The Mandarin Stakes

by Sam O'Brien

  Susan’s phone rang. “He wants you in his office,” she said, cradling the receiver.

  Andrew drained his cup and made for the door.

  “Gary bloody Holdsworth is complaining about our boarding fees,” announced Charles. “He bent my ear for nearly fifteen minutes this morning.”

  “Again? We’re doing the best rate we can.” Andrew rolled his eyes. “I’m beginning to wonder if he’s worth all the hassle.”

  Charles narrowed his gaze. “Don’t forget, he gave you your big break with Regal Delight.”

  “I haven’t,” said Andrew, taken aback. “But he’s always trying to squeeze us.”

  Charles cracked a smile. “I have to admit, you’re right. But I want to keep him on the side a bit longer. So, knock off a couple of quid a day. Keep him happy until this Tote thing comes off, then the next time he tries it, I’ll tell him we can’t accommodate him and he’ll either cave in or find another boarding farm.”

  Andrew nodded, smiling. Gary’s penny-pinching would be his undoing. Andrew’s grandfather’s words echoed in his mind: There are no shortcuts with horses. They’ve got to be tough and athletic, and that takes time, patience and money. If you can’t bear the expense of doing it properly, then breed ferrets or collect stamps.

  “By the way, I’m off to Beijing on Monday, so I’ll need you to hold the fort while I’m away.”

  “Right, no problem.” He arched his brow quizzically. “Have you found a Chinese client?”

  “Sort of.” One-point-three billion of them, Charles thought, grinning.

  Andrew looked puzzled. “Is this to do with the guy you met at Sandhurst?”

  “Yes,” Charles paused, drumming his fingers on the blotter. “The Tote deal looks good to go, but not a word to anyone,” he said with hard eyes. “I don’t want it leaked until the Chancellor confirms it before summer recess. If we can pull it off and give it a cash injection, it’ll mean millions funnelled into the prize money pool and possibly a small bonus for all of us… If you know what I mean?”

  Andrew stared.

  “And that’s even before we get an exclusive foothold selling our good old British bloodstock to the Chinese market.

  Andrew’s jaw fell open. “Chinese market? For horses?”

  Charles’ eyes sparkled. “Oh yes, horses. And other things.”

  Andrew looked at him quizzically. Charles flapped a hand at him. “All in good time. Anyway. As before, keep your mouth shut and report to me if you hear even a whiff of our Tote takeover on the grapevine. Understood?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Good, I’ll be gone for ten days or so. Take care of my e-mails.”

  “What if I have to contact you?”

  “I doubt you will, but I suppose I’ll get you a number before we leave.”

  “OK then. Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I’m sure it’ll be an easy sell, but it never hurts to have a bit of luck on your side.”

  Andrew wanted to ask a thousand questions, but he knew better than to interrogate Charles. The desk phone tinkled, Charles waved Andrew out and picked up.

  “Hello, Charlie,” said Piers in a tired voice. “I’m afraid I’ve got a bit of bad news. I won’t make it to Beijing with you and Rupe.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  “I’m in London, will be until the tests are over… You see, it’s Julia… She fell off her horse out on the moors a few days ago. Seemed alright at first, got straight back up and rode home, but then she, well, she had these awful headaches. Silly thing wasn’t wearing a helmet you see. I flew her down here last night. She’s having a scan today and God knows what else. I’m quite worried, so are the girls. Poor things, they want to come out of school to visit her.”

  “That’s simply awful. Do they have any idea what it is?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Yes, of course. Thanks. I’ve already let Rupe know. Do have fun, and keep me posted. I have Rupe’s secure number. Needless to say, you won’t have a phone out there!”

  “Why bother when Rupe has one?”

  “What’s the plan anyway?”

  Charles outlined the tactics for him.

  “Charlie, you’re a crafty bugger. Like I said, keep me posted.”

  “I will if I can, but Ling arranged our hotel, so there’s a fair chance we’ll be monitored and escorted around like sheep.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way, old boy. Bon voyage and all that.”

  “Thanks. Regards to the girls and fingers-crossed for Julia.”

  * * *

  Andrew plonked himself in his chair. He was still smiling. The Tote! Charles would definitely need to increase turnover – and therefore profit – if Britain was to compete with French prize money and breeders’ bonuses. And to think, Andrew would be associated with the man who pulled it off. He found his mind wandering to a utopian future where racing for massive purses kept everyone happy so they could breed athletes for racing and not fashion models for the sales ring. He even imagined Gary might stop complaining.

  China. Andrew sat back in his chair. Mmmm. An exciting new market for horses. Plenty of commission to be made, Charles was right about that.

  He sighed. The smile slipped away from his face. Once again, Andrew found himself full of conflicting feelings about his job.

  Billy Malone, ranting men, and tarot cards were far from his thoughts.

  Chapter 14

  Beijing

  The black Mercedes sluiced through the toll gates on the airport expressway. Charles smiled as they zipped past the clogged lanes. He nudged Rupert. “Marvellous. Queuing’s for other people. Ling’s as good as his word, so far.”

