Page 88 of Polo Fever
‘You know what, you need to go prepare for the match and so do I,’ I decide, as we reach the stables where Eduardois directing other grooms and I stop to face Mateo head-on, my volume dipping. ‘Now isn’t the time for this.’
‘I’m still trying to understand whatthisis,’ he confesses. ‘I’m sorry if you think I wasn’t there for you yesterday, believe me, I tried to be. But you also have to understand that polo isn’t just about how you play on the field. I’ve told you before how important it is to attend these events to meet the right people.’
‘Yes.’ I sigh crossly, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. ‘Iknow.’
‘So how can you be so angry at me?’ he asks, irritated now.
His obvious impatience and peevishness at the situation makes things worse. A fiery rush of resentment swells in my chest.
‘Because, Mateo,’ I begin in a low, sharp tone, ‘if things had been switched and it was you in the news and me on that yacht,guardswouldn’t have stopped me running to you.’
His lips parted, he finds himself unable to respond. Without waiting for him to gather his thoughts, I turn on my heel and march to Eduardo, asking him where he needs me next. Mateo doesn’t follow me and I don’t speak to him again before the match.
*
‘What the fuck is going on out there?’ Jules mutters as we walk the ponies round during their cool-down period in the sixth and final chukka.
It’s a good question and one I’ve been asking myself ever since the start of the Maycourt versus DQ match. The team are all over the place; no one seems to be listening to each other and rather than being supportive, they’re snappingirritably at one another. Even Eric has lost his cool today, and DQ has taken advantage of our mess, leading the game since it began. We’re twelve-six down and it seems impossible that we’ll catch up now.
At the heart of this turbulent wreckage of teamplay is Mateo, who seems to be pissed off with absolutely everybody, whether they’re on his side or not. He’s given away two penalties to DQ this match and the umpires are getting shirty at his combative attitude, and he’s gone wide on three attempts at goal by hitting the ball way too hard.
In the final moments of the match, as though in a last-ditch attempt not to let DQ streak any further ahead than they are, Mateo lumps himself in with our defence and goes to ride-off Basilio with ferocious energy and rage, like he’s been waiting for this all match. My breath catches as I watch their ponies thunder down the field together, neither of them giving in. Basilio goes for the pass, knocking the ball across to his teammate and almost coming out of his saddle thanks to the pressure from Mateo and only just managing to keep his balance, crying out for a foul. Mateo yells something over his shoulder as he follows the ball, only to witness the DQ number two knock it through the goal.
We lose thirteen-six.
Twenty-Nine
After that match, none of the Maycourt team are in a mood to party, except maybe for Fitz, who is always in the mood to party. But Lady M insists that we make an appearance at the event tonight hosted by the team’s major sponsor at the exclusive beach club, La Reserva Club de Sotogrande. It’s a breathtaking space, the decking around the turquoise-blue man-made lagoon bathed in a warm-orange glow of lanterns, candles and festoon lights draped from the palm trees. Smartly dressed waiters serve drinks in crystal glasses, and the crooning singer of the live jazz band providing background music to the guests’ conversation is setting a classy tone for the evening – although I spot a DJ checking his decks at a booth on the other side of the space, so I’m guessing things get livelier later.
After a dismal couple of days, it was calming to put the time in to doing my make-up and hair, and getting into a dress that makes me feel good about myself. I knew that the Sotogrande post-polo social scene was high glamour, so I’d packed appropriately: tonight, I’m wearing a plungedneckline, black, figure-hugging dress with towering heels, statement drop earrings and my hair swept over one shoulder styled in gentle waves.
Arriving on my own, I accept a cocktail and walk out onto the decking, hoping to see someone I know. I’m in luck: Malcolm and Eric, both looking good in their tuxedos, are standing nearby with Jules in a stunning gold satin number. Eric spots me and brightens, mouthing, ‘Wow,’ at me, before waving me over to join them.
‘Tough day today, team,’ Eric says, sticking a hand in his pocket.
‘It happens,’ Jules says with a shrug.
‘Shame it happened on our final match all together,’ Malcolm muses. ‘Mateo and I are off to France to play with another team; Eric is headed for Santa Barbara; and God knows how Fitzy will be spending his time but I imagine the London bars are about to see their revenue shoot up. It would have been good to part ways on a high.’
‘We can still do that,’ Jules counters, holding her glass aloft.
‘Jules is right,’ Eric says, slapping Malcolm on the back. ‘We’ve still got tonight. And it’s been one hell of a season. A few trophies under our belt.’
We echo Jules and lift our glasses, lightly clinking them together. Before we can even take a sip, Fitz appears at my side out of nowhere, espresso martini in hand.
‘What are we toasting to?’ he asks eagerly.
‘Are your ears finely attuned to the sound of glasses clinking?’ I ask, amazed. ‘Where did you even come from?’
‘It’s my superpower, Ashley. If there’s a chance someone might be enjoying a tipple, I’m there at their side in a flashto make sure they’re doing it right – and getting in a fresh round for yours truly,’ he says, adjusting his bow tie.
‘We should toast to one hell of a summer.’ Eric smiles. ‘There have been ups and downs, but it’s been an honour to play with you lot this year. Heaps of fun.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Malcolm cries. ‘We won the Queen’s Cup and Cowdray Gold Cup, for Christ’s sake!’
‘And here’s to the grooms who keep everything running,’ Jules says, smirking at me.
We lift our glasses and carefully – these are full of expertly crafted, out-of-this-world delicious cocktails, not one drop wanting to be wasted – tap them against one another’s.
