‘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 w
ell 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.
Chapter 32
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.
‘And David really has vowed never to see him again?’
‘It’s over,’ she replied and ran a finger across her neck in a mock execution.
‘Over.’ She laughed. ‘Ariella came to pick up her paintings last week and stayed not just for tea but for the whole night. We talked and talked, I didn’t want her to leave.’ She watched Zaza squirm.
‘And David?’
‘Let bygones be bygones.’
‘Quite incredible. Incredible.’ She sighed, chipping off a piece of scarlet nail varnish that had begun to peel. ‘You are eccentric, both of you.’
‘Oh goodness, look at the time. I’ve got an appointment before meeting David at the office at four,’ said Sofia, looking at her watch. ‘I really must be going.’
‘What’s the appointment for?’ asked Zaza, then checked herself. ‘I mean, you’re all right, aren’t you?’
‘Oh yes, fine. Just the routine dentist and hygienist,’ Sofia said nonchalantly.
‘Okay. Give David my love,’ said Zaza, scrutinizing Sofia from beneath her heavy green eyelids. Dentist my ass, she thought to herself. She wondered whether it might really have something to do with a certain gynaecologist.
Sofia arrived at David’s office at four-thirty. She was trembling and pale yet she smiled with the restraint of someone with an enchanting secret. The secretary swiftly put the telephone down on her boyfriend and greeted the boss’s wife enthusiastically. Sofia didn’t wait to be announced but walked straight into her husband’s office. He looked up from his desk. Sofia leant back against the door and smiled at him.
‘Oh God, you are,’ he said slowly, his face crumpling into an anxious grin. ‘You really are? Please tell me you really are.’ He removed his glasses with a shaking hand.
‘I am,’ she told him and laughed. ‘I don’t know what to do with myself.’
‘Oh, I do,’ he said, springing to his feet and striding over to her. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly against him. ‘I hope it’s a little girl,’ he breathed into her neck. ‘A miniature Sofia.’
‘God forbid,’ she giggled.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he sighed, pulling away from her and placing his large hand on her belly. ‘There’s a little human being in there, growing a bit every day.’
‘We can’t tell anyone for a couple of months - just in case,’ she cautioned him. Then she remembered the expression on Zaza’s face. ‘I had lunch with Zaza at her house. I pretended I had to go to the dentist. But you know Zaza. I
think she’s a little suspicious.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll fend her off,’ he said, kissing her forehead.
‘I would like to tell Dominique, though.’
‘Very good idea. You must tell anyone you like.’
Sofia didn’t suffer the usual morning sickness. In fact, to her surprise she felt incredibly well and boisterous. David flustered around her not really knowing how to cope but wanting to be involved and supportive. Where her last pregnancy had been a miserable experience, this time was altogether different. She felt so full of joy that Santiguito’s memory receded into the mists of her mind. David spoiled her with attention. He bought her so many gifts that after a few weeks she had to tell him not to buy any more as she was running out of places in the house to put them. She talked to Dominique every day, and the latter promised to come over at least once a month.
After the couple’s three-month silence was broken, Sofia was besieged by vans full of flowers and gifts from excited friends and relations of David’s. As she was unable to ride in her condition Sofia took up the piano again, taking lessons three times a week with a lively octogenarian whose face reminded her of a tortoise. She made regular visits to her gynaecologist in London and spent hundreds of pounds on items for her baby that she simply couldn’t do without. Certain that she was going to have a girl she chose the most feminine things she could find and asked Ariella to paint all the Winnie-the-Pooh characters skipping across the walls of the baby’s bedroom. ‘I want it to be a light, happy room,’ she said. Ariella's artistry was such a success that she ignited a trend that took her all over Gloucestershire with her paintbrush and E.H. Shepard’s illustrations to copy.
In February an exuberant Zaza arrived for tea with a carload of her children’s old baby clothes. She sat down on the sofa as near as possible to the fire and lit a cigarette with a gleaming silver lighter that Tony had given her for Christmas.
‘Darling, it’s so cold in this house. What’s happened to your heating?’ she complained, shivering.
‘I’m boiling hot all the time. I think it’s all part of being pregnant,’ said Sofia, who sat perfectly comfortably in a sleeveless polo-neck.
