Nacho Figueras Presents (12 page)

A
lejandro decided to rent a trailer and drive the horses down to Florida himself. He needed time to think and cool down. A solid day behind the wheel would be a good way to get himself under control, remind himself of his priorities. Plus, he didn't trust himself to be alone on the plane with Georgia again. When it came to this woman, he had realized it was better to avoid private, confined spaces.

As they watched the horses get loaded into the trailer, he told Georgia she'd be flying back alone. She didn't show any surprise, just nodded and dug her foot into the gravel.

“Alejandro. Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Did you hire me because you think I'm a good vet or did you hire me for other reasons?”

He looked at her. “I meant what I said when I offered you the job.”

“That this is purely professional?”

“Sí.”

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. “You know,” she said at last, “though I am fully aware of the fact that I have shown you almost nothing in the last few days to prove this—I
am
a professional. And I am excited to work for you. I actually think I'm pretty good at my job.”

“I agree,” he said.

“But the thing is, there is pretty much nothing professional about how we've been behaving. I mean, I can't even really explain what has been happening, how we keep ending up in the same situation—but I have never worked anywhere where almost making out up against a barn was part of the job description.”

“Nor have I.”

“In two days, I start work at your barn, and you are officially my boss, and I want to be able to do my job and take care of your ponies, and I imagine you would probably like to get back to polo and doing whatever it is you need to do. So, it would probably be good if we could both just act like the professionals that we claim to be.”

“Of course.”

She bit her lip and nodded. “Okay, then. We do not have to talk about this anymore. I will take care of your ponies. And you will be my boss. And we will be professionals, and”—she looked up and met his eyes, a small smile playing around her mouth—“we will definitely not almost make out against any more barns, okay?”

He tried not to smile in return. “Okay.”

She kept looking at him. “Alejandro?”

“Yes?”

“I think it would be much easier for me to be a professional if you would stand a little bit farther away from me.”

He blinked. There was a pause, and then he took an enormous step back.

She grinned. “Thanks, boss.”

B
illy crammed the last bag into the trunk of his tiny car and slammed it shut.

“You sure you don't want a ride, Peaches?” he said. “It's on the way.”

Georgia shook her head. “No, they're sending over a car. Pilar Del Campo called this morning.”

“Well, of course they are,” said Beau, who came out of the house carrying two large and exquisitely wrapped packages. “The Del Campos don't do anything half-assed.”

“You can say that again,” snorted Billy. He looked at Beau. “Better give her the presents. She'll need something to wear to suitably impress
La Familia
.”

Beau passed over the boxes to Georgia. “Just a little going-away gift from us boys,” he said.

Billy was traveling back to New York City that night, and Beau was going with him—a pit stop on his way to Italy, where he had to source a new tannery.

Georgia opened the first box—in it was nestled one of Billy's perfect bags, glossy chestnut brown, with a subtle reddish trim and silvery burnished hardware. The leather was so soft that it felt like it was melting in her hands. She buried her face in it. “Oh, Billy, it's gorgeous!”

Billy shrugged, obviously pleased by her reaction. “I just couldn't stand another moment watching you carry around that green pleather thing you call a purse.”

Georgia laughed. “I love it!”

“Now mine,” said Beau.

She opened the other box and gasped—a pair of tall, cocoa-colored polo boots.

“Beau, these are too much!”

“Nonsense,” said Beau. “It's not like I gave you a saddle.”

“But—” said Georgia.

“Just try them on, G,” said Billy. “You'll look amazing in them.”

She pulled the boots out of the box, admiring their luster, running her fingers over the intricate toolwork. They had to be handmade. She kicked off her flip-flops and slipped her feet in; even without socks, they felt like they had been made to fit her feet exactly.

She sighed happily. “They're absolute bliss. I don't think I've ever owned anything as nice.”

“It's purely self-serving on our part,” Billy said. “We're branching out from just saddles, trying to compete with Fagliano boots. You'll be our very own product placement, embedded among the equestrians.”

“I'm going to miss you guys so much.”

Billy grinned wickedly. “I want you to remember this next time I ask you to drop everything and come visit me, Peaches.”

Georgia smiled and got a little teary. She hugged Beau and then Billy.

“Okay, Peaches, we gotta roll,” Billy said. “You all good? Just close the door behind you and key in the code when you leave.”

“And then remember that code,” Beau quipped, “in case you need a place to hide from the Del Campos.”

Georgia smiled and shook her head. “I'm sure I'll be fine.”

They drove off with a last flurry of advice.

