One day at the races

Richard Webb-Wilkinson enjoyed the anticipation of this rare day at the races. To be held at Cheltenham, and if all simply went to plan his wife and he would travel in another’s helicopter. Just a little more on the overdraught he thought would not hurt, as his good friend was an established winner. He would simply ask for a tip. He was looking forward to treating the other guests to a nice glass of good champagne once the race was over. He did not care for it himself, but he knew of two old friends from his shipping days in London who did, and they were to be present.

It was a nasty day full of drizzle, but isn’t that the worst kind, his wife suggested? The group of ten stood under the small marquee considering the day. The money had left their pockets and Richard would simply be patient. He felt confident and decided he could afford the champagne now rather than later. He felt good and ignored the silent interrogations from his wife. He chatted enthusiastically about his current occupations and in fact started to feel excited about these so far unsuccessful ventures. What a great day it had turned out to be! He could see the sun nearly penetrating through the obscurity and he wondered how he had allowed himself to become so pessimistic in the last few years. He knew now that it would soon finally be possible to send his youngest to a better school. He did not permit himself too many daydreams, to enjoy the conversation fully, but he did decide to treat his good old friends to a special cigar after their delicious meal this evening. It was now to be a glorious day, indeed, oh look, the sun is coming out, said his wife.

Slightly later, in the afternoon, Richard’s wife chose a dangerous moment and inquired when the money for the two bottles of Dom Perignon had appeared, he had surely not been hoarding an invisible five years of housekeeping money? Acidity spent without thought, as she already knew of her husband’s other losses that day. Genteel poverty did not feature in her reality, she was afraid. Yes, she had become bitter and wondered at his stupidity. Unlike him, she understood that soon the children would reject charity shop clothing.

There was much talk of second homes in Gascony over the five-course feast. Bi-annual skiing holidays were hotly discussed and how about that stay all of us together at the Chateau in Dordogne last summer? All the children are growing older together, did you know Richard, that my daughter, Jeremy’s and David’s are all in the same class at St Paul’s? Unbelievable. As far as we know, they are all best of friends, but these expensive schools are so competitive, offered a friendly old Jim.

They were all thrown a special cigar to match their elective Armagnac. Richard declined, however. He had had more than enough of hearing his wife having a good time with those horrible coiffed women. Such a boring evening! Had he ever enjoyed these people’s company? As he remembered or imagined it now, he agreed that he simply used them to further his business. On the way home, he would swear how awful they were, how he would rather spend time with five rats, how he would never want their daughter fraternising with people of the same blood as those materialistic, superficial wideboys. And he swore he would never, ever be in the same room as any one of those people, ever again.