Dora knew the queen well. She saw it up close. I presented it to him. It happened on the day of the Derby, in 2003, or 2005. I don’t know. I remember getting off the Eurostar at Waterloo station to take a commuter train to Epsom station.
On the racetrack, the atmosphere was divine, people were happy, very well dressed, even the poor, colors, hats, extravagances well calculated for fun, there were many women, children, men were already half drunk, the old men had all the Racing Post under the arm, in the pocket, a humorous atmosphere, as if they were looking at each other going to the races and finding it ridiculous, but patriotic to come there once a year, on the occasion of a race, with the queen. Because at the time, Elizabeth did not miss a Derby, whether or not she had a horse in the race.
I hadn’t known Dora for a very long time, I had taken her to the races, in Paris, but that hadn’t yielded much. She had only shown herself happy to please me, I know, don’t do it to me. When I told her about Epsom, she didn’t hit it off. “The queen goes there every year,” I said. There, it was more the same. I read in her eyes that she was already looking for how to dress.
– “Can we see it for real?
– Of course, baby.”
“The Derby is not King George’s funeral”
I had to speak English with the press service to get tickets to the weighbridge, if possible in the private boxes for VIPs, bow ties and top hats compulsory at the entrance, rental possible on site. I published articles in The world, at the time, I think that helped.
– “Do you think she’s going to arrive in a Rolls or a carriage?
– You’re making up your mind, baby. The Derby is not King George’s funeral. You’ll see, it’s casual, we’re among sportsmen. The Epsom Derby is one of the most beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful race in the world: the horses start from up there, they hurtle down, nothing happens during a kilometer of curve, but from the entering the straight the fight begins. It goes up, it goes down, 100 meters from the post you think it’s done, but everything can still change, and in the end you never know if it’s the strongest or the smartest who won. ”
Arrived on site, the crowd, the lawn, the fish and chips in vinegar, the revamped bookmakers, the pints of beer that make the cheeks of teenagers red, the Prix de Diane at Chantilly next door is a miniature golf course. What Dora found hard to believe was that the queen, the real Queen Elizabeth II of England was going to show up in the middle of this barnum. And that we might go see her in person. Dora could then call her mother and say “Mom, I saw the queen!”.
“I’m watching her”
It should be noted that Abla, Dora’s mother, was the same age as the queen. Let’s say that they were born in the same year, in 1926, but at the time, in Lebanon, the day or the month were not specified on the papers, so that after the war, when Elizabeth was having become queen, it was admitted without difficulty that they were born on the same day. It was simpler. When I met my mother-in-law, I noticed that she took her relationship with Elizabeth, her twin sister in a way, very seriously.
We were in a great position, between the track and the royal stand. Just above the winners circle. The first three races of the meeting were run, when suddenly, there was a general sigh in the crowd, we turned around, she was there. Unreal. Dora immediately stole my binoculars from me, she wanted to be as close as possible to her, to see her as much as possible, and when they released the Derby horses, Dora remained like that, her back turned to the track, eyes fixed on his aunt. And there is no question of returning my binoculars, so that I can follow the race.
I’m watching her, she said.