“Don't sleep with anyone!” said Beau. “Unless you want to, of course!”

“And don't forget, just because everyone here has money doesn't make them better than you,” Billy said. “Oh, but get some new jeans.”

Georgia blinked. “Wait, what's wrong with my jeans?”

Billy laughed as he stuck his head out the window and yelled back at her. “You can do this! You're going to be amazing! Love you!”

Georgia sighed as she watched them drive off. A silver Bentley passed them going the opposite direction. Georgia laughed softly to herself as it pulled up in front of her, its engine purring.

“Dr. Fellowes?” the driver said, “
La
Señora
Del Campo sent me for you.”

No, she thought, the Del Campo family did nothing halfway at all.

T
he driver watched her in the rearview mirror as she tugged nervously at her sleeves. He pulled the car to a stop in the villa's circular driveway and took her small carry-on from the trunk. Georgia had no idea about the etiquette of tipping in this situation, but pulled a crumpled bill from her pocket and slipped it to the driver with what she hoped might pass for casual aplomb.

The place was even more beautiful in the daylight. The white adobe gleamed against the red terracotta tile roof, and the huge, stone framed glass windows reflected the acres of gardens surrounding the house.

Georgia was nervous as she wheeled her bag to the door, wondering just how close Alejandro and his mother really were, and what Pilar Del Campo might know about all that had happened between Georgia and her son.

Before she could ring the bell, the door swung open, and Valentina, wearing tiny shorts, a skintight tank top, and enormous sunglasses, appeared. She looked blankly from Georgia to the car.

“Uh, hello. Valentina, right? We met—well, sort of met anyway—at the party the other night? I'm Dr. Fellowes—Georgia.”

“Okay?” said Valentina.

“Uh, your grandmother is expecting me, I think.”

Valentina shrugged and stepped aside. Georgia, deciding this was as much of an invitation as she was going to get, walked in.

“You can wait in the library, I guess,” said Valentina—waving vaguely behind her while heading out the front door. “I'll tell her you're here…if I see her.”

That didn't inspire much confidence but since Valentina had already disappeared down the steps, Georgia did as she was told.

The central hallway was incredible, with vaulted ceilings and dark parquet floors. Georgia felt a little dizzy, staring up the enormous, sweeping staircase, from where she could hear the distant sounds of cleaning.

She glanced into a dining room with a table that could comfortably seat twenty and, beyond that, tall glass doors, which led onto beautifully planted sunken gardens.

She should find the library, she thought, not wanting Pilar to walk in and think she was snooping. She looked for a room with books.

She found it off the main hallway. Unlike the rest of the house, the room was small and almost cozy. Dark blue linen curtains piped with gold and rich, thick silk tassels framed the windows. Floor-to-ceiling white oak shelves were filled with books on photography and interiors, arranged by color and size. Another wall of biographies, another of history, and an alcove of novels, classics to
Gone Girl
, a proper cornucopia of titles. Georgia imagined herself curling up in here and not coming out until she had read everything wall to wall.

Resisting the urge to kick off her shoes and climb onto the window seat to get started on the latest best-seller, Georgia turned to a vast rosewood desk, where, practically jumping up and down for her attention, were a cluster of silver-framed pictures of the Del Campo family.

She squinted, surprised, at one of a young Pilar. She looked like a cross between Bianca Jagger and Angelica Huston in their Studio 54 years—wearing a slinky black jumpsuit, with hair frizzed out to the max and a huge smile on her face as she hung on the arm of a man Georgia had to guess was the Del Campo patriarch himself, Carlos, Billy had told her his name was. Aside from his extravagant 1970s facial hair, he was every bit as good looking as his sons, but unlike his sons, he wore the look of a man who was deeply satisfied with his lot in life.

Georgia picked up another picture and felt her hands turn clammy. Alejandro's wedding portrait. God, they were young. He couldn't be more than early twenties and his bride looked even younger, no more than nineteen. She was very pretty and, in a heartrending way, looked like a less-jaded Valentina, with wide, kind eyes, a small rosebud of a mouth, and rather severe dark hair softened with a crown of gardenias. Her smile seemed a bit hesitant, but her eyes were hopeful.

Alejandro was every bit as good looking as now, but there was an openness and optimism about his face that Georgia hadn't seen yet. His hair was longer, the curls more pronounced. He was turned away from his wife and caught mid-laugh.

Georgia brought the picture closer and then jumped as she heard the click of a heel outside in the hall. She set it down quickly as Pilar entered the room.

“Oh!” said Pilar, clearly startled. “Dr. Fellowes. But what are you—”

“I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you. Valentina let me in. She didn't tell you?”

