Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree (56 page)

Sofia pulled Honor onto her lap and wrapped her arms around her, hugging her, as was their bedtime ritual, and kissing her pale, flawless skin.

‘Mummy, when I’m big I will be just like you,’ the little girl said.

‘Will you?’ Sofia smiled.

Then when Pm bigger I will be just like Daddy.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Oh yes I will,’ she said with certainty. ‘I will be just like Daddy.’

Sofia laughed quietly at the child’s understanding of a person’s evolution. When she slid between the sheets at nine-thirty, David stroked her forehead and kissed her. ‘You’ve been very tired recently,’ he commented.

‘Yes - I don’t know why.’

‘You don’t think you could be pregnant, do you?’

Sofia blinked up at him hopefully. ‘I hadn’t thought about that. I’ve been so busy with Honor and the horses, I haven’t been counting days. Oh David, you could be right. I hope so.’

‘Me too,’ he said, bending down to kiss her again. ‘Another miracle.’

Sofia sat on the squat stump of a tree that once dominated the hills. It had been felled by a vicious October wind the winter before. Nothing is invincible, she thought. Nature is stronger than all of us. She looked around at the luminous June morning and enjoyed the splendour of another ephemeral dawn. Placing her hand on her belly, she marvelled at the miracle that was growing inside her, yet her heart shuddered with sadness knowing her family were ignorant of the life she had made for herself across the waters. Nervously, she recalled Roberto Lobito and Eva Alarcon as she had known them, now well over ten years ago, and tried to picture them as they would look today.

What worried her more than seeing them was
not
seeing them. If they decided at the last moment not to attend Zaza’s party, the disappointment would be enormous. She had mentally primed herself for this afternoon and her curiosity had increased over the last few months. Having come to terms with the fact that she was going to hear news from home, the thought of that news being denied her was unbearable. She was desperate to know what had become of Santi.

She arrived home in time to have a bath and prepare herself for Zaza’s lunch-party. She spent an hour trying on outfits, watched in bewilderment by Sam and Quid who wagged their tails at whatever she put on. ‘You’re no help at all!’ she said, throwing another ensemble onto the bed. When David appeared at the door Sofia had her back to him and was furiously struggling to pull a dress down over her hips. He watched her for a moment before the dogs gave him away.

‘I’m fat!’ she grumbled, angrily flicking the dress across the room with her foot.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, hugging her from behind. They watched their reflection in the mirror.

‘I’m fat,’ she said again.

‘You’re not fat, darling, you’re pregnant.’

‘I don’t want to be fat. I can’t fit into anything.’

‘What do you feel most comfortable in?’

‘My pyjamas,’ she replied sulkily.

‘Okay, wear your pyjamas,’ he said and kissed her before wandering into the bathroom.

‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea,’ she said happily, pulling out a pair of white silk pyjamas from the chest of drawers. When David walked back into the room, Sofia stood before him in the drawstring trousers and T-shirt. ‘David, you’re a genius,’ she beamed, admiring her reflection. David nodded, wading through the clutter of shoes and dresses to get to his cupboard. Sam and Quid sniffed their approval.

Tony had erected a white marquee in the garden in case of rain, but as the day was clear and hot the guests stood outside in the sunshine, in floral dresses and suits, drinking glasses of champagne and Pimms and admiring the rambling rusty-bricked manor and flowers that spilled over in abundance wherever one cast one’s eye. Zaza darted over to embrace David and Sofia before running after one of the waiters who had emerged prematurely from the house with a tray of smoked salmon.

Zaza did not have a style of her own, but was canny enough to recognize good taste when she saw it. She had spent thousands of Tony’s hard-earned pounds hiring decorators and landscape gardeners to transform their home into one which rightly deserved to adorn the pages of
Homes e[ Cardens.
Sofia appreciated the aesthetic perfection of Pickwick Manor but thought Zaza tried too hard. No sooner was she sucked into the throng of people than Sofia’s eyes fearfully searched the faces for Eva and Roberto.

