Page 99 of Valentine Nook
“What?”
“Yes, sadly. He’ll want to know what you feel were his highlights of the match. I’d go with that last goal, personally.”
A laugh rumbles from Lando’s chest.
“Why do you think we’re all watching so closely?” He winks, his lip quivering as his eyes crease, and I think about how good he looks when he’s smiling.
“Where’s Miles’s yard?”
He turns me back around and points at the far left of the field, past the stands where thousands of spectators are sitting. “See that line of trees? It’s beyond there. It’s where all the ponies are kept for the Oxfordshire team. And where the England team trains. There’s an arena, practice fields, and an exercise pool. It’s impressive.”
“And Milesrunsit?”
Lando nods. His stubble tickles my cheek when his head dips over my shoulder. “I know, it’s hard to imagine Miles doing anything other than partying and causing havoc. Polo is the only thing he takes seriously.”
“Do you play?”
“I can play, but I’m not very good. We all compete in a family tournament at the beginning of every season, but Miles carries us.”
While he’s speaking, the players gallop back onto the field on fresh ponies. Miles has switched out Chester for a pony as black and shiny as Thunder, who’s currently prancing about like a prima ballerina while Miles sits steady.
Even to my extremely untrained eye, I can see he’s in a league of his own.
“What about Hendricks?”
“He’s better than I am, but no one’s like Miles,” Lando replies, “except Max.”
I peer over to where Max has given up riding the mallet,and he’s now swinging it around. “My brother used to do that with his baseball bat, and now he plays in the majors.”
“He has the same talent Miles did at his age, same as our father did.” Lando’s voice drops and softens. “He’d have loved to watch Miles play for England.”
Lacing my fingers into his free hand, I squeeze. “I’m sorry he never got to.”
“CLOVER, CLOVER, CLOVER,” Max screams as the next chukka gets underway.
“Miles’s pony,” Lando whispers unnecessarily. “The lucky one.”
The luck works.
By the end of the first half, Miles’s team leads their opposition by three goals, and Clemmie grabs my hand before the ponies leave the field.
“C’mon, let’s go and stomp divots. But first, I must pee.”
“Sure, why not? I could do with a bathroom break too.”
She takes my hand and leads us out of the stand, through the crowds, and into the VIP tent. She’s keeping her head down, trying to squeeze past unnoticed, and I follow her lead. Sunglasses on. If she doesn’t want to be seen, then neither do I.
I assume we’re following the signs for the bathrooms, only we turn left before we get there.
“Clem, the bathrooms are over there.”
“We’re going to different ones. Too many people,” she replies as we head back out into the sunshine on the other side of the tent and along a narrow pathway lined with bushes.
Clemmie’s eyes are down, and I see him before she does. It’s possible she didn’t see him at all, from the way she collided with his chest. If I hadn’t pulled her back, she’d have fallen over.
I’m about to apologize when I catch sight of Clemmie’s face. Her mouth’s open, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she seems anxious. Her shoulders are stiff with tension.
Then I take a look at the guy.