  A stony-faced Rupert flicked his eyes towards the chauffeur. Charles took the hint and neither man spoke again until they arrived at their hotel, a shiny building towering into the sky beside the third ring road. From their suite, they had a commanding view of the heavy smog that clung to the rooftops of Beijing.

  “Bloody hell, the air’s filthy,” said Rupert, as they attempted to survey the city below.

  “They call it haze here, apparently.”

  “I’m sure they do,” said Rupert with a chortle. “Just like we used to call opium the balance of trade.”

  Charles looked at his watch. “Time for a nap before dinner.”

  At eight pm they were whisked away to a narrow side street near the vast open space of Tiananmen Square. The driver opened their door and pointed to an ornate entrance. “Please, Mr. Ling is waiting for you.”

  Charles nodded. “Thank you.”

  As the two Englishmen approached, the lacquered wooden doors opened as if by magic. A bowing, dark-suited servant ushered them into a serene courtyard. There were bamboo plants growing, lanterns burning, and a fountain drizzling droplets of water from the mouth of a dragon. The servant led them through an oval opening to an inner courtyard, where a large jade statue of an ox was the centrepiece. The magnificent pavilion behind it was silhouetted against the moonlight. Charles noted the statues of guardian animals set on the apex of the roof and trailing to the turned-up corners. The pavillion doors were open and the smell of jasmine wafted into the night air. The columns supporting the structure were a rich red with gold trim, and the overhead beams were carved and painted with intricate patterns. Somewhere in the shadows, traditional Chinese music was being plucked from a lute. If there were security guards around, neither old soldier could detect them.

  Ling appeared from the softly-lit interior and spoke to the servant in a polite tone. The man nodded and scurried away. Ling held out his hand. “Please, gentleman, do come inside. You are most welcome to my country.”

  Charles shook his hand. “Very good to see you again, Ling. This is quite a place you’ve got.”

  “That is quite a compliment, considering your palace of Brockford, but I am afraid this is not my house, as you will see.”

  Inside, the walls were painted imperial yel
low. The room was furnished with antique chairs, low sofas and luxurious cushions. There was a round dining table with four places set.

  “This was a former Imperial residence. It is now a kind of club. We use it from time to time to entertain guests. I find it more private than the usual venues.”

  A thin woman appeared from the adjoining room. She was dressed in tailored silk and a jade necklace, and had perfectly coiffed hair. She crossed the parquet floor with ethereal grace.

  “Gentlemen,” said Ling, smiling warmly. “This is my wife, Ling Xiao.” He turned to her. “These are the gentlemen I was telling you about: Rupert Calcott and the Honourable Charles Buckham,” he said in English.

  “Good evening,” she said in a perfect accent, extending a smooth hand adorned with a large diamond. “How nice to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, ma’am,” said Charles, nodding.

  “Indeed,” said Rupert. “Thank you so much for your hospitality. I’m looking forward to seeing your wonderful country over the next few days.”

  She smiled and bowed from the neck. “Thank you.”

  “Please, sit down,” said Ling, sweeping his hand towards the table. They took their places.

  Mrs. Ling leaned towards Rupert with a twinkle in her eye. “It is good to finally meet somebody who attended your military academy with my husband. I was beginning to wonder if he was ever really there at all.”

  Ling laughed. “My wife has trouble picturing me in a soldier’s uniform.”

  Rupert winked at her. “It’s true, I assure you. There wasn’t a man with more stamina in our year. And, if I may say so, Ling, while you may not have served in your army, it appears that life has landed you in battle, on the frontlines of politics.”

  “That is indeed true,” said Ling.

  Rupert chuckled. “If Chinese politics are anything like ours, then I’d rather be in a war zone with a gun than a parliament house trying to bend the masses to my will with rhetoric.”

  Ling and his wife exchanged glances.

  Charles eyed Mrs. Ling up and down, as if inspecting a horse. He was less than pleased at the prospect of a night of inane small talk in the company of a cover-story wife.

  “Yes, well, anyway,” said Charles. “We’re really looking forward to touring about. Ling, will you have time to join us at all, or are you leaving us in the capable hands of your driver?”

  “I can spend a day or two with you in Beijing, but when you visit the Terracotta Warriors I’m afraid that I will not be able to accompany you.”

  “That’s a pity, but we quite understand. So, according to the itinerary, it’s the Great Wall and Ming Tombs tomorrow?”

  “That is correct. It will be an early start; we will be there for sunrise.”

  “The Great Wall at daybreak. I bet that’s a sight,” said Rupert.

  “It is,” Ling beamed a toothy grin. “Charles Buckham, even you will have seen nothing like it.”

  “Excellent!” said Charles. “Can’t wait, but um, when’re we going to see this new Horse City at Tianjin. I’d love to walk the track there. How’s it all progressing?”

  “All in good time, Charles. All in good time. Please, relax and enjoy China.”

  A team of waiters arrived with enough dishes of food to feed twice their number. They were placed on a revolving plinth in the centre of the table, and opened with a flourish. The delicious smells overpowered the jasmine in the air. Another servant, wearing the grape pin of a sommelier on his lapel, poured a rich, golden wine into their glasses.

