Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less

“I’m Harvey Metcalfe, the owner of Rosalie, and this is my badge.”

The official let Harvey through. Thirty years ago, he thought, they would not have let him into the Members’ Enclosure if he’d owned every horse in the race. Then racing at Ascot was only held on four days a year, jolly social occasions. Now it was twenty-four days a year and big business. Times had changed. Jean-Pierre followed closely, showing his pass without speaking to the official.

A photographer broke away from stalking the outrageous hats for which Ascot has such a reputation, and took a picture of Harvey just in case Rosalie won the King George VI Stakes. As soon as his bulb flashed he rushed over to the other entrance, where Linda Lovelace, the star of Deep Throat, the film running to packed houses in New York but banned in England, was trying to enter the Members’ Enclosure. In spite of being introduced to a well-known London banker, Richard Szpiro, just as he was entering the Enclosure, she was not succeeding. She was wearing a top hat and morning suit with nothing under the top coat, and no one was going to bother with Harvey while she was around. When Miss Lovelace was quite certain that every photographer had taken a picture of her attempting to enter the Enclosure she left, swearing at the top of her voice, her publicity stunt completed.

Harvey returned to studying the horses as Stephen moved up to within a few feet of him.

“Here we go again,” said Jean-Pierre in French and went smartly over to Stephen and, standing directly between the two of them, shook Stephen’s ha

nd warmly, declaring in a voice that was intended to carry:

“How are you, Professor Porter? I didn’t know you were interested in racing.”

“I’m not really, but I was on my way back from a seminar in London and thought it a good opportunity to see how…”

“Professor Porter,” cried Harvey. “I’m honored to make your acquaintance, sir, my name is Harvey Metcalfe from Boston, Massachusetts. My good friend, Dr. Wiley Barker, who saved my life, told me you’d be here today on your own, and I’m going to make sure you have a wonderful afternoon.”

Jean-Pierre slipped away unnoticed. He could not believe how easy it had been. The telegram had worked like a charm.

“Her Majesty The Queen; His Royal Highness The Duke of Edinburgh; Her Royal Highness Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother; and her Royal Highness The Princess Anne are now entering the Royal Box.”

The massed bands of the Brigade of Guards struck up the National Anthem.

“God Save the Queen.”

The crowd of 25,000 rose and sang loyally out of tune.

“We should have someone like that in America,” said Harvey to Stephen, “to take the place of Richard Nixon. We wouldn’t have any Watergate problems then.”

Stephen thought his fellow American was being just a little unfair. Richard Nixon was almost a saint by Harvey Metcalfe’s standards.

“Come and join me in my box, Professor, and meet my other guests. The damned box cost me £750, we may as well fill it. Have you had some lunch?”

“Yes, I’ve had an excellent lunch, thank you,” Stephen lied—something else Harvey had taught him. He had stood by the Members’ Enclosure for an hour, nervous and pensive, unable even to manage a sandwich, and now he was starving.

“Well, come and enjoy the champagne,” roared Harvey.

On an empty stomach, thought Stephen.

“Thank you, Mr. Metcalfe. I am a little lost. This is my first Royal Ascot.”

“This isn’t Royal Ascot, Professor. It’s the last day of Ascot Week, but the Royal Family always comes to see the King George and Elizabeth Stakes, so everybody dresses up.”

“I see,” said Stephen timidly, pleased with his deliberate error.

Harvey collared his find and took him back to the box.

“Everybody, I want you to meet my distinguished friend, Rodney Porter. He’s a Nobel Prize Winner, you know. By the way, what’s your subject, Rod?”

“Biochemistry.”

Stephen was getting the measure of Harvey. As long as he played it straight, the bankers and shippers, and even the journalists, would never doubt that he was the cleverest thing since Einstein. He relaxed a little and even found time to fill himself with smoked salmon sandwiches when the others were not looking.

Lester Piggott won the 2 o’clock on Olympic Casino and the 2:30 on Roussalka, achieving his 3,000th win. Harvey was getting steadily more nervous. He talked incessantly without making much sense. He had sat through the 2:30 without showing any interest in the result and consumed more and more champagne. At 2:50 he called for them all to join him in the Members’ Enclosure to look at his famous filly. Stephen, like the others, trailed behind him in a little pseudo-royal entourage.

Jean-Pierre and James watched the procession from a distance.

“He’s too deep in to climb out now,” said Jean-Pierre.