Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Where will you say you’ve been?’ she asked him after a while. Neither of them had any idea what time it was.

  ‘Mama will know exactly where I’ve been. I’ll tell the truth but leave out the illegal parts,’ he smirked.

  ‘What will Claudia say?’ she laughed mischievously. But he shook his head anxiously.

  ‘You know, I hate to deceive her like this. She’s only ever been good to me.’

  Sofia wished she hadn’t mentioned her name. ‘I know, I don’t like to deceive David either. Let’s not think about it. Remember the Precious Present?’ she said brightly, but the moment had been spoiled. They swam for a while in silence, struggling with their consciences before sitting down on the paving

  stones to dry.

  ‘G for guilt, right?’ she whispered sympathetically.

  ‘Right,’ he replied, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. ‘But no R for regret.’

  ‘None?’

  ‘None. Come early tomorrow, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course, but I want to spend as much time with Maria as possible. She’s looking so much better than she did in the hospital.’

  ‘She is. But Chofi. .

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘She’s going to die.’ His voice quivered.

  ‘Miracles ...’

  ‘Happen, right,’ he choked and Sofia pulled him close as he disintegrated into deep, heartfelt sobs. She didn’t know the words to comfort him. There were no words And anyway, the words he wanted to hear she simply could not give him. So she held him to her chest and gave him time to cry out some of the pain.

  ‘Santi, sweetheart, let it all out. You’ll feel so much better afterwards.’ She

  found herself quietly crying too, but with a restraint that made her throat ache. She knew if she let herself go she would be inconsolable - and what’s more, her tears wouldn’t be for Maria alone.

  Chapter 42

  When Sofia returned to the house it was late and her parents were waiting for her on the terrace with Rafael and Jasmina. She explained that she had better bathe and change and asked if she could call home. She didn’t really want to, but she knew David would worry about her if she didn’t.

  ‘How is your cousin?’ he asked.

  ‘She won’t make it,’ Sofia replied sadly, ‘but at least I’m able to spend some time with her.’

  ‘Listen, darling, you can stay out there as long as you like. The girls are fine, everything’s fine.’

  ‘And the horses?’

  ‘Nothing new. The girls are missing you, though.’

  ‘I miss them too,’ she said, ashamed that the turmoil in her heart had overshadowed her pining for them.

  ‘Honor’s the lead in the school play this year. She’s absolutely delighted because the cast includes girls of seventeen and she’s only fourteen. I’m afraid she’s crowing rather too much.’

  ‘I can imagine.' she replied.

  ‘Here, she wants to talk to you.' he said. When Honor’s voice chirped into the telephone, Sofia felt her throat ache with a combination of guilt and homesickness.

  ‘Hi, Mum. I’m the lead in The White Witch,1 she exclaimed with glee.

  ‘I know, Daddy told me. Well done you.’

  ‘I have to learn my lines. I’ve got so many. I’ve got more than anyone else in the whole play and I’m having a special costume made for me by Miss Hindlip and elocution lessons in order to learn how to project my voice.’

  ‘You’ll be busy then, won’t you?’

  ‘Very. I won’t have any time to study.’

  ‘Nothing new about that,’ chuckled Sofia. ‘How’s India?’

  ‘Dad says it’s better that she doesn’t talk to you because it makes her sad,’ Honor announced in her elder-and-more-responsible-daughter tone of voice.

  ‘I see. Will you give her a special kiss for me then? I miss you both very much.’

  ‘You’re coming home soon, though, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course, sweetheart. Very soon,’ Sofia told her, trying to hide her emotion.

  ‘Will you pass me back to Daddy? A big kiss to you both.’ Honor made a kissing noise down the telephone before passing it to her father.

  ‘Is India all right?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘She’s fine. She misses you, that’s all. But don’t worry, she’s absolutely fine. You sound very down, darling. I’m so sorry, I wish I could be there for you.’ His voice was sympathetic but irritating. She felt edgy.

  ‘Look, I’d better go. It’s expensive. Give the girls all my love,’ she said.

  ‘Of course. And look after yourself, darling.’

