Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree

by Santa Montefiore

  He wandered over to where she was sitting and flopped into the leather armchair next to hers. She felt him beside her and her hands trembled. His presence was so strong it overwhelmed her and the spicy scent of his cologne made her head spin. He noticed her magazine quiver and found himself falling in love with this pale young woman who was a stranger to him. He said something in a foreign language and his voice was deep and commanding. She caught her breath and lowered her magazine. Was he talking to her? When she looked at him he noticed her blue-grey eyes; there was something wild in their expression and he felt the sudden urge to struggle with her and tame her like one of his ponies back at Santa Catalina. She blinked at him apprehensively.

  ‘You are too beautiful to be sitting on your own,’ he told her in a heavy accent. ‘I am meant to be meeting someone, but he is late. I am glad he is late. I hope he doesn’t come at all. Are you waiting for someone too?’ She looked at his hopeful face and replied that she was waiting for her mother and aunt to come down for tea. He looked relieved.

  ‘You are not waiting for your husband, then?’ he said and Anna noticed the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He looked down at her left hand and added, ‘No, you are not married. I am very happy.’

  She laughed and lowered her eyes again. She knew she shouldn’t be talking to a stranger but there was an honesty in his expression, or at least she thought she saw honesty and anyway, she was in London, the city of romance. She hoped her mother and aunt would take their time and give her a few more minutes. She had never seen such a handsome man in all her life.

  ‘Do you live here?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I’m just here for the weekend. To shop and ...’ She wondered what rich girls might be in London for and added, ‘To see the museums and churches.’ He seemed impressed.

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘Ireland. I’m from Ireland.’

  ‘I’m away from home too.’

  ‘Where are you from?’ she asked and his face glowed when he told her.

  ‘I am from God’s own country, Argentina. Where the sun is the size of a giant orange and the sky is so big it’s a reflection of heaven itself She smiled at the poetry of his description. He looked so deeply into her eyes that she felt powerless to turn herself away. She suddenly panicked that he might leave and she would never see him again.

  ‘What are you doing here then?’ she asked, feeling her throat tighten with emotion. Please God, don’t let him leave, she prayed. Give us more time.

  ‘I’m studying. I’ve been here since two years, and in all that time, I have not returned home. Imaginate! But I love London,’ he said, then his voice tailed off. He held her gaze with his before adding impulsively, ‘I want you to see my country.’ She giggled nervously and looked away, but when she turned to him again she saw that he was still looking at her.

  Her mother and aunt stepped into the lobby and looked around for Anna Melody. Then Aunt Dorothy saw her, sitting in the corner, deep in conversation with a strange young man.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Emer, what is she up to now? What would poor Sean O’Mara say if he saw her talking like that with a strange man? Look at the

  face on her. We shouldn’t have left her on her own.’

  ‘Sweet Jesus, Dorothy!’ exclaimed Emer hotly. ‘Go and get her before she compromises herself.’

  Anna saw her aunt approach across the lobby like a Panzer tank and turned to her new friend in despair. He took her hand in his and squeezed it.

  ‘Meet me here tonight at midnight,’ he said and the urgency in his voice made Anna’s stomach disappear. She nodded eagerly in response before he got to his feet, bowed politely to Aunt Dorothy and made a hasty retreat.

  ‘In God’s name, Anna Melody O’Dwyer, what do you think yer doing talking to a stranger, handsome though he is?’ she gasped, watching him leave through the revolving door. Anna felt hot and weak, and very excited.

  ‘Don’t worry, Aunt Dorothy, this is London. There’s no law here against keeping a girl company while she’s sitting on her own,’ she replied confidently, but inside her nerves buzzed as if they were alive with electricity.

  Anna sat dreamily through tea, scraping the silver spoon around her teacup absentmindedly. Aunt Dorothy buttered her third scone. ‘These are fine cakes. Fine cakes. Anna Melody, do you have to make that noise? It penetrates my eardrums in the most unpleasant manner.’ Anna sighed and sat back in her

  chair. ‘What’s the matter with you? Too much shopping?’

