She clasped it
protectively in her other hand, as if it had been scalded.
Jean-Pierre's face mirrored her own astonished expression.
Jennifer's too.
Greta attempted to cover the awkwardness. "Oh," she said with a
nervous laugh, "I'm sorry. It's just that you startled me."
Unconsciously she was gently squeezing the hand he'd held, trying
to imagine how it had felt to him. Horrorstricken, she asked
herself, Did he feel it?
There was a long moment of silence in which everyone looked to
everyone else. Finally, Jennifer spoke. "Jean-Pierre is a polo
champion from Deauville, France."
Greta seized on this to move the conversation along. "Really? How
fascinating. Are you playing polo here?"
He laughed at this, and everything seemed to fall back in order.
"There is no polo here. That is why I've come."
Jennifer explained. "We're considering starting a polo club right
here in Woodside, Mrs. Locke. Perhaps Mr. Locke would be
interested in sponsoring a player." This last comment was
directed to Jean-Pierre. He arched his brows, inviting an
explanation.
Instead of responding to this, Greta let go of her hand and
fluttered it uneasily at his arm. "What happened?"
"Oh, this. My nemesis. Chronic dislocation. Shoulder. Worst it
has ever been. I figured it was time to give my pony a rest and
look into the idea of starting a club here.
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