Other Duties
as Required.

During the week, I was Executive Vice President at Durst, and CEO-designate.

At weekends, I was Daddy-Groom.

My daughter Julia — July — loved show jumping. We seemed to travel to every competition in northern Italy. Somewhere along the way, I also became vice president of the riding stable. Apparently, even around horses, I couldn't quite escape a title.

The responsibilities were different, though.

There were discussions about saddle pads. There were riding boots from Tucci, which cost more than Gucci. I was learning an entirely new vocabulary, with prices I understood immediately.

Then there was buying horses. I approached this as a complete amateur with the confidence of a man who thought he understood everything.

An excellent starting point for an education.

A horse is a useful creature to meet after a career in international management. Your title makes very little impression. Neither does your frequent-flyer status. You can explain that you have managed business on several continents, but it is unlikely to improve your standing in the stable.

There is a photograph of me beside one of the horses. Blue shirt, black glasses, our heads close together. I look quite pleased with myself.

The horse seems less concerned.

Those weekends were father-and-daughter time, somewhere between horseflies and competition fever. I suffered through the small defeats with her. The big wins brought a kind of happiness that could last well beyond the journey home.

We were a very close team. A proper Gespann, as we say in German. With horses involved, the word seemed particularly appropriate.

I had spent years crossing the Atlantic to see her. Now I could be there for all of this: the anticipation, the disappointment, the excitement, and another discussion about what a horse apparently needed.

Some of the best times of my life came with that job.

Inside Villa New York, things were becoming recognisably mine.

The apartment had high ceilings and wooden floors. I filled it with art, photographs and books. A chandelier hung over a corner crowded with cushions. Portraits watched from the walls. There were candles in coloured glasses and small Buddha figures on the table.

Apparently, I liked my tranquillity with quite a lot going on around it.

One wall carried a sentence:

If I exorcise my devils, well my angels may leave, too.

I had put it where I could see it. There was probably a reason for that.

The photographs of the dining table are less philosophical. Bread, cheese, grapes, a bottle of wine. Two glasses. Candles lit. In the kitchen, a bowl of greens, a cut lemon, a good bottle of olive oil.

A table laid for an evening at home. Something so ordinary that it hardly seems worth photographing.

I am glad I did.

I had plenty of photographs from elsewhere. Cities, journeys, places I had arrived in and would soon leave again. These pictures showed what I was doing when I stayed.

I don't want to make the return sound tidier than it was. I had not suddenly become good at being home. The frustration was real. So was the feeling that I had stepped out of one life before quite understanding the next.

But July was nearby. There was work to do. There were pictures to hang, food to prepare, horses to look after. Another competition somewhere in northern Italy.

At Durst, I had a new future ahead of me. Becoming CEO was an enormous prospect, and I cared deeply about it.

But nothing could make me prouder than a competition trophy and the light in Julia's eyes.