‘It’s heartbreaking,’ says John, speaking about the situation for the first time. ‘We have had eight-and-a-half years of watching Rufus struggle with this thing and trying to make the best of it. He is a lovely, gifted boy and it’s so very sad to see what he is going through. He is surrounded by a lot of love, but love can’t solve the problem. If only it could.’ Nor, indeed can Caudwell’s many millions. ‘I would be the first to say that while a lack of money can cause misery, money doesn’t buy you happiness,’ he adds quietly.
‘When it comes to something like this, money doesn’t come into it. It can give you access to different people and help, but it doesn’t change the helplessness you feel when you see your own flesh and blood struggling. ‘The only really important thing, at the end of the day, is your health. If you haven’t got that, then all the money in the world isn’t going to bring you happiness.’
It’s a glimpse of the more emotional side of this somewhat unusual billionaire: a capitalist who is passionate that the wealthy should pay their fair share of tax, and a flamboyant bon viveur whose idea of a nice dinner is personalising a supermarket frozen pizza with his own toppings. Caudwell still shaves his own head and beard with a pair of clippers, rarely spends more than £30 on a bottle of wine and would far rather cycle than take a taxi.
Still, he’s hardly slumming it either: we meet at his London home — a vast sprawling mansion in the heart of Mayfair which until last year belonged to Prince Jefri, the brother of the Sultan of Brunei and, at the moment, remains an eye-boggling vision of gigantic chandeliers, heavy gilt ornamentation and tapestried walls.
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