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The last of the children in this year’s scheme had just left, and the two of them had stayed behind to wave them off, but all the children had wanted to know was: Where was Bella? When was Bella coming back? Would she be here next year?
‘Maybe,’ was the best he could offer them, swiftly followed by, ‘she’s very busy.’
It had felt like a cop-out to him and he hadn’t fooled anyone. To make things worse, Bella had left a jokey video for them all to watch. It had made the children laugh—and not just because of Bella’s halting Spanish. He had stood at the back with his arms folded and his eyes narrowed as Ignacio ran the film—preparing to close a chapter and turn the page, but even he had smiled. No, it was more than that. He’d been drawn in. He’d grown wistful. He’d wanted things he couldn’t have.
And now he felt wretched. The moment the lights had come up he had acted as if this was just another day. But nothing would ever be the same again. Who could have predicted Bella would remember her first uncertain days on the estancia and could communicate the mistakes she’d made in such a hilarious and self-deprecating way in order to make the kids feel better?
Bella had given them all something to think about, Nero reflected, turning for the stables to saddle up his horse.
He stopped dead inside the stable yard. ‘Ignacio. Is something wrong?’ He had never seen his old friend dumbstruck before. Ignacio was known for being taciturn but nothing like this. Nero’s heart raced with apprehension. ‘Which horse is it?’ he demanded, expecting the worst.
‘You’d better see for yourself,’ Ignacio told him, standing back.
‘She left you a note,’ one of the grooms told him, pressing a letter into his hand.
‘Not now,’ he said, in a rush to see whichever horse had succumbed to illness or injury. But then he halted. ‘Who left me a note?’
‘Bella,’ the young lad said.
Ripping the envelope open, Nero scanned the contents rapidly: She’ll have a better chance with you—a better life. Both the letter and the envelope drifted to the ground as he threw the stable door open. ‘Misty…’
The sight of the little horse in his stable overwhelmed him. Sentiments he had never allowed himself to feel came flooding in. Bella had sacrificed part of her heart for him—and for the little horse she loved. ‘How did this happen?’ he asked Ignacio with a tight throat. ‘How could the transporter leave my yard with the wrong horse?’
‘Bella?’ Ignacio said wryly. ‘Bella insisted on overseeing all the arrangements for Misty’s transport personally.’
‘Of course she did…’ A faint smile broke through Nero’s frown. And she would have done so knowing that no one would argue with that.
‘No. I can’t do it.’ Bella shook her head.
‘But you must,’ Bella’s second in command insisted.
Agnes Dillon was an older no-nonsense woman who had worked for Bella’s father as a young girl and now worked for Bella. ‘The British team has asked for you by name. The prince has too. You’re going to be supervising the royal stable yard, for goodness’ sake, Bella—doesn’t that mean anything to you?’
For the England-Argentina international? Yes, that meant something to her. All she could see in her head was Nero—the same man who had sent her a cryptic message saying: Bella, what have you done? But there was nothing to be done about it now. Staying longer than she had intended in Argentina meant she had come straight back home to a match. ‘I suppose I could take the day off sick,’ she mused out loud.
Agnes’s wiry grey bun bobbed. ‘You’re never sick,’ she pointed out, rejecting this idea.
‘Then I’ll take a holiday.’
‘On the day of the most crucial match in the polo calendar?’
‘Okay, I don’t do either of those things,’ Bella conceded while Agnes shoved her hands into the pockets of her faded raspberry-coloured cords and waited. ‘I’ll work in the background.’
‘People expect to see you, Bella. Your place is on the pony lines at an international. What’s the matter with you?’ Agnes demanded. ‘You haven’t been the same since you came home.’
No. She had been restless and anxious and angry that Nero hadn’t sent her more news about Misty. She couldn’t bring herself to phone him, but her call to Ignacio had confirmed that Misty was in the best of spirits and was being ridden every day in preparation for the season. And, yes, Nero would be riding her. Misty would be his first choice in all the matches. It would have been nice to hear this from Nero.
‘Did something happen in Argentina, Bella?’
Bella looked long and hard into Agnes’s eyes. ‘No. Nothing,’ she insisted fiercely, as though trying to convince herself.
Agnes shrugged in the way people did when they knew not to press.
‘Okay, we’ve got work to do.’ Bella shut her mind to everything else. ‘I should get my horse ready. I’m planning to ride one of the newly trained horses in the last chukka in the women’s match.’
Bella could feel Agnes’s concern on her back as she walked away. If only the older woman knew! How would she handle seeing Nero again when she’d thought of him every waking moment since leaving Argentina?
She’d handle it because that was her job, Bella told her herself impatiently, mounting up. Her team was at the top of the tree when it came to horse management. Man management she’d leave to the specialists, Bella concluded, seeing a group of stick chicks wandering off to the bar. They had no interest in watching women play, but when the Argentinians arrived, like the answer to every woman’s sex-starved dream, they’d be back.
