Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree (74 page)

Sofia sat with her parents on the uncomfortable seats of the church and Padre Juan gave a fluent address that moved them all to tears. More tears. She noticed her parents held hands and once or twice they exchanged tender looks. Their compassion moved Sofia who hoped that with the loss of Maria they might have found each other again. The heaviness weighed down upon them all as they bade farewell to a young woman who had had so much to live for. Sofia could barely look at Maria’s family without feeling an indescribable

sadness. Her children hadn’t even said goodbye.

Maria was buried in the small tomb that belonged to the family, alongside her grandparents and other relatives who had gone before her. Sofia laid some flowers and said a small prayer for her. Once she would have looked upon this tomb as her own final resting place, but now she realized that she would be buried far away from here and there would be different faces at her funeral.

Claudia blinked at Sofia through her tears and she knew what she was thinking. It had all come to an end. There was no reason now for her to stay.

She embraced Chiquita and thanked her for sending her the letter. Tm glad you found me. I’m glad I came,’ she said truthfully.

‘I’m happy you came too, Sofia,’ she replied. ‘But I didn’t send you any letter.’

If Chiquita hadn't sent her the letter, who had?

As they made their way back to the cars, a taxi drew up and out stepped a man Sofia recognized. It was her brother - Agustin. He strode straight up to Chiquita and Miguel, embraced them both and said how sorry he was that Maria had been taken from them. ‘But I have come back,’ he told Paco and Anna brightly. ‘I have left Marianne and the children. I’ve come home.’

When he saw Sofia he greeted her with the politeness of a stranger. It was then that Sofia realized just how much those long years away had taken from her. They had changed her. She just didn’t belong there any more.

Once back at Santa Catalina she called David.

‘David, she’s gone,’ she said sadly.

‘Darling, I’m so sorry,’ his voice was full of sympathy.

‘There’s nothing here for me any more. I’m coming home.’

‘Let me know when your flight gets in, I’ll bring the girls,’ he said gently.

‘Oh yes, please bring the girls.’ Suddenly she felt a tremendous wave of homesickness.

Sofia packed her bags and prepared herself for the long journey home. Santa Catalina seemed suddenly remote and aloof as if she wished to lessen Sofia’s pain in leaving her. At five when the shadows began to edge their way into a cooler, more refreshing evening, her car drew up under the eucalyptus trees. She stood in their shade and bade farewell to her father.

‘This is all very sudden. When will we see you again?’ he asked gruffly in an attempt to mask his misery, but she could tell from his expression that he couldn’t bear to see her go.

‘I don’t know, Papa. You have to understand that this is no longer my home,’ she replied, fighting her emotions. ‘I have a husband and two girls who are waiting for me in England.’

‘But you haven’t even said goodbye to anyone.’

‘I haven’t the strength. It is better that I go quietly - I don’t think I’ve ever done anything quietly before!’ she quipped in rather poor taste.

‘You belong here, Sofia,’ he said.

‘I did once. And a part of me will always be here,’ she replied and she noticed his eyes turn to the polo fields in the distance.

‘Yes, it will.’ He nodded and sighed deeply.

‘Thank you, Papa,’ she said and touched his hand. He turned to face her, unsure whether he understood what she was trying to say. ‘You gave my child a home,’ she added. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? He belongs in the home I lost.’ Paco’s eyes glistened as he searched for something to say. ‘I know you did the right thing,’ she told him hastily. ‘I only wish I had come back with him. Then I would never have felt estranged from the people I love.’

Hearing those words, Paco pulled his daughter into his arms where he held her so forcefully she knew he was hiding tears that he did not wish her to see.

At that moment Anna appeared in the doorway like a spectre. The past twenty-four hours showed in the dark circles under her eyes. She looked tired and defeated.

‘Mama!’ exclaimed Sofia in surprise, reluctantly withdrawing from her father’s embrace and wiping her cheeks with a trembling hand.

‘I wish you would stay,’ Anna said quietly, approaching her with a soft expression on her face. She walked out of the shadow into the sun and extended her hands to her. Sofia took them in hers. ‘Maria is with God now,’ she said.

‘I know. She’s with Grandpa,’ Sofia said quietly.

‘Will you call us?’ asked Anna, and Sofia noticed her ice-blue eyes were melting.

‘Yes. I would like you to know my children some day.’

‘I would like that,’ her mother replied. ‘Your room will always be here for you, but I think it is time to clear it out, don’t you?’

Sofia nodded, smiling back her emotion. In her mother’s eyes she could see remorse, as if she were crying out from inside the shell of her body but unable to physically express her feelings. Sofia could sense her fighting with herself. Instinctively she made the first move for her. Placing her arms around her she pulled her thin frame towards her. Anna didn’t resist. When she held her mother, Sofia felt a warmth radiate from her that she hadn’t felt for many years. She remembered those few moments as a young child when her mother had drawn her into her arms and cherished her. She smelt the same and her scent unlocked the final door to Sofia’s memories. She sensed the heaviness that comes from holding onto resentment for so long lighten its burden and release her. Perhaps, as Anna had suggested, they would both learn to forgive.

‘I’m glad you came,’ Anna smiled at her daughter, and suddenly Sofia remembered the letter. If Chiquita hadn’t written it, then it must have been her mother. She had wanted her to come back after all. She must have written it signing it with the name of her sister-in-law for fear that if she had signed it herself, her daughter might not have come.

