Far From Home

by Val Wood

  ‘You must rest after your journey, Meester Newmarch.’ Sofia smiled at him. ‘And then I will take you to see the estate. Today we will have just a short ride and then tomorrow we will take a peecnic for lunch, yes? We will take wine, and chicken, and wine.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘And turkey and wine.’ She laughed. ‘We will cook on ze barbacoa,yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ he croaked as he considered the prospect of her company. She hadn’t mentioned her husband, and she had previously said that he wouldn’t be arriving until Saturday, which was the next day. ‘That sounds wonderful, señora.’

  She lightly touched his arm. ‘You must call me Sofia if we are to be friends.’ Her voice was low and seductive. ‘And what shall I call you, Meester Newmarch? You are not a stuffy Englishman, I think?’

  ‘No! No, absolutely not! Edward,’ he flustered. ‘I would be honoured if you would call me Edward.’

  ‘Ed-ward,’ she breathed, her tongue trilling around the letter r. ‘It is a very English name, I think?’

  ‘Yes.’ He felt totally tongue-tied. ‘It is.’

  When he had finished his glass of wine she poured him another and insisted that he ate some food before going to rest. ‘We will take a short reposo,’ she said, ‘and then when it is cooler we will ride.’

  ‘And will your daughters accompany us, señ— Sofia?’ he asked. ‘They are well, I trust?’

  ‘Sibella is resting, and then she must study. Elena,’ she shrugged expressively, ‘she has gone somewhere, I don’t know. She is very restless.’ She gave him a beguiling smile. ‘She needs to be tamed.’

  ‘Tamed?’ he queried. ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘Perhaps not.’ She gazed at him from her dark eyes, then lowered her lashes. ‘Not all women can be tamed, though often men think that they are.’

  He had no answer to give her, but simply murmured platitudes. She rang the bell again and a boy came to take him to his room, which was on the first floor, where the shuttered windows overlooked a green lawn. At the furthest edge of the lawn was a belt of trees and beyond that as far as he could see were acres of sugar cane.

  ‘What must it be like to own so much?’ he murmured as he lay beneath a mosquito net and between crisp cotton sheets. ‘I’m poor in comparison.’ He breathed deeply and considered. If I could marry Elena I would have a share in all of this. But I would always be tempted by the lovely Sofia. But I can’t! I’m a married man, goddamn it! I swear I would marry Elena if I wasn’t.

  He fell asleep and dreamed of May and Ruby. Ruby was walking away from him but May was pursuing him. She had a whip in her hand and was lashing furiously around his head, calling him all manner of names, though he couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  Someone knocked softly on the door. ‘Señor,’ they called. ‘Señor!’

  ‘Coming!’ He sat up. ‘Yes. I’m coming.’ He rubbed his eyes. Would anyone find out if I married Elena? he wondered. Nobody knows anything about me. Only Allen, and I could pay him off. But no. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the thing. Not the English way. Not gentlemanly!

  A tray of tea was brought to him and he thanked the maid for her thoughtfulness. I hardly ever drank tea at home, he mused, but I suppose they think that all English people do. I’d much rather have coffee.

  Sofia was waiting for him and led him outside, where a groom was waiting with two horses. A dun-coloured criollo with a side saddle for her and a sturdy black mustang for him. Sofia wore a green riding habit and a matching hat with a veil which partially hid her eyes. They rode, followed by the groom, down the long drive and headed towards a narrow creek where she pointed out the extent of their land. ‘All that you can see across the water,’ she pointed, ‘belongs to Sancho. And up ’ere.’ She raised her arm to her right, and then to her left. ‘And as far as the ’orizon. That is sugar cane,’ she said. ‘And where you cannot see, he grows cotton.’

  He was very impressed. I must buy land, he thought. That is the thing to have in this country. ‘I have shares in a cotton mill,’ he began. ‘In England.’

  ‘Oh!’ She turned to him. ‘You own a cotton mill?’

  ‘Well, not exactly own it, but I own part of it!’ That’s almost true, he thought defensively. I do own a number of shares.

  He saw a gleam in her eyes. ‘That is good. So you are rich, yes? Like Sancho?’

