Page 38 of Polo Fever
There’s a beat of silence as he looks down on me with amusement until Malcolm clears his throat pointedly and says, ‘Sort of a time-sensitive issue here. Shall we?’
Thirteen
Mateo heads back inside, Malcolm wiggling his eyebrows at me suggestively behind Mateo’s back before gesturing for me to go ahead of him. I bashfully follow Mateo through the door, parting the crowd of guests partying in the hallway until we step into the drawing room. It’s a vast space with tall windows and patterned floral wallpaper, gold chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, and a statement fireplace at one end with mismatched furniture including a soft pastel-green sofa, two red velvet armchairs and a pink chaise longue.
In the middle of the room stand Ambrose, now holding a cigar in one hand, and Lady Maycourt, also holding a cigar, both flanked by their teams and their teams’ entourages. Clara is perched on the arm of the sofa, the other High Fives gathered behind her like they’re posing for a portrait with their matriarch, and the DQ team have brought along their groupies, too: a mixture of men and women in designer suits and dresses, Cartier watches on their wrists,the diamonds embedded in their jewellery glinting in the dimmed light of the chandeliers.
The scene looks at once surreal and spectacular.
‘This is like a posh English version ofWest Side Story,’ I whisper to no one.
‘I say we settle this outside right now!’ Fitz is saying, getting in Basilio’s face, who smirks with his teammates while Eric grabs a fistful of Fitz’s shirt and yanks him back.
‘Your team is as big an embarrassment off the field as it is on it,’ Ambrose says drily to Lady Maycourt. ‘Why don’t you control your nephew before he hurts himself?’
‘Fitz, calm down,’ she snaps, turning back to her fellow patron. ‘It was you and your team who insulted me first, Ambrose, and the boy is fiercely loyal. Can’t fault him for that. You wouldn’t know much about loyalty, though, would you?’
Ambrose looks bored. ‘If you’re referring to Claire, I can assure you that she was perfectly aware of what was going on, no matter what she might say for the courts.’
‘I was talking about your business and polo endeavours, not your third wife, Ambrose,’ Lady Maycourt mutters, scowling at him. ‘For goodness sake, I wouldn’t stoop so low as to make this personal.’
‘Oh please,’ he spits. ‘You can act all high and mighty, above it all with your British title, but I know the real you, and I know there’s nothing you wouldn’t do when it comes to winning. Shame it’s all for nothing. Maycourt is a joke this season.’
‘Oi!’ Fitz roars, before Eric tells him to pipe down.
‘It’s not worth it,’ Eric adds. ‘We’ll beat them at Cowdray.’
Lady Maycourt smiles fondly at Eric, pointing her cigarin his direction as she says to Ambrose, ‘Nowthat’swhat I call class.’
‘Class? You lot?’ One of the DQ players with bloodshot eyes and a red wine stain on his shirt snorts with laughter. ‘Maycourt is scraping the barrel so low, you guys hired a fashion model with no idea about ponies to work for you.’
‘Hey,’ I say, putting my hands on my hips and causing all eyes in the room to turn towards us, having been oblivious to our presence before. ‘I wasn’t a model.’
Two of the women on the DQ side of the invisible line through the room snicker behind their hands. I realise it would have been better if I hadn’t bothered correcting him.
‘Ash is testament to my yard’s brilliance,’ Lady Maycourt declares, saving me as she regains the room. ‘Thanks to my team’s tutelage, she is becoming as good a groom as anyone working in the stables, and, according to reports, a bloody good rider, too.’
I glance at Mateo, but he’s too busy glowering at Basilio to notice.
‘Safe to say she’ll be one of the best grooms in the business when the season’s over,’ Lady Maycourt continues loftily.
‘Oh yes,’ the wine-stained DQ teammate says, his eyes trailing down my dress and back up again, ‘we all know from her previous job how good she is at making her way to the top.’
Mateo, who has remained silent and still up until now, bursts into life, striding up to him so fast, it causes him to stumble backwards, growling, ‘What did you say?’ in his face.
‘I… um,’ the wine-stained man stammers, leaning on an antique writing desk for balance.
Basilio steps in front of his teammate, blocking Mateo.
‘You’d better step back,’ Mateo warns in a low, venomous tone.
‘Or what?’ Basilio challenges. ‘What will you do, Mateo?’
‘Calm down, boys,’ Lady Maycourt orders in a weary manner. ‘You’re meant to be gentlemen, so start behaving like it. Save the fury for the polo field.Mateo. Para!’
His eyes blazing and fists clenched, Mateo reluctantly draws back from Basilio and I feel like the whole room breathes a sigh of relief. I’m staring at Mateo in awe, my heart hammering as he moves to stand to the side of the room on his own, folding his arms across his chest. He refuses to look at me and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.
‘How gallant,’ Ambrose remarks.