‘It might very well be, but what about the rest of us? Really, I’m surprised David doesn’t put his foot down.’
‘David’s an angel. He had to run out last Sunday and get me a jar of olives. I
had a terrible craving. I just had to have them.’
‘Yuck, I’ve never much liked olives. How ghastly,’ Zaza grimaced. ‘Now, let’s open this case and I shall show you my booty. No darling, not you. You sit where you are and let me do the heavy work,’ she added bossily when Sofia tried to help lift it onto the coffee-table. Zaza unzipped it with care, holding the zipper between the pad of her thumb and the knuckle of her forefinger to avoid breaking a nail.
These were Nick’s,’ she said, holding up a pair of red velvet trousers. ‘Adorable, don’t you think?’
‘Perfect for a two-year-old boy,’ laughed Sofia.This is going to be a girl.’ She placed a hand on her swollen belly.
‘You don’t know,’ said Zaza. ‘That lump looks like a boy. I remember, mine was that shape when I had Eddie. Dear little thing he was.’
‘No, I know it’s going to be a girl. I sense it.’
‘Whatever it is, as long as it has ten fingers and ten toes it really doesn’t matter.’
‘It does to me,’ Sofia said, wishing silently for a girl. This is sweet,’ she added, pulling out a tiny white dress. ‘Now this is for a baby girl.’
That was Angela’s. So pretty. Of course, they grow out of these things far too quickly.’
‘You’re very kind to lend them to me,’ said Sofia, holding a miniature pair of blue shoes.
‘Don’t be silly. I’m not lending them to you - I’m giving them to you. I don’t need them any more.’
‘What about Angela? She may need them one day.’
‘God - Angela!’ she huffed. ‘She’s going through that hideous adolescent stage. She says she doesn’t like men and that she’s in love with a girl called Mandy.’
‘She’s probably only doing it to irritate you,’ said Sofia knowingly.
‘Well, it’s working. Not that I’m worried about Mandy.’
‘You’re not?’
‘No, I’ve fancied women in my time - not that I’ve touched one since school. But Angela’s so moody with
it. She’s rude and disrespectful, spends all our money and then asks for more, as if the world owes her a living. Or at least that we do. Give me ten Eddies any day. The rate Angela’s going, she won’t be needing these,’ she said, stuffing her red talons into a couple of knitted
bootees. ‘No, I’m relying on Eddie to one day make me a granny, but not for many years, I hope. I’m really far too young and glamorous to be a granny. Seen Ariella lately?’
‘Not for a while, she’s busy painting.’
‘That room is something of a wonder to behold. She’s very talented,’ said Zaza, raising her thin eyebrows and nodding in admiration.
‘She’s coming for the last weekend in March,’ Sofia informed her. ‘Why don’t you and Tony come too? David would love to have you both. I’ve got my surrogate parents, Dominique and Antoine coming over as well. It’ll be great fun. You’d adore Dominique.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Ariella and I never did get on. I’ve never liked her,’ she mumbled hesitantly.
‘That was years ago. You’re both different people now. If I can love Ariella then surely you can too. Please come. Being pregnant is all very well, but I can’t ride and have very little to do except practise my scales for the tortoise. I need good company,’ she pleaded.
Zaza thought about it for a moment. ‘Oh, go on, twist my arm,’ she said happily. ‘I’d love to. It’ll give me a break from Angela. They can have the whole bloody house to themselves.’
Then that’s settled. Good,’ said Sofia.
As March was slowly driven out by an impatient spring that scattered the garden with snowdrops and early daffodils, Sofia’s belly swelled with the growing blessing inside her that decided to jump about whenever she wanted to be still. Sometimes she could see a little fist mould itself for a moment in her skin as the baby kicked and punched in its eagerness to come out into the world. Sometimes it danced to the hesitant music of her piano playing until the tortoise, Harry Humphreys, would look so afraid as to almost hide his face in his shell while her shirt moved around mysteriously beside him. David liked to place his head on her tummy and listen to the baby shuffling around in the amniotic fluid. They spent long hours discussing what they thought she would look like, what features of theirs she might inherit. ‘Your rich brown eyes,’ said David, kissing Sofia’s eyelids.
Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree Page 38
