Chapter 5 #2
I study the grazing muzzle in my hands again and she lowers her head to rub her cheek against my shoulder.
‘Mind if I put this on you? Sounds like you might need some help with your eating habits. You can carry on using me as a scratching post while I do it if you like.’ I slide the muzzle onto her, reaching up to secure the buckle.
She doesn’t seem bothered, so I reach up to pat her neck gratefully. ‘Thanks for making that so easy.’
She exhales, enjoying the neck rub. With one last stroke of her nose, I turn round to find Mateo still watching me intently, his expression stern and serious. If he’s impressed, he doesn’t show it.
‘There. All done,’ I say brightly, walking back towards him. ‘Sorry again for being in the field; I know I shouldn’t have been. From now on, I’ll stay on the right side of the fence.’
He doesn’t say anything, looking deep in thought, so I carry on past him and climb back over to the footpath.
As I land on the other side and wipe my hands together to dust them off, I notice that someone on the far side of the field is watching us.
I can just about make her out: an older woman, sophisticatedly dressed, with cropped, silver-blonde hair.
She’s surrounded by a pack of dogs of all different shapes and sizes, their tails wagging furiously as they wait at her side.
That must be Lady Maycourt, who owns the estate, and she’s just fully witnessed me trespassing. I blush furiously and turn to go.
‘Nice to meet you, Ash,’ Mateo calls out, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn to give him a small nod and then hurry away along the path, too afraid to turn back to check if they’re both watching me go.
*
‘So every polo team has a patron?’ I check with Noor and Rhys that afternoon, carefully pouring Rhys a pint of Guinness.
The pub is empty apart from the two of them sitting at the bar, so I’m able to quiz them on Maycourt Polo, much more curious about the yard now I’ve formally met one of the players and seen the team’s elegant patron at a distance.
‘That’s right,’ Noor confirms, delighted to talk about his favourite subject.
‘Polo is extremely expensive and you don’t win any money, so you need someone wealthy to fund the team.
The patron pays for everything: the players, the travel, the ponies and their care and stabling.
All of it. Usually, the patron also participates in the team of four, but not in this case. ’
‘Lady Maycourt doesn’t play?’
‘Her nephew is on the team instead. Fitz. He’s the son of her late husband’s brother. He’s a fairly capable player, but nothing to the three professionals on the Maycourt team,’ Rhys tells me as I pass him his pint.
‘And Mateo is one of those professionals,’ I confirm.
‘He’s the best of the team and one of the best out there,’ Noor says proudly, always talking about the Maycourt team as though he’s part of it himself, a feeling shared by a lot of the community here. ‘He is a nine-goal handicap.’
‘And that means he’s good, right?’ I check.
‘The highest you can get is ten, so yes, that’s good,’ Rhys says, sharing a smile with Noor. ‘In polo, players are rated on a scale from minus two to ten goal. Minus two would be a beginner, and someone with a handicap of ten is the best of the best.’
‘Wow. So Mateo is really good.’
‘His teammates are fantastic, too,’ Noor is keen to point out. ‘Eric is a seven and Malcolm is a six. And Fitz is nought.’
‘Okay,’ I say, leaning forward on the bar. ‘Polo is complicated.’
‘No more than other sports,’ Noor contends. ‘But to really understand it, you have to watch a match. Come with us to the next one and we can talk you through it.’
‘I’d like that, thanks.’ I smile as Noor nods, satisfied, before taking a sip of his drink.
As the door to the pub opens, I bend down behind the bar to pick up a dishcloth I dropped earlier, and when I straighten to welcome whoever has just come through it, I start, dropping the dishcloth again.
Lady Maycourt surveys the pub before she sees me and glides over, a corgi on a lead in tow. Jasper, who has been busy in the back, emerges from behind the bar and stops in surprise at our new customer.
‘Lady Maycourt,’ he says, beaming at her as Noor and Rhys swivel on their stools to greet her with surprised smiles. ‘Great to see you! How are you?’
‘Hello, Jasper,’ she says in a warm, friendly, East Coast American accent that has softened after years in England. ‘I’m well, thank you. How have things been here?’
‘Business as usual,’ he tells her.
