Chapter 17
Seventeen
It’s a beautiful day for the finals match between Maycourt Polo and The Redwoods for the Cartier Queen’s Cup.
Clear blue skies, bright sunshine, and a crowd dressed to the nines, jittery with excitement and anticipation.
The grandstand is packed with spectators, and the garden of the bar that lines the Queen’s Ground is bustling with people, an ice bucket of champagne or pale rosé on every table.
It’s much busier today than it has been earlier in the week, but this is a weekend match and the grand final of one of the most prestigious tournaments in the polo circuit.
Not to mention, royalty is here: HRH The Prince and Princess of Wales are watching and will be presenting the trophy to the winner.
I feel sick with nerves. There’s as much pressure on the grooms as there is on the players.
The operation behind the scenes has to be slick and rapid with no room for error.
My hands are trembling as I plait tails and wrap bandages, asking Eduardo and Federico to check everything I do, refusing to leave anything to chance.
Just before the match begins, the atmosphere in the pony lines is tense and serious. I’m so nervous, I actively seek out Mateo, finding him on his own behind the tent, drinking from a bottle of water. He lowers it slowly on seeing me approach.
‘Hi,’ I begin.
‘Hi.’
‘I haven’t seen you properly all day – I mean, obviously I’ve seen you, but we haven’t had the chance to…’ I frown, my heart hammering as he watches me. Just being in his vicinity is scrambling my thoughts and words. ‘I wanted to say good luck.’
He gives a small nod. ‘Thank you.’
Not knowing what else to say, I turn to leave, shaking out my hands to try to get rid of the tingles. And then it’s time to go, the clock ticking nearer and nearer to the first throw-in.
The Redwoods control the first two chukkas, scoring early on and infuriating Fitz with their smug celebrations that cause him to lash out irresponsibly, handing them an easy penalty when their number three has line of the ball and he crosses over to steal it.
Mateo snaps at him to calm down when Fitz complains about the umpire, but Eric does a better job of mellowing things by speaking to Fitz in between chukkas and talking to him calmly.
After that, Maycourt mount a good comeback, channelling their anger into fiery play and narrowing the gap in goals that leaves the stands cheering with enthusiasm.
At half-time, The Redwoods are leading seven-five.
I can feel the sweat across my forehead, my shirt is damp from hosing down hot ponies and there hasn’t been one moment of rest, but I don’t care.
It’s been exhilarating and brilliant. Mateo is with the other players discussing tactics and I can see Fitz nodding along vigorously to whatever he and Malcolm are saying.
Even Fitz has been motivated enough that he didn’t go out last night.
The team go into the fourth chukka, reinvigorated and ready, and at the end of the fifth, the score is tied.
The tension is high and the poor umpires have had their work cut out for them with the number of fouls from both teams as players begin to feel the pressure.
Plied with champagne, Pimm’s and beers, the spectators are getting louder and rowdier, and the two teams couldn’t have given them a better match. The play today has been extraordinary.
In the short few minutes before the final chukka, I’m walking Wickham up and down the end of the pitch to cool him down, proud of his excellent performance, and praying that Violet doesn’t let Mateo down in the next.
I still think he should be giving Serafina a try, but he thinks it’s too important to risk her stubbornness, while I argued that it’s so important, it’s the perfect time to finally take that risk.
She can outrun any of the Redwoods ponies, of that I’m certain. I was overruled.
‘Ashley!’
Glancing over my shoulder, I find Basilio sauntering towards me in aviators, navy chinos, a white shirt and a cream linen blazer with two glasses of Pimm’s in his hand. Smiling broadly, he offers me one of the drinks, which I politely decline.
‘I’ll drink yours and then buy you another after the match. How does that sound?’ he says, taking a sip of one of the drinks and mercifully not waiting for me to answer his question. ‘I have a confession for you.’
‘Really?’ I say, distracted, glancing nervously over at the Maycourt team in their huddle discussing the forthcoming final chukka.
‘I’ve been watching you ride. In the mornings when you’ve been helping warm up the ponies. You’re brilliant. You ride as though you’ve been doing it all your life,’ he says.
‘Thank you. I love it.’
I turn Wickham to circle back again and Basilio turns with us.
‘It’s made us all nervous about the grooms’ match, I have to admit. I think Ambrose may have been over-confident. Clearly, you are an excellent addition to the Maycourt yard. I have no doubt that you will be the best on the field when it comes to the polo.’
‘Mateo is a great teacher.’
His easy-going smile falters. ‘Is that right? I find that surprising. Mateo isn’t the sort of person who puts time aside for someone else, especially to teach them.
I would have thought he’d think that beneath him.
Even as kids, he never had time for anyone else.
He wasn’t a team player. He always put himself first.’
I don’t say anything.
‘I only hope he’s giving you his time for the right reasons,’ Basilio adds.
I shoot him a look. ‘What does that mean?’
‘You know what he’s like, surely,’ he says, looking surprised I’d even have to ask. ‘He has a reputation for… using people. Every woman he dates knows not to get attached. I think dating is his way of blowing off steam. I, of course, am a little biased.’
‘Because you don’t like him.’
‘It’s more complicated than that. He hasn’t told you about Emma?’
I shake my head.
‘Emma was my girlfriend a long time ago. A sweet, lovely girl. Then she met Mateo and, after he pursued her, she left me for him. A week later, he dumped her. That’s the truth.’
I chew the inside of my cheek.