  “This is a Sauternes,” said Ling. “I believe, in Europe, you drink it before or after the meal, but you will find it goes well with our food. I took the liberty of ordering a selection of Beijing dishes. Please, help yourselves.”

  Charles sipped the sweet nectar. Divine, complex flavours leaked into his taste buds. “This is sublime, Ling. Where’s it from?”

  “A place called Chateau D’Yquem. Several friends of mine have bought vineyards in the Bordeaux region. However, this particular chateau is not for sale. Yet.”

  “I didn’t realise you Chinese were wine drinkers,” said Rupert.

  “Oh, we are learning to appreciate the delights of fermented grape juice.”

  “What about the delights of racehorses? Are you learning to appreciate that, too?” Charles cut in, with a hint of impatience.

  “We have always appreciated that, Charles,” answered Ling, in slow, measured tones. “But, personally, my interest in wine was sparked during my time in England. I also took a liking to single malt Scotch. However, I never really liked champagne. The bubbles go straight to my head.”

  “Indeed,” said Charles, taking another sip to stifle his smirk. He remembered that weekend’s leave from Sandhurst when Ling and Jamie had knocked back champagne by the pool at Brockford.

  Rupert served himself food and fingered his chopsticks expertly. “So tell me,” he said to Mrs. Ling. “Is it true what the international press say, that your husband is a candidate for the leadership?”

  She smiled politely. “In China, it is not as simple as that.” She glanced at her husband, who smiled enthusiastically. “You see, there is a leader, who is both president and – usually – Party Chief. There is also a Premier: a bit like what the French call Premiere Ministre,” she uttered the term in a perfect French accent. “Then, there is the man your press call the Vice President: Guo Qingling. It is all but certain that he will become President upon the handover this autumn. Should that be the case, it is a real possibility that my husband will become Vice President.”

  Charles cracked a small grin. “Congratulations, Ling. You must be thrilled!”

  Ling forced an embarrassed smile and raised his hand at Charles. “Please, please. Nothing is set in stone. It is true that Guo should be the next leader and I would be very honoured to replace him, but,” he paused as if searching for his words, “it is a very delicate thing in China, passing the baton of leadership. The country must be maintained on its course with great care and harmony – we call it weiwen – but there are always many factions and groups who wish to steer the ship towards a course more compatible with their own interests.”

  “Eddie’d agree with you on that one,” said Charles, chuckling.

  “I’m sure he would. However, in China, we have rather more people to keep…” he frowned, looking for the right word.

  “In line?” offered Rupert.

  Ling gave him an expressionless stare. “I was going to say contented.”

  “Oh, yes. Right.”

  “Our population is large – as are our Politburo, Standing Committee, and National People’s Congress – there are many things to consider and agendas to anticipate when plotting any change of course. No matter how subtle the change may appear to be, the eventual destination of the ship could be far from where it would have been. Indeed, eventually, it could even run aground.”

  “Yes, quite,” said Charles, curtly.

  “It is such a pity that Sir Piers could not come with you, I was looking forward to another discussion on tactics and politics over a bottle of whisky.”

  “That would’ve been fun for him, too. He’s quite bored these days,” said Rupert.

  “How is his wife?” asked Ling, with a look of genuine concern.

  “We haven’t heard,” said Rupert. “I expect he’ll send word in the next day or two.”

  Over dinner, Charles made two further attempts to draw Ling on the subject of Chinese racing, before conceding defeat.

  He would turn the screw tomorrow morning, on a wall built to keep the people in as much as the hordes out.

  * * *

  The car picked them up at six and slipped out of the seething metropolis. Nearly an hour later, they pulled into the car park at Badaling, a restored section of the Great Wall and one of the most visited tourist sites in the country. At this hour, the area was devoid of tour buses. Only the ticket sellers and guides were there, anticipating a brisk day’s trade. Charl
es, Rupert and Ling stepped out of the car into the frigid air. Behind the silhouette of the wall, the first blue tones of dawn were diluting the night sky.

  A hopeful tour guide approached the Westerners, until four men clad in ear pieces and outsize suits got out of a black sedan and formed a perimeter around Ling. The guide scurried towards a comrade, chattering, gesticulating, and stealing glances in the direction of the group.

  Rupert ran his eyes along the wall as they walked towards the imposing stone structure. Charles looked up in awe as they passed through a heavily fortified gate tower. They walked into a paved area lined with stalls being opened by enthusiastic vendors, selling t-shirts, cheap trinkets, and caps proclaiming: I climbed the Great Wall. Heads turned in surprise when they saw the group. Nobody launched into a sales pitch.

  Ling’s guards trotted ahead up the steep steps to the battlements, scanning the vendors’ faces as they went.

  Standing on the wall, peering through the battlements, Rupert let out a whistle. The wall snaked east and west to the horizon. Rupert estimated they were eight metres from the rock below and the wall was nearly six metres thick, with guard towers every 600 metres or so. As defensive structures went, it was no half measure. Even a modern invasion force would find it a challenge.

  Ling let them soak it up as the sun rose into the air, bathing the scene in an orange glow.

  “It is quite something, is it not?”

  “I’m speechless,” said Rupert. “And that doesn’t happen very often. How long is it exactly?”