Chapter 8 #2
I’m not sure that’s completely fair since I’m not even trusted to plait a pony’s tail for a match yet, but I am hopeful that tonight, I might get to know some of the grooms better.
The moment I walk into the clubhouse, I realise I haven’t got the dress code right.
I’ve rocked up in a mini dress, leather jacket, ankle boots and gold hoop earrings.
After a couple of days of smelling like horse hair and hay, and having suffered a knock to my confidence thanks to Chris, I was excited to smell and look good, taking my time earlier with choosing my outfit and applying smoky eye make-up, styling my hair in soft waves around my shoulders.
But scanning the room on entering, I realise my mistake.
All the other girls are dressed in long, floral dresses and tailored, cropped, preppy blazers, some wearing panamas and straw hats.
They look like they’ve stepped out of a Tommy Hilfiger photoshoot, while I wouldn’t be out of place in the smoking area of a Camden nightclub.
As I take in everyone sipping champagne, laughing loudly together, chatting and embracing, I recognise this churning feeling in my stomach from when I first started attending fashion events with Ren: the uneasiness of knowing I don’t belong here amongst these people.
Not yet anyway. I spot Jules talking to her mum in the corner and make my way over, keen to talk to Lady Maycourt or ‘Lady M’ as the other grooms call her.
I haven’t spoken to her since I started and I want to thank her, but by the time I’ve weaved my way through the crowd, she’s slipped away, leaving Jules on her own.
‘Hi,’ I say, pleased that at least she doesn’t look irritated by me joining her.
‘Veuve?’ She jerks her head towards the bottle of champagne in the ice bucket surrounded by spare glasses on the table near her. ‘Courtesy of my mother.’
‘Thanks.’ I help myself, standing awkwardly next to her and taking a glug before I notice her intently watching the group of girls who were on the sideline earlier. ‘Are they your friends?’
She raises her eyebrows at me. ‘The High Fives? No.’
‘The High what?’
‘High Fives,’ she repeats drily. ‘It’s what we call Clara Fennel and her friends. They’re essentially polo groupies and won’t shag anyone with a handicap below five.’
‘Oh. Right. Who’s Clara Fennel?’
‘The Honourable Clara Fennel is the blonde in the middle of them and the leader of the pack,’ she tells me in a strained voice, nodding to the girl who’d brazenly beckoned Mateo to her in the pub when he’d been sitting with me. ‘And the brunette next to her is Paige Potter, my ex-girlfriend.’
I stealthily check out Paige, who is very pretty with tight, brown curls, big, dark eyes and wearing a red, floral dress that shows off her curves and matches her bold-red lipstick.
‘Clara and I didn’t get on at school and since the break-up with Paige, she dislikes me even more, which means her entire entourage aren’t allowed to like me, either.’ Jules heaves a weary sigh. ‘It’s all very stupid.’
‘Sounds it.’ I notice Clara look over at me, her friends following suit, before a sneer appears on her face and she whispers something to the other girls, who snigger. ‘For some reason, I don’t think she’s a fan of mine, either, even though we haven’t met yet.’
‘You’re new and you’re pretty. That’s enough to get on her bad side,’ Jules mutters.
‘You must be Ash!’ a voice says behind me and I spin round to see one of the polo players, Malcolm, giving me the once-over. ‘Word on the grapevine is that you’re fairly new to all this. How come you’re Lady M’s latest hire, then?’
‘Probably something to do with Fitz,’ chips in Eric, another one of the team, his voice slightly slurred as he joins our group.
‘That right, Fitzy-boy?’ Malcolm says, ushering Fitz to come join us, too. ‘You were the one to bring this new groom to Maycourt, were you?’
‘Nothing to do with me, but can’t say I’m complaining,’ Fitz declares as Clara and her friends watch on, wearing similar distinct scowls.
‘Don’t be a slimeball, Fitz,’ Jules snaps at her cousin, but he shrugs it off with a laugh.
‘It was Mateo who spotted her… talents,’ Fitz says, his eyes scanning down my body as I wrinkle my nose in disgust. ‘He has an eye for these things.’
‘I can’t take any credit for Ash being here,’ Mateo says calmly.
I hadn’t noticed he was even in the room, but as he speaks, people surrounding us part slightly to turn to look at him. At odds with the other players in their pastel designer shirts and chinos, Mateo is in a t-shirt and jeans, leaning on the bar on his own.
‘Lady M saw that she was good with Serafina and brought her on to help us work with her,’ he continues, before taking a sip of his drink.
Eric sighs, shaking his head. ‘That pony is never coming round. She’s reactive and doesn’t suit the pressure of polo. She should be sold.’
‘Mum will never do that,’ Jules says, frowning at him.
‘She shouldn’t. Serafina is the quickest pony in the yard,’ Mateo adds.
‘She cannot be controlled,’ Fitz proclaims. ‘She bit me, you know. She’s a feisty bitch and makes it damn clear she doesn’t want anyone riding her.’
‘Maybe it’s just you she doesn’t want riding her,’ Eric suggests.
‘She wouldn’t be the first, eh, Fitzy-boy?’ Malcolm jeers, sending a ripple of laughter through the room.
‘Oh ha bloody ha,’ Fitz mutters into his drink.
‘It will be impressive if you can get Serafina into shape for the season, Ash,’ Malcolm says, stroking his chin. ‘Have you worked with ponies before?’
I shake my head.
‘I’ve heard you don’t even ride,’ Clara jumps in, her plummy voice booming around the room and holding its attention. ‘Is that true? It can’t be.’
‘No, it’s true,’ I say.
The players share looks of surprise, while a smirk creeps across Clara’s lips.
‘How fascinating,’ she emphasises, her eyes flashing at me as she begins her fun. ‘And what about polo? You must be very knowledgeable in the sport at least?’
I hold her steely gaze without flinching. ‘I’ve never seen a match before today.’
‘What?’ Fitz balks. ‘And my aunt still hired you?’
‘That seems odd,’ Clara says, tilting her head at me. ‘Do you have any expertise whatsoever to offer Lady Maycourt’s stables? Or are you just another stray she’s picked up, like one of her little dogs?’
Her friends laugh. Jules looks down at the floor uncomfortably.
‘Personally, I find it bizarre the way people who have no idea about polo suddenly try to get involved with it,’ Clara continues, bemused.
‘Every year, it’s the same at the start of the season.
All these,’ her eyes land on me pointedly as she relishes the attention of the room, ‘wannabees come along and get excited by the prestige and then think that after watching one polo match, they’re suddenly an expert.
I mean, it’s laughable. Quite entertaining, really. ’
I watch her with interest as she takes a glug of her drink.
‘How lucky we are to have a polo expert such as yourself then,’ I remark coolly.
My comment takes her by surprise. She lowers her glass slowly.
‘I wouldn’t be so crass as to refer to myself as an expert,’ Clara replies, ‘but I do tend to know a lot about the game, having been brought up in the polo world.’
‘Ah, so that’s your accepted criteria? That you have to be born into the polo world to come to understand it,’ I surmise.
She lifts her chin, her eyes not budging from mine.
‘I think you need to at least have a basic grasp of such a world and respect every aspect of it to deserve to be a part of it. And some people,’ her eyes drift down my outfit to my boots and back up again, her lips curling into a sickly sweet smile, ‘clearly don’t fit the bill, despite how hard they try.
That’s what I find particularly pathetic. ’
‘You don’t think it’s more pathetic to close ranks on those who want to learn about it and contribute to it, just because they’re, what, not like you?’ I point out, unimpressed.
A pink tinge appears on her cheeks.
‘I merely mean that the polo world needs to be protected, in the same way that any tradition with foundations rich in heritage, skill and knowledge must be,’ she claims, momentarily flustered before relaxing, a triumphant smile returning to her lips.
‘My point is that class isn’t something that can be acquired. It’s something one is born with.’
‘I see, we’re talking about class now, rather than the sport of polo,’ I say, watching her with interest as she takes a sip of her drink. ‘Oh, well, that’s funny, because I was thinking that those with titles might have a bit of that, but you’ve proven me wrong.’
She splutters on her drink. Paige pats her on the back as Clara hastily wipes her chin with her hand. Jules disguises a snort of laughter with a cough.
‘I think it’s great to have new blood,’ Malcolm interjects, raising his glass.
‘Me too, me too,’ Fitz slurs, leaning in towards me. ‘And what an honour to have taken your polo virginity today, Ash. I hope you were impressed with my stick.’
He guffaws at his lewd joke, prompting several eye-rolls from our audience and a weary sigh from his teammates.
‘Not really,’ I say, bored. ‘I’ve seen much bigger ones.’
There’s a ripple of laughs through the room and I hear Malcolm turn to Eric and go, ‘Oh, I like her.’ Fitz looks put out, and Clara mutters something to her friends, who nod in agreement, shooting disapproving looks my way.
Knocking back the rest of my drink, I place the empty glass down on the table and excuse myself, the crowd parting as I head to the door. I might have been making it up but I could have sworn I heard Mateo chuckling quietly at the bar as I left.