The Swallow and the Hummingbird (22 page)

Chapter 14

George rode out across the plains, squinting in the sunlight and blinking away the mist of dust kicked up from Jose Antonio’s horse galloping furiously in front of him. But all he could think about was Susan. What strange coincidence was at play? Could some fortuitous twist of fortune have made their paths cross once again? Her face surfaced in his mind and this time he didn’t will it away but allowed his inner vision to dwell on it, hoping with all his heart that he had understood his uncle correctly, that the ‘token’ his aunt had brought back from Buenos Aires was Susan.

The afternoon seemed interminable. He was too distracted to be of any use on the farm. The gauchos teased him, certain that a woman was to blame for scrambling his brain. They gesticulated to him with their hands, suggesting all sorts of unspeakable sexual acts then laughed raucously, nudging each other in amusement. He was a handsome man; it was unthinkable that he wasn’t taking advantage of the whores in Jesús Maria. Finally Jose Antonio dismissed him.

‘Go and entertain the women,’ he said, grinning at his nephew. ‘The sun has obviously penetrated your skull.’

George protested. He didn’t want the gauchos to think him faint-hearted.

‘I’m a little tired,’ he explained. ‘But nothing I can’t handle.’ If they only knew what he had been up against in the skies over Britain! His uncle slapped him on the back and winked at him affectionately.

‘There’s nothing more for you to do today, gringo. La Gorda will be happy to see you. Have tea, a swim, a rest. Take the afternoon off. You deserve it.’

George knew he didn’t deserve it at all, but did as he was told. He knew better than to argue with Jose Antonio.

He turned his horse around and galloped back to the
puesto
. He hastily removed the tack and brushed his horse down before tying him up in the shade with a bucket of water. His legs felt weak as if he had borrowed them from someone else and was having trouble getting used to them. As he walked unsteadily through the trees to the house he prayed that it was Susan and not some other woman with a scarred face who had come to stay at
Las Dos Vizcachas
.

As the house came into view he was able to make out two women sitting on the veranda taking tea. He squinted to see them better. The woman facing him was without doubt his aunt. Her large form was unmistakable. She sat holding a teacup with her arms on the table, her solid bosom resting heavily on the tablecloth. The other was at an angle, talking to her. Her hair, tied into a neat chignon at the nape of a long and elegant neck, was pale yellow, almost white, and shone with health. With graceful fingers she curled a stray wisp around her ear then stroked the skin of her neck absent-mindedly. He felt his heart stumble. It was Susan. It couldn’t be anyone else. As he got nearer he saw that she was wearing a white dress imprinted with blue flowers and he was sure he could smell lily of the valley, carried above the scents of the park on a warm breeze. He wondered whether he should go and change first – he imagined he looked grubby with dust and smelt of sweat and horses – but, before he could decide, his aunt spotted him and began to wave at him vigorously. He had no choice but to walk over.

Susan turned around and smiled at him. She extended her hand and greeted him formally. ‘Hello,’ she said in a polite voice. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your aunt has told me so much about you.’ George understood at once that she was pretending they had never met. He took her hand and held it for a little longer than was necessary. He gazed into her pale eyes, silently questioning her. But she looked away and said to Agatha, ‘He’s obviously settled in well, one could almost mistake him for a gaucho.’

‘My husband is delighted with him. A quick learner with a good sense of humour. Jose Antonio is very hard to please.’ George was irritated that they were discussing him as if he wasn’t there. He felt gauche standing like that while they appraised him. His excitement drained away, leaving an aching disappointment.

‘How was your trip, Aunt Agatha?’ he asked, trying his best to act casually, as if Susan meant nothing to him.

‘You won’t believe the difference in Dolores. She’s been transformed into a placid human being. She even smiles. In all the time I’ve lived here I have not once seen her smile.’

‘She sounds like she’s making up for lost time,’ said Susan.

‘Well, she’s got a lot of making up to do!’ Agatha laughed. ‘I found Susan languishing in the heat in Buenos Aires. Thought she would enjoy spending Christmas with us. More the merrier and all that.’

‘It really is stifling in the city in December,’ Susan agreed. ‘It’s lovely up here.’ George noticed that Susan didn’t really look at him. Her eyes might settle on him every now and again as they conversed but they seemed not to see him.

