Chapter 5
Five
I don’t want to give Jasper the satisfaction of telling him that he’s right about the countryside being the answer to my problems, but after a few days, I’m starting to realise that there is something inherently soothing about this setting and way of life.
It’s easier to be offline here: in the mornings, I go on long walks and in the afternoons, I help out at the pub, during which I can’t be on my phone.
Keeping busy distracts me from the chaos of the life I left behind in London and I like feeling helpful.
I don’t feel so lost here, I guess. Or at least, I don’t have so much opportunity to think on what’s gone wrong – there’s always pints to be poured or tables to be cleaned.
I’ve got to know a couple of the locals too, who couldn’t be less interested in my scandalous past. My favourites are Rhys and Noor, both retired, who come in almost daily to have a chat over a pint of local cider or beer and discuss the state of the world or, where Noor is concerned, the polo season ahead.
As someone who knows nothing about polo, I don’t know what Noor is talking about when I overhear snippets of their conversation but it’s obvious he’s very knowledgeable on the subject, like a lot of people around here.
I’m in the heart of polo country, they’ve declared, and if I’m going to work here, I’ll have to get into it.
‘You’ll love it,’ Noor has told me. ‘And considering you’re on good terms with the Maycourt ponies, it’s only right that you should learn about what they can do.’
He’s talking about the relationship I’ve struck up with ‘Chestnut’, the horse I met my first day here and the one I’ve taken to visiting every morning on my walks.
As I thought during our first meeting, she’s a stubborn and aloof character, preferring to play things on her terms. I like that about her.
I haven’t been overdoing it and trying to win her over – instead, I’ve kept my distance, sitting on the fence and chatting to her while she grazes nearby, both of us happy in our own space.
After a couple of days of listening to my ramblings about my failed love life and public humiliation, she decided she might come say hello.
I didn’t act like it was a big deal, even though I was very excited.
I patted her neck and stroked her nose, then strolled off.
The next morning, she saw me and came plodding over straight away.
Playing it cool doesn’t just work on humans. It works on horses, too.
The relationship has become mutually beneficial: she gets nose rubs, I get to talk about what happened with Chris without fear of judgement. It’s cheap therapy.
One morning, I’m in my usual spot in the field, having hopped over the fence to be on the same side as Chestnut.
I’m leaning back against the fence while I pat her neck and tell her about the latest twist in my sorry saga: Ren has given an interview in which he was asked about his feelings on the launch-party scandal and he flew to the defence of Chris.
‘He said he knew Chris well and that he was a dedicated family man who loved his wife dearly,’ I reveal to Chestnut as she munches on the grass by my feet.
‘Then he said that everyone makes mistakes and he believed people were too quick these days to cancel others. He didn’t mention the fact that he’d been very quick to cancel me. ’
Chestnut lifts her head and whinnies.
Then she shakes her ears and gets back to eating her grass.
‘Exactly my thoughts,’ I agree, nodding slowly.
‘I’ve had a lucky escape from both of those jerks.
’ I sigh, adding dismally, ‘Still hurts, though. I did a lot for Ren, but he’s dropped me without a moment’s hesitation.
Then there’s the injustice of it all. Everyone out there thinks I’m the bad guy.
I wish I didn’t care about that, but… I do. ’
As she turns her head away from me, I realise we’re not alone.
A man is approaching across the field. I don’t notice until he’s practically right next to us.
Panicking, I straighten, knowing it’s too late for me to climb back over the fence to the public path now.
His thick, dark hair and square stubbled jaw are familiar.
He’s the knobhead from the green sports car: Mateo, the polo player.
He comes around Chestnut’s front and reaches out to stroke her nose as he passes, but she lifts her head away from his reach, snorting indignantly.
In his other hand, he’s holding some kind of basket-shaped muzzle, the straps of it hanging loosely down by his side.
He stops in front of me. Hands on his hips, mouth set in a serious, straight line, he looks me up and down unashamedly, his forehead creased in puzzlement.
He’s intimidatingly good-looking, tall and broad-shouldered with dark eyes framed by bold eyebrows and long, full eyelashes.
It makes sense that he’d be the type of Argentine polo player to have a legion of ‘fans’, as Jasper had informed me, whether those fans were into polo or not.
‘Hola,’ he says.
‘Uh… hi.’
‘What are you doing?’ he asks in perfect English with his sexy Argentine accent.