  He smiled and shook his head, though he didn’t deny it. ‘I have a private income,’ he said modestly. ‘My father left me an annuity when he died.’ Though not enough, he deliberated. Martin got the estate. If it wasn’t for May’s money I wouldn’t be able to manage.

  ‘Ah!’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And you will have your poor wife’s money, of course?’

  ‘Wh-what?’ He was startled by her question. ‘My – wife?’

  ‘Yes.’ She showed concern and solicitude. ‘Your poor wife who died!’

  ‘Oh! Yes!’ He broke into a sweat. For a moment he had thought he was found out. He put his hand across his face. ‘Forgive me,’ he murmured. ‘Sometimes I can’t bear to think of it.’

  She leaned across and touched his arm. ‘You must learn to love again,’ she said softly. ‘It is the only way to recover.’ She searched his face as he put his hand over hers. ‘You must learn to love and you must marry for a second time.’ She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. ‘And you do not ’ave to do the two things at the same time or wiz ze same person!’

  What is she saying? A pulse hammered in his throat. Is she suggesting something?

  She gathered up the reins and kicked in her heels. ‘I am telling you of this, Ed-ward.’ Once more her tongue purred seductively around his name. The mare started to trot on. ‘Because I know it.’

  That evening they dined alone, though there was always a servant hovering in the background. Sibella came in after they had finished eating to kiss her mother goodnight, and greeted Edward charmingly, but Elena did not appear.

  ‘She is busy wiz her horses, I think,’ Sofia said when Edward nervously asked about her. ‘She likes to ride. She is a good horsewoman. She knows also about cotton and cane. She would be able to run a plantation if she should marry someone with land.’

  He nodded and wished he hadn’t mentioned Elena’s name.

  ‘They will come with us tomorrow,’ Sofia continued. ‘Elena and Sibella, on our peecnic.’

  He was disappointed, for he had thought that he was going to have Sofia all to himself. He felt reckless and heard, in every word that Sofia uttered, a hint or suggestion that their relationship could be more than just sociable. She was not coquettish or provocative, but she gazed at him in such a beguiling manner and spoke so seductively that he was enraptured and captivated by her.

  A host of servants accompanied them the following morning, as well as Sibella and Elena. Some of the servants rode or walked ahead with mules which were laden with baskets, and others walked behind carrying branches of green wood, iron cooking pots and pans.

  Elena was as fine a horsewoman as her mother had described, and she took on a different persona when on horseback. She looked confident and even quite handsome in her dark maroon habit, and unlike her mother and sister did not wear a hat or veil but caught up her thick hair in a crocheted snood.

  ‘You come and ride with me, Meester Newmarch,’ she called, wheeling her horse in front of Edward. ‘I will show you where we go.’

  He hesitated, but to refuse would seem churlish, so with an apologetic smile at Sofia, he trotted off after her.

  The trail they were following ran between acres of cotton fields which widened out, then dropped into a gentle green valley. ‘There,’ Elena pointed as they came to a halt at the top of the hillside. ‘Down by the trees. You see the river? Here is where we stop.’

  She turned to him. ‘You have decided to marry me? Yes?’ she said. ‘That is why you have come?’

  ‘I – no! I cannot. My wife!’ What am I to do? he worried. How can I get out of this?

  ‘Then why you come?’ Her eyes flashed.

&nbs
p; ‘I was invited,’ he insisted. ‘Your mother—’

  ‘Tst,’ she said impatiently. ‘It was Sancho who invited you.’ She gazed at him scornfully. ‘Do not think it was for friendship, señor. Sancho does not have time for friendship, ’e only has time for business.’ She rubbed the tips of her fingers together. ‘And for money.’

  She kicked her horse on and rode down the valley, and he followed reluctantly. He could hear the voices of the servants behind as they laughed and chattered.

  ‘’Ere is where we would live.’ She went on as if there had been no break in the conversation and no refusal on his part. ‘At the top of the valley.’ She pointed upwards to a bank of trees. ‘There we would build a ranch ’ouse and grow cotton. It is good land beyond the trees. Flat land where we could watch the cotton grow.’

  ‘But, Elena,’ he said in desperation. ‘Why me? There must be other men you would rather marry. A farmer perhaps who knows about growing things? I’m not a countryman!’