‘Sofia, lovely to see you again,’ chortled a strange man, bending down to kiss her. His breath smelt of an unpleasant
melange
of salmon and champagne. She stepped back and frowned up at him blankly. ‘George Heavyweather,’ he said in a tone that betrayed his disappointment at her lapse of memory. ‘Now, surely you can remember where we met?’ he asked playfully, nudging her with his elbow.

Sofia sighed irritably, recalling the tactless oaf she had sat next to four years before. ‘Ian Lancaster’s dinner,’ she replied impassively, looking past him into the crowd.

‘Absolutely. God, it’s been a long time. Where have you been hiding yourself away? You probably haven’t noticed that the war’s over!’ he said and chuckled at his lame joke.

‘Excuse me,’ said Sofia, shelving her manners. ‘I have just seen someone I would prefer to talk to.’

‘Oh, yes - well, fine,’ he stammered jovially, ‘we’ll hook up later.’ Not if I can help it, thought Sofia as she was promptly swallowed up by the crowd.

Sofia and David had arrived late. After Sofia had spent the best part of half an hour unsuccessfully hunting the grounds for Eva and Roberto she resigned herself sadly to the reality that they had obviously decided not to come. Finding a bench under a shady cedar tree away from the crowds, she sat down despondently. Time was crawling by so slowly. She wanted to go home and wondered if anyone would notice if she quietly slipped away.

Then: ‘Sofia?’ came a warm husky voice from behind her. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’

‘Eva?’ gasped Sofia, standing up and blinking in surprise at the elegant white-haired woman who floated into focus.

‘Hace ainos!’
she breathed into Sofia’s neck as she kissed her affectionately. Sofia’s head spun as she inhaled Eva’s cologne, the same lemon scent she had worn twelve years before. They both sat down.

‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ said Sofia in Spanish, taking Eva’s hand and holding it tightly as if she were afraid she might disappear if she let go.

‘We were late. Roberto got lost,’ Eva explained and laughed prettily.

‘It’s so good to see you. You haven’t changed,’ Sofia said truthfully, her gaze washing over Eva’s perpetual youth with admiration.

‘Neither have you.’

‘When did you marry Roberto?’ she asked. ‘Where is he?’

‘He’s in the crowd somewhere. We married three years ago. I went to live in Buenos Aires when I finished school and met Roberto at a party. We have a baby, who's also called Roberto - he’s heavenly. Ah, you’re pregnant,’ she said, placing her free hand on Sofia’s barely noticeable belly.

‘I already have a little girl of three,’ she replied and smiled as Honor’s face emerged clearly through the fog that had mysteriously clouded her head while she had been talking to Eva.

‘Como vuela el tiempo!
¹
sighed Eva nostalgically.

‘Time certainly does fly. It’s been twelve years since we met that summer. Twelve years. Seeing you now, it could have been yesterday.’

‘Sofia, I can’t play games with you and pretend I don’t know why you left Argentina and that you haven’t been back. If I pretend, our friendship will not be an honest one,’ Eva said, her pale blue eyes probing Sofia’s questioningly. She placed Sofia’s hand between her long honey-coloured fingers and pressed it expressively. ‘I beg you to go back,’ she said softly.

‘I’m happy here, Eva. I’m married to a wonderful man. I have a daughter and

another child on the way. I can’t go back now. I belong here,’ Sofia insisted in alarm. She hadn’t expected Eva to bring up the past so suddenly.

‘But can’t you at least pay them a visit - let them know you’re okay? Put the past behind you. So much has happened in the last decade - if you leave it any longer you might leave it too long. You might never be able to connect with them again. They are your family, after all.’

‘So tell me then, how’s Maria?’ Sofia asked, directing the conversation away from a subject Eva could never understand.

Eva withdrew her hands and placed them in her lap. ‘She’s married,’ she replied.

‘To whom?’

‘Eduardo Maraldi, Dr Eduardo Maraldi. I don’t see Maria very often, but when I last saw her she had two children, I think, with perhaps another on the way, I can’t remember. Everyone’s having children at the moment, it’s difficult to keep track. You know Fernando is in exile in Uruguay?’

