The first day of the Christie’s viewing I missed. I was too busy. On top of everything else I wound up doing a long and involved lameness exam and then there was a scratched cornea and after that a colic. On the second day I had much better luck. The Emirates Towers ballroom opened at eleven a.m. By then the racing stables were quiet, the horses fed and with no emergencies I could safely get away. But I’d been at the training tracks since five and I was dirty, covered in sand and sweat (a lot of it horse sweat rubbed off on me) so first I had to make a detour to the villa to shower and change.
At last, wearing a nice blouse, I carefully placed my pristine, freshly ladylike self on the seat of my only (and now slightly incongruous) mode of transport which was my vet truck. So surrounded by stomach tubes, extension cords, hoof testers and suture kits I headed off on my quest to see the Gulf Pearl Set.
Once I got parked at the Emirates Towers I paused only long enough to sign the Christie’s clipboard at the door before hurrying into the ballroom. Though my mission had been crystal clear in my mind, from the moment I stepped on to the deep carpet I was lost and befuddled. There were glass cases emitting the flash of precious gems everywhere I turned. The vast room was cool and very quiet. Apart from the Christie’s personnel I seemed to be the only person there.
I wandered past row upon row of watches, bracelets and brooches until eventually I looked up. There, in the middle of the room illuminated and elevated above the others was a glass case that contained an elaborate necklace. It shone like some sort of Holy Grail and I made for it like a moth drawn to a flame.