Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree by Santa Montefiore Read Free Book Online

round terracotta pots of geraniums and plumbago.
    At home, Paco and Anna were already up and sipping coffee on the terrace, shaded from the sun under a large parasol. Grandpa O’Dwyer was practising card tricks on one of the skinny dogs who, hopeful for a scrap from the table, was unusually compliant. Paco, in a pink polo shirt and jeans, was sitting back in his chair reading the papers through the pair of glasses perched on the end of his hooked nose. As Sofia approached he put down the paper and poured
    himself some more coffee.
    ‘Papa ...’ she began.
    ‘No.’
    ‘What? I haven’t even asked you yet,’ she laughed, bending down to kiss him.
    ‘I know what you’re going to ask me, Sofia, and the answer is no.’
    She sat down and grabbed an apple, then noticing his mouth curve into a small smile she fixed him with her chestnut eyes and grinned back with a smile she reserved for him or her grandfather, childish and mischievous, but utterly charming.
    ‘Dale Papa, I never get the chance to play, it’s so unfair! After all, Papito, you taught me how to play.’
    ‘Sofia, enough is enough!’ scolded her mother in exasperation. She couldn’t understand why her husband fell for it every time. ‘Papa has said no, now leave him alone and eat your breakfast decently - with a knife!’
    Irritated, Sofia stabbed sulkily at her apple. Anna ignored her and leafed through a magazine. She could feel her daughter watching her out of the corner of her eye and her expression hardened with resolve.
    ‘Why don’t you let me play polo, Mama?’ she asked in English.
    ‘It’s just not ladylike, Sofia. You are a young woman, not a tomboy,’ she replied steadily.
    ‘Just because you don’t like horses ...’ Sofia mumbled petulantly.
    ‘That’s has got nothing to do with it.’
    ‘Yes it has. You want me to be like you, but I’m not like you - I’m like Papa. No es cierto, Papa? 1
    ‘What were you talking about?’ asked Paco, who hadn’t been listening to their conversation. He tended to lose interest when they spoke English. At that moment Rafael and Agustin staggered out into the light like a couple of vampires, squinting uncomfortably into the sunshine. They had spent the best part of the dawn at the small nightclub in town. Anna put down the magazine and watched tenderly as they approached.
    ‘Definitely too bright,’ groaned Agustin. ‘My head is killing me.’
    ‘What time did you two get back last night?’ she asked sympathetically.
    ‘About five a.m. Mama. I could have slept all morning,’ replied Rafael, kissing her unsteadily. ‘What’s up, Sofia?’
    ‘Nothing,’ she snapped, narrowing her eyes. ‘I’m going to the pool.’ And off she flounced. Once she had gone, Anna picked up her magazine again and smiled wearily at her sons in a manner they were both familiar with.
    Today is going to be a bad day,’ she sighed. ‘Sofia is very upset that she isn’t allowed to play in the match.’
    l Por Dios , Papa - no way is she going to play!’
    ‘Papa, you’re not seriously considering it, are you?’ choked Agustin.
    Anna was thrilled that for once her capricious daughter hadn’t managed to manipulate her father and she smiled at him gratefully, placing her hand briefly on his.
    ‘For the moment I’m only thinking about whether to have butter on my media luna, to have toast with membrillo or to have nothing but coffee. That is the only decision I feel like making this morning,’ he replied and picking up the paper disappeared behind it once more.
    ‘What was all that about, Anna Melody?’ asked Grandpa O’Dwyer who didn’t understand a word of Spanish. He belonged to the generation that expected everyone to speak English. Having lived in Argentina for sixteen years he had never even attempted to learn the language. Instead of picking up the essential phrases, the staff at Santa Catalina had found themselves having to interpret
    his gestures or the few words of Spanish that he would