‘George has learned Spanish,’ said Agatha. ‘He learned much faster than I imagined he would.’

‘Enthusiasm is the best incentive,’ said Susan. ‘Does he ride like a gaucho too?’

‘I think he even castrates like a gaucho!’ Agatha replied with a snort.

George felt the irritation rise in his chest and clenched his fists. Defeated he put his hat back on.

‘Please excuse me, I would like to clean up,’ he said, resting his eyes on Susan once again. She smiled up at him, but her smile was remote as if she had forgotten their intimacy on the
Fortuna
.

‘Have a swim, George,’ Agatha suggested. ‘Then come and join us for tea.’

George closed the door to his bedroom and stood leaning against the wall, breathing through his nostrils like a furious bull. Once again she had treated him like a little boy. He was maddened by her and frustrated. If his aunt hadn’t been there he would have confronted her. What was she doing at
Las Dos Vizcachas
? If she hadn’t come for him, why had she come? He didn’t believe for one moment that it was a coincidence. She knew he was there and had been expecting him, for her reaction was flawless. As cool and impenetrable as she had been the first time they met on the deck of the ship.

He scrambled out of his trousers and shirt, leaving them on the tiled floor in a pile of dust for Agustina to pick up. He wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed his packet of cigarettes and strode back up the corridor and out of the back door to the pool. He was so angry he didn’t notice the light clamour of birds, the lucid sunspots that danced about on the grass at his feet, or the intoxicating scent of gardenia. At the edge of the pool he shed his towel and stood a moment contemplating the limpid water. The afternoon sun bathed his skin, now brown like the gauchos’, and caught on the newly formed muscles that swelled beneath his flesh. He’d show her how much of a man he was.

He dived naked into the water, which was deliciously refreshing against his warm skin. It seemed to wash away all his fury. He swam energetically up and down, kicking with his feet, splashing the water into the air. After a while he draped himself over the edge, gazing across the park. He was reluctant to return to the veranda. If his aunt were there he wouldn’t be able to talk to Susan. The idea of pretending they had never met now seemed tiresome. He decided to spend the evening in the pool, that way he would avoid tea altogether. Perhaps he would have a chance to talk to her alone before dinner.

He pushed himself off the edge and began to swim lengths again. He did backstroke, front crawl, breaststroke and one or two entirely underwater. He was a beautiful swimmer and recalled for a moment those summer evenings in the sea at Frognal Point. Finally, exhausted, he paused at one end and raised his eyes. To his surprise Susan was sitting patiently on the bench watching him. She smiled when he looked at her. This time her smile was warm and full of affection. He swam slowly to the other end and rested his arms on the tiles in front of her.

‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.

‘For some time,’ she replied, amused. ‘I knew you were a fine swimmer. I was right not to tell you my secrets.’

‘What have you done with Aunt Agatha?’

‘Dolores was calling for her. I thought I would take a walk. I could hear your splashing from the other side of the park.’

‘Good.’ He grinned up at her. His crooked grin that had haunted her dreams ever since she had left him on the
Fortuna
. ‘Will you throw me my towel?’

She stood up and held it out to him, unable to tear her eyes away as he climbed naked up the steps. His body was honey-brown and perfectly proportioned and toned as she had imagined it would be. He took the towel and wrapped it around his waist, pushing his curly hair off his forehead with his hand.

They sat on the bench and George lit a cigarette. He offered her one but she declined.

‘I think I have some explaining to do,’ she ventured.

‘Yes, you do,’ he replied. She tilted her head and frowned.

‘I’m sorry I was so cold. I was nervous.’ George had thought her incapable of feeling nervous. She was always so composed and in control. ‘I met your aunt at a dinner party. She spoke about you. I’m afraid I engineered the whole thing.’ She turned and looked at him with the same sad eyes that had gazed out across the ocean and said in a quiet voice, ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we parted.’ George’s spirits lifted. He felt his whole body tremble, but this time with joy.

‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, either,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t think I would ever see you again.’ She chuckled, and touched his arm with nervous fingers.

