High life
Old school ties
Taki
Gstaad Well, I never! As odd as it may sound, I've always found Osama bin Laden rather a good fellah. Osama bin Laden may be in CIA lingo the `world's most dangerous man', but to some of us, all old Gstaad hands, he was simply Harry Laden, a polite if somewhat excitable Saudi, who always dressed impeccably and stood up when ladies entered the room. Even when he reverted to traditional dress, which was often, his burnous was made by Turnbull and Asser.
`What do you want . . . foccacia, ciabbata or tomato and basil?' Harry was a good skier who belonged to that extraordinary Rosey team of 1967 made up of Agnelli, Cameranca, Paolucci, Laden and Horne, a team that not only beat the University of Colorado, but one that could have been placed in the Olympics, had it been an Olympic year.
After the Rosey, Harry did not attend university. He took a large suite at the Palace — the northwest suite, or Kanda- har, as the staff renamed it — and he has lived in it part time ever since. One thing that impressed me about Harry was his generosity. No one within a 50-yard vicinity was ever known to be allowed to pick up a bill. Needless to say, this bothered some of us, all of us in fact, except for Harry's upper-class English buddies.
The English and Harry had a strange relationship. He paid for many a chinless one, and they whispered ugly things behind his back. It got so bad that Harry almost took it out on my friend John Simpson, the BBC's world affairs editor, a man with a prominent chin and a forthright manner. Simpson was filming the mujahedin in Afghanistan when, suddenly, Harry jumped out from behind a wall, dressed in his white robes and with a flowing beard, and screamed against the infidels, exhorting the mujahedin to murder them all. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed, but this was the start of Harry's crazy period.
Mind you, all of us around the Palace bar, as well as that of White's, always said that Harry would one day get into trouble over some girl. How wrong we all were. I remember having a drink with him just as the fatwa against Salman Rushdie was announced. 'Poor old Salman,' said Harry, `sentenced to death for blasphemy when he doesn't know enough about Islam to blas- pheme effectively.' Harry then left me in no doubt that he could blaspheme with the range and accuracy of an Old Testament prophet.
Harry was intellectually a cut above the rest of us bar lizards, especially at White's bar. He was courteous without being exces- sive, romantic without a trace of nostalgia, direct but never discourteous; he actually reminded Nicky Haslam of Diana Vree- land.
Harry dropped out of sight a few years ago. Occasional sightings have been made — an old Gstaad hand who landed at Dulles airport ran into him in a north Vir- ginia suburb, but Harry looked so uncom- fortable, the old Gstaad hand pretended not to see him. Someone else ran into him in Curzon Street, and this time Harry said he had just popped into Trumper's for advice on how to grow a beard fast.
The last time I saw Harry in person we had our usual drink in St James's, and as he left he said, `Chin, chin, old boy, and don't massacre anyone I wouldn't mas- sacre.' I thought it rather a strange way to say goodbye to an old friend, but let it pass. After all, Harry was always known for being an eccentric par excellence. Now this. Harry Laden's picture is flashed around the world as being the per- son that helped Bill Clinton salvage his presidency. If this is true, I for one will demand his immediate resignation from White's as well as from the Eagle club. And I will speak to the owner of the Palace hotel about harbouring such a person in the Kandahar suite. Harry Laden's daddy may have left him 200 million quid to play with, but this doesn't mean that he should use his unearned moolah to keep a lying coward in an office he doesn't deserve and has dishonoured. Harry, old friend, give it up. Come clean. What does the Draft Dodger have on you? If he's blackmailing you, there is only one thing to do. Go pub- lic. Remember our old Rosey motto: When you come to a fork in the road, take it.
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