Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree

by Santa Montefiore

  savage.’

  Chiquita laughed sympathetically; she wasn’t capable of thinking ill of anyone.

  ‘Anna, everyone loves Sofia, she is a free spirit. My Santi and Maria adore her, everyone forgives her everything. It is only in your eyes that she does wrong; in everyone else’s she can do no wrong at all. Anyway, what does it matter what other people think?’

  ‘It matters terribly to me. You know what they’re like. There’s nothing people like more than to gossip.’

  ‘Some people, yes, but they don’t matter,’ said Chiquita, watching her sister-in-law. After so many years Anna still felt she didn’t fit in, she still felt inferior, that’s why she worried so much about what other people thought of her children. She so desperately wanted to be proud of them. Their successes reflected on her, as did their failures. She felt compelled to prove her worthiness all the time. She could never relax.

  Chiquita wanted to tell her that it simply didn’t matter. Class didn’t matter. Everyone loved Anna; she was part of the family. They loved her the way she was; her insecurities were part of her, part of the reason they all loved her. At first when she had arrived at Santa Catalina all those years ago they saw her as a gold digger who wanted to marry Paco for his wealth and status. She didn’t fit in. But once she had gained her confidence the shy deer turned into a proud tiger who won the respect of everyone.

  Chiquita longed to tell Anna that Sofia was rebellious because Anna doted on her sons. She so obviously lived for Rafael and Agustin. If they had behaved as outrageously as Sofia did, Anna would have taken pride in the flamboyance of their characters instead of trying to subdue them with discipline. She would have been delighted to see her own defiance reflected in them and have encouraged them with love. Instead she was jealous of her daughter’s place in the family. Jealous that Sofia was such a large presence. Whether she was hated or loved no one could claim indifference. But Chiquita had tried before and her comments served only to draw attention to Anna’s feelings of inadequacy. She had learnt not to refer to it.

  ‘Anyway,’ sighed Anna to Chiquita’s relief, ‘enough of Sofia, her ears must be burning and that wouldn’t be very good for her at all. Now Rafael and Agustin are different people altogether. I believe Rafael is quietly dating Jasmina Pena - you know, Ignacio Pena’s daughter. Now that would be a good

  match,’ said Anna, breathing in through her nose with self-importance. ‘He thinks I don’t know, but I often hear him on the telephone. Of course I wouldn’t mention it to him, he’ll tell me in his own good time. He tells me everything, not like his sister who’s like a thief in the dark . . .’ She caught herself bringing the conversation back to Sofia again. ‘You must be so excited that Santiago’s coming home,’ she said, suppressing the need to complain further about Sofia. ‘I can’t imagine how you survived Christmas without him.’

  Chiquita shook her head forlornly. ‘It was terrible. Of course, I tried not to show it for the sake of the others, but you probably noticed. It just wasn’t the same. I love it when all of us are together. Anyway, he wanted to go to Thailand and travel around. He’s been everywhere. I don’t think there’s a single continent he hasn’t been to in the last year and a half. It’s been a wonderful experience. I think you’ll notice a big change in him. He’s a man now,’ she said proudly, recalling the spring break when she had realized that the child he had once been was gone for ever. His voice was low and gravelly, his chin dark with stubble, his eyes deeper due to experience and his physique strong and powerful like his father’s. She noticed too that his limp was now barely noticeable. ‘I can’t believe he is coming home,’ she sighed happily.

  Santi was due home in the middle of December, in time for the long summer break which lasted from December until March, after which he would start a five-year course at the university in Buenos Aires. He had missed one Christmas, Chiquita had been determined that he should not miss another. She had quietly counted the days, not wanting to wish her life away, but she could hardly help herself living for that day.

  On the morning of Saturday 12 December, having not slept at all during the night, she rose with joy in her heart. Opening the curtains the sunshine looked somehow more radiant than normal and the flowers more delicate. She busied herself going over Santi’s room again, placing a vase of fresh roses on his bedside table. The house was filled with excitement. Panchito ran around the ranch in a frenzy with his little cousins and the children of the gauchos and maids who lived on the farm. Fernando disappeared off on horseback, awaiting his younger brother’s return with mixed emotions, sensing the old feelings of jealousy and resentment emerging once again from their long sleep. Miguel had left early for the airport in the Jeep, leaving his wife distraught with impatience to arrange the lunch and Maria, not wanting to get in her mother’s way, ran over to Sofia’s house the minute she had finished her breakfast.