‘Neither did I. But fate interceded.’ He put his hand on hers and squeezed it.

‘I’m so glad you’re here, Susan.’ She visibly relaxed as if she had needed confirmation that he still wanted her.

‘I think your aunt took pity on me when she saw my face. It has its advantages, you know.’

‘I like your scar because it’s you,’ he said and watched as she fingered it with her other hand. ‘To me, you’re more beautiful because of it.’ She turned her eyes away and blinked uncomfortably.

‘If you’re lucky your scars are on the inside,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Still, it got me here with you so I’m grateful.’

‘So we’re pretending to Agatha and Jose Antonio that we’ve never met?’ She blushed.

‘I know it’s absurd but I didn’t know what to do. By the time your aunt asked me up here I had feigned ignorance about you. It was then too late to tell her the truth. Besides, perhaps she would have suspected I had ulterior motives and not invited me.’

‘You’re a better actress than I am,’ he said with a smile.

‘Only when my future depends on it.’

He looked at her steadily for a long moment. She turned and settled her eyes on his. He felt a sudden urge to trace his fingers down her scar but Agatha’s loud, booming voice resounded across the park, causing them both to sit up with a start.

‘George! Susan! Your tea’s getting cold!’

They stood up and George stubbed his cigarette into the grass and threw it beneath the bushes. ‘Act one, scene one,’ he said, grinning happily and taking her hand. They walked towards the house but George, overcome with impatience, suddenly pulled her behind a tree and kissed her ardently on her lips. She giggled like a young girl and wound her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. She kissed him back, without inhibition. ‘That will keep me going, but only for an hour or so!’ he said, stroking her smooth cheek. She put her hand against his chest and gazed up at him with eyes that no longer looked sad.

George had a quick bath and changed into clean clothes, washed and pressed by Agustina. When he reached the terrace Susan was already there, talking with Jose Antonio, Agatha and the two children, recently returned from school. ‘Gringo, have you met Susan?’ Jose Antonio asked, gesticulating towards her. She sat beside him like a fragile bird in the shadow of a bear.

‘Yes, we’ve met,’ she replied, her eyes twinkling at George. ‘I found him in the swimming pool.’

‘I do hope you were wearing something, George,’ said Agatha. ‘Like Jose Antonio, George thinks nothing of throwing himself into the water naked. Even I’ve found myself blushing once or twice.’

‘Don’t worry, Agatha, he was very proper,’ said Susan, picking up her teacup and taking a sip.

‘So what brings you to the Argentine?’ asked Jose Antonio, slicing off a large piece of cheese, which he ate with
membrillo
on a dry biscuit. ‘There’s no war in America.’

‘I was in England, actually,’ she replied coolly. ‘I lived here as a child. My father was a diplomat.’

‘Are you staying long?’

‘I don’t know. I have no plans.’

Jose Antonio frowned. There was something very mysterious about her. She answered in short sentences in a tone that suggested she was uncomfortable talking about herself. He longed to know how she was so horribly scarred but knew it would be impolite to ask. He would get Agatha to ask her later.

‘She was suffocating in the city. I thought a bit of country air would do her good,’ said Agatha. ‘Nothing like life on a farm. You can take her riding, George, or into Jesús Maria. If you’re interested in old colonial churches, Susan, there was once a thriving Jesuit culture here.’

‘Oh, I know,’ Susan replied enthusiastically, happy to change the subject. ‘My father was very interested in history and took us up here as children. We visited Santa Catalina, Las Teresas, Alta Gracia, Colonia Caroya, Estancia La Candelaria. But I would love to go and see them again. I was very small and don’t remember a great deal.’ She turned to Jose Antonio. ‘Can you spare George?’ He threw his head back and laughed boisterously.

‘I think the gauchos will manage without him!’ Then he raised his teacup to George. ‘What do you think, gringo?’

‘I’d like to see those places myself. Since I arrived I haven’t had a chance to be a tourist.’

‘Working you too hard, eh?’

‘You must go into the sierras,’ suggested Agatha.

‘Hay pumas en las sierras,’
said Tonito, making his hands like claws and growling.

‘If there are pumas, George will be there to save me from them,’ Susan replied in perfect Spanish. George was impressed.