Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree (51 page)

‘Good to see you again!’ exclaimed the man seated to Sofia’s left. He was bald with a round, sunny face, thin lips and pale, liquid eyes. Sofia glanced at his name card.
Jim Rice.
She had met him before. He was one of those unremarkable people one meets all over the place but can never remember their name.

‘Nice to see you again, too.’ She smiled, silently trying to work out how she knew him. ‘Where was the last time I saw you?’ she asked casually.

‘Clarissa’s book launch,’ he replied.

‘Of course,’ said Sofia, wondering who Clarissa was.

‘God, who is that?’ he said suddenly, throwing his eyes across the room to the tall, willowy woman who was sliding gracefully past the tables toward them. Sofia clamped her jaw together for fear that if she left it open it might never close. The exquisite creature in a simple white dress was unmistakably Ariella. Sofia watched her near the table. She also noticed that the chair to David’s right had still not been filled. Please God, no, she prayed, not next to David.

‘Isn’t that Ariella Harrison, David’s ex?’ said the man to her right. ‘What a cock-up,’ he muttered as Ariella greeted a dumbfounded David and sat down next to him.

‘George,’ said Jim in a warning tone, trying to prevent the approaching
faux pas.

‘Bloody hell, a mother of a cock-up!’ the other man gloated, licking his lips. Then turning to Sofia he asked, ‘Do you think Ian and Alice did it on purpose?’

'George!'

‘Good to see you, Jim. Cock-up, eh?’ he repeated, pulling a face and nodding knowingly at him.

‘George, can I introduce you to Sofia Harrison, David Harrison’s wife. George Heavyweather.’

‘Shit,’ said George.

‘I thought you’d say that,’ Jim sighed.

‘I am most terribly sorry. Really. What an idiot.’

‘Don’t worry, George,’ said Sofia, with one eye on George Heavyweather, who had now turned the colour of a pepper, and one eye on Ariella.

Ariella looked stunning in the flattering light of the candles. Her white hair was pulled back into a tidy chignon, accentuating her long neck and sharp jawbone. She looked remote, but beautiful. David leant back in his chair as if he wanted to increase the space between them, while Ariella leant in towards him,

her head tilted to one side, apologetic. David nodded towards Sofia and Ariella looked over and smiled politely. Sofia managed to smile back weakly before turning away in time to hide the fear in her eyes.

‘I’m sorry about George. Tactless fool. Never has been one to think before he speaks. You can always rely on George to put his foot in it. He’s got a bloody big foot, too,’ said Jim, slurping his wine. ‘Last time he went up to Dug-gie Crichton and said, “I’d like to screw that dirty blonde over there, sure she’d be game,” before he realized she was Duggie’s new bird. Made a total ass of himself. Tactless fool.’

Sofia laughed graciously as he embarked on another story about George. She watched the body language between David and Ariella warm up and become friendlier. She hoped Ariella would choke on her salmon or spill red wine down her immaculate white dress. She imagined their conversation: ‘So, that’s the little Argie. How sweet she looks, like a little puppy.’ She hated her. She hated David for being so nice to her. Why didn’t he stand up and refuse to talk to her? After all, she had left him. She looked across at Ian Lancaster who was heavily into a conversation with a pink, skinny lady to his right. She looks like she’s been hanging from the ceiling of someone’s chalet drying out like a piece of
Bundnerfleisch,
she thought wickedly before laughing politely again at Jim’s story.

The dinner seemed to be played out in slow motion. Everyone seemed to eat, drink and talk at an unnecessarily slow pace. When finally coffee was served and cigarettes lit, Sofia was desperate to go home. Then Ian Lancaster launched an attack on the Argentines and Sofia froze in her chair like a stunned animal.

‘Bloody Argies,’ he said, drawing in his cigar with flabby, blistered lips. ‘Cowards, the lot of them. Running away from British bullets.’

‘We all know that fool Galtieri only attacked our territory in order to distract his people from his hopeless domestic policy,’ scoffed George. Jim rolled his eyes.

