Page 17 of Polo Fever
‘A grazing muzzle.’ He notices my blank expression. ‘It helps to control a horse’s natural tendency to overeat. They can still drink and they can eat a little, but they can’t eat a lot. It’s important to control grazing so they don’t get overweight and it can help ponies with stomach problems.’ He pauses before adding, ‘Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt or hinder them. It helps them.’
‘Why do you think I’d assume it might hurt them?’ I ask defensively.
‘City people often have certain misconceptions. I can tell that you have developed an attachment to Serafina through your meetings and I didn’t want you to be worried.’
I can’t work out if that’s nice of him or mildly insulting. It’s difficult to tell.
‘I’m not worried. And I may be from London, but I’m not completely clueless,’ I say.
‘I didn’t think you were. You obviously have something about you. Serafina usually bolts around anyone who tries to connect with her. Or anyone who tries to make her do something she doesn’t want to,’ he says. ‘Which is why I should take her back to the stable to wrestle her into this muzzle. She eats too much, it’s not good for her. But she loves to be out here.’
I glance over at Serafina, who continues to munch the grass. Then without much thought, I say, ‘Want me to give it a go?’
He stares at me for a moment. Then, he holds out the grazing muzzle. I take it from him confidently, examining it so I can get a handle on how it works. I can feel his gaze on me the entire time, as though, while I work the muzzle out, he tries to work me out.
This could go very wrong. But the worst that can happen is Serafina bolts when I make my attempt and it sounds like she does that with everyone else. I’m curious to see if the trust I’ve established with her is mutual or if she’s been putting up with me purely because the grass over here is particularly tasty or something.
Mateo steps back as I move calmly towards her with the grazing muzzle in my hand. As I get closer, she lifts her head, her ears turned back and relaxed as I start talking to her.
‘Hey, Serafina, nice to have your name right. Sorry I’ve been calling you Chestnut,’ I say. ‘On reflection, Chestnut is a bit of a plain name for such a striking horse like yourself. Serafina is more elegant. It suits you.’
I study the grazing muzzle in my hands again and she lowers her head to rub her cheek against my shoulder.
‘Mind if I put this on you? Sounds like you might need some help with your eating habits. You can carry on using me as a scratching post while I do it if you like.’ I slide the muzzle onto her, reaching up to secure the buckle. She doesn’t seem bothered, so I reach up to pat her neck gratefully. ‘Thanks for making that so easy.’
She exhales, enjoying the neck rub. With one last stroke of her nose, I turn round to find Mateo still watching me intently, his expression stern and serious. If he’s impressed, he doesn’t show it.
‘There. All done,’ I say brightly, walking back towards him. ‘Sorry again for being in the field; I know I shouldn’t have been. From now on, I’ll stay on the right side of the fence.’
He doesn’t say anything, looking deep in thought, so I carry on past him and climb back over to the footpath. As I land on the other side and wipe my hands together todust them off, I notice that someone on the far side of the field is watching us. I can just about make her out: an older woman, sophisticatedly dressed, with cropped, silver-blonde hair. She’s surrounded by a pack of dogs of all different shapes and sizes, their tails wagging furiously as they wait at her side. That must be Lady Maycourt, who owns the estate, and she’s just fully witnessed me trespassing. I blush furiously and turn to go.
‘Nice to meet you, Ash,’ Mateo calls out, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn to give him a small nod and then hurry away along the path, too afraid to turn back to check if they’re both watching me go.
*
‘So every polo team has a patron?’ I check with Noor and Rhys that afternoon, carefully pouring Rhys a pint of Guinness.
The pub is empty apart from the two of them sitting at the bar, so I’m able to quiz them on Maycourt Polo, much more curious about the yard now I’ve formally met one of the players and seen the team’s elegant patron at a distance.
‘That’s right,’ Noor confirms, delighted to talk about his favourite subject. ‘Polo is extremely expensive and you don’t win any money, so you need someone wealthy to fund the team. The patron pays for everything: the players, the travel, the ponies and their care and stabling. All of it. Usually, the patron also participates in the team of four, but not in this case.’
‘Lady Maycourt doesn’t play?’
‘Her nephew is on the team instead. Fitz. He’s the son of her late husband’s brother. He’s a fairly capable player, butnothing to the three professionals on the Maycourt team,’ Rhys tells me as I pass him his pint.
‘And Mateo is one of those professionals,’ I confirm.
‘He’s the best of the team and one of the best out there,’ Noor says proudly, always talking about the Maycourt team as though he’s part of it himself, a feeling shared by a lot of the community here. ‘He is a nine-goal handicap.’
‘And that means he’s good, right?’ I check.
‘The highest you can get is ten, so yes, that’s good,’ Rhys says, sharing a smile with Noor. ‘In polo, players are rated on a scale from minus two to ten goal. Minus two would be a beginner, and someone with a handicap of ten is the best of the best.’
‘Wow. So Mateo isreallygood.’
‘His teammates are fantastic, too,’ Noor is keen to point out. ‘Eric is a seven and Malcolm is a six. And Fitz is nought.’