‘Pleased to hear it.’ Her eyes settle on me.
‘This must be Ashley. I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself earlier when you were with Mateo, so I thought I’d come by the pub to do so.
Jasper had mentioned to me his sister was coming to visit and when I saw you this afternoon, I realised that you were she. ’
‘Yes, hi,’ I say, smiling nervously at her. ‘I’m so sorry that I was in your field, Lady Maycourt. I know it was trespassing, but I wasn’t thinking. I got caught up in admiring your horse and—’
‘You don’t need to apologise,’ she cuts in calmly. ‘That’s not why I’m here. In fact, I’m delighted to have tracked you down. I’m here to offer you a job.’
I stare at her. Jasper shares a look of bewilderment with the others.
‘I’m sorry?’ I say, wondering if I’d heard her wrong.
‘My daughter, Julia, broke her wrist recently during a showjumping event, which means I could use an extra pair of hands in the stables. I hoped you might consider stepping in,’ she explains, as her corgi whines loudly next to her. She gives him a stern look. ‘None of that please, Garfunkel.’
Garfunkel stops whining and huffs, plonking himself into a sitting position at her feet.
‘I apologise,’ she says, addressing us, before gazing fondly down at her dog. ‘He had a light lunch today and so I imagine he’s peckish. Corgis have bottomless stomachs.’
‘Sorry, you want me to come work in your stables?’ I check, still trying to get my head round it. ‘The Maycourt Polo stables?’
‘Yes, as a polo groom. It’s extremely hard work but very rewarding,’ she states firmly. ‘I can see, of course, that you have a job here, but I wasn’t sure if it was temporary. I wouldn’t want to step on your toes or go behind your back and steal one of your staff, Jasper.’
He shakes his head, baffled. ‘Not at all. Whatever Ash would like.’
‘I can’t be a polo groom,’ I blurt out, shocked that Jasper is considering the switch. ‘I know nothing about it. I’ve never worked with horses.’
‘You can learn on the job. You seem at ease around them,’ Lady Maycourt argues, watching me curiously. ‘I’ve never seen Serafina connect with anyone the way she connected with you.’
‘Serafina?’ Jasper says, his eyebrows knitted together.
‘A very special pony of mine,’ Lady Maycourt explains.
‘She is the daughter of a pony my late husband was particularly fond of during his own polo career. He made me promise never to sell Serafina and it was a promise I was happy to make; anyone could see her potential. But then we discovered she’s rather…
difficult. She may be from a brilliant line of polo ponies, but she’s developed a personality at odds with her ancestors.
She’s strong and wilful and won’t get on with my grooms or players.
Mateo is the only one interested in her. ’
‘Mateo has an eye for a good pony,’ Noor proclaims.
‘Yes, he does,’ she agrees. ‘He’s determined to make something of her.
He agreed with the Viscount that she had it in her to be an extraordinary polo pony.
Nobody loves those ponies like Mateo does, but even his patience is being pushed as far as Serafina is concerned.
’ She turns to address me again. ‘Then you showed up and she took a liking to you.’
Jasper looks at me, his eyebrows flying up.
‘Mateo told me he’s watched you with her,’ she continues steadily.
‘He says that around you she’s calm, relaxed, listening.
I witnessed it myself this morning. I saw you slip that grazing muzzle on her.
You should have seen one of my grooms attempt to do it yesterday – she was a nightmare.
But she trusts you. That’s exactly what we need.
Mateo is determined to ride her this season and with your help, he might be able to get her into shape. ’
My mouth feels unusually dry and I realise it’s because I’ve been gaping at her this whole time. I swallow, licking my lips.
‘I… um…’
‘Have the weekend to think about it,’ she instructs, tapping her hand on the bar as I flounder.
‘If you’re keen, then you can start Monday morning.
Now, I must get Garfunkel home. Lovely to see you, Jasper, and don’t let my team make fools of themselves when they next visit your fine establishment. ’
‘I can’t make any promises, Lady Maycourt,’ he quips.
‘Good luck for tomorrow,’ Noor adds. ‘We’ll be cheering on the team as usual.’
‘Thank you,’ she says graciously, before swanning out the door, her corgi happily trotting along at her feet.