Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree (67 page)

Sofia retired early that night. She left them talking on the terrace, their faces illuminated in the dancing candlelight, their voices joining the gentle choir of crickets that filled the silence of the
pampa
, and she wandered through the moonlit courtyard of hanging pots of geraniums to her room. Once in bed she tried in vain to sleep. She yearned for Santi. She wondered how long they had together. She knew the moment would arrive when she would have to leave

him. Or was there a chance that they could have a life together? Surely after all this time they deserved it? Her mind threw these thoughts about in an attempt to make sense of them.

Finally, she kicked off her sheets in frustration. She needed to see Santi. She needed to know that it wasn’t all going to end now they had found each other again. She slipped into her dressing gown and crept out into the night. The moon was full and phosphorescent. Like a frog she leapt from shadow to shadow, her bare feet wet with dew. She didn’t know how she was going to find him, or how she was going to wake him without waking his wife.

Once at the house Sofia wandered around it, staying close to the wall. Peering through the windows she tried to work out which was their room. Unlike her house, Chiquita’s was built on one floor so she didn’t have to fight with ladders or wrestle with wall plants. Most of the rooms were obscured by shutters - she’d forgotten about the Argentine love of shutters. Of course she couldn’t see through them so had no way of knowing what or who was on the other side. She made her way around to the terrace and stood on the smooth paving stones not knowing what to do next. She was about to give up entirely when a small red light caught her attention from under the veranda. She looked

more closely and saw that it was the end of a cigarette.

‘I gave up smoking years ago,’ said the voice on the other end.

‘Santi! What are you doing out here?’ She gasped in relief.

This is my house - what are
you
doing here!’

‘I came to see you,’ she replied in a loud whisper, tiptoeing over to join him on the bench.

‘You’re mad,’ he chuckled. ‘But that’s why I love you.’

‘I couldn’t sleep.’

‘Me neither.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘I don’t know.’ He sighed and stubbed out his cigarette. He pulled her close and pressed his unshaven face against hers. It prickled.

‘I can’t bear it all to end, not now that we’ve just found each other,’ she murmured.

‘I know - I’ve been thinking the same thing,’ he told her. ‘I wish we had run away together all those years ago.’

‘Me too. If only ...’

‘Perhaps we were given one chance, and we failed to take it.’

‘Don’t say that, Santi. You make your own chances!’ she hissed.

‘You’re really bad coming over here like this.’ He rubbed her head affectionately. ‘I just hope no one else finds it difficult to sleep.’

‘You and I have always been in synch.’

‘That’s the problem. And it won’t ever go away, no matter where we are in the world.’

‘How long have we got, Santi?’ she asked with forced calmness, not wanting to show how desperate she was.

‘Claudia’s taking the children to Buenos Aires tomorrow evening,’ he replied, but whether he misunderstood her question on purpose she didn’t know.

‘So we’ll have some time together?’

‘She’s finding it hard.’

‘What?’

‘You suddenly turning up.’

‘Does she know about us?’ asked Sofia curiously, secretly taking pleasure in the fact that she did.

‘She knows that we were once lovers. I told her. Everyone knew. As you can imagine, it was difficult to keep a scandal like that quiet. I didn’t want her to be

in the dark about something that everyone else knew. I also wanted to come clean. She deserved to know. I wanted her to understand that it wasn’t something sordid, that we loved each other. She filled a void in my life, Chofi. She made me happy at a time when I thought I would never be happy again.’

‘What are you trying to say?’ she asked slowly, but she knew. He kissed her temple and she felt his chest expand as he breathed in deeply.

‘I don’t know, Chofi. I don’t want to hurt her.’

‘Well, let’s not think about it now,’ she said bravely. She believed that if they didn’t confront the situation there was still hope. ‘We don’t have to make any decisions. Let’s just enjoy being together, with Maria.’

^l
Claro -
we don’t have to make any decisions,’ he repeated. Sofia hoped the uncertainty was tormenting him as much as it was tormenting her.

When she crept back to her room dawn was already transforming the sky above her into a spectrum of blues and pinks. She averted her thoughts from the future, for she was too afraid to face what was inevitable.

Naturally, Sofia awoke late, but this time she knew exactly where she was. She slipped into a short sundress and walked purposefully out into a radiant morning. It was very hot under the unforgiving Argentine sun. She

remembered how she used to spend most of the summer stretched out on the sunbed by the pool ‘toasting’. She missed the heat living in England and had forgotten this uninterrupted cornflower-blue sky that now glistened above her.

When she appeared on the terrace Jasmina and Rafael were reading with Anna and Paco under parasols while their children lay on their stomachs drawing with their cousins. It was a tranquil scene and Sofia felt quite envious. Is this what it would have been like if she had returned? Could she and Santi have built a life with little Santiguito, after all? Momentarily her body ached with longing for him and for her two daughters. She wondered where her son was now. He’d be twenty-three years old, a young man. He wouldn’t even recognize her if he saw her. They’d be no more than strangers.

Stifling that familiar pain she greeted her family and placed herself at the table. It wasn’t long before Soledad appeared with tea, toast,
membrillo
and cheese. She noticed Jasmina’s baby was lying asleep on her breast, partially covered in a pretty white shawl. She had one hand on the child’s head while the other held her book. If she could paint, Sofia would have drawn her there like that, serene and beautiful like a Sorolla
Mother and Child.

