Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
SIMON
Once I hand over the lunch shift to Conal, I contemplate going back to my room. But it doesn’t feel appealing after spending last night in an enormous warm bed and a room with a carpet I can still feel between my toes. I’m also not tired, so I don’t need to catch up on sleep.
Not sure what to do, I make my way through the hotel and into the reception foyer.
I haven’t been through here since I started the job a few weeks ago, there’s been no need, as the staff quarters are behind the resort and the kitchen is easier to access from the back.
Since then it’s been decorated, and I stop and stare for a minute.
I’d almost forgotten it’s the holiday season and Christmas is only ten days away.
My only reminder I’ve had until now is a meeting I have tomorrow, on my day off, with Conal and the catering manager to go through the menus for the week and make sure we have all the supplies we need.
I’ll be working over Christmas weekend so I haven’t let it register as any sort of festive occasion.
But seeing the foyer filled with a tree that must be at least ten feet tall, decked with all the trimmings, and the foyer covered in tinsel and sparkling lights, it looks like a winter wonderland and I feel a pang of nostalgia for when I used to love the magic of Christmas.
There was once a time when I looked forward to it, being around family and friends.
One Christmas I even had a boyfriend to share it with.
Shaking off the feeling that as I don’t have anyone special to be with over the holiday, I’m better off working anyway, I turn my back on the festive decorations and go outside.
It’s not as cold today as it has been and the sun is shining.
I have a couple of hours until I have to be back, so I decide to go for a walk and explore.
After a few minutes I find myself walking towards a throng of people and I realise this is where the polo field has been set up.
Curiosity over what the attraction of the game is, and the thought that maybe I’ll get a glimpse of Andrés, draws me into the crowd.
I try to blend in, though I can see that although everyone’s bundled up against the cold, they’re all dressed very expensively.
I hunch down in my barely acceptable jacket and try not to catch anyone’s eye in case they tell me I don’t belong here.
No one challenges me as I make my way to the front.
There’s a large rectangle laid out in the snow, with low boards around it, and I see a group of horses over the far side, some being ridden, others being led.
At one end is a large marquee with tables and seating.
I can see a bar set up at the back and a few staff distributing drinks.
No doubt for the super rich to watch in the warmth.
My eye is drawn to activity on the pitch as two teams ride onto it. I scan them quickly and pick out Andrés and Chispa. His fellow team members are blond, and are so chiselled they look like they could’ve walked out of a fashion magazine.
I watch as they line up, each team facing the other. A ball is thrown between them and that’s when the mayhem starts.
I gasp as I see horses crash together, sticks waved about, riders looking like they’re about to fall off.
The ball is freed and the horses spin, some setting off in pursuit while others find a space to be passed.
Again horses seem to run into each other.
The riders have helmets and knee pads and the horses have something protecting their legs, but it’s brutal and I have no idea how no one is hurt.
Then suddenly it ends. It can’t have been more than five minutes or so.
Is that it? No one in the crowd moves so I don’t either.
Instead I watch as each of the riders jump off their steaming horse and mount another.
The teams come together no doubt for some talk on tactics. There must be a second half, then.
I’m right, as they enter the pitch again and it’s repeated.
I know what to expect this time, but even then I wince a few times as I hear sticks clash and see horses bump into each other.
A roar from the crowd goes up as a goal is scored.
I can’t see which team, but I see Andrés slap one of his teammates on their back, so I guess it was them.
Play resumes and they set off again. Then just as quickly it stops.
Again the crowd doesn’t move so I stay in my spot.
Horses are changed and they play again. I watch Andrés, he’s constantly scanning his teammates and those he’s playing against, riding for gaps and receiving passes. A couple more goals are scored, one by Andrés’ team and another by the other side.
By the time they break for the third time I can see some patterns in how they play, though I have no idea of the rules. I’ve heard a few of the people round me mutter things such as “offside,” but I’m none the wiser.
They line up for a fourth time and the opposing team score a goal quickly, making it even.
If anything it gets more chaotic from there as it looks like each team vies for control.
Then I see Andrés, riding off the pitch.
He lines his horse up to Chispa and transfers to her, not even touching the ground, and within seconds he’s back in play.
A minute later I see him flying up the side of the pitch at a gallop and a shout goes out.
He wheels round as the ball comes towards him.
I see him lean so far out of his saddle he’s surely going to topple into the snow, but he doesn’t.
He hits the ball and then rights himself as it sails through the goal.
A whistle blows and I release a long-held breath, my heart beating a lot faster than normal.
The crowd clap and cheer and a few of them start to leave.
I take another long look at Andrés. He’s taken off his helmet, his black curls look plastered to his head, and I can see his wide triumphant smile.
The rest of his team ride close, reaching across saddles to hug each other.
The opposition ride over, slapping backs and shaking hands, and everyone looks happy—even the losers.
I see kinship and camaraderie rather than rivalry.
Then Andrés rides away from the group. He leans forward and I see him stroke his hand down Chispa’s neck; it’s a caress, a thank you for a job well done.
I turn away, blowing on my hands and stamping my feet to try to bring some life back into my fingers and toes.
I make my way back to the hotel and to work, an idea forming in my mind.