The letter - it was you, wasn’t it?’ Sofia asked and grinned. ‘Very cunning, Mama!’

‘I can be cunning too, Sofia,’ she chided her daughter. ‘Ah, wait a minute,

don’t go yet. I have something for you,’ she said with a sudden, uncharacteristic burst of enthusiasm. ‘Something you should have had a long time ago. Wait while I go and get it.’

Anna retreated into the dark interior of the house. Paco noticed a bounce in her step that reminded him of the
Ana Melodia
he had lost somewhere way back, he couldn’t remember when, and his lips trembled with the hope that maybe he would find her again. When she returned she held a red packet in her hands. She handed it to her daughter who turned it over curiously. She began to tear the paper.

‘Open it in the car,’ insisted Anna, placing a hand on the packet to prevent her from seeing what was inside. ‘It's something to remember us by.’ Sofia blinked at her mother but the fog in her eyes meant she could see little more than a blur.

Paco embraced his daughter for the last time, relieved that the secret he had kept for twenty-three years was now shared with her; there were no more secrets to drive a wedge between them. Sofia had thanked him for giving Javier the best home he could possibly have. He belonged at Santa Catalina.

Sofia hugged him back knowing that many moons would pass before she would hold him again. She took one more look at the place that had once been her home and realized that, although she had changed and moved on, it would live in her heart and in her memory, untarnished, like sepia photos of another, happier time. Maria would be there too, her radiant face smiling out through the plumbago and hibiscus.

Sofia climbed into the car and waved one last time at her parents, who after years of estrangement had finally come to know their daughter again. She tore open the red paper with impatience. What could her mother have possibly bought her? When she pulled out a black leather belt with the silver buckle engraved with her initials the blur melted into large, sentimental tears.

As Sofia drove up the avenue of tall trees, the house disappearing into the shadows, she said to the chauffeur, Turn left at the end here. There’s one last place I want to go to before we hit the road.’ And she directed him to the ombu tree.

The car rattled along the dirt track as far as it could go. Once they reached the end she asked the driver to wait for her while she went the rest of the way on foot. The air was now cool after the storm and the grass greener from the rain it had so desperately needed. She walked with a heaviness of heart down the path she had taken so many times in the last few days. She felt empty of emotion, as if her nerves had simply shut down and refused to feel any more.

She reached the tree that had seen her through all her troubles. It stood majestic and proud, like a dear old friend who never judged but observed with a quiet understanding. She ran her hand over its trunk with affection and recalled happier times with Santi. Looking out over the fields she saw the
gauchos
playing polo in the distance, their tanned bodies shirtless in the heat. Javier was among them. She couldn’t tell which one he was, but she knew he was there. There, where he belonged.

Suddenly she felt the presence of someone. She turned and saw the grim face of Santi. He looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

They said you had gone. I didn’t know what to do with myself,’ he exclaimed

in torment and strode over to embrace her.

‘I couldn’t bear to say goodbye to you again. I just couldn’t do it,’ she mumbled, feeling an overpowering sense of desolation.

‘I had just found you again,’ he said miserably. ‘I can’t let you go.’

‘It’s impossible, isn’t it? If only .. .’

‘Don’t,’ he choked. ‘If we start on the “if only” road we’ll grind ourselves into the ground.’ He nuzzled his face into her hair as if he wanted to hide from the inevitable.

‘I wouldn’t be the woman you love if I were capable of leaving my children,’ she said sadly, remembering Maria’s advice. She thought of Javier and the pain of having left him all those years ago still jarred at her conscience.

‘I just want to breathe the same air as you.’

‘But Maria was right. Our lives are so different now; we both have families we love. We can’t destroy all those people.’

‘I know. But I still keep trying to think of a way around it.’

‘There is no way. I don’t belong here any more.’

‘You belong with me. We belong together.’

‘It’s a beautiful dream, a lovely “what might have been”. But it’s impossible.

You know it’s impossible.’

He nodded and sighed deeply in resignation. Then let me take an inventory of your face so I never forget it,’ he said solemnly, running his fingers down her cheek. He kissed her eyes, ‘soft and brown like sugar’, he said, then he kissed her nose, her temples, her forehead, her jawbone telling her why he loved each part as he kissed it. Then he reached her lips. ‘I’ll never forget the feel of you, Chofi, or the smell of you.’ And he tasted the salt of her tears as he kissed her.

They hugged each other. Looking into his sea-green eyes Sofia knew that in their very secret depths she would dwell, and at night, when fantasy and reality are one, she would appear to love him again. She kissed his lips for the last time and the taste of him stayed with her long after they had parted. She turned back once to see his lonely figure sitting at the foot of their tree. She waved and then she turned and walked away. That picture of him sitting alone under the ombu tree would later appear whenever she closed her eyes.

They said the ombu tree wouldn’t grow in England. But I chose a place in our garden in Gloucestershire where the sun would set behind it and planted it all
the same. It grew.

I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to my Argentine ‘family’ who embraced me into their world. They shared with me their home and their country, and inspired me to love both. Without them, this book could never have been written.

I would also like to thank Suzanne Baboneau and her brilliant team at Simon & Schuster for republishing this book with a new cover and to my agent, Sheila Crowley, for her wise counsel.

Thank you to my mother for her memories.

FIND OUT MORE ABOUT SANTA MONTEFIORE

Santa Montefiore is the author of eleven sweeping novels. To find out more about her and her writing, visit her website at

www.santamontefiore.co.uk

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