The Cinderella Moment (22 page)

“I expect they would have barred you from the clubhouse,” said the Comtesse, her frown fading. “I’m sorry, Kitty. Thank you for helping Lily. I confess I did not realize you were so enterprising.”

Kitty blushed. Giles smiled at her and she shot Angel a grateful look.

“I trust you will not bring drinks into Vidal’s again, Lily?” said the Comtesse.

“Not ever!” declared Angel.

“
Bon
, then we may now enjoy the polo.” The Comtesse’s eyes twinkled. “Your late arrival means that you have missed the Club president’s speech, but I don’t suppose you will mind.”

“Not at all,” said Angel, grinning.

“Not even a little bit,” said Kitty.

“And the match is about to begin.” The Comtesse nodded towards the field.

Angel turned and saw a group of horses and riders cantering across the grass. There were eight of them, each wearing close-fitting white trousers and brown knee-high boots. Four of the riders wore red polo shirts and four wore yellow, the team’s shirts numbered from one to four. As they drew nearer, Angel saw that each rider carried a whip in his left hand and a long wooden mallet in his right.

They cantered across the field to where two men in black-and-white striped shirts sat astride their horses.

“There are the referees,” said Kitty, looking sideways at Giles.

“Would you like to watch from the sidelines with me?” he asked, pronouncing each word carefully.

“Sure,” said Kitty, looking pleased.

People were moving towards the barrier and Kitty beckoned for Angel to follow. She looked at the Comtesse, who nodded and said, “Go along, Lily, you will see better from there. Nicky is number two for the red team and I’m sure you will want to cheer him on.”

Trying not to blush, Angel hurried after Kitty and Giles.

From the moment the ball hit the ground Angel was mesmerized. It wasn’t just the beauty of the polo ponies as they galloped about the field, alive to every touch of their rider's hand, or the riders’ skill at hitting the ball while moving at such speed. What entranced her was the incredible sense of danger.

It was thrilling to watch two players charge full tilt at each other, then fight for possession of the ball. The speed, the adrenaline, the passion with which the eight riders played the game left Angel slightly breathless.

And that was before she’d even begun to focus on Nick.

At first she’d hardly been able to watch as he galloped around the field, swinging his mallet and turning his horse in seemingly impossible spaces. The mallet seemed a fearsome weapon to Angel, and more than once she had to stop herself from crying out when an opposition player seemed about to bring his stick down on Nick’s head or arm, but each time he emerged unscathed.

Once he broke free of the pack and scored, and Angel had to stop herself from cheering. She felt terrible, especially when Nick looked straight at her after the goal, but she had to do it.

Angel clapped politely, but that was all. Seeing the look of puzzled disappointment on his face, she gritted her teeth and looked away. She hated making him feel like she didn’t care, but for his own sake Angel
had
to keep Nick at arm’s length no matter how hard it was to see that look on his face.

Several times during the first four chukkas Angel had to mutter Lily’s directive under her breath, “Be cool, keep him at arm’s length and
don’t
give in to temptation.”

She kept watching him, though. In fact, she barely took her eyes off him.

She watched him change horses at the end of each chukka and saw how enthusiastically he praised them. She watched him stand triumphantly in his stirrups and swing his mallet when his team scored and she saw him almost fall when his horse stumbled.

The worst moment was after the third chukka when he cantered right past where she and Kitty were standing and touched his helmet to her. Angel smiled faintly, gave him a half-hearted wave and wished she were somewhere else.

It was almost a relief when the whistle blew for half-time and they returned to the Comtesse’s table.

“Five goals to four,” called Kitty as they drew near, “and the reds are in front. Did you see Nick’s goal just before the whistle went?”

“Indeed I did,” replied the Comtesse, smiling. “A stunning hit.” She turned to Angel. “I hope you are enjoying the game, my dear.”

“Oh yes,” replied Angel, her cool and distant demeanor momentarily forgotten. “I’d never imagined it could be so exciting.”

The Comtesse looked amused. “Well, that is quite a compliment—especially as your father was always considered a first-rate player. Still, Philip is older now, so perhaps the games you see at home are not so fast as the one today?”