He’s not smiling but he’s not asking unkindly. He sounds more curious.
‘Sorry, I was… um,’ I gesture to Chestnut, ‘talking.’
The confusion in his expression deepens. ‘Talking?’ he repeats.
I nod.
‘Huh.’ He tilts his head at me. ‘I’ve seen you here before.’
‘You have?’
‘Yes. Were you just… talking to this horse on those occasions also?’
I nod again, feeling nervous under his intense gaze.
‘Why?’ he asks.
God. This is awkward. Talking to a horse is one thing, but explaining to someone why you’re talking to a horse is another. It’s going to be hard to come out of this sounding sane.
‘I like being around horses. I find her presence calming.’
He quirks a brow. ‘You find the presence of this horse calming?’ He points to Chestnut. ‘This horse right here?’
‘Yes.’ I frown. ‘Why? What’s wrong with her?’
‘Nothing. Nothing is wrong with Serafina. She’s beautiful. I had hopes she’d make a great polo pony, but she’s too wilful and stubborn. She’s difficult to ride, near impossible to control. She doesn’t listen to anyone.’
‘Oh.’ I look to her in surprise.
‘But you find her… calming. Interesting.’
There’s a beat of silence as we both study the horse next to us.
‘Did you say her name was Serafina?’ I check.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a lovely name,’ I muse aloud.
Mateo nods, watching me carefully. ‘And yours?’
‘Ash,’ I tell him, reaching out to pat Serafina’s neck.
‘I’m Mateo.’
‘I know who you are.’ I notice a flash of smugness cross his expression, so I feel the need to quash any ego-inflating. ‘Not from your polo career. Because you almost ran me off the road the other day. My brother told me who you were from the description of your car.’
He looks thrown and then recognition flickers across his handsome features. ‘Ah, yes. I remember now, you were walking near here. I’m sorry about that. I know these roads very well and tend to drive fast around them.’
‘You shouldn’t. I know you had company, but it’s dangerous to show off like that around such tight corners and narrow lanes.’
He doesn’t say anything, looking stunned at my directness before his expression softens into amusement. A classic reaction of someone too entitled to ever be put in their place.
I clear my throat.
‘I should go. Sorry about trespassing. In the future, I…’
I trail off mid-sentence, distracted as he begins to fiddle with the apparatus in his hand, unbuckling the straps and getting it ready.
‘What is that?’ I ask, pointing to it.
‘A grazing muzzle.’ He notices my blank expression.
‘It helps to control a horse’s natural tendency to overeat.
They can still drink and they can eat a little, but they can’t eat a lot.
It’s important to control grazing so they don’t get overweight and it can help ponies with stomach problems.’ He pauses before adding, ‘Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt or hinder them. It helps them.’
‘Why do you think I’d assume it might hurt them?’ I ask defensively.
‘City people often have certain misconceptions. I can tell that you have developed an attachment to Serafina through your meetings and I didn’t want you to be worried.’
I can’t work out if that’s nice of him or mildly insulting. It’s difficult to tell.
‘I’m not worried. And I may be from London, but I’m not completely clueless,’ I say.
‘I didn’t think you were. You obviously have something about you.
Serafina usually bolts around anyone who tries to connect with her.
Or anyone who tries to make her do something she doesn’t want to,’ he says.
‘Which is why I should take her back to the stable to wrestle her into this muzzle. She eats too much, it’s not good for her. But she loves to be out here.’
I glance over at Serafina, who continues to munch the grass. Then without much thought, I say, ‘Want me to give it a go?’
He stares at me for a moment. Then, he holds out the grazing muzzle. I take it from him confidently, examining it so I can get a handle on how it works. I can feel his gaze on me the entire time, as though, while I work the muzzle out, he tries to work me out.
This could go very wrong. But the worst that can happen is Serafina bolts when I make my attempt and it sounds like she does that with everyone else.
I’m curious to see if the trust I’ve established with her is mutual or if she’s been putting up with me purely because the grass over here is particularly tasty or something.
Mateo steps back as I move calmly towards her with the grazing muzzle in my hand. As I get closer, she lifts her head, her ears turned back and relaxed as I start talking to her.
‘Hey, Serafina, nice to have your name right. Sorry I’ve been calling you Chestnut,’ I say. ‘On reflection, Chestnut is a bit of a plain name for such a striking horse like yourself. Serafina is more elegant. It suits you.’