a comfortable seat to sit in as you do it.
‘Never mind that yellow shiny stuff you dig out of the ground,’ Geoffrey said, ‘Frankel was the highest-rated racehorse that has ever been and he was valued at a hundred million pounds, some fourteen times his own weight in gold, when he was retired to stud after an unbeaten fourteen-race career.’
‘Did you sell him here as a yearling?’ I asked.
‘Sadly not. He was bred by his owner, but we have sold some of his progeny.’
And, I thought, prospective buyers would flock to this place to bid on Frankel’s offspring in the hope that lightning would strike the same place twice and they, too, might buy a world-beater that would repay their investment many, many times over in the future. And, in bloodstock terms, the future was never too far away, with champion racehorses usually retiring to stud aged just three or four.
‘The horses come in from the sales paddock and are then walked around while the bidding takes place above them,’ Geoffrey explained. ‘Then, when the auctioneer’s hammer falls, they are led out the other side and back to their box. It then becomes the new owner’s responsibility to collect them from there.’
‘After they’ve paid,’ I said.
‘Oh yes,’ Geoffrey said with a laugh. ‘But they can’t even bid unless they have good credit. We see to that first.’
‘Very wise.’
‘But I can assure you that we consider Sheikh Karim’s credit to be excellent.’
It was a reminder that I wasn’t being shown round by the chairman just for my entertainment. Little did he realise that I didn’t represent the Sheikh’s racing concerns, only his media reputation. But I wasn’t going to say so if Kate hadn’t.
‘Now, will you excuse me, Mr Foster?’ he said. ‘Mrs Williams will complete the tour. I’m afraid I have some meetings I need to attend to.’
‘Of course, Geoffrey,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much for your time.’
We shook hands.
‘I look forward to seeing you at one of our sales,’ he said. ‘Yes, indeed.’
He turned and walked out of the sales ring, no doubt back to his office and his meetings, leaving Kate and me standing there alone.
‘Mrs Williams?’ I said. ‘What’s all that about?’
‘I am Mrs Williams,’ she said. ‘I never reverted to my maiden name when I got divorced.’
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Laziness, I suppose. Having gone to all the trouble to convert everything to Williams in the first place, I couldn’t be bothered to turn it all back. And I was never that keen on Logan anyway. I was always being told by people to run, after the film, and they called me Loganberry at school. I hated it.’ She paused. ‘Also, it makes getting rid of unwanted men easier if I’m a Mrs.’
‘Does that happen often?’ I asked.
‘Quite often.’
‘You didn’t tell me that you were a Mrs.’
‘That’s because you’re not unwanted.’
I smiled at her. ‘Good. Now, what’s left of the tour?’
‘Nothing much, this is it really. Everything of interest happens in this space. This is where the big bucks get spent. During the sale I stand behind the rostrum over there.’
She pointed at a raised box on the edge of the ring.
‘When the hammer drops, the auctioneer hands me the purchase confirmation form and it’s my job to get the successful bidder’s signature on it before he or she leaves the building. I keep the white top copy and give the yellow one to the buyer as a receipt. But I have to keep my wits about me as some of them seem to bid without moving more than an eyelid, and others hide in the stairways up the back there so no one else can see them.’
‘Why?’
‘God knows. Perhaps they think the price will go higher if someone sees them bidding. And they might be right if it was Sheikh Karim.’
‘Don’t you start,’ I said. ‘I’m embarrassed enough already. Fancy getting the chairman to show me round.’
She laughed. ‘It was his idea, not mine.’
‘But you could have stopped it.’
She looked at me. ‘Now why would I want to do that?’
Kate and I went inside the main administration building to visit the ‘girls at Tatts’, her work colleagues, some of whom I had met in the box at the races.
As we moved from desk to desk, I realised that she was showing me off as her own personal VIP, one who the chairman himself had taken the time to show round. All the girls knew about that, sure enough. And why not, I thought. If Kate had visited Simpson White, I’d have shown her off too.
‘You must come again on a sale day,’ Kate said. ‘The whole place comes alive. Chauffeurs fight for a spot in the car park, the restaurant is booked out for weeks in advance, and the thrill of seeing rich men bidding against each other is electric. I have friends who come every day just to watch. It’s the best theatre in town, and with no admission charge. But what makes it really exciting is that it’s not a game, it’s deadly serious. Fortunes and reputations are made and lost here.’
‘You should be on the marketing team,’ I said with a laugh.
‘I am.’
21
Racing on Friday afternoon at the Rowley Mile course was somehow more methodical and less glamorous than it had been on the previous evening. The weather was not as kind for a start, with threatening dark clouds having replaced the warm sunshine. Hence there were fewer people in the crowd, although today’s gathering gave the air more of being here strictly for the serious business of racing and betting, rather than for drinking and having a good time.
I also thought it was less fun, but that may have had something to do with the fact that Kate wasn’t with me. I had decided that asking her to accompany me today would have been inappropriate, even if she’d been able to get the time off work. I had business of my own to complete, and it might get nasty.
Over breakfast, I’d looked at the hotel copy of the Racing Post. According to the paper, both Ryan and Declan had runners declared here today and Tony was also riding one. Plus I thought it highly likely that Oliver would be here as well. And I had every intention of letting them know that I was here too, and that I was watching them.
As it turned out, however, the first person I saw as I walked towards the entrance was not a Chadwick but Joe, Declan’s travelling head lad.
‘Hi, Joe,’ I said. ‘Nice short journey for you today.’
‘Yes,’ he said, without any amusement. ‘I was meant to be at Newbury but the guv’nor decided he’d go there instead, so I’m now here. Suppose you can’t blame him. This is too bloody close to home.’ We could almost see Declan’s yard from where we were standing. ‘Too many wagging tongues.’
I couldn’t think that it would be much better for him at Newbury but I was just glad that he hadn’t hidden himself away altogether.
‘Thank God Trevor’s back tomorrow.’
‘Trevor?’ I said.
‘The guv’nor’s assistant. Been at his grandmother’s funeral in some godforsaken spot in the Scottish Highlands. Not that we’ve got any runners tomorrow, anyway. Chrissie never made the declarations.’