Angel’s tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of her mouth. She’d completely forgotten that Lily always watched Philip play polo.

“It—it does seem different,” she began.

“That’s because Nick’s playing,” said Kitty, teasingly.

“And very well, too,” said the Comtesse, smiling at Angel. “Indeed, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him play so well. He seems inspired.”

“The new horses, perhaps?” suggested Giles, oblivious to Angel’s embarrassment. “I think I have not before seen the grey or the—
oof
!” He broke off as Kitty dug her elbow into his ribs.

Giles looked at her in bewilderment. “
Qu’est-ce que—?
”

“Let’s go and stomp some divots, Giles,” said Kitty, jumping up. “Hey, there’s Nick.”

Everyone turned to see Nick coming across the lawn towards them.

Angel leapt up. “Would you like a drink, Grandmama? I’d like some ice water.”

The Comtesse raised her brows. “No thank you, Lily. I’m sure Nicky would like something—”

But Angel was gone.

The drinks tent was hot and the line long, but Angel didn’t care, so long as she avoided meeting Nick. With any luck, by the time she returned, half-time would be over and he’d be back on the field.

“You know there’s water in the fridge?” came a voice from behind her.

Angel spun around, her heart in her mouth.

Nick was standing there holding out a bottle of chilled water. “I think this is what you want.”

Angel put out her hand but instead of giving it to her, Nick ran the bottle slowly over his face and torso. “That’s better,” he said, holding it out. “Here you go.”

“No thanks,” Angel murmured, trying not to stare at the way his shirt clung to his body.

What did he think he was doing, rolling the bottle across his torso like that? It was damp with sweat and showed off the contours of his chest perfectly. And those tight white trousers and dark leather boots that made him look so
…
so
…
Angel didn’t know what exactly, only that it was having the most peculiar effect on her insides.

“So, what do you think of the game so far?”

“Okay, I guess,” replied Angel, managing to sound bored.

“You’re kidding?”

“It’s a bit dull.”

“Dull!” Nick looked at her incredulously. “But didn’t you see that first goal? And the ponies and when the other team hit the—”

“What time do you think it’ll finish?” Angel interrupted, eyeing her watch so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Not soon enough, I guess.” The hurt in his voice made her wince.

A bell clanged and she looked up to find him staring down at her.

“Will you watch the second half?” he asked. There was something in his face that made Angel want to reach out and touch him, to explain she hadn’t meant it, that it was all a mistake, that she loved the polo and the horses and everything.

Instead, she said indifferently, “Oh, sure, why not?”

“In that case, let me see if I can make it less dull for you!” Nick turned on his heel and strode away.

The second half began and almost at once Angel knew she’d made a terrible mistake.

Nick was playing like a man possessed. He was everywhere: galloping about the field, attacking, defending, hooking, hitting, bumping and never once letting up. He changed horses more frequently and his mallet was never still. Once his horse turned too sharply and overbalanced, throwing Nick to the ground, but he was back in the saddle before Angel had time to draw breath.

Towards the end of the seventh chukka the Comtesse joined her on the sidelines in time to see Nick gallop past in pursuit of the ball and they could see the determination on his face.

Seconds later he scored, but this time he didn’t even look in Angel’s direction.

“Is Nicky all right, Lily?” asked the Comtesse, as the bell rang for the end of the period and the teams prepared for the last chukka.

“I
…
I guess.”

“I thought perhaps you’d had an argument?”

“Not exactly an argument,” said Angel guiltily, “more a difference of opinion.”

“I see. I wondered why Nicky was playing in such a reckless fashion.”

Angel gulped. “You don’t think he’s in danger, do you?”

“No, child, I do not. I think he is an impulsive young man who has not found it as easy as he expected to get what he wants.”

“Oh.”

The Comtesse patted Angel’s hand. “Whatever was said between you, it is his choice to play this way.”

“I know, but I’ll be glad when the match is over.”

“As will I.”

They watched Nick swerve abruptly between two opposition riders and gather the ball onto his stick. Angel’s heart thudded as he narrowly avoided a swinging mallet, turned his horse abruptly and raced for the goal.

