Page 20 of Polo Fever
Hot date?
Sam
Ha
I wish
Pop-up fashion event
I’m here for work
On Monday, you can cheer me up with pictures of your new colleagues?
Ash
IF I take the job
I’ll inundate you with photos of horses
Sam
I meant the hot polo players
Ash
Oh
Sam
Remind me to take the piss out of you next time we speak for referring to horses as your new colleagues
Got to go, I’m next up!!
Thank God
I’m about to wet myself
xxxx
Putting my phone down, I sip my tea and look out across the tranquil view, wondering if I’m jealous of Sam at her event in London. It’s the sort of thing I spent my weekends doing. Part of me misses the excitement and glamour of it all. But then I inhale a deep breath, gazing out at the fields stretching for miles, and feel a sense of contentment. For now, I’m in the right place. No one here has mentioned Chris Courtney to me.
I’m not alone in having a scandalous past. After Lady Maycourt’s spontaneous job offer yesterday, I did some googling on her and discovered that she has had her fair share of the spotlight. She was born into a big polo dynasty in America with generations of her family involved in the sport either as players or patrons, usually both. The daughter of a famous player, she became a popular socialite until she fell for a man her parents disapproved of and eloped with him. By the sounds of it, it was the wrong decision; he spent her money, then left her for a Swiss heiress. Heartbroken and humiliated, she fled to England and later married her perfect match: the Viscount, a passionate polo enthusiast with his own team. From what I’ve read, Lady Maycourt is very well respected in the sport, known for her extensive knowledge that’s been drilled into her since the day she was born.
But that still doesn’t mean I trust her judgement when it comes to me.
When I think about her job offer, I get a rush of tingles swirling around my stomach: part excitement, part fear. The idea of working with horses sounds amazing and I never thought I’d have the chance. But the reality is, I know nothing about them or polo.
I’m thinking about it when I hear someone walking towards my table. I swivel on my bench to greet them, assuming it’s Jasper. Instead, I find Mateo towering over me.
‘Can I join you?’ he asks.
‘Uh… sure.’ Taken aback, I watch as he slides into the bench opposite. ‘Congratulations on your win today.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Was it a good match?’
He considers the question, resting his elbows on the table. ‘We could have played better,’ he answers eventually.
