CHAPTER ONE
GABRIEL
As we wend our way through the tables, the distinctive sound of thethwackof the ball being hit by a mallet, accompanied by the thudding of hooves on turf, rises above the hubbub of the crowd. It’s one of my favourite sounds, a polo match.
I’ve barely taken a seat at a spare table, Andrés sitting next to me so we can both watch the game, before a waiter appears with two glasses of champagne. It’s a bit early to be drinking, not quite noon, but that’s not a consideration in the VIP lounge of the Hamlington Polo Club, where everything is complimentary.
I settle back, half watching the match, half checking out who’s here. It’s the first match of the season and the social aspect of the polo scene is almost as important as the game itself. Which is partly why I brought Andrés with me. Not only as it’s part of his job, watching and getting an insight into how the opposition play ready for when we’re up against them later in the season, but also, I’m posturing a little. Showing off Andrés and letting everyone know that I have one of the highest ranked players inthe country playing for the Blackwood Knights. After our win in Aspen just before Christmas I know people will be interested in him.
“Gabriel!” I turn at the voice calling out, and seeing who it is I stand, giving him a hug.
“Hugo! It’s good to see you.” Hugo Beauchamp, the owner of Hamlington Polo club, home to British Polo, releases me and stands back.
“Good to see you too, Gabe. How’s that club coming along?”
“It’s going well. We’re open for polo training and for functions. We’ll be having our grand opening and first tournament on the first weekend in May.”
“Excellent, how many teams do you have playing?”
“Four, so I think it’ll be a good weekend.”
“I wish you luck with it, and I’ll try to come over. And I hope to see you playing here this summer too. I heard about your win at Aspen, well done.”
“Thanks. Let me introduce Andrés, our new player.” I indicate Andrés, who rises and shakes Hugo’s hand. “Andrés, this is Hugo Beauchamp, he owns the club here and is president of the Polo Association.”
“Buenas,” Andrés answers simply. I frown at him but he ignores me. Hugo asks him a question, and Andrés seems to think for a minute before he answers, again with a monosyllabic answer in Spanish. After Hugo leaves I turn on him.
“What was that? Your English is almost perfect.”
“But he doesn’t know that.” he smirks. “He’ll tell everyone about me, right? It’s better that they think I’m slow, then they might also think I play slow. And if people believe I don’t know much English, they’re more likely to say things in front of me, so I can learn their tactics.”
“You’re a sly one, aren’t you?” For which I receive another smirk. “Now I know how you got to be a top player.”
“So, who are you going to entice to come and play with us?” Andrés asks, addressing the one thing on my mind. I breathe out a deep sigh.
That’s the problem. There’s myself, Andrés, and Linden, who are permanent members. But we need a fourth player. Austin, Linden’s father, plays sometimes, but he’s usually piloting one of the planes for his horse transport business. Kirsty, my head groom, also plays but she won’t play away matches unless they’re close. She could easily have turned professional but she didn’t want to go on tour, especially not abroad. She prefers her home life with her teacher wife, Alexa. Choosing the groom’s job over playing. I can’t fault her for that, and the upside is that I have one of the best grooms in the country looking after my horses.
The truth is, there’s only one person I want on my team. He’s also the person I want to run the centre with and become my centre manager. The trouble is, I haven’t asked him yet. It’s complicated.
“Charley Marshall,” I say, finally saying out loud the name that’s been in my head since I started this project last year.
“I’ve never heard of him. What team does he play for?” Andrés says, taking some of the canapes the waiters are handing out.
“You won’t have. I haven’t seen him in nearly ten years. I’m not sure he’s even still playing.” Actually, I’m very sure of the last point. Andrés nearly chokes on his mini blini. When he’s recovered, after drinking his champagne to soothe his throat and swiftly asking for another, he turns back to me.
“You want someone you haven’t seen for years, and you don’t know if they still play polo, to just come and join us? Just like that?” He snaps his fingers.
Yes, well, no. I’ve been planning on tracking him down and asking him for the last year. I just haven’t done it yet.
“It’s complicated,” I reply bluntly and turn my attention to the game. I don’t want to talk about it right now, if at all. I feel Andrés gaze on me for a long while, but I ignore him, and after some time he sighs and goes back to watching the match as well.
A few more people I know stop by our table and I introduce them to Andrés, watching in fascination as he does his act each time.
“You know they’ll find out eventually,” I say as we get up to leave.
“Never underestimate the power of first impressions.” He shrugs. “They’ll last long after they discover the truth, and they’ll still think I’m slow.” I shake my head at him as we climb back into the car and I start the drive back to Oxfordshire.
“So, what’s with this Charley?” Andrés asks after a few minutes. I’m stuck in the car with him for the next hour so I know I can’t just ignore him. I could tell him it’s none of his business, but this does concern the club and the team so perhaps I do owe him some sort of explanation. He sits patiently and doesn’t push when I take a few more miles before answering.