  She found Sofia sitting on the terrace with her family surrounded by cups of tea, medias tunas and bunuelos.

  lHola Maria, qu haces?’ she shouted when she saw her cousin approach.

  ‘Buen dia, Anna, Paco . . .’ said Maria, happily bending down to kiss each one.

  ‘Your mother must be so excited,’ said Anna, knowing exactly how she’d feel were it Rafael or Agustin returning home.

  ‘Oh, you can’t imagine, she didn’t sleep a wink last night. She’s been into his room a dozen times to make sure it’s perfect.'

  ‘Santi won’t even notice,’ said Agustin, buttering a media luna and dipping it into his tea.

  ‘Of course he will, he’ll notice everything,’ replied Anna enthusiastically. Maria pulled up a chair as Soledad emerged from the kitchen with another cup and saucer.

  ‘Miguel?’ asked Paco, without looking up from the newspaper.

  ‘He left early to pick Santi up from the airport.’

  ‘Bueno.' he replied, then getting up mumbled that he was off to Alejandro and Malena’s house for cocktails.

  ‘Bit early for a drink, eh Papa?’

  ‘At Alejandro and Malena’s all day is drink time, Sofia.’ And he wandered off, his grey hair glistening in the sunshine.

  ‘So Sofia, I bet you can’t wait to see Santi,’ enthused Maria, pouring herself a cup of tea. ‘I wonder what he’s going to look like? Do you think he’ll be at all different?'

  ‘If he’s grown a beard or anything silly like that I’ll kill him,’ she replied happily, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

  ‘He won’t recognize Panchito, he’s so grown up now - he’ll soon be playing polo with the big boys.’

  ‘And girls,’ added Sofia, glancing over at her mother from under her brow. Sofia knew it displeased Anna to see her daughter race up and down the pitch with the men and she enjoyed tormenting her. Why, when Maria was so dignified and feminine, was Sofia such a boy? Anna simply couldn’t understand it. ‘Hey, Rafa, the first thing Santi will want to do is play a game,’ she said naughtily. ‘Shall we get one together for him?’

  ‘You’re irritating Mama, Sofia, give her a break,’ he responded absentmindedly, engrossed more in the Saturday papers than in the girlie

  chitter-chatter of his sister and cousin. Anna sighed in a manner that was only ever for Sofia’s benefit, a long-suffering sigh with a shaking of her head.

  ‘Sofia, why don’t you see how things go. He’ll have so much to tell us all,’ she suggested tightly. Then, remembering Chiquita’s advice, she thought she’d give it a try and added weakly, ‘Actually, why shouldn’t Santi enjoy a game with you, Sofia? I’m sure he won’t want to sit talking to us all afternoon.’

  ‘Really?’ Sofia replied slowly. She looked quizzically at her mother, who simply smiled back at her and resumed eating her breakfast. After a while the two girls got up from the table and ran off into the house leaving the adoring Soledad to clean up after them.

  Once in Sofia’s floral pink room they fell onto the large bed, crumpling the freshly pressed linen spread and kicking their alpargatas onto the floor.
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  ‘Can you believe that?’ crowed Sofia.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mama - she said she didn’t mind me playing polo!’ She shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘That’s a first.’

  ‘Yes, it is. I wonder why?’

  ‘Don’t wonder, Sofia, just enjoy it.’

  ‘I will. Of course it won’t last.’ She sighed. ‘Wait until I tell Santi.’

  ‘How long have we got? Hours!’ grumbled Maria, looking at her watch.

  ‘I’m so excited I can hardly contain myself,’ enthused Sofia, her well-defined face blushing through her tan. ‘What am I going to wear?’

  ‘Well, what have you got?’

