The Forget-Me-Not Sonata(106)

‘Cecil, I’m very tired. I think it’s better that we keep things the way they were before I left. At least, for tonight.’ She didn’t raise her eyes because she couldn’t bear to see his face flush with disappointment.

‘Of course. I want to sit up and read anyhow and I know how much the light bothers you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Well, goodnight then.’ He made to leave.

Audrey was suddenly consumed with guilt. ‘Cecil?’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t I get a kiss?’

His delight was pitiful and she felt her heart lurch for him. He walked over and kissed her gently on the cheek.

‘Goodnight, Cecil.’

‘Goodnight, Audrey. Sweet dreams.’ She watched him leave. He had no idea how sweet her dreams really were.

Audrey turned out the light and curled up under the sheets. A warm breeze rustled the curtains playfully, filling the room with the scents of the garden. She wondered whether Louis was lying awake thinking of her and longed to go to him. But she couldn’t risk being caught and besides, tomorrow they would have the whole day to spend as they pleased. She recalled their secret dances in Palermo, their stolen kisses beneath the cherry tree and then the heavy sense of loss when their dreams had come to nothing. She shuddered at the thought of losing him again and silently, in the quiet solitude of her room, she vowed that this time she would never let him go.





Chapter 22



The following morning, as a flamingo pink dawn faded into a clear blue sky, Louis and Audrey set off into the countryside. With the wind catching her loose curls and dragging them through the open window Audrey looked across at Louis and knew that he had been right about the power of dreams. She had dreamed of this and her dreams had come true. As if reading her thoughts he stretched across the gearbox and took her hand in his. They didn’t need to speak; they understood each other without the need to cheapen their feelings by translating them into syllables. They smiled contentedly and sat back, watching as the busy city dwindled into shabby clusters of houses and then to a long empty road that sliced through the plains, so vast and so flat that the sky was all around them and they were both filled with the intoxicating sense of freedom. Herds of mahogany-coloured ponies grazed in the long grasses, and cows roamed, lifting their heads to shake off the flies that had hatched in the warm spring weather. Audrey gazed about her and remembered her departure for England when she had looked out across the sea and seen her small world in relation to the vista of endless possibilities that stretched out before her. Looking about her now she felt once again the allure of the wide-open spaces – one could get lost in them and never come out. ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked.

‘How big the world is and how small we are in it.’

‘And how insignificant. Sometimes one has to stand on the peak of a mountain to remember that.’

‘Or gaze into an immense ocean.’ He grinned at her and she felt her stomach flutter with happiness.

‘It is in those views that dreams are made, my love,’ he said and she turned and looked at him with sad eyes.

‘I know that now. I wish I had known it before. But I couldn’t see beyond Hurlingham then.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters because you’re here with me now.’ And he told her again, ‘I love you, Audrey, and I always will.’

La Magdalena sat like a lush oasis in the middle of the fertile pampa. Out of the flat plain grew an abundance of tall trees whose branches clamoured with the song of birds. The scent of eucalyptus wafted in through the window along with the smell of horses and leather. They drove up the long dusty drive lined with leafy paraísos. They were greeted by a pack of dogs and Audrey remembered Cicely’s dogs who were much fatter and sleeker than these skinny mongrels who now circled the car and announced their arrival by barking loudly.

They drew up under the trees and a dark-skinned maid in a pink and white uniform bustled out of the house, shouting at the dogs to be quiet and be off, waving her arms at them impatiently. ‘Buen día, Señor Forrester, Señor Ribaldo is expecting you on the terrace,’ she said in Spanish, her mouth extending into a toothless smile.

The house was a white and yellow colonial building with a roof of faded green tiles. It was old and needed a new coat of paint but the walls crawled with jasmine and hummed with bees and in spite of its shabby appearance it had immense charm and character. The maid showed them to the terrace where a wiry septuagenarian sat drinking coffee. He wore a pair of grey gaucho trousers pleated at the waist and buttoned up at the ankles and a wide leather belt of glittering silver coins. On his feet were threadbare black espadