Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
After that match, none of the Maycourt team are in a mood to party, except maybe for Fitz, who is always in the mood to party.
But Lady M insists that we make an appearance at the event tonight hosted by the team’s major sponsor at the exclusive beach club, La Reserva Club de Sotogrande.
It’s a breathtaking space, the decking around the turquoise-blue man-made lagoon bathed in a warm-orange glow of lanterns, candles and festoon lights draped from the palm trees.
Smartly dressed waiters serve drinks in crystal glasses, and the crooning singer of the live jazz band providing background music to the guests’ conversation is setting a classy tone for the evening – although I spot a DJ checking his decks at a booth on the other side of the space, so I’m guessing things get livelier later.
After a dismal couple of days, it was calming to put the time in to doing my make-up and hair, and getting into a dress that makes me feel good about myself.
I knew that the Sotogrande post-polo social scene was high glamour, so I’d packed appropriately: tonight, I’m wearing a plunged neckline, black, figure-hugging dress with towering heels, statement drop earrings and my hair swept over one shoulder styled in gentle waves.
Arriving on my own, I accept a cocktail and walk out onto the decking, hoping to see someone I know.
I’m in luck: Malcolm and Eric, both looking good in their tuxedos, are standing nearby with Jules in a stunning gold satin number.
Eric spots me and brightens, mouthing, ‘Wow,’ at me, before waving me over to join them.
‘Tough day today, team,’ Eric says, sticking a hand in his pocket.
‘It happens,’ Jules says with a shrug.
‘Shame it happened on our final match all together,’ Malcolm muses.
‘Mateo and I are off to France to play with another team; Eric is headed for Santa Barbara; and God knows how Fitzy will be spending his time but I imagine the London bars are about to see their revenue shoot up. It would have been good to part ways on a high.’
‘We can still do that,’ Jules counters, holding her glass aloft.
‘Jules is right,’ Eric says, slapping Malcolm on the back. ‘We’ve still got tonight. And it’s been one hell of a season. A few trophies under our belt.’
We echo Jules and lift our glasses, lightly clinking them together. Before we can even take a sip, Fitz appears at my side out of nowhere, espresso martini in hand.
‘What are we toasting to?’ he asks eagerly.
‘Are your ears finely attuned to the sound of glasses clinking?’ I ask, amazed. ‘Where did you even come from?’
‘It’s my superpower, Ashley. If there’s a chance someone might be enjoying a tipple, I’m there at their side in a flash to make sure they’re doing it right – and getting in a fresh round for yours truly,’ he says, adjusting his bow tie.
‘We should toast to one hell of a summer.’ Eric smiles. ‘There have been ups and downs, but it’s been an honour to play with you lot this year. Heaps of fun.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Malcolm cries. ‘We won the Queen’s Cup and Cowdray Gold Cup, for Christ’s sake!’
‘And here’s to the grooms who keep everything running,’ Jules says, smirking at me.
We lift our glasses and carefully – these are full of expertly crafted, out-of-this-world delicious cocktails, not one drop wanting to be wasted – tap them against one another’s.
‘We’re down one,’ Eric notes after sipping his drink, craning his neck to scan the party. ‘Where’s Mateo? I thought I saw him earlier.’
‘He’s with Mum, being introduced to what’s-his-name,’ Jules says, jerking her head to the side where a group of people are standing, their backs to us. ‘The shipping company director who’s taking a team to Argentina.’
‘Go interrupt them and drag him over here, would you, Ash?’ Malcolm says jovially.
‘I think we both know I wouldn’t succeed at that,’ I say with a light laugh.
If any of them catch my bitterness, they don’t comment on it.
The toast has done a good job of lifting spirits and we steam into the evening with more enthusiasm than expected, consuming the cocktails at a faster rate than we should.
Putting aside the emotional hazards of the last couple of days, I’m able to finally enjoy the glamour of Sotogrande, talking and laughing with friends I might find myself missing.
I’ve grown quite fond of these idiots. Will I miss Fitz?
Doubtful. But he is such a ridiculous character that he brings a lot of laughs, whether he means to or not.
Malcolm is a bit of a lovable buffoon and Eric is soft as anything.
I hope I’ll see them in the yard again, soon.
That is, if I’ll even be there. I haven’t been brave enough to broach the subject with Lady M or Jules, yet.
This was never meant to be long-term. Sussex was never meant to be long-term.
I can’t stay with Jasper forever, no matter how much he insists I can.
The season is ending and everyone is looking to the future.
At some point, I need to make a decision, too.
But not tonight.
While Malcolm and Fitz pounce on the DJ, attempting to persuade him to give them the microphone so they can sing along, I slip away to the bathroom, happy to miss any efforts they make to embarrass themselves amongst this high-society crowd.
Mateo has been so caught up in his conversation, he hasn’t even noticed I’ve arrived yet, and I’m determined not to be the one to seek him out.
I want him to know I’m still annoyed at him.
Emerging from the bathroom, my heels clack along the decking by the water as I head for one of the bars, but I spy a familiar face on my way there. Basilio glances my way and double takes, his eyes widening. He excuses himself from the group of people he’s standing with and comes over to greet me.
‘Wow,’ he says, placing a hand over his heart as he gazes at me. ‘You are stunning.’
‘Congratulations on reaching the final.’
‘Thank you. Will you be there?’
‘I don’t think so. We’ll probably be heading home now we’re out of the tournament.’
‘You should stay. The party after the final is always a good one,’ he says, his hand brushing against my arm.
From his bloodshot eyes and the way he’s standing a little too close, I can guess that our team isn’t the only one that’s been enjoying the cocktails tonight. I take a small step back.
‘I bet. But there will be lots to do at the yard, so hopefully, I’ll be needed there,’ I say regretfully, even though I’m not regretful at all.
He quirks a brow. ‘Hopefully? You’re worried you won’t have a job there after the season? That might be a good thing. You know, Ambrose has been wanting you on the DQ yard ever since the grooms’ match.’
I shift uncomfortably. ‘Basilio—’
‘I’m serious! He was impressed with the way the ponies responded to you, and your instinct around them.’ He takes a step closer, leaning in conspiratorially. ‘The best polo yards are the ones with the best grooms.’
‘That I agree with.’
‘So, you should consider it.’ The corner of his mouth hitches up. ‘Why not?’
The way he’s looking at me prompts me to hug my waist self-consciously, suddenly feeling very exposed. I hear heavy footsteps march up behind me and Mateo appears at my side, his expression thunderous. The tension between them feels sharper than ever after their tussle on the polo field today.
‘Mateo!’ Basilio cries, like greeting an old friend, before a smirk appears on his lips. ‘I hope you’re not too sore after your loss today.’
‘You’ve got a lot of nerve,’ he snarls.
‘Oh, oh, oh, I see, so this is how it’s going to go.’ Basilio gestures at Mateo. ‘Most players are able to leave rivalry on the pitch. Only those who are weak bring it away with them. You should chill, Mateo. This is a nice party.’
‘Why is it that whenever my back is turned for a moment, I find you hovering around Ash like a hungry little mosquito?’ he says through gritted teeth, his eyes flaring with fury.
Basilio snorts at the analogy.
‘Mateo, it’s okay, we were just talking,’ I say quietly, glancing nervously around the party. ‘Let’s go.’
‘What’s wrong, Mateo?’ Basilio jabs, relishing the confrontation. ‘Worried that Ash is going to come to her senses and realise that she should be with a man who genuinely cares about her? One that can provide for her?’
‘Okay, stop it,’ I cut in sharply, holding up my hands, ‘I don’t—’
‘You know nothing about her,’ Mateo seethes.
‘I know that she deserves better than you. No wonder she’s thinking about moving to the DQ yard, somewhere she’d be valued.’
‘What?’ My jaw drops open. ‘I’m not thinking that! Basilio, that’s completely—’
‘How long are you going to drag this on for, Mateo? How long are you going to lead her on until you break her heart?’ he says, taking a step closer to Mateo, whose chin is lifted and fists clenched, the two of them facing off and drawing attention from the other guests now.
‘We both know the relationship is past the point of saving. It’s always the same with you, isn’t it. ’
I watch Mateo’s jaw tick. Eric and Malcolm have caught whiff of something going on and come casually strolling over, ready to intervene. Lady M glances over mid-conversation and a flicker of concern crosses her expression.
‘Guys, please,’ I plead, cheeks flushing at being the focal point of a scene.
‘Don’t talk about me and Ash again,’ Mateo growls, low and threatening, ignoring me.
‘Or what?’ Basilio scoffs, bringing his face closer. ‘Or what, Mateo?’
‘Come on, mate,’ Eric says quietly at Mateo’s shoulder, taking his arm in an attempt to pull him back but Mateo shakes him off, his eyes locked on Basilio.
‘You’re pathetic,’ Basilio sneers, looking him up and down. ‘As pathetic now as you were when you first arrived at Rossi’s. Never quite making the mark. I proved it to you yet again today. No matter how good you get, you’ll never be the player you want to be. The player she wanted you to be.’
Mateo flinches, pain and horror flashing in his eyes. He grabs the lapels of Basilio’s jacket in his fists, dragging him towards him. A ripple of gasps floods through the party.
‘Mateo, no!’ I cry, grabbing one of his arms as Eric places his hand on the other. ‘Stop. Please. Stop it.’
‘He’s not worth it,’ Eric hisses through gritted teeth. ‘Come on, man, there are patrons here. Let him go.’
After a moment of roaring silence, during which everyone holds their breath, Mateo relaxes his grip on Basilio’s jacket, releasing him.
Malcolm pats Mateo on the back and Eric nods, while I feel dizzy with relief.
I try to take his hand but he bats all of us away.
Basilio laughs, straightening his jacket and running a hand through his hair.
His jaw tense and his chest rising with a long, deep breath, Mateo slowly turns around and starts to walk away, making it clear he doesn’t want anyone with him.
‘Yes, off you go, Mateo,’ Basilio taunts, unable to leave well enough alone, ‘and don’t worry. I’ll take care of Ash.’
Mateo stops in his tracks. Oh no.
Basilio sneers triumphantly.
‘I’ll show her what it’s like to be a real man, not a lost little fuck-up of a boy still trying to make his mummy proud.’
Spinning round, Mateo strides back over to him, swings his arm back and, before anyone can intervene, punches Basilio square in the jaw so hard, he stumbles backwards and, with a yelp, tumbles into the lagoon with a loud splash.
I clasp my hands over my mouth in shock, gasps and cries come up from our captivated audience, and Eric groans as Basilio splutters and coughs, wiping his face with his hands as he finds his footing beneath the water.
‘You fucking—’ Basilio begins, but Mateo cuts him off, standing by the edge and pointing a finger down at him.
‘Don’t ever talk about my mother again. Ever,’ he says, before he shakes his hand out and storms away, the crowd of guests parting to make way for him as he leaves.