‘She thought she was special to him, but in the end, he broke her heart just like everyone else’s,’ Basilio continues, ‘and he broke mine too. For what? To prove he was better? That he could have whoever he wanted? It was all for nothing. Mateo is like… a hunter. He sets his sights on his quarry and he won’t be satisfied until he’s got it.
Then he disregards it once it’s served its purpose. ’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ I mutter, turning Wickham around again.
‘Because… I like you,’ he says with a shrug. ‘I don’t want to see you get hurt. You don’t know him like we do.’
‘I can look after myself, thanks.’
He laughs. ‘Yes, I could tell that the moment we met. In fact,’ he strides a few paces ahead and then spins around, facing me and walking backwards, ‘I knew that you were quite unlike anyone else I’d ever met.’
I bring Wickham to a halt. ‘I have to go. The final chukka is about to start.’
‘Nice talking to you,’ he says, leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek.
Glancing instinctively towards Mateo as Basilio draws back, I find him up on Violet watching us, his eyes blazing, his jaw set. Oh fuck.
Basilio starts waltzing away from me before spinning round to shoot me a dazzling smile and call out loudly, ‘I’ll see you after the match, Ash. I’ll make sure of it.’
Head down, I lead Wickham back to the pony lines while Mateo turns Violet sharply and canters away.
From then, Mateo takes no prisoners. In the first minute of the final chukka, Fitz is dribbling the ball along the centre of the field and, in a momentary lapse of concentration, misses it as it slows from bouncing along the divots, him and his opponent having to pull up their ponies when they realise the ball’s left behind them.
Mateo, who was following, positions Violet perfectly and from there, thwacks the ball with an exquisite nearside forehand that sends it soaring up into the air past all the players and sailing through the goal posts up ahead.
It’s such an incredible, risky goal, I gasp in amazement and the people in the stands are up on their feet applauding as Maycourt slip into the lead.
As Mateo circles on Violet, he looks my way as I stare at him in awe.
His next goal comes soon after when a Redwoods player offers a clumsy pass to a teammate who isn’t there.
Mateo scoops it up and you can see his opponents panic as he thunders back the other way with it, taking Violet full-throttle.
The Redwoods number four hunts him down for a ride-off but is left behind as Mateo picks up the pace to knock the ball between the posts, the flag going up and waving once more.
Malcolm is laughing atop his pony, he’s finding Mateo’s fresh determination so incredible.
‘What did you take before this chukka, mate?’ he asks. ‘Share it out, would you?’
The final is nearing the end and work in the pony lines has slowed because we’re all distracted by the match, so close to the win but knowing that it’s not secure until it’s over.
The ball is at the end of the pitch we want it to be, but so are all the players, the Redwoods doing all they can to get it out of there while Maycourt won’t let up.
After a frantic minute where it’s hard to tell what’s going on between all the pony legs and mallets, we see Mateo tap a winner through the goal posts in the last few moments of the match. The final whistle blows.
Oh my God.
We won. We won!
The entire team, including the grooms, pours onto the pitch as the players bring their ponies in to dismount and embrace each other, cheering exuberantly.
Even Lady M has lost her demure demeanour and has thrown her arms around a friend, jumping up and down in joy.
After giving Jules a hug, I rush in to join the grooms who have to cool down the ponies from the last chukka, weaving my way through the celebrating team to get to Fitz as he jumps down from his pony before throwing his arms around Malcolm and bouncing together screaming, ‘We did it! We did it!’
Happily unnoticed by either of them and laughing at their display of camaraderie, I lead the pony off the pitch, my jaw aching from smiling so hard.
I wait for my orders from Eduardo, who beams at me while he’s giving me instructions, every now and then muttering words of disbelief in Spanish, and then I get started on hosing down the ponies.
I’ve just set down the hose to brush the water off Violet’s coat when I hear footsteps approach.
‘Hey,’ Mateo says as I spin round.
His hair is damp from sweat and champagne that’s been sprayed over his head, his cheeks are flushed from the exercise and the win, and his eyes are glistening with joy. My heart somersaults at his smile that lights up his face.
‘Mateo, you did it!’ I gush, laughing with excitement and nerves, feeling drunk on the high that comes with a win like this one. ‘Congratulations!’
‘To you, too.’
He steps forward to kiss me on the cheek.
His face lingers near mine a moment too long for either of our willpower to hold.
Mine snaps first. Angling my head towards him, I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and smash my mouth against his.
He exhales with relief against my lips, his hands grasping at my hips and pulling me closer as he deepens the kiss, pressing himself against me.
A low groan emits from his throat that sends my heart into overdrive.
Butterflies explode into a frenzied dance in my stomach as he kisses me like he’s been starved of me for years and years, his hands roaming up the curve of my waist, round to my back, sliding up and back down again, exploring everywhere all at once.
Violet stomps and whinnies, and we suddenly remember where we are, breaking apart and catching our breath. Mateo leans in to kiss me one more time, a gentle peck that takes me by surprise, before stepping back to pat Violet’s neck, his hand slapping against her wet coat.
‘We’re… we’re going to have a team photo on the pitch,’ he says, collecting himself as I stand in a daze. ‘Come join us for it.’
I nod, my breathing shallow and heavy like I’ve just played in a polo match myself.
‘I-I’ll be there in a minute.’
Satisfied with my answer, he gives Violet a kiss on the nose and then jogs back to his waiting teammates.
I hear a cheer go up as he reappears, Fitz’s voice above the others shouting, ‘Where have you been, mate? You saw the prince coming over to us, didn’t you?
What could be more important than that, you glorious fucker? ’