  ‘I’m tired, that’s all,’ she replied and gazed out of the window, hoping that perhaps he might walk past. Just perhaps. She pictured his face and tried to hold it there, afraid that if she allowed it to swim about at the back of her mind it might sink and be lost for ever.

  ‘There, there, dear. We’ll go back to the hotel straight after tea. Why don’t you try a hot buttered teacake. They’re quite delicious,’ her mother suggested gently.

  ‘I don’t want to go to the theatre tonight,’ Anna said petulantly, sulking into her tea. ‘I’m too tired.’

  ‘You don’t want to see Oklahoma!? Good God, Anna, most girls yer age don’t get to London, let alone the theatre,’ snapped Aunt Dorothy, rearranging the fox that appeared to be clawing its way down her bosom. ‘Those tickets were expensive.’

  ‘Dorothy, if Anna Melody doesn’t want to go to the theatre then she doesn’t have to go. It’s her weekend, remember?’ said Emer, placing a hand on her daughter’s arm. Aunt Dorothy pursed her lips together and snorted out of her nostrils like an angry bull.

  ‘Oh, and I suppose you’ll want to stay with her,’ she said crossly.

  ‘I can’t leave her by herself in a strange city. It’s just not fair.’

  ‘Not fair, Emer! We’ve spent good money on those tickets. I’ve been looking forward to Oklahoma! for ages.’

  ‘Well, let’s go back to the hotel and put our feet up for a while. Perhaps after that you might feel a bit better,’ said Emer, nodding at her daughter.

  ‘I’m sorry, Emer, I’ll put up with a lot, but when it comes down to money, I’m not going to let Anna Melody throw it away because she can’t be bothered. It’s nothing but sheer capriciousness, Emer, you and Dermot have let her get away with it all her life. It’ll do her no good, I warn you.’

  Completely oblivious to her aunt’s annoyance, Anna crossed her arms in front of her and turned to look once again out of the window. She longed for midnight. She didn’t want to go to the theatre. She didn’t want to go anywhere. She wanted to sit in the lobby and wait for him.

  Anna went to the theatre. She had to. Aunt Dorothy had threatened to send her straight back to Glengariff if she didn’t. After all, half the money was hers. So Anna had sat through the musical, ignoring the catchy tunes that would have

  her mother and aunt singing merrily up the pavements for the next two days, silently working out how she was going to get to Brown’s Hotel in the middle of the night from South Kensington when she had no money of her own. He had obviously been under the impression that she was staying at Brown’s. She had to be there.

  It wasn’t long before her mother and aunt were sleeping heavily in their beds back at the hotel. Aunt Dorothy began to snore loudly through her nose as she lay on her back. Once or twice a particularly loud snort nearly woke her; for a second she balanced between consciousness and unconsciousness before drifting back into her secret world of dreams. Emer, more delicate than her sister in both size and sound, slept quietly, curled up into a ball.

  Anna stepped silently into her clothes, stuffed pillows down her bed to give the impression that she was there in case one of those snorts woke her aunt or mother, and rummaged around in Aunt Dorothy’s purse for some money. The concierge was most helpful; too polite to raise an eyebrow, he did as she asked and called for a taxi. Thanking him for his trouble, as if there was nothing unusual about her midnight outing, she sat in the back like a fugitive and watched the bright city lights pass by her window.

&nbs
p; At a quarter to midnight Anna was sitting once more in the armchair in the corner of the lobby. Under her coat, she had on the new dress her mother had bought her in Harrods, and her hair was still pinned at the nape of her neck. The hotel was busy for such a late hour. A group of fashionable young people entered with an explosion of laughter. They must have been out on the town, she thought enviously. No one seemed to notice she was there. She placed her hand on the chair next to hers and ran her fingers over the leather imagining it still warm from when he had sat there with her. He had been so refined, a real gentleman. He had smelt of expensive cologne and came from an exotic land far away. He was cultivated, educated, handsome and obviously rich too. He was the prince she had dreamed of. She knew there was more to life than Sean O’Mara and dreary Glengariff.

