High life
Aga saga
Taki
Athens Aga Khan's fight with the Jockey Club is that he's always been an extremely sore loser. For example: 32 years ago, when he was already Aga but finishing his studies at Harvard, I found myself in Gstaad and seated next to a beautiful Mexican girl by the name of Sylvia Casablancas. My host told me to lay off as Sylvia was a friend of the Aga's. Needless to say I did nothing of the kind. I had broken my leg rather badly and the only sport I could indulge in was girl-chasing. It was all very innocent, however.
During the spring break the Aga arrived and all hell broke loose. Despite her and my assurances that her honour was intact, Karim complained vociferously about the poor little Greek boy. It was the living God or Taki where invitations were concerned, and one doesn't need Delphic powers to guess who got to go to the chic parties of Gstaad that spring. Then Sylvia had a birthday party and seated me at her left and the Aga on her right. Karim sulked but managed to finish the dinner. Sylvia's and Karim's romance melted with the snows a couple of weeks later, but I'm the one who got the blame as usual, from her father. He accused me of having broken up the romance of the century and warned me that if I ever went to Mexico I would leave my bones on the beach of Acapulco.
K, as the Aga is referred to by intimates, went on to grander things than I did, obviously, but our paths kept crossing. The last time I spoke to him I was on board Gianni Agnelli's boat off the Sardinian coast. The Duke of Beaufort was also with us. An invitation arrived to have lunch on the Aga's boat on which Princess Margaret and Tony Snowdon were being enter- tained. I immediately asked Gianni to signal to Karim that the world's most unpopular Greek was with him, and we received a message that Taki would be most welcome to lunch.
What went on during the lunch is another story altogether; suffice it to say that after it yet another royal had joined the hate Taki club. Karim, however, acted impeccably towards me throughout, and even went as far as to introduce me to PM as one of the world's great athletes.
As some readers may know, the Aga and I were involved in a libel suit about five years ago, and there is obviously little love lost between us. All I can say is that he's a formidable enemy, and that he has a truly marvellous wife, the English-born Sally. But I must admit that he's done very well as Aga. He is an extremely good business- man and is respected in the international community, whatever that means. He is definitely not a likeable man, but that is none of my business. Taking his horses out of England is cruel for the people who worked for him, but there it is. If he could not forgive poor little me for innocently flirting with his girl, was he really expected to take what the Jockey Club said lying down? Of course not. Be that as it may, I now have one less enemy in England. Hooray!
Ironically, last week I ran into his uncle, Prince Sadruddin Aga Khan, and Sadri's wonderful Greek-born wife Katie. It was at Heathrow Airport, and when I told Sadri, an old friend, that I was flying to Geneva to see my little girl in boarding school because it was her birthday, the first thing he did was to go and buy her a present. It was typical of him. Sadri has devoted his life to saving the hungry, and some not so hungry things like monuments. He is now helping save the Alps, which apparently are as much in decay as the Acropolis. He is a witty and kind-hearted man with great knowledge, and I was very touched by his gesture. When I told my little girl who had bought her the present, she said, 'You see, Daddy, the Aga is not at all as bad as you say.'
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