Arriving at Keeneland Racecourse was an experience to savour.
The long avenues of maple trees leading in from the main road were in full red and orange autumn colour, and they were truly spectacular in the sunshine.
Add valet parking and a grand entrance hall, complete with high-backed armchairs and a roaring open fire in the grate, made it feel like I was entering a very fancy private members’ club rather than a major international sporting venue.
Toni was waiting for me in the entrance hall, and she led me through to the open area between the impressive ivy-clad clubhouse and the new paddock building, both with their grand arched windows.
‘I’ve found you a place in a private suite,’ she said, obviously rather pleased with herself. ‘You’re having lunch with Herb and Harriet Farquhar.’
Now I was worried that I wasn’t sufficiently smartly dressed.
Before I’d left home, I had packed a warm suit plus a thick overcoat, expecting that it would be cold at the races, as it would be at Newbury in November. But I had not bargained with Keeneland being so much further south than Newbury. Indeed, Lexington is on the same line of latitude as Athens, and on top of that, central Kentucky was currently experiencing an unseasonably warm spell.
Hence, today I had left my heavy woollen suit and overcoat in the Hilton and had opted instead for my lightweight, blue-checked sports coat plus some navy chinos, both of which I had thankfully thrown into my suitcase at the very last moment. Together with a tie, of course. But was it smart enough for the Farquhars’ private suite?
Toni assured me that I looked ‘just fine and dandy,’ and she took me up in a lift to the fourth level and along the corridor to the suite, where I was relieved to find our host wearing a seersucker jacket not dissimilar to my own.
‘Well, look who it is,’ said a loud familiar British voice.
Nick Spencer, Potassium syndicate member, was also a lunch guest, together with his wife, Claire. I had known they were coming over, even though I hadn’t seen them at the gala dinner on Thursday evening.
‘When did you get in?’ I asked Nick.
‘Late last night. And we’re only here until tomorrow. We have to fly home overnight because I have to be back in my office first thing Monday morning. I’m in the middle of a huge deal on a residential block near Tower Bridge. It’s worth millions. But I wouldn’t miss this for anything.’ He smiled. ‘Do you think we’ll win?’
‘Only if Potassium is fast enough,’ I said. ‘But I have absolutely no idea how good the opposition really are.’
The eleven other runners in the Classic were all American bred, owned, and trained — the best of their best. And most were older horses — four, five, or six. Only two were three-year-olds, like Potassium.
I had tried to look up their relative form, but many of them raced in different states, and some had never competed against one another before.
We were venturing into the unknown, and in their own backyard.
We would just have to wait and see whether our horse was good enough to beat them all. But it wouldn’t be from any lack of trying on our part.
I think I enjoyed my lunch, but if you’d asked me afterwards what I’d eaten, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you. I was that nervous.
Our race wasn’t due off until twenty minutes to five, and the afternoon seemed to drag by, but eventually it was time for me to go down to the saddling area.
Potassium was already there, as was Owen Reynolds plus his two stable staff, who’d been looking after the horse.
With the three of them, I wasn’t really needed, so I stood to one side and watched as Owen went about saddling the horse. At one point, I saw Owen looking across at me, and I smiled and waved at him.
When all was complete, Potassium was led across into the paddock where Jimmy Ketch, wearing the Victrix silks, was given a leg up onto the horse’s back.
As the runners made their way out to the track, I went back up to the Farquhars’ suite to watch the race.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Harriet as we stood side by side looking out across the immaculately manicured infield with its neat hedging, some of it even topiaried into the word ‘KEENELAND.’
The racecourse was a mile and one furlong round, so the ten-furlong start was right in front of the stand, the horses in this race having to negotiate just over one complete circuit.
The twelve runners were expertly loaded into the starting stalls, and then, accompanied by a ringing bell, the gates flew open, and they were off.
As usual, Jimmy Ketch took Potassium straight to the front, and they hugged the inside rail around the first turn. Down the back stretch, he opened up a lead of five lengths, which soon became eight.
Around the final turn, he didn’t show any signs of slowing, and if anything, he extended his lead as they straightened up for the final run home.
Potassium totally annihilated the best the Americans had to offer, reaching the wire first, and with a winning margin of almost ten lengths in a new track record time.
Herb Farquhar grabbed my shoulders from behind in excitement.
‘Absolutely unbelievable,’ he shouted with tears in his eyes. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. I simply must have that horse as a stallion at my farm. Name your price. Any price.’
The most expensive stallion ever sold was Fusaichi Pegasus, winner of the Kentucky Derby. He was bought by the Irish breeding powerhouse, Coolmore, for seventy million U.S. dollars.
Should I ask Herb for the same? Or for more?
But now was not the time for that.
I rushed down to the winner’s circle. Like at Epsom, it was in front of the grandstand, and it was already pretty full of people by the time I got there.
Owen had beaten me to it.
I joined him and we leaned against the rail, side by side, waiting for the horse to finish its victory parades up and down the track in front of the adoring crowd.
‘By the way,’ he said casually, without turning his head towards me, ‘I know it was you who removed the weights from Dream Filler’s weight cloth at Lingfield. I’ve worked it out.’
In spite of the warmth of the day, I went cold.
I realised that I shouldn’t have worn my blue-checked sports coat here today. That is what Owen had obviously been looking at earlier, in the saddling area. It must have sparked a memory.
I turned and stared at him, but he didn’t look back at me. Instead, he continued facing forward.
‘You did it while I fetched the parade-ring vet,’ he said. ‘All that fuss you made about Dream Filler being lame was only to give you the opportunity.’ He paused, and finally turned to face me. ‘I don’t know why you did it. And I don’t want to know. But I reckon you must have had a good reason.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ I asked, realising that it was far too late to start denying anything.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘This year has been the greatest of my life, and that is largely down to you for choosing me to train Potassium. So I’m not going to ruin it now.’
I smiled at him.
‘But,’ he added, ‘you do owe me seven hundred and fifty pounds to cover the fine.’
‘Will you take cash?’