  Anna sat nervously watching the door. Should she look expectant or nonchalant? She decided she would look ridiculous if she tried to appear casual; after all, what else would she be doing in the lobby of the hotel at midnight? Then she wondered what she would do if he didn’t turn up. Perhaps he had played a joke on her. Perhaps he didn’t intend to meet her after all. He was probably out with his friends laughing about her. Laughing like her cousins laughed at her

  back home in Glengariff.

  As the clock chimed twelve Paco Solanas stepped in through the heavy hotel doors. He saw Anna immediately and his face creased into a wide smile. He marched over to her in his navy cashmere coat and took her by the hand.

  ‘I am happy you came,’ he said, his eyes sparkling under the rim of his hat. ‘So am I,’ she replied and felt her hand tremble in his.

  ‘Come with me.’ Then he hesitated. lPor Dios! I don’t know your name.’

  ‘Anna Melody O’Dwyer. Anna,' she replied and smiled. He found her smile completely captivating. It made him feel warm on the inside. lAna Melodfa — qu Undo. That is a beautiful name, just like you.’

  ‘Thank you. What’s your name?’

  ‘Paco Solanas.’

  ‘Paco. Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,’ she replied shyly and he led her by the hand out into the night.

  The weather had cleared towards the end of the day and they found themselves walking up the streets under a bright, starry sky. It was very cold; their breath misted in the frosty air, but neither of them felt it. They wandered up the empty back streets towards Soho, laughing and talking like old friends, then made their way down to Leicester Square along the glittering pavements still wet from the drizzle.

  Paco held her hand all the time and after a while it no longer felt strange to her but more natural than it had ever felt with Sean O’Mara. He talked to her about Argentina, painting a rich picture in her mind with the enthusiasm and artlessness of a true storyteller. She told him little about Ireland. She felt that if he knew that she wasn’t rich like him he might lose interest in her and she couldn’t afford that. She had to pretend she came from a life of privilege. But Paco loved the way she was different from all the girls he knew back home and all the sophisticates he had met in the various cities of his travels. She was unrefined and carefree. When he kissed her he did so with the intention of removing her hideous lipstick.

  Anna had never been kissed like that before. His lips were warm and wet, his face cold from the night air. He held her close and pressed his mouth to hers with a passion she had only ever seen in the flicks. When he pulled away and gazed down at her face he saw that he had kissed her make-up clean off. He liked her better that way.

  They sat on the edge of one of the fountains in Trafalgar Square and he

  kissed her again. He pulled out the pins from her hair and scrunching it in his hands he let it fall over her shoulders and down her back in wild, rolling curls.

  ‘Why do you tie your hair up?’ he asked, but before she could reply his mouth was on hers again, his tongue gently exploring her mouth with a fluid sensuality that caused her stomach to flutter as if the wings of a hummingbird quivered within. ‘Please forgive my English,’ he said after a while, holding her face with one hand and running the other down the hair that fell away at her temple. ‘If I could say this in Castellano it would sound more poetico.1

  ‘Yer English is very good, Paco,’ she replied, then blushed at the sound of his name.

  ‘I don’t know you, but I know I love you. Si, te quiero,' he said, tracing his fingers down her cold cheek and looking into her features with incredulous eyes as if trying to discover the nature of the spell that captivated him. ‘When do you return to Ireland?’ he asked. Anna didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to contemplate never seeing him again.

  ‘The day after tomorrow. On Monday,’ she replied sadly, nuzzling her face into his hand and smiling up at him regretfully.

  ‘So soon!’ he exclaimed in horror. ‘Will I ever see you again?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, hoping that he would think of something.

  ‘Do you come to London often?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. Paco moved away from her and sat with his elbows on his knees, anxiously rubbing his face with his hands. At once Anna feared that he was going to tell her their romance had no point. She watched his body expand beneath his coat as he sighed deeply. In the yellow glow of the city lights his face looked melancholic and dejected; she wanted to wrap her arms around him. But she was afraid he might reject her so she stayed where she was, not even daring to move.

  ‘Then marry me,’ he said suddenly. ‘I cannot support life without you.’

