The lives of the super-rich are closed worlds to most of us. Sure, we get glimpses. We learn through things like the Epstein scandal of islands, yachts, aircraft all owned by them, but how they actually live, day to day, is a mystery, at least it was to me. It was until I met Valinda Patel.
~
I'd been asked to write the story of a pharmaceutical company's work to develop anti-malarial drugs. The company, called Gasco, was based in Oxford and funded a fair bit of research at the university as well as in its own laboratories, which were situated in a number of countries. I'd enjoyed the job and the story was pretty dramatic which is how the book (the rights of which I did not own, sadly) became a movie called 'Tsetse.' I was invited to attend the opening of the film which was not going to be a big glitzy affair but it meant I got to walk down the red carpet and stay at the famous Lanchester hotel.
Let me tell you about the Lanchester chain. It was the Rolls Royce of hotel groups. With establishments in every major city and a few resorts it was probably the most expensive place to stay. It was owned by Valinda Patel who, I discovered when I had finished working on the book, also owned Gasco. She also owned an automotive company, a steel company, another two drugs companies and, for all I knew, the fish and chip shop in the high street.
I was asked to meet Patel for cocktails at her suite in the Lanchester before 'Tsetse's' premiere. I made my way from the Westcountry to Paddington station and took a cab to the hotel, where I was swiftly checked in by a very efficient guy and shown to my room on the 11th floor. The room was big and incredibly well appointed and I'd arrived as early as I could so I could indulge myself in the luxury. Big bath, huge bed, complimentary booze (for later I decided). I hung my evening dress up to let the creases fall out and had a bath, trimmed myself up a bit, did my makeup and hair which is shoulder-blade length and chestnut in colour and then got myself dressed. I had decided this was a night to make an effort, even if it was only for me, so new, black silk knickers, a black suspender belt and stockings (nylon - silk are a pain however lovely) no bra and the dress. I look good, I always think, in black and this was a fabulous shape that somehow made me feel glamorous and confident. One shoulder had a strap over it, the other was bare and the hem and neckline were trimmed with a thin gold band. Gold shoes with 3" heels and a gold clutch bag and I was good to go.
I'd been told that someone would escort me to Patel's suite so I waited for the doorbell to ring which it did at precisely the appointed hour to reveal a fit looking woman in a dark grey trouser suit.
"I'm Michelle, a part of Ms Patel's security team. Will you follow me please?" I grabbed my coat and bag and checked I had my key before following Michelle along the corridor, through a double door and then into a lift that was waiting for us with another grey-suited woman.
First lesson of the super-rich lifestyle; they are scared. Both the security guards were, I was sure, armed and later I discovered I was right. Riches buy a lot but also lead to fear of kidnap, and, of course, with Patel's involvement in pharma, the crazies and the anti-vaxers.
The lift whispered up several floors and, before the door opened, Michelle apologised but insisted on checking my bag and expertly rubbing me down. In different circumstances I might have enjoyed that. Satisfied, apparently, that I hadn't got an AK47 or a bomb about my person she pressed the button and the doors opened, to my surprise, in the entrance hall of a large apartment.
I knew that Ms Patel's apartment comprised two floors at the very top of the hotel. A large, floor to ceiling window revealed a fabulous panorama of London. The carpet was dark blue and gold and deep enough, you almost felt you were floating and i suspected my heels were disappearing in it. I followed Michelle's lovely, mobile arse through a door and into a substantial sitting room, decorated with Scandinavian style light wood and fabric furniture. Patel was sitting on a sofa reading a book which she immediately put aside and she stood to greet me. I'd met her only before but had then as now been impressed by her politeness. So often people like to play the 'I'm so important and busy that I'll just finish this before I acknowledge you're there' game. Not Patel.
"Elspeth,' most people call me Ellie, "do please come in and join me. It's lovely to meet you again." I sat in the chair she had indicated and faced her as she sat. She was wearing a gorgeous sari of a myriad of colours but not at all garish, her midriff bare. The last time I had met her she'd been wearing a western trouser suit with a white lab coat over it so it had been hard to assess her body, except to say she was tall, but the sari made it clear she was lithe too. In addition, the last time she had been wearing a ridiculous hair covering (as was I) and so I had no idea about her hair except I had assumed it was black. That was correct but didn't prepare me in any way for the length of it, nor the lustre. It was like a black cape that flowed over her shoulders and down her back and, on her lot side, covered her breast.
Michelle asked if that would be all and she was dismissed just as a woman in a black suit with a white shirt arrived to as if we'd like a drink.
Patel said, "I'm having a gin and tonic, would you care to join me?"
I thanked her. I could do with one, I thought.
"I would have asked you to stay here in my suite but my security decided you are inadequately vetted so insisted I banish you to the horrors of the hotel." I laughed and said it was more than satisfactory for me. "I am glad but I feel I have not been able to demonstrate my huge gratitude for all your hard work on 'Tsetse.' You did a fabulous job and I am so grateful. What is your next commission?"
"I don't actually have anything," I said. "My agent is burrowing away on my behalf but I am actually glad that I can have a break. Working on 'Tsetse,' book and film has been fabulous but a little exhausting."
She nodded in agreement. "So how are you going to enjoy your leisure?"
"I intend to travel. I have grown fascinated with India; it's food, contradictions, history and development."
This seemed to please her. "My homeland is full of contradictions, it is true. Wonderfully aspirational, deeply corrupt, generous and warm with hugely varied climate. I will arrange for you to travel there."
"Oh, no I mean to travel alone."
"Of course but I will, how shall I put it, smooth your way. A company plane is a far nicer way to travel than any airline and a lot less aggravation. We have several and I can always arrange for one to be made available." Her English was perfect and almost accent-free. "My late partner always said that flying my way was a completely different experience from flying commercially."
Her late partner was an English woman who, ironically, had died of malarial infection. She had died before the company's drug had been approved and she contracted the disease while doing some sort of archeological research in Indonesia. I said I was sorry to have heard of her partner's death and she smiled but waved away my sympathy.
Our gins arrived and the woman set them down along with water and a few nibbles and left.
She raised her glass in a toast and continued. "You must decide your itinerary and I will get one of my staff to arrange everything for you. I insist. We have a Lanchester in every big city in India and, of course, a few smaller lodges in the countryside which you may find more to your taste. I will have someone send you all the details."
We spent a while talking about my life which could have been summed up as single, gay, busy, moderately happy especially with my work and, at that precise moment, gobsmacked by her offer which was, I assumed, unlikely to materialise.