  She smiled then and nodded. ‘That is why! I would grow the cotton, with Zac. ’E would be the one, and we can ship it to your mill in England and make you rich!’

  ‘Zac?’ he said, stupefied, and couldn’t remember telling her about the cotton mill. ‘Who is Zac?’

  ‘Zachariah. My man.’

  He exhaled. ‘The man you want to marry?’

  ‘Sancho will not let me.’ She turned her lips down. ‘But if I marry you, Sancho will be ’appy. You are an Eenglish gentleman. It will bring ’im – what you call it? Presteem?’

  ‘Esteem – prestige! But why will it?’

  ‘He will not let me marry a quadroon.’ She gave a derisory grimace. ‘Nor a Spaniard. I would taint ze blood. But a Frenchman is all right or an Englishman. Eenglish is good, you ’ave a castle, yes? And once we are married Sancho has no control over me. Only you ’ave that, Meester Newmarch.’

  Fat chance of that! Edward thought. If anyone was to have control it would be Elena, and he resented the fact that she was not allowed to marry a Spaniard but could marry an Englishman or Frenchman. Damned foreigners, he grumbled to himself. How dare Rodriguez compare the French with the English!

  The others caught them up and the servants proceeded to erect the barbacoa frame. They first prepared a fire of twigs and branches, then around it they hammered four stout wooden uprights into the ground, split the tops into a fork to take parallel bars, and criss-crossed these with green wood which would not burn but only singe. They set light to the fire, and from this they made another fire for hot water and to cook beans and corn.

  Elena went with some of the men and girls to catch fish from the river. The young servant girls babbled and giggled and ran ahead to jump into the shallows, laughing and screeching in their excitement. Edward watched Elena as she moved towards a young male servant. He was much taller than her and heavily built, his wide shoulders bulging beneath his cotton shirt. They briefly touched hands before drifting apart. So that is Zac, Edward thought uneasily. Elena looks petite at the side of him. What a formidable pair.

  Chicken and turkey were put on the roasting frame and the fatty juices sizzled and spat onto the flames, sending up a delicious aroma. Then the first of the freshly caught fish wrapped in green leaves was added, cooking quickly as the fire grew hotter.

  ‘Ed-ward.’ Sofia held out her hand to him. A blanket and cushions were laid out beneath a tree on the ground behind her. ‘Come and sit by me.’

  A girl brought a jug of wine and a dish of almonds and grapes. Sofia poured the wine and handed a glass to Edward. She raised her glass in a toast. To friendship,’ she said softly, before taking a sip, then leaned towards him and kissed him gently on the lips.

  He gave a small gasp and put out his hand to draw her closer, but she gave a slight shake of her head and moved away. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Just a leetle aperitif.’

  He took a large gulp of wine, then lay back on the cushions and closed his eyes. The sun warmed his face, the wine warmed his blood, he could smell Sofia’s perfume and he wanted to take her in his arms and make love to her, to kiss her soft mouth and feel her yielding body next to his. Ruby, he groaned. I’m forgetting you already.

  ‘Ed-ward, are you all right?’ Sofia bent over him.

  ‘No, I’m not all right,’ he murmured and clutched her hand. ‘I want you. You are the most beautiful woman in the world and I am mad with desire for you.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sofia stroked his cheek, seeming not to mind that the servants were around. ‘Sancho is frequently away,’ she said softly. ‘We would see each other often if you were part of the family. If you married my Elena.’

  It doesn’t seem quite right, he thought. Though I find her most desirable, this is Elena’s mother suggesting infidelity if I marry her daughter! I’m used to the reserve and formality of Englishwomen. English gentlewomen, at least, he mused as he gazed at Sofia. Not young women such as my darling Ruby. No, she was quite different. Sofia is Mexican of course, and probably hot-blooded. He started to sweat and became quite agitated as he thought of what making love to an uninhibited Sofia might be like.

  He cleared his throat. ‘I will give it some thought, Sofia,’ he said, ‘about marrying Elena, I mean. She is very young and perhaps might fall in love with someone else—’

  ‘Tst, tst,’ she said. ‘She has already, but she cannot marry him. Sancho will not allow it.’ She smiled sweetly and seductively. ‘You would be the perfect ’usband for her. She would be good to you, and you would become much richer from cotton in New Orleans than in England.’ She ran slender fingers along his thigh. ‘And also have much pleasure.’