All the while she sat there Sofia yearned to be with Santi. She longed for the evening when Claudia would disappear to the city leaving them alone together. No one spoke. Each person seemed lost in their own small world and Sofia recalled those innocent days of her youth when she was a part of their world. She watched her mother, quietly reading in the shade under a sunhat; the sunhat was very much her trademark. Sofia couldn’t remember what she wore in winter-time; her memories seemed only to be of summer. Paco was reading the Sunday papers through a pair of small round glasses that perched on the bridge of his large hooked nose. Sensing her scrutiny, he looked up and smiled at her. His eyes twinkled fondly. Yet Sofia didn’t fit into this scene. Everyone had their place there in the sun. They all shared an easy familiarity where words weren’t necessary. They belonged. Sofia had once belonged but now the memory of that belonging had faded and she couldn’t remember what it had been like.

She sipped her tea in silence. After a while Clara skipped over to her to show off her picture. It was very good for a child of her age, full of bright colours and happy faces. Her strokes were bold and confident. Sofia admired it.

‘Aren’t you a good artist!’ she exclaimed enthusiastically. Clara glowed with pride. ‘Who taught you how to draw?’

‘No one - I just like it. I’m top of the class at school.’

Sofia smiled down at the child’s elfin face. ‘Are you going to be an artist when you grow up?’

‘No,’ she replied with certainty. ‘I’m going to be an actress.’ And she grinned happily.

‘I think you’ll make a very good actress, Clara.’

‘Do you think so?’ she cried, hopping from one foot to the other.

‘What’s your favourite film?’

‘Mary Poppins.’

‘And who would you like to be - the little girl?’

‘No. Mary Poppins. I know all the words,’ and she started singing ‘A spoonful of sugar...’

‘You really do know all the songs,’ laughed Sofia.

‘Mama says it’s a good way to learn English.’

‘She’s right, it is.’

‘I’m going back to Buenos Aires tonight,’ the child moaned, pulling a face. ‘But you like school, and you’ll be coming back next weekend, won’t you?’ ‘You will be here?’

‘Of course I will.' Sofia replied, not wanting to disappoint her. She didn’t know when she would be leaving. She didn’t want to think about it.

‘Are you going to stay here now? Papa says you will.’

Sofia looked over at Rafael who lifted his eyes from his paper and grinned at her guiltily. ‘I don’t think I will be staying.' she said truthfully. ‘Not forever. But you must come and stay with me in England. You’d like it there. The best theatre is in England.'

‘Oh, I know all about England. Mary Poppins lived in London,’ she said earnestly.

‘Quite.’

‘Look, there’s the
carro
!’

Out of the trees rattled the horse and cart with Pablo at the reins. Sofia remembered years before taking a gentle tour of the farm with her grandmother.
Abuelita
Solanas had always said that one of the greatest pleasures in her life was to drive around the
pampa,
sitting comfortably on the worn leather seat of the carriage, gazing at the countryside about her. Every time they neared a hole in the track, she would instruct Jose in her small but firm voice to take care, and occasionally to stop the horses if she spotted an interesting bird or

animal. She had told Sofia that when she was younger they used to ride into town in it. When Sofia had remarked that it must have taken hours, her grandmother replied that life had moved at a much slower pace in her day. ‘Nothing like the way it rushes about now. You’ll be old before you’ve enjoyed your youth,’ she had said disapprovingly. However, Sofia recalled the romance soon wearing thin as she had longed for Jose to speed the horses up a bit. But her grandmother wouldn’t have it any faster and was clearly enjoying the scenery -and greeting the passing
gauchos
who ambled by.

Paco wandered over to the sleek horses. He patted them with a firm hand and chatted to Pablo.

‘Sofia, do you want to join me?’ said her father.

‘Me too, me too!’ squeaked Clara, throwing down her drawing pad and skipping over to her grandfather.

‘I’d love to,’ she replied and walked over to join them.

Pablo dismounted and her father lifted Clara up with his large hands, like one would lift a small dog. They sat either side of him at the front and he gave the reins to Clara, patiently instructing her how to drive. Sofia watched Pablo walk back through the trees. They waved to Rafael and Jasmina, and to Anna,

who put down her book and smiled at them from under her hat.

‘Are they watching? Are they watching?’ hissed Clara as she turned the horses, her face full of concentration.

They have eyes only for you, my dear,’ said Paco, and Sofia recalled how that was just the sort of thing he used to say to her.

They trotted off into the park. Sofia couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret as they headed off in the opposite direction from Chiquita’s house. She was desperate to see Santi and it was difficult to keep her mind on anything else. Like with her grandmother all those years ago, the novelty subsided after a while and she wished she were elsewhere. Her father listened with patience as his granddaughter chatted away without drawing breath. Finally, when a gap arose in their conversation he turned his attention to Sofia.

‘You used to love driving the horses,’ he said.

‘I remember well, Papa.’

‘You played polo better.'

‘I liked polo better,’ she laughed.

‘Do you remember
La Copa Santa Catalina
?’ he asked and he grinned at the

memory.

‘How could I forget? Thank God Agustin fell or you would never have let me play.’

‘You know I wanted to let you play from the beginning.’

‘You did?’

‘But I knew how much your mother hated you playing. She resented the fact that you belonged, Sofia. She never has.’ He turned and held her eyes for a moment. She saw regret.

‘She chose to live here,’ Sofia muttered, turning away.

‘Clara - look, the other children are on the swings,’ said Paco, who could detect the child was tiring of this game now that she wasn’t getting any attention. ‘Why don’t you go and join them?’

‘Can I?’ she asked brightly and when he drew the ponies to a halt she hopped down and skipped merrily over through the park to join her cousins.

Sofia could sense that her father wanted to talk to her on her own and she waited warily for him to begin. He urged the ponies on and the jingling sound of their harness filled the uncomfortable pause that followed.