by Mark Stanley
"What are you all staring at?"
"Dearest Victoria, you of course. Parisian Society will be, as we always are, enchanted by your style and beauty."
My Mothers adulation of Victoria was and is always unrestrained.
We were leaving immediately after the 'Arc' as we were booked on the Eurostar train back to London. As well as our concierge Steven, Victoria had insisted on taking four members of staff from the London house so that they could attend to our needs, which really was funny as they seemed to be for Victoria's exclusive use. Still they did have uses and had stayed behind to ensure everything was packed, loaded & delivered to the Gare de Nord for our onward journey. The stay in Paris had been very expensive. Of course I was now getting used to it or trying to, but even so. We had taken over more than half a floor in one of the most expensive hotels in Paris for us, our family and for the ever increasing entourage that seems so necessary now but never used to be.
We came downstairs and everyone loaded into one of the six cars lined up on the forecourt. Four of them for us and two for the security and somehow we had acquired two motorcycle Gendarmes for escort, I had no idea how they'd been procured but once let loose, we accelerated down The Avenue des Champs-Élysées at a fair rate of knots skipping through junctions until we reached The Bois de Boulogne and the entrance to Longchamp. Our cavalcade pulled up into a VIP dropping zone. Tom was, as ever, on hand to manage everything and everyone. We knew that we had to wait on his signal for the doors to be opened, which they did without much of a delay and we stood to be greeted by the regular posse of photographers and interested race goers.
I stood hand in hand with Victoria, smiling at the cameras. But of course it wasn't me they wanted. The Parisians love Victoria. It's a love affair that has been going on for some time. Not only is she chic, but she has the élégance, that Parisians think they have the God given right too and the style to which they all seemingly crave, the je ne sais quo. Of course they all know her extremely well, from the many visits to the fashion shows and of course the design and the purchase of the dress, made in England but designed in Paris, that had found its way into umpteen magazines after the wedding. As we stood, our respective parents waited patiently, trying to hold onto the boys and even Granny was struggling to keep control without resorting to corporal punishment. We posed for a few seconds longer and then tried to rejoin our party only to be intercepted by two French television crews who wanted an interview, in French of course which we were happy to oblige, but I allowed Victoria to take centre stage as my French is okay but hers is on a different level. Smiles and thanks, laughter and more smiles before we were allowed to leave and make our way to the sponsor’s box for a light lunch.
"Goodness I'm not sure that I'm worthy to even sit down at the same table as my own daughter did you hear the crowd shouting, 'C'est formidable! C'est magnifique! Fantastique!' and none of it for me!"
Danny was joking, I think, but even I had been staggered by quite how much attention Victoria had been given, I suppose I had taken her beauty for granted as one does when one sees the same masterpiece every day, but no more would I be complacent.
Robert and Katie arrived along with the dessert, having been to supervise Royal Quests arrival. To ensure that he didn't fret about being away from home, Robert had decided that he would be flown in this morning, race this afternoon and flown home this evening, just as he had done when he last raced overseas in Ireland. As the race approached I was consumed with nerves, not an unusual state of affairs when he runs.
"Have you had a bet Mark?"
"Yes Dad. I think you'll get a better price on the Parimutuel as the French generally like to back French horses."
I had used my English Commission Agent and had invested very heavily at a little over even money, which would add nicely to the two and a half million pounds of winner’s prize money, assuming that he won of course.
"When I looked, he was almost 6/4 is that okay?"
"It's the Tote Dad so its pool betting, the odds may get better or worse but you won't know until after the race."
"Mister Stanley, put the farm on, he won't lose!"
"Please don't say that Mister Walker for he may just do that."
My Mother is always wary of my Fathers penchant for excesses.
The race proceeding the 'Arc' was being run and so we took our leave of our considerate and convivial hosts before gathering everyone together for the walk of death as my Mother had named the transfer from the box to the Parade Ring, due to the amount of people trying to intercept us, much to Tom's frustration. Tom is a firm favourite with both of us as he is always amenable but completely professional and if Tom doesn't think it's a good idea, whatever it is, doesn't get done. It has to be like that for it's his job to protect us and a fine job he and his men do. In heavy crowds they form a diamond pattern around us, with us in the centre. It works really well and to date we haven't had any incidents and we didn't have one today as we arrived in the Parade Ring joining the other owners standing around awaiting the arrival of their own horses. We acknowledged smiles and waves from people that we had seen on numerous occasions since Royal Quest catapulted us into this stratosphere of classic races. As we stood awaiting the horse’s arrival, inevitably Channel Four came a calling.
"Lord & Lady Stanley, the famous owners of the equally famous Royal Quest. Are you enjoying the build up to this great race or do you wish it were all over?"
Victoria answered. “No, we live for the moment and never wish away the time. This is such a fabulous day and we've enjoyed every moment so far and just hope that Royal Quest enjoys Paris as much as we do."
"Has he travelled across well?"
"He flew in this morning and his trainer says that he's fine and so there are no worries, at least from the travel point of view."