  Then, though his senses flared and he caught his breath, he remembered that it was Sofia he had told of the cotton-mill shares he held in England, and realized that it was she who must have told Elena. They are setting a snare, he deduced, as he played with Sofia’s fingers. Sofia is arousing me, enticing me, promising me her favours, so that I will marry her daughter. But will she keep her promise? And what of Sancho? What would he do if he found out?

  They ate and drank and when the younger servants had finished serving the food, they, with Elena and Sibella, ran towards the river and played games. Edward was bewildered by the lack of formality between the Rodriguez family and their servants. If I had brought Allen along, I couldn’t see him cavorting around in front of me as they are doing.

  ‘This is not like England, I think?’ Sofia said softly. ‘Your slaves do not have such fun?’

  ‘Slaves!’ He was horrified. ‘We don’t have slaves in England! Though I know that once we did.’

  She gave a little shrug. ‘Our slaves are ’appy. They are fed and clothed and ’ave a little cabin to live in, and as long as they do not misbehave, they stay with us for ever. We look after them and they look after us.’

  ‘And what abut Zac?’ he asked. ‘Is he a slave?’

  ‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘He is not. ’E is a servant. A free man. He would not be tolerated near Elena if ’e was a slave.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Your first husband was a slave, yet you married him.’

  ‘Yes, he was his father’s slave,’ she admitted. ‘But now is different. I was very poor when I met Brown, but Elena is a daughter of rich parents so she must marry well.’ She leaned towards him and whispered. ‘Sancho would kill Zac if he thought they were ’aving a liaison.’

  Edward thought it unlikely. He had seen the size of Zac. Rodriguez was slimly built and older, but, he pondered, he probably has plenty of people who would willingly put Zac out of reach.

  ‘They will be found out. We must save them, Ed-ward.’ Sofia’s eyes were moist and appealing. ‘Please ’elp us. Sometimes Sancho can be so cruel.’

  A sudden low cry was uttered by one of the servants and he pointed along the valley to the top of the hillside. A man on horseback could be seen looking down on them, his figure and that of his horse etched on the skyline.

  ‘Sancho,’ Sofia said s
oftly, and she clapped her hands and said something in Spanish. Immediately everyone moved into action. More wood was put on the low fire, the servants down by the river raced back, as did Elena and Sibella, and Sibella skipped and ran along the valley to greet her father and ride up behind him.

  Rodriguez kissed his wife and shook Edward’s hand and accepted a glass of wine from one of the young girls, who dimpled and curtsied when he spoke to her.

  More meat was put over the fire and Sancho sat on the blanket beside Edward and lazily popped almonds into his mouth.

  ‘So, Newmarch,’ he began formally. ‘How do you like our country house?’ He swept a hand around to encompass the surroundings. ‘And our garden?’ he joked.

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ Edward replied quite truthfully. ‘And do you know that in England, it is probably raining and people will be preparing for the winter?’

  ‘Hah!’ Rodriguez said. ‘I do not wonder that so many people come here. It is a good place to live, yes?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Very good indeed.’ Edward felt safer now that Rodriguez was here, even though he might try to persuade him to marry Elena and offer incentives to do so. I can resist money, he thought, but I cannot resist the temptation of Sofia. I am bound to fall.

  That evening, as it became cooler, fires were lit in all the rooms of the house. They ate in the dining room by the glow of a wood fire and the flames of dozens of candles which were placed on the table, in alcoves, in front of mirrors and windows, so that they were reflected from the glass into shimmering, scintillating dozens more.

  Edward drank more wine as it was offered, though he knew that he shouldn’t. He was feeling quite heady as he had drunk wine steadily during the day, but he was lulled into a sense of ease as Sancho’s mother was at the supper table as well as Elena and Sibella, and he was sure that the conversation would be general rather than personal. When they had finished eating, the ladies excused themselves and he and Rodriguez withdrew into a small library where there were comfortable leather chairs and a fire blazing in the hearth.

  ‘Port, Newmarch? Or perhaps you would prefer cognac?’ Rodriguez indicated the decanters on a side table.