‘Now hold on,’ said David. ‘Aren’t we all a bit bored with discussing this war?’ He looked over at Sofia, bristling across the table.

‘Oh, yes. Sorry. Forgot you married an Argie,’ their host continued viciously.

‘An Argentine,’ said Sofia crossly. ‘We’re Argentines, not Argies.’

‘Still, you attacked British territory, you have to face the consequences - or run away,’ he added and laughed unkindly.

They’re children. Fifteen-year-old conscripts. Are you surprised they’re terrified?’ Sofia said, fighting her indignation.

‘Galtieri should have thought about that before he stumbled in. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic. We’ll blast them into the sea.’

Sofia looked helplessly at David who raised his eyebrows and sighed. The table went silent; everyone looked down at their plates in embarrassment. The neighbouring tables, who had all been listening to Ian’s attack, waited to see what would happen next. Then a small voice seeped into the pause.

‘I have to commend your graciousness,’ Ariella said silkily.

‘Graciousness?’ Ian replied uncomfortably.

‘Yes, graciousness,’ she repeated slowly.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, come on, Ian, don’t be bashful.’ She laughed prettily.

‘Really Ariella, I don’t,’ he said, getting irritated. Ariella glanced around to make sure that everyone was listening. She liked a good audience in moments such as these.

‘I want to commend your diplomacy. Here we are, in the middle of a war against Argentina and you and Alice have chosen to use the colours of the

Argentine flag for your tent.’ She looked up at the thick blue and white stripes. Everyone followed her and looked about them. ‘I think we should all raise our glasses. I only wish we were all so gracious. Here we are, deriding Argentina and its people when we are in the presence of one of them. Sofia is an Argentine and I’m sure loves her country as much as we love ours. How tragic that we all have so little refinement as to call them Argies and cowards when she is a guest here at your table, Ian. Your guest, at your table. What a shame the good grace you started with when you chose these colours for your tent has been swallowed down with your wine. But I want to raise my glass to your sense of diplomacy and occasion all the same, because the thought is there. They always say it’s the thought that counts, don’t they, Ian?’

Ariella raised her glass before bringing it to her pale lips. Ian choked again on his cigar, the blood swelled to his face where it throbbed a horrible shade of purple. David looked at Ariella in astonishment along with the rest of the table and those in the vicinity. Sofia smiled at her gratefully, swallowing her fury with a gulp of red wine. ‘Now, Sofia, would you accompany me to the powder room? I think I’ve had enough of some of the company at this table,’ said she lightly, standing up. The men leapt to their feet, nodding at her in respect, their

mouths agape. Sofia walked over to the other woman, holding her head as high as she was able. Ariella took her hand and led her past the tables of speechless guests to the door. Once outside, Ariella began to laugh.

‘What a pompous idiot,’ she said. ‘I need a cigarette, how about you?’

‘I cannot thank you enough,’ said Sofia who was still trembling. Ariella offered her the packet. Sofia declined.

‘Don’t thank me. I enjoyed every minute of it. I’ve never liked Ian Lancaster very much. I could never see what David saw in him - and think what his poor wife has to suffer! Night after night, all that huffing and puffing, with his red face and cigar breath. Yuck!’

They wandered over to a bench and sat down. The tent glowed from the inside and the noise had flared up again, like dying coals of a fire revived with bellows. Ariella lit her cigarette and crossed her legs.

‘You have no idea what an effort it was to be dignified. I wanted to throw my wine in his face,’ said Ariella, holding the cigarette between her long fingers garnished with manicured pink talons.

‘You were very dignified. He was speechless and furious.’

‘Good. How dare he!’ she exclaimed, drawing the smoke into her lungs.

They all do, I’m afraid. I didn’t want to come tonight,’ Sofia said sadly.

This must be a horrid time for you. I’m sorry. I’m full of admiration that you came. You’re like a gazelle in a field full of lions.’

‘David wanted to come,’ she replied.

‘Of course. As I said, I never understood what he saw in that hideous man!’