‘Exile!’

‘He got mixed up in the guerrilla warfare against Videla. He’s okay, and he could have come back to Argentina when the government changed, but to be

honest I think he was so shaken up by his experience - they tortured him, you know-that he now lives and works in Uruguay.’

They tortured him?’ gasped Sofia, horrified. She listened to Eva recount the story as she knew it, how Miguel and Chiquita’s home had been broken into, how Fernando had been kidnapped and somehow miraculously escaped into Uruguay. Sofia sat petrified by what she heard, regretting that she hadn’t been there to lend her support.

‘It was hideous,’ continued Eva gravely. ‘Roberto and I went and stayed with him once - he has a house in Punta del Este, on the beach. He’s a different man,’ she said, reflecting on the sullen young man who now lived like a hippy writing articles for various Uruguayan newspapers.

‘And Santi? Is he all right?’ Sofia asked anxiously, wondering how all this had affected him.

‘He’s married. I’ve seen him a bit about town. He’s still dashingly handsome.’ Eva blushed. She hadn’t forgotten his kisses. She traced a long finger across her lips absentmindedly. ‘His limp is worse for some reason and he has aged. But it suits him. He’s still the same old Santi.’

‘Who has he married?’ asked Sofia, trying to disguise the tremor in her voice

lest it betray her. She averted her eyes and cast them out somewhere into the half distance.

‘Claudia Calice,’ Eva said, her voice lifting at the end of the name enquiringly.

‘No, I never knew her. What’s she like?’ Sofia asked, struggling with that familiar emptiness that now threatened to engulf her once again. She was crushed by the news that he had committed to someone else, and she recalled once more that moment under the ombu tree when he had begged her to run away and marry him. The ghostly resonance of his words still echoed through the corridors of her memory.

‘She’s very elegant. Dark, glossy hair. Very groomed. Typically Argentine,’ said Eva, unaware of Sofia’s unremitting attachment. ‘She’s charming. She’s quite social, more at home in the city than in the country. I don’t think she likes the country. At least, she confided to me once that she hates horses. She said she had to pretend to Santi who as we all know, lives for them.’ Then Eva added in a more gentle tone: ‘You didn’t know he had married?’

‘Of course not. I haven’t spoken to him since-well, since I left,’ she replied hoarsely and lowered her eyes.

‘Surely Santi can’t be the reason you haven’t been back?’

‘No, no. Of course not,’ Sofia said a little too quickly.

‘Haven’t you communicated at all?’

‘No.’

‘Not even to your parents?’

‘Especially not to my parents.’

Eva sat back against the bench and studied Sofia’s features in amazement. ‘Don’t you miss it?’ she asked, aghast. ‘Don’t you miss
them?

‘I did at the beginning. But it’s incredible how you can forget when you’re this far away,’ she lied forlornly. Then added, ‘I have made myself forget.’

They sat in silence, Eva pondering on possible reasons for Sofia’s exile and Sofia reflecting sadly on Santi and his life with Claudia. She tried to picture him older, with a heavier limp but she could not. In her mind he was as she had left him, eternally youthful.

‘You know Agustin now lives in America, in Washington? He married an American,’ said Eva after a while.

‘Really? And Rafa?’ Sofia asked, trying to sound interested, but all she could think about was Santi and she longed for Eva to talk about him again.

‘He married Jasmina Pena years ago. Not long after you left, in fact. Now they are blissfully happy. I don’t see much of them. They spend most of their time at Santa Catalina as he looks after the farm. I always liked Rafa, he was somehow safe when all the others were baying for blood. He could always be relied on, not like Agustin,’ she said, recalling Agustin’s unwelcome attention. While he had been in Buenos Aires he had earned himself something of a reputation, taking girls out, sometimes running a few at the same time. He was the sort of young man mothers warned their daughters about and later girls warned their girlfriends about. No wonder he had married an American, thought Eva. A whole new patch to play around on.

‘Is Santi happy?’ asked Sofia suddenly, biting her lower lip.