  ‘Oh, not much. All my smart things are in Buenos Aires. I always wear jeans or bombacbas del campo.’ She threw the wardrobe doors open. ‘See!’ The cupboard revealed little more than neatly folded piles of T-shirts and sweaters and rows of hanging denim jeans.

  ‘Right, let’s have a rummage,’ said Maria helpfully, delving further. ‘What are we going for, then? What’s the look of the day?’

  ‘Something like you,’ Sofia said, after a moment’s thought. Maria was wearing a pretty dress that reached down to her ankles, trimmed with lace and ribbon matching the ribbon in her long dark hair.

  ‘Like me?’ she replied in astonishment, crinkling up her nose. ‘But I’ve never seen you in a dress like this.’

  ‘Well, there’s always a first time. Look, Santi is coming back after two years

  and I want to wow him.’

  ‘Save your wows for Roberto.' replied Maria with a smile.

  Roberto Lobito was tall, bronzed, blond and had enough charm to date anyone he wanted. A close friend of Fernando’s he belonged to the Lobito clan of La Paz, the neighbouring estancia. Not only did he play a six-goal handicap on the polo field, he was also a crowd-puller. If Roberto Lobito was playing, all the girls on the farm, and most probably the neighbouring farms as well, would crawl out from under their romantic novels to watch him play.

  Sofia herself had never been interested. Even when he had chatted her up that time after the Copa Santa Catalina or the other time when he had cantered over to her and tapped her on her bottom with his polo mallet, she simply hadn’t cared. To Roberto that had made her different from all the other girls who blushed and stammered when he talked to them. There was no challenge in that. Sofia talked to him, joked with him, but he could tell she didn't fancy him and that made the chase all the more exciting.

  After her row with Maria, Sofia had thought it a good idea if she dated someone to lure her cousin off the scent. No one else suspected her covert feelings for her cousin except Maria, and the only way to convince her that she had grown out of her childish crush had been to seem passionately in love with someone else. She didn’t fancy anyone, so it hadn’t really mattered who she chose. Her pride meant that whoever she decided on had to be the bestlooking guy around, so she had chosen Roberto Lobito.

  It was easy. Instead of saying ‘no’ and laughing off his advances, she had allowed him to kiss her. It was a disappointment. Not that she had expected the pampa to shake, but a tremor would have been good. When his wet mouth had smooched on hers, his tongue playing with her not so enthusiastic tongue, she had pulled away in disgust. She simply couldn’t keep this up for too long. But then an idea had come to her. She closed her eyes and let him kiss her again. This time she had imagined it was Santi’s lips on hers, his hands around her waist, his chin scratching her skin. It had worked. Suddenly her heartbeat had quickened, her face had flushed and the pampa had quivered, almost. Anyhow it had been better than looking at Roberto Lobito’s eager face an inch away from hers.

  Not a minute of those twenty months had passed when she had not been thinking about Santi and longing for the day of his return. When he had left she had felt her whole world collapse about her. Santa Catalina just wasn’t the

  same without him. As she became Roberto Lobito’s girlfriend to the world, in her heart she became Santi’s secret lover - although there was a big difference: she never slept with Roberto Lobito. As she grew from a child into a woman she realized that her feelings had also grown into something else, something far more dangerous. She spent hot nights tossing in her large bed blushing at the sensual thoughts that entered her head. She often awoke in the early hours of the morning, her limbs aching with wanting him so much. She would lie frustrated under the sheets not knowing how to relieve herself from this oppressive heat. She knew these thoughts were sinful, but after a while she was so used to them they ceased to frighten her, but comforted her instead. So she indulged them.

  At the beginning she felt guilty and it was hard to get Padre Julio’s kind but disapproving face out of her thoughts. But after a while Padre Julio found better things to do than watch over Sofia’s nocturnal adventures and he disappeared altogether. Telling no one of her desires she guarded them closely, and her secret entertained and diverted her from missing him so much. In her heart she felt close to him even though he was miles away. And his letters, filled with memories of home and details of his new world, kept her going for days.

  Sofia pulled out a white sundress and held it up against her.

  ‘What about this one?’ she asked. ‘Mama bought it for me in an attempt to lure me off the polo field and out of jeans. I’ve never worn it.’

