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

did you?’
    ‘If you have to know - yes, I thought I could get around Papa.’
    Santi smirked in amusement, the lines around his eyes and mouth creasing in a way that was particular only to him. He looks so handsome when he smiles, thought Sofia to herself.
    ‘If anyone can get around old Paco, then you can - what went wrong?’
    ‘Let me spell it for you: M-A-M-A.’
    ‘Oh, I see. No hope then?’
    ‘None.’
    Santi climbed out and sat on the hot paving stones; his chest and arms were already covered in soft, sandy-coloured hair that the young Sofia found curiously intriguing.
    ‘Chofi, you have to prove to your father that you can play as well as Agustin,’ he suggested, pushing his dripping blond hair away from his eyes.
    ‘You know I can play as well as Agustin. Jose knows I can - ask him.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter what I think, or what Jose thinks - the only person you have to impress is your father... or mine.’
    Sofia squinted thoughtfully for a moment.
    ‘What are you plotting now?’ he asked, amused.
    ‘Nothing,’ she replied coyly.
    ‘I know you, Chofi...’
    ‘Oh look, we’re being invaded,’ said Maria as Chiquita and her youngest, three-year-old Panchito, neared the pool surrounded by five or six of the other cousins.
    ‘Come on, Santi,’ said Sofia, making for the steps. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ Then as an afterthought she turned to her cousin. ‘Maria, are you coming?’
    Maria shook her head and waved to her mother to join her.
    By twelve noon the rich, charcoal smell of the asado drifted on the breeze and hung about the ranch causing packs of bony dogs to linger hungrily about the barbecue. Jose had been tending the smouldering wood since io a.m. for the meat to be well cooked by lunchtime. Soledad, Rosa, Encarnacion and the maids from the other houses were setting out the tables for the traditional Saturday get-together. White tablecloths and crystal gleamed in the sunshine.
    Occasionally Senora Anna would put down her magazine and wander around in her straw sunhat and long white dress, checking the tables. To the maids she was something of a curiosity with her flame-red hair and pale skin -like the austere Virgin Mary in the little church of Nuestra Senora de la Asuncion in town. She was firm and direct and had little patience if something wasn’t to her liking. Her command of the Spanish language was surprisingly negligent for someone who had spent so many years of her life in the Argentine, and she was the subject of brutal imitation in the maids’ quarters.
    Señor Paco, however, was much loved by all at Santa Catalina. Hector Francisco Solanas, Paco’s late father, had been a strong-willed, dignified man who
    believed that family came before business and politics. He believed that nothing was as important as a man’s home. His wife, Maria Elena, was the mother of his children and for that he had held her in high esteem. He respected her and admired her and in his own way he loved her. But they had never been in love. They had been chosen for each other by their parents who were great friends and believed the match to be beneficial to both parties. On certain levels it was. Maria Elena was both beautiful and accomplished and Hector was swarthy and dashing with an acute business mind. They were the toast of Buenos Aires, in great demand. They entertained lavishly and were loved by everyone. Put it down to chemistry, they didn’t love each other in the way that lovers should. However, in the darkness of the midnight hours they had sometimes made love with such passion, as if they had momentarily forgotten themselves, or each other, only to wake up to their usual formality, to find that the intimacy of the night before had evaporated with the dawn.
    Maria Elena was aware that Hector had a mistress in town. Everyone knew. Besides, it was common for husbands to take lovers, so she came to terms with it and never spoke of it to anyone. To fill the void in her life she had given