  For a moment Sofia felt uncomfortable. The call left a bitter residue. She felt duplicitous and hated herself for her ability to lie so convincingly. Thinking of the innocent, trusting faces of her daughters made her deceit all the more despicable. David had never been anything but kind. His kind voice and kind words made her feel lower and meaner than she had ever felt. But when she appeared on the terrace a few minutes later, changed and ready for dinner, England retreated once more into the background and she was dwelling in the Precious Present of the warm, humid night, breathing the same air as Santi.

  Dinner was very pleasant. A couple of candle lamps lit the table and the melodies of Mozart’s Requiem resounded through the open drawing-room

  windows. She liked Jasmina very much and they chatted warmly like old friends.

  ‘We’re living in a terrible limbo,’ said Jasmina. ‘For the children life goes on. They are back to school on Monday. I don’t think they even know what’s happening. But for us, waiting like this, our lives are suspended until the moment when Maria will be taken from us. And we don’t know how long that will be.’ ‘What will you do?’ asked Sofia. ‘Will you return to Buenos Aires as usual?’ ‘No. The children will go back with Juan Pablo, the chauffeur, tomorrow night, but we will stay - and wait, I suppose.’

  ‘I shall be sad when Clara leaves; we’ve become quite attached.’

  ‘She’ll be sad to leave you - I think she’s got a bit of a crush.’ And she laughed in her charming, feminine way. ‘She’ll be back next weekend. By then you might be fed up with her.’

  ‘I don’t think so. She’s adorable.’

  ‘Rafa says she’s like you were at her age.’

  ‘I hope she doesn’t end up like me,’ she joked sadly.

  ‘I shall be proud of her if she does,’ Jasmina stated emphatically. ‘You know, Maria is so happy that you have come. She missed you. She spoke often about

  you.’

  ‘We were very close. It’s sad when life doesn’t turn out as one hoped,’ she said wistfully.

  ‘It is always unexpected, but that is what makes it an adventure. Don’t think of what you have missed, Sofia, think of what you have.’

  At that moment Soledad entered with Sofia’s favourite dessert, banana and dulce de leche crepes.

  ‘For you, Señorita Sofia,’ she beamed proudly and placed it on the table.

  ‘You are divine, Soledad. I don’t know how I survived without this for twenty-three years,’ replied Sofia, humouring her.

  ‘You won’t be without it again, Señorita Sofia.’

  ‘How long are you planning on staying?’ asked Rafael, not waiting but helping himself to a large portion of crepes.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied truthfully.

  ‘She’s only just arrived, mi amor, don’t ask her when she’s leaving,’ chided Jasmina.

  ‘You must stay as long as you like,’ said Paco. ‘This is your home, Sofia, you belong here.’

  ‘I agree, Papa. I told her she should bring her husband and children out here.’

  ‘Rafa, you know that’s impossible. What would David do?’ She laughed.

  That’s not the point. You can’t disappear for years, return and then leave us again!’

  Sofia glanced across the table at her mother. Just as she did so, Anna looked up and caught her eye. Sofia tried to work out what sh
e was thinking, but unlike her father Anna’s expression gave nothing away.

  ‘I’m flattered. Truly,’ she replied and helped herself to dessert.

  Agustin left us for America - I don’t know, young people these days,’ said her father, shaking his silver head. ‘In my day family stuck together.’

  ‘In your day, Papa, the situation in this country was such that you had to stick together. You never knew when one of the family would be snatched from under your very nose,’ Rafael said sombrely, remembering Fernando.

  ‘Times were hard.’

  ‘I remember as a child,’ he continued, ‘noticing that you were always neurotic about where we all were.’

  ‘Kidnapping was rife. You worried us constantly,’ said Anna. ‘Especially

  Sofia, disappearing all the time with Santi and dear Maria.’

  ‘So what else is new?’ quipped Rafael and Sofia didn’t know whether he was referring to the present or to her disappearing act all those years ago.

  ‘I never knew why you used to worry so much, Mama. I just thought you were paranoid,’ she said.

  ‘No, you didn’t. You just thought I was a killjoy. You gave me a very hard time, Sofia.’ She spoke, without the slightest hint of humour, although she hadn’t meant to sound quite so bitter.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mama.’ Sofia surprised herself because she meant it. She had never looked at herself through her mother’s eyes before. But now she was a mother herself, she worried constantly about her daughters. A small flicker of understanding lit up in her mind. She looked across at her mother and felt sad.

  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.’

  lClaro - 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 t
he 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...’