‘I’m glad you came,’ Anna smiled at her daughter, and suddenly Sofia remembered the letter. If Chiquita hadn’t written it, then it must have been her mother. She had wanted her to come back after all. She must have written it signing it with the name of her sister-in-law for fear that if she had signed it herself, her daughter might not have come.
The letter - it was you, wasn’t it?’ Sofia asked and grinned. ‘Very cunning, Mama!’
‘I can be cunning too, Sofia,’ she chided her daughter. ‘Ah, wait a minute,
don’t go yet. I have something for you,’ she said with a sudden, uncharacteristic burst of enthusiasm. ‘Something you should have had a long time ago. Wait while I go and get it.’
Anna retreated into the dark interior of the house. Paco noticed a bounce in her step that reminded him of the Ana Melodia he had lost somewhere way back, he couldn’t remember when, and his lips trembled with the hope that maybe he would find her again. When she returned she held a red packet in her hands. She handed it to her daughter who turned it over curiously. She began to tear the paper.
‘Open it in the car,’ insisted Anna, placing a hand on the packet to prevent her from seeing what was inside. ‘It's something to remember us by.’ Sofia blinked at her mother but the fog in her eyes meant she could see little more than a blur.
Paco embraced his daughter for the last time, relieved that the secret he had kept for twenty-three years was now shared with her; there were no more secrets to drive a wedge between them. Sofia had thanked him for giving Javier the best home he could possibly have. He belonged at Santa Catalina.
Sofia hugged him back knowing that many moons would pass before she would hold him again. She took one more look at the place that had once been her home and realized that, although she had changed and moved on, it would live in her heart and in her memory, untarnished, like sepia photos of another, happier time. Maria would be there too, her radiant face smiling out through the plumbago and hibiscus.
Sofia climbed into the car and waved one last time at her parents, who after years of estrangement had finally come to know their daughter again. She tore open the red paper with impatience. What could her mother have possibly bought her? When she pulled out a black leather belt with the silver buckle engraved with her initials the blur melted into large, sentimental tears.
As Sofia drove up the avenue of tall trees, the house disappearing into the shadows, she said to the chauffeur, Turn left at the end here. There’s one last place I want to go to before we hit the road.’ And she directed him to the ombu tree.
Chapter 50
The car rattled along the dirt track as far as it could go. Once they reached the end she asked the driver to wait for her while she went the rest of the way on foot. The air was now cool after the storm and the grass greener from the rain it had so desperately needed. She walked with a heaviness of heart down the path she had taken so many times in the last few days. She felt empty of emotion, as if her nerves had simply shut down and refused to feel any more.
She reached the tree that had seen her through all her troubles. It stood majestic and proud, like a dear old friend who never judged but observed with a quiet understanding. She ran her hand over its trunk with affection and recalled happier times with Santi. Looking out over the fields she saw the gauchos playing polo in the distance, their tanned bodies shirtless in the heat. Javier was among them. She couldn’t tell which one he was, but she knew he was there. There, where he belonged.
Suddenly she felt the presence of someone. She turned and saw the grim face of Santi. He looked just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
They said you had gone. I didn’t know what to do with myself,’ he exclaimed
in torment and strode over to embrace her.
‘I couldn’t bear to say goodbye to you again. I just couldn’t do it,’ she mumbled, feeling an overpowering sense of desolation.
‘I had just found you again,’ he said miserably. ‘I can’t let you go.’
‘It’s impossible, isn’t it? If only .. .’
‘Don’t,’ he choked. ‘If we start on the “if only” road we’ll grind ourselves into the ground.’ He nuzzled his face into her hair as if he wanted to hide from the inevitable.
‘I wouldn’t be the woman you love if I were capable of leaving my children,’ she said sadly, remembering Maria’s advice. She thought of Javier and the pain of having left him all those years ago still jarred at her conscience.
‘I just want to breathe the same air as you.’
‘But Maria was right. Our lives are so different now; we both have families we love. We can’t destroy all those people.’
‘I know. But I still keep trying to think of a way around it.’
‘There is no way. I don’t belong here any more.’
‘You belong with me. We belong together.’
‘It’s a beautiful dream, a lovely “what might have been”. But it’s impossible.
You know it’s impossible.’
He nodded and sighed deeply in resignation. Then let me take an inventory of your face so I never forget it,’ he said solemnly, running his fingers down her cheek. He kissed her eyes, ‘soft and brown like sugar’, he said, then he kissed her nose, her temples, her forehead, her jawbone telling her why he loved each part as he kissed it. Then he reached her lips. ‘I’ll never forget the feel of you, Chofi, or the smell of you.’ And he tasted the salt of her tears as he kissed her.
They hugged each other. Looking into his sea-green eyes Sofia knew that in their very secret depths she would dwell, and at night, when fantasy and reality are one, she would appear to love him again. She kissed his lips for the last time and the taste of him stayed with her long after they had parted. She turned back once to see his lonely figure sitting at the foot of their tree. She waved and then she turned and walked away. That picture of him sitting alone under the ombu tree would later appear whenever she closed her eyes.
They said the ombu tree wouldn’t grow in England. But I chose a place in our garden in Gloucestershire where the sun would set behind it and planted it all the same. It grew.
Acknowledgements
I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to my Argentine ‘family’ who embraced me into their world. They shared with me their home and their country, and inspired me to love both. Without them, this book could never have been written.
I would also like to thank Suzanne Baboneau and her brilliant team at Simon & Schuster for republishing this book with a new cover and to my agent, Sheila Crowley, for her wise counsel.
Thank you to my mother for her memories.
FIND OUT MORE ABOUT SANTA MONTEFIORE
Santa Montefiore is the author of eleven sweeping novels. To find out more about her and her writing, visit her website at
www.santamontefiore.co.uk
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Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree Page 55