Pilar's mouth thinned. “
Mi nieta
, Valentina, she thinks that the only time that might be valuable belongs
solamente
to herself. I will speak to her.”

“No, no, please, it's fine. I wasn't waiting long.”

Pilar raised one eyebrow, which made Georgia feel sure the older woman thought she was more weak than polite.

“She has been given a certain…latitude since her mother died. We are soft on her. Maybe too soft, but, eh, what can you do?” She crossed over to Georgia and took her hand between her own. “But
bienvenida
, welcome, Dr. Fellowes. My son has high hopes.”

The pool house was breathtaking. Modern and sleek, with a whole wall of windows overlooking the infinity pool and a tennis court beyond.

“It is maybe not the most private of places,” apologized Pilar. “The family will need use of the pool, but at this time in the year, finding a rental would have been
muy
difícil
.”

“It's lovely,” said Georgia as they moved through the light-flooded space. “I hope I won't be putting anyone out by being here.”

There was the large, open-plan living room that overlooked the pool. A luxuriously deep couch, upholstered in grass green linen, sat in front of a delft blue tiled fireplace and a low coffee table piled high with photographic books on polo. The walls were lined with white bookshelves stocked with a complete set of modern classics.

Through French doors was a sweet little kitchen with a shiny red refrigerator and stove. Pilar opened a door to show a fully stocked pantry and then opened another cupboard that worked as a well-provisioned bar. Next, they looked at an airy bedroom with a bed so big that Georgia was pretty sure it could fit her and a horse if need be, and a second, smaller room, which Georgia thought would be a perfect little office.

Pilar opened the door to the bathroom—tiled and filled with light, with a deep Japanese soaking tub that Georgia was already dying to try. Two vast baskets of soft, rolled towels sat by the glassed-in shower.

“
Bueno.
I will just leave you to settle in, then,” said Pilar. “I'd suggest you check with Enzo at the barn in the morning. He's the
piloto
and knows as much as anyone here. Consuelo will be in to clean every day while you're gone and just leave a note on the counter with any supplies and food you need.”

Georgia looked around the thoughtfully stocked little home and she couldn't imagine needing anything that wasn't already here even if she stayed the whole year.

K
een to make a good start at work the next morning, Georgia snuggled up on the soft couch, pulled a cashmere throw over her lap, and opened the book she had found.
Polo: A Primer.

She flipped through the pages, looking at the brightly colored photographs of finely muscled men and women, and all their gorgeous ponies in action. The photos were beautiful, she thought, but they didn't really catch the crackling thrill of seeing the game live. She started to read, but found that the words paled in comparison to the lively explanation that Alejandro had already given her on the Cessna.

Alejandro…

She wondered if he had made it back from Kentucky yet. Perhaps he was already at home. Maybe he'd even been in the house while she was there…

She exhaled, determined to push him out of her head.
Boss. He is your boss. That is all. Now think of something else.

A little hummingbird hovering outside the window caught her eye. The bird darted from flower to flower in the garden around the pool, its wings a whir of miraculous motion. Georgia put the book down and sighed. She could feel the warmth of the late afternoon sun through the windows, hear the whip of the sprinklers, smell the winter roses and gardenias, sense the breeze coming in through the open glass doors.

Suddenly she thought of her missing mother.

This must be the world that had won her over. This amazing place where the best trainers and horses and facilities were all available, where everything was beautiful and luxurious and exciting. If this was the seductive setup where she spent each winter, it was no wonder she was always in a hurry to leave her husband and daughter.

This would have been her element, thought Georgia, the place she made sense. Really, it was ridiculous that someone like her mother had ever ended up stuck on a teeny little farm outside a teeny little town in upstate New York.

Georgia had asked her father once, while her mother was away—before she left for good—how did they meet?

Her father had smiled almost dreamily. “Oh, she was just passing through,” he said. “On her way to a horse show in Millbrook. Her trailer got a flat tire at the end of our road, and your mother—well, you know she's a looker—came walking up to where I was working and was just about the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. And not to brag, but I've been told that I was a bit easy on the eyes back then as well. Or at least your mom must have thought so. For a few minutes anyway. I always say that I changed her tire but she—she changed my life.”

Not wanting to think any more about her mother and refusing to think about Alejandro, Georgia picked the book back up and stretched out on the couch, resolving to do her homework. But as she read, the words started to swim before her eyes, and she yawned. She'd just rest for a moment, she thought as she lay the book down on the floor and closed her eyes.