‘I don’t think he’ll see much in him after tonight,’ laughed Sofia.

‘He won’t. He’ll probably never speak to him again.’ She blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth and studied Sofia’s face from beneath her heavy black lashes. ‘David’s very lucky to have found you. He’s a different person now. He’s happy, fulfilled. He looks young and handsome. You’re very good for him. I’m almost jealous.’

Thank you.’

‘We were very bad for each other, you know. Very bad indeed,’ she said, flicking her ash onto the grass. ‘He was grumpy with me all the time and I was demanding and spoilt. I still am. I regret that I hurt him, but I’m happy that we went our separate ways. We would have destroyed each other if we’d stayed together. Some things just aren’t right. But you and David ... I can see when a partnership is going to work. You’ve mended his heart in a way that I would

never have been able to.’

‘You’re being hard on yourself,’ said Sofia, wondering why she had ever felt threatened by Ariella.

‘I never liked his friends, either. Zaza was a complete pain. She wanted David for herself. I’d watch that one if I were you.'

‘Oh, Zaza’s nosy and interfering, but I like her,’ insisted Sofia.

‘She hated me. There, you see. You and David are made for each other. Although, we now have a mutual hatred of Ian Lancaster in common.’ She laughed.

‘We certainly do,’ sighed Sofia. ‘I thought you lived in France?’

‘I did, with Alain, the lovely Alain,’ said Ariella and laughed bitterly. ‘Another one that didn’t last. I don’t know,’ she sighed heavily, ‘I don’t think I’m made to be constant.’

‘Where’s Alain now?’

‘Still in Provence, still a struggling photographer, still roguish and vague. Very, very vague. I don’t think he’s noticed I’ve gone.’

‘I can’t imagine anyone not noticing you, Ariella.’

‘You would if you knew Alain. Anyway, I think I’m better off without men, without attachments, without commitment. You see, I’m a gypsy at heart, always have been. I paint and travel, that’s my life.’

‘I saw one of your paintings in the attic at Lowsley. It’s very good,’ Sofia said.

‘You sweet girl. Thank you. I should come and retrieve it. Maybe we could have tea.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Good.’ She smiled. ‘I’d like that very much. Are you and David going to have children?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Oh, do. I love children - other people’s children. I never wanted to have children myself, but David longed for them. We used to argue about it all the time. Poor David, how I made him suffer. Don’t leave it too long, David’s not getting any younger. He’ll be a wonderful father. He wants to be a father so much.’

When she heard these words, Sofia sat back and looked up at the stars. She thought of all those young men dying on the hills of Las Malvinas. They all had mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, grandparents to mourn them. She remembered her father explaining death to her as a child; he had said that every soul

became a star. She had believed him. She still believed him; at least she wanted to. She gazed up at all the souls that glimmered in the silent infinity. Grandpa O’Dwyer had told her that life was all about preservation and procreation -that life must be nurtured with love for it can’t survive without it. She had David to love but suddenly, staring up at the millions of souls above her she realized that the whole point of loving was to create more and more love. She decided then that she was finally ready for a baby. Santiguito might just as well be one of those stars, she thought sadly to herself, for I will never see him again. She recalled Dominique’s advice and knew that she had to let him go.

The most satisfactory aspect of liking Ariella was the extent to which it tormented Zaza. Sofia derived enormous pleasure from relating Ariella’s triumphant speech to her and watching her screw up her interfering nose in disdain. It had been over a month since the party, but Zaza’s curiosity about Ariella was insatiable and she made Sofia recount the story over and over every time she saw her.

‘How can you like her? She’s a bitch!’ gasped Zaza, lighting two cigarettes by mistake. ‘Blast,’ she exclaimed, throwing one into the empty fireplace. ‘Did I really do that?’

‘But she was fantastic. The cool way she squashed Ian Lancaster into the ground . . . She was so dignified yet ruthless - you should have seen her. You know he apologized to me afterwards? The little worm. Of course I was very gracious. I wasn’t going to lower myself to his level, but I don’t ever want to see him again,’ she said haughtily.