The Comtesse squeezed her hand. “I think Nicky may be about to score again.”

Nick swung his mallet as a yellow-shirted player galloped furiously towards him. Afterwards, Angel couldn’t say exactly what had happened, only that one moment Nick was racing towards the goal and the next his horse’s forelegs disappeared beneath its body and Nick was catapulted from the saddle.

He hit the goalpost head-first. His body appeared to hover in mid-air for an instant, before he fell to the ground and lay still.

It was only the Comtesse’s grip that kept Angel from running onto the field.

“You will wait here, Lily,” said the Comtesse firmly. “In his parents’ absence, Nicky is my responsibility.” Her eyes held Angel’s frightened gaze and she added sternly, “Do you understand, Lily? You will stay here with Kitty.”

Angel nodded dumbly. She felt too sick to speak. What if Nick were seriously injured? Or worse—what if he were dead? It would be all her fault.

She watched as the Comtesse made her way to where an ambulance had pulled up beside Nick’s motionless body. A medic knelt beside him and his colleague brought a stretcher. Angel’s nails dug into her skin as she gripped her hands together and prayed.

The seconds ticked away, each one seeming like an eternity as she stood there watching, never once taking her eyes off Nick’s still form.

Seeing him lying there brought back that horrific moment when Angel had seen her mother so pale and lifeless at the foot of the stairs and then she thought of Papa, paralyzed for ten years and slowly fading away. She felt nauseous and wondered if she might throw up.

Maybe it was her fault that Simone and Nick had been struck down? She knew that was stupid—that Maman’s illness and Nick falling off his horse weren’t even related, but it didn’t help.

Angel closed her eyes.

A moment later, Kitty cried out, “Did he move? I saw him move. Look!”

Angel opened her eyes. She saw the medic beside him and then Nick slowly raised his hand.

Angel put her hand to her chest and tried to gulp some air.

“Hey, are you okay?” asked Kitty.

“Don’t know,” gasped Angel.

“You’d better sit down.” She and Giles helped Angel to a chair.

“I’m sure Nick’ll be fine, Lily,” said Kitty. She pushed a glass of champagne into Angel’s hand. “Drink this—for the shock.”

“Yes,” said Giles, as Angel drank. “Do not worry—they will bring him to the hospital for checking.”

“Check-up,” agreed Kitty, nodding. “And the Comtesse will make sure—” Kitty paused, “Oh!”

Angel followed Kitty’s pointing finger and almost sobbed with relief. Nick was sitting up.

Eventually the Comtesse returned. “He is all right,” she said. “Bruised and shaken and rather chastened, but no worse than that. There is a small risk of concussion so they will keep him in the hospital overnight just to be sure.”

She saw Angel’s face and said briskly, “There is no need to look like that, Lily. Nicky did not want to go and if you had heard him arguing with me, you would be as sure as I am that there is nothing to worry about.” She smiled faintly. “In fact, he insisted that I give you a message from him.”

“What? What is it?”

“He wanted to know if it was still dull?”

Angel flushed to the roots of her hair. The awful things she’d said to him in the drinks tent had made him go out and play like a maniac—and he wanted to know if she’d enjoyed watching him nearly get killed!

She felt a sudden surge of anger. How could he make jokes about it? Nick couldn’t know that seeing him lying unconscious on the grass had brought back memories of Papa and that terrible moment a week ago when she’d thought her mother was dead. But it didn’t stop her feeling furious at him.

That was the trouble with loving someone; there was always the chance of losing them—like she’d lost Papa and almost lost Maman. Papa’s death had brought a deep sadness, but she’d known for a long time it was coming, whereas Maman’s sudden collapse had filled her with terror.

Angel wasn’t sure she could bear that kind of pain again.

So what was she doing falling for a guy who’d risk his life to prove a point?

Angel’s hands balled into fists. Lily was right, she had to forget Nick and focus on the Teen Couture. Nothing. Else. Mattered.

Suddenly Angel wished it were Friday already. Because on Friday she was going back to Vidal’s and this time she’d make sure she got into the locked room and swapped the designs.