  Anna was overwhelmed and disbelieving. They had barely spent more than a few hours together. ‘Marry you?’ she stammered.

  ‘Yes, marry me, Anna,’ he told her seriously. He took her hand in both of his and pressed it fervently.

  ‘But you know nothing about me,’ she protested.

  ‘I knew I wanted to marry you the moment I saw you in the hotel. I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I’ve dated girls, hundreds of them. You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met. You’re different. I can’t explain it. How can I explain

  what’s in my heart?’ he said and his eyes glistened. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’ ‘Can you hear the music?’ Anna asked him, standing up and suppressing the thought of Sean O’Mara and the commitment they were supposed to be making to one another. They both listened to the soft music that reverberated across the square from a club somewhere.

  ‘77 voglio bene,1 he murmured, repeating the words of the song.

  ‘What does that mean?’ she asked as he took her in his arms and started to dance with her around the fountain.

  ‘It means, I love you. It means, I love you, Ana Melodia, and want you to be my wife.’ They danced on in silence, listening to the sleepy music that carried them. Anna was unable to think clearly. Her mind was all in a muddle, like her Aunt Mary’s knitting wool, all tangled up. Had he really asked her to marry him? ‘I will take you to Santa Catalina,’ he said softly. ‘You will live in a beautiful white house with green shutters and pass the day in the sunshine, looking out over the pampas. Everyone will love you like I do.’

  ‘But Paco, I don’t know you. My parents will never allow it,’ she said, imagining Aunt Dorothy’s reaction with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  ‘I will talk to them. I will tell them how I feel,’ he said, then he looked into

  her fearful eyes and added, ‘Don’t you care for me, not even un poquito?

  She hesitated, not because she didn’t love him, she adored him, he overwhelmed her with an excitement that jolted her every sense into life, but her mother had always told her that love is something that grows. The urgent ‘love’ of two people attracted to one another was something altogether different.

  ‘I do love you,’ she said and the tremor in her voice surprised her. She had never said those words to anyone, not even to Sean O’Mara. ‘I feel like I’ve known you for ever,’ she added, as if to justify to herself that the way she loved him wasn’t the urgent, irrational ‘love’ of two people attracted to one another,
but something much more profound and real.

  ‘So what is the problem? You can stay in London and we can get to know each other better, if that is what you wish.’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ she objected, wishing it were.

  ‘Things are only complicated if you let them be. I will write to my parents and tell them that I have met a beautiful, innocent girl with whom I want to spend the rest of my life.’

  ‘And they’ll understand?’ she asked apprehensively.

  ‘They will when they meet you,’ he replied confidently, kissing her again. ‘I

  don’t think you understand, Ana Melodia. I love you. I love the way you smile, the nervous way you play with your hair, the frightened look in your eyes when I tell you how I feel. The confident, spirited way you met me in the hotel tonight. I’ve never met anyone like you before. I admit, I don’t know you. I don’t know your favourite food, your favourite books. I don’t know your favourite colour or what you were like as a child. I have no idea how many brothers and sisters you have. I don’t even care. All I know is that here,’ he said, placing her hand on his coat, ‘is where my heart beats, and with every beat it tells me how I feel about you. Can you feel it?’ She laughed and tried to feel his heart beneath his coat, but only felt the quickness of the pulse in her thumb. ‘I will marry you, Ana Melodia. I will marry you because if I let you go, I will regret it for the rest of my life.’

  When Paco kissed her she wanted more than anything a happy ending like in the films she watched at the flicks. When he put his arms around her and hugged her against him she felt sure that he could protect her from all that was unpleasant in the world. If she married Paco she could leave Glengariff for ever. She’d be with the man she loved. She’d be Mrs Paco Solanas. They’d have children as beautiful as him and be happier than she ever dreamed possible.

  When he kissed her she remembered Sean O’Mara’s limp kiss, the fear of her wedding night, the bleakness of the future that stretched out before her like a monotonous grey road leading to nothing but hardship and stagnation, but most importantly a future without true love. With Paco it was different. She desired nothing more than to belong to him, to give herself to him, to allow him to claim her body for himself so he could love her wholly.