  ‘Well put it on, let’s have a look. Funny, I can’t imagine you in a dress,’ repeated Maria, frowning apprehensively.

  Sofia slipped the white cotton dress over her head, struggling to draw it over her chest and bottom. It was held up by two thin straps and structured to the hips before falling away from the body almost to the ground. In spite of being too tight around the hips it exhibited her small waist and broad, athletic shoulders in a manner that was almost brazen. Her swelling breasts pushed at the bodice without inhibition and gave the impression that with the slightest movement they might tear the material and burst forth. She flicked her long shiny plait out of the back and stood expectantly in front of the mirror.

  ‘Oh Sofia, you look beautiful,’ Maria sighed with genuine admiration.

  ‘You think so?’ she replied bashfully, turning to see how it looked from the back. She did indeed look lovely, although slightly uncomfortable; not used to wearing a dress she felt a little vulnerable and oddly demure - strange how a change of look seemed to be accompanied by a change of personality, she

  reflected with amusement. However, she was pleased.

  ‘I can’t wear my hair like this, I always have it like this. Can you put it up for me?’ she asked, suddenly swept up by the novelty of it all, wanting the change to be total and dramatic. Maria, still stunned by the transformation, sat Sofia at her dressing table and proceeded to pin her long dark locks onto the top of her head.

  ‘Santi won’t recognize you,’ she laughed, clenching the pins between her teeth.

  ‘Neither will anyone else,’ Sofia commented, barely able to breathe in her bodice. She played impatiently with the box of pins and ribbons as they laughed at the thought of everyone’s reactions. The only reaction, however, that Sofia was interested in was that of her favourite cousin whom she hadn’t seen for two long and painful years.

  Finally the day of his return had arrived and all that waiting and longing now seemed to her to have passed in a moment. Once Maria had pinned up her hair, Sofia took one last look at herself in the mirror before setting off to Chiquita’s house to await the arrival of the young hero.

  ‘What are we going to do till midday?’ said Maria as they walked through the

  trees to her house.

  ‘God knows,’ shrugged Sofia. ‘Perhaps we can help your mother.’

  ‘Help Mama? I can’t believe there is anything left for her to do!’

  Chiquita was wandering around her flowerbeds tending to the watering in an attempt to keep her impatience at bay. The tables for lunch had been set by Rosa, Encarnacion and Soledad and the drinks were cooling in ice buckets in the shade. As the t
wo girls approached she looked up and smiled broadly. She was a slender, elegant woman with style and good taste that permeated everything she did. At once she recognized the new Sofia and putting down her watering can approached her joyfully.

  ‘Sofia, mi amor, I can’t believe it is really you. You look fantastic. Your hair suits you so well like that. I imagine Anna must be thrilled you’re wearing the dress she bought you. You know we chose it together in Paris.’

  ‘Really? Well, that’s why it is so pretty then,’ replied Sofia, feeling a lot more confident now that her beloved aunt had approved.

  The three of them sat out on the terrace in the shade of two parasols, chatting away about nothing and everything, occasionally glancing at their watches to see how much longer they had to suffer the wait. After a while Anna arrived.

  In a pale blue dress and sunhat she looked ghostly but beautiful in a pre-Raphaelite sort of way. Paco arrived next with Malena and Alejandro and their children, followed shortly by Fernando, Rafael and Agustin. As soon as her brothers laid eyes on Sofia they couldn’t resist but tease her mercilessly.

  ‘Sofia’s a girl!’ goaded Agustin, looking her up and down in amusement.

  ‘No, really. What gives it away, boludoV she retorted sarcastically and for once her mother, thrilled that at last her daughter looked decent and pretty, silenced them with a sharp lashing of her tongue. The rest of the family arrived in small groups until they all waited together, drinking wine amid the smoke-filled air of the asado.

  As usual the packs of skinny dogs greedily sniffed the ground around the barbecue. Panchito and his little cousins ran after them squealing each time they managed to pull a tail or pat a furry head without their mothers noticing and sending them in to wash their hands.

  Finally, Sofia noticed a small cloud of dust gather in the shimmering distance and slowly approach.