"The tactics today could be fascinating. There's a persistent racecourse rumour that he won't be allowed to lead and that at least one of the Japanese horses and perhaps, one or two others are going to make life difficult for him as he has always led, what do you think about that?"
"As you've already said, he has never been headed and so we don't know how he will react, if indeed that plan actually comes to fruition."
"The last time we met at Doncaster you allowed your daughter Lulu to speak with us, might we speak with her today?"
Victoria beckoned Lulu across.
"Congratulations on your first England cap and you scored a goal, by all accounts you were outstanding, was Dad on the touchline cheering you on?"
"Thank you. Yes Dad, Victoria, Mummy, Gramps and Grandma were all there and of course my brothers."
"We must go and look at the horses but can I ask you this because Dad will never answer it..."
He looked at me but the smile was fixed, I and Victoria were very wary of sneaky questions.
"...What's it like being part of this very powerful family?"
Lulu shrugged and then completely unprompted said, "We don't recognise any power within the family, Dad and Victoria just try and ensure that us children, go to school, work hard and have lots and lots of fun and of course are always polite and well mannered, especially when being interviewed."
The Longchamp Parade Ring reminded me of the old Ascot one, before the redevelopment. It has mature trees dotted around offering shade or shelter, depending on the weather, which today was perfect autumnal sun and warm temperatures. The horses came in and it was very apparent that Royal Quest was the star of the show. He had almost developed a swagger as his unbeaten run had lengthened and now he strutted around, taking everything in and inviting everyone to look at me! We were joined by the trainer and jockey for a brief word before he was required to mount the horse and leave for the parade. As is our want, we wandered to a position where we could view one of the giant screens. Longchamp is a difficult course for spectators and the screen offered perfect viewing. The commentator was of course French, but we weren't really interested in the preamble. The horses were in a c
hute at the mile and a half start, surrounded by hedges which gave a very calming feel to the proceedings a state that none of the various owners were feeling as the loading of the stalls began the level of anticipation was lifting off into space.
The stalls opened and they were off. It was a large field of eighteen and we had a good draw in stall three, close to the inside rails, well it would normally be a good draw, except today. As the stalls opened, Royal Quest for the first time in his racing career, dwelt, not badly but sufficiently for four horses to charge past him and cut him off from the favoured rails position on the inside of the course, causing James, the jockey to have to rein him back for fear of a collision.
"Fucking bastards!" Hissed Robert.
I touched his arm. "Hold your tongue."
Robert nodded, turning away in despair as in the space of three furlongs, Royal Quest went from fifth to almost last, but he appeared to accept his fate as he wasn't pulling, but we knew he was in serious trouble and so did the crowd, many who had come to witness another stellar performance.
The field continued to make their way down the back straight with no discernible change in the order. All of the favoured horses in the betting seemed to well positioned, except one. As the horses came to the end of the back straight, they entered a long sweeping bend, which eventually turns into, what the locals refer to as the false straight, before they go around yet another bend into the main straight, some half a mile from the finish. As horses began to tire, Royal Quest made some limited progress but was now trapped against the rail, seemingly with no way out. It was here that the pace changed. In English racing they go a fairly even gallop in some races but in most, they start off quickly and slow towards the finish. In France they race completely opposite, dawdling at the start and quickening the pace as the race reaches its climax. As the field swung into the main straight the pace quickened and gaps began to appear as slower horses were quickly over powered and ones that had contested the lead began to falter.
We were aware of some disquiet as a large contingent of race goers, French & British had seen the trickery of the jockeys who had squeezed Royal Quest out and made him retreat. As James tried to extricate Royal Quest to the outside, a quiet chant was started.
"Allez."
"Allez."
"Allez."
The cry was taken up by others as Royal Quest jostled for a position.
"Allez."
"Allez."
"Allez."
The mantra was taken up by others, French & British alike and still we were only tenth. But there, a gap! James shook the reins and in an instant Royal Quest was through and into clear air for the first time in the race.
"GO BABY GO!" Screamed Robert.
Two furlongs to go and ten lengths to make up, we still had the slimmest of chances.
"Allez!"
"Allez!"
"Allez!"
The chant was now in full voice as Royal Quest made inextricable progress, the jockey contoured onto his back and melding into the horse’s neck, pushing his hands onto the neck in perfect rhythm with the horse. The main French hope and the Japanese horse were both beginning their runs, but from much closer to the pace, as Royal Quest, ever sinew stretching and answering ever call of his jockey, continued to close, but would it be fast enough? I didn't know but I could only marvel at this incredible horse and his desire to try at the very least to win. Now even the commentator was being drowned out by the chorus of:
"Allez!"
"Allez!"
"Allez!"
We all joined in with the scream, for that's what it was.
"Allez!"
"Allez!"
"Allez!"
A hundred yards to go and two lengths to make up, he couldn't make it...could he?
"Allez!"
"Allez!"
"Allez!"
And then they flashed past the Winning Post and no one knew. Three horses across the width of the track, whose neck was over the line? We all stared at the screen before the French producer pulled away and decided to concentrate on the horse he thought was the winner, the Japanese horse Golden Sky.
The television screen showed a blurred freeze frame that was taken, shortly before the winning post, but it was inconclusive. Channel Four came over and said that they thought the Japenese had won and we had perhaps dead-heated for second. And still we waited. Victoria corralled us all and we held hands as the seconds ticked by, a full minute passed and then a second one, the waiting was nerve racking. Then, as is always the case in France, the result was announced by a chime and sixty thousand people went silent.
"Le résultat de la photo-finish..."
We stood as the silence continued and the suspense built.
"...Premier numéro quinze!"
We hugged, kissed, laughed and cried as the result was confirmed in favour of Royal Quest. Robert had his usual brief but intense emotional moment. The frustration with the opposition, the despair at the hopelessness of the horses position in the race and then the joy as he overcame everything to win, was for a moment, all too much. The other owners, but especially the group that race as Coolmore, were so generous with their appreciation of the horse, even after the demise of their own. The horse was to be led, as is ever, back in by Victoria and Lulu. As they left to carry out this very welcome task, TV cameras pounced. I did two very quick interviews for French TV and then Channel Four.
"Many congratulations on Royal Quest's most remarkable performance from this most remarkable of horses. He and you were facing defeat, what was going through your mind as you watched the race unfold?"
"Exactly that, we were going to be defeated. He has come from what has previously been described as an impossible position and yet through his own fortitude, resilience and desire to succeed he has overcome all of these barriers and prevailed."
"Much like his owner..."
The interview was terminated as my girls and Royal Quest came back to a fanfare of trumpets and wild acclaim. After yet more interviews, Royal Quest was led away for the routine dope testing and we were guided towards two open carriages for the short trip to the Winners Ceremony, which is traditionally held in the centre of the racetrack to give as many people as possible a view. We were led forward and shook hands with all of the hosts and dignitaries before, at last we were handed this precious trophy and the Prix de L'Arc de Triomphe, was ours, at least for the next year.
By 8.30pm we were back at Wentworth, the hour difference between France and England being crucial to the timings. Whilst we had wanted everyone there, in Paris, we also needed to ensure that the children were home at a decent time to get to bed for it was still school in the morning. Settled, stories read, I returned downstairs as our parents sipped champagne and we, sparkling water, as I had joined Victoria in being abstemious until after the birth but the lack of alcohol couldn't spoil the evening and after countless reruns of the race, as we watched, knowing the happy result, I took my leave for bed.
I sat in a chair in the corner of the room, jacket less, waiting for my wife's appearances, which was only four, maybe five minutes later. Still in the jacket, but minus the hat she entered.
"So Billy big day. I bet you're hoping for a big night aren't you?" Said with a very seductive smile.
"Shall I use the bathroom first?"
"I've done what I need to do. Can you comeback, dressed as you are?" She smiled and went into the bathroom, only for a few minutes before she returned. Smiling she walked towards me.
"Stop." Said firmly, but quietly.
"Let your hair down." She smiled as she removed the pins and grips that had held it in place. The restraints had ensured that it was more curled than usual, not an unattractive style.
"Take off your jacket."
She slowly unbuttoned the jacket before removing her arms and then discarding it onto the floor.
"Take off your shirt."
She complied to reveal a silk camisole. I was aware of my breath rasping at my own arousal.
> "Now the skirt."
She undid a button and a zip, but not allowing the skirt to fall to the ground.
"Would you like to pull it down?"
"No."
The skirt was slowly lowered to the ground and Victoria, carefully lifted each stiletto clad foot through and out, before kicking the skirt to join the jacket. She stood in black silk French knickers, with the same exquisite lace detail as the camisole, her magnificent legs, encased, not in hold-ups but stockings and suspenders. I stood and undid my trousers, revealing my cock, as hard as I could ever remember. Victoria licked her lips as I put cock in hand and pulled the foreskin back to reveal the engorged, almost purple head. I could have easily masturbated to a climax just looking at my beautiful, alluring wife. She moved forward.
"Let me suck him."
"Stop! No." She looked disappointed.
"Turn around." She did so.
"Take off the camisole."
She crossed her arms and gripped the bottom of the material before pulling her arms up to remove the camisole over her head, shaking her hair as she discarded the top onto the growing pile.
I closed the distance between us in three strides. Moving her hair to one side, I kissed the neck and shoulders, before allowing the palms of my hands to lightly touch her arms. I was so close that I could hear and feel Victoria's rapidly increasing breathing as I moved my lips back to her neck, whilst I continued with the caressing of her arms and now her sides, with the same lightness of touch.
Moving my hands onto her still flat tummy, before I allowed them to traverse upwards, lightly and oh so gently, just as I had caressed her arms and back, fleetingly brushing over her hard erect nipples, causing a sharp intake of breath. I moved my hands down and onto her hips before I slid them down, collecting her knickers on the way. The delicious contrast between the tops of her black stockings and the whiteness of Victoria's thighs was tantalising, but I kept my discipline. Sliding the knickers down to her ankles, I slipped each stiletto clad foot carefully through the hole as Victoria rested a hand on my shoulder to keep her balance.