Henry Cecil

摘要

Whenever visitors came to his stables at Warren Place near Newmarket, the home of English flat racing, Henry Cecil liked to show them the roses first. Not the colts, rippling with raw power, or the fillies chattering in their stable, but a bloom fresh-picked by his long, aristocratic fingers. "That's good scent, yeah? And lots of buds to come." Leading the way to the stable yard, a lanky, shy, elegant figure with flopping hair, he would add: "This is a rose hedge, you know. When the hips start coming, when they go red, the fillies love them. Better than a sugar lump."