Page 85 of Polo Fever
My head in a whirl, I manage to get back to the hotel where I sit down on the edge of the bed and close my eyes to focus on deep breaths.Oh my God.How could he do this? I know why he’s doing it: money. A book like that coming out so quickly after the scandal is bound to sell well. Butto write such horrible, blatant andunnecessarylies about me. To make out as though I was the predator and he the innocent prey. Does he dislike me so much? Does he really think I deserve this? Does he care what kind of impact this is going to have on my life? A life I’d managed to piece back together after it fell apart just months ago?
As I begin to spiral, a voice in the back of my head speaks up:I won’t let him win.
I grip the edge of the bed in determination, like I’m clinging to a cliff edge I refuse to fall from. The people that matter will see through this. I won’t let a coward like him knock me down, I just won’t, not when I’ve come so far.
My phone vibrates relentlessly until I reach for it and see Mateo has tried calling.
He’s messaged, too:
Are you OK? Jules says you’ve gone back to hotel xx
My fingers hover over my screen. He tries calling again, but I can’t pick up. If I speak to him, I’ll crack, I know I will. And I don’t want to. Not quite yet. He rings off. He’s been practising with the team this morning before the big event. He hasn’t seen the story yet, but he will soon and then he’ll know why I had to get out of there.
He messages again:
Going into a meeting now with a team sponsor, then we’ve got the party. Will try calling later xx
As I try to think of what to reply to him, my phone continues to buzz in my hand as more people look at thenews and gossip columns today. I feel overwhelmed and quickly reply to Mateo:
I’m fine, speak later xx
before turning off my phone.
Silence rings through the room. I go back to focusing on my breathing.
Collecting myself and needing something to do, I stand up and go run myself a bath. It’s when I immerse myself in the comforting hot water that my strength buckles. The tears spill down my cheeks and I let my face crumple as I tip my head back to rest it on the tub.I wish Mateo were here.He’s who I need right now. I need him to come here and tell me that everything is going to be okay.
When I’m out the bath, my head pounding from the heat and all the crying, I will myself to turn my phone back on. I’m hoping that he’s seen the story by now so I don’t have to tell him about it. But he must still be in his meeting as there’s no more messages from him.
My heart sinks. I turn on the TV to some rubbish and climb under my covers.
When Mateo finally messages, I read it twice to make sure I’m reading it right:
Just heard about the memoirs. Can’t believe it. I’m at the networking event and then I’ll come to you straight after xxx
I thought he’d come straight away. Why wouldn’t he come straight away? Surely he knows how serious this is.How hurtful it is. After everything,surelyhe knows. As more tears escape the corners of my eyes, I realise that he must know but he’s choosing to stay because this event is important to his career. And polo always comes first.
I tell him not to come over. I tell him I’d rather be on my own.
And later that afternoon, when someone posts a photo on our Maycourt Grooms WhatsApp group of the team on what looks like a massive yacht, I look at Mateo in the middle holding a drink in the sunshine, surrounded by players and a host of rich, important-looking people I don’t recognise, and I cry some more.
Twenty-Eight
The next morning, I’m crouched down, bandaging Byron’s legs for the match, when I feel the presence of someone behind me. I assume it’s Mateo and tense, pretending I don’t know he’s there, waiting for him to speak first.
‘Ash, hi.’
It’s not Mateo’s voice. It’s Basilio. I glance over my shoulder to make sure and then straighten, masking my disappointment with a polite smile.
‘Hi, Basilio.’
He looks extremely concerned, studying my face intently. ‘I hope you don’t mind me disturbing you. I only wanted to check that you were okay. I saw the news yesterday and I was… shocked. For someone to do such a thing. He is scum.’
I pat Byron’s neck as he snorts.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I say briskly.
‘If you need someone to talk to,’ he gestures to himself, ‘I’m here. I know it’s not the same, but I once had a horrible column written about me in a polo publication and I was devastated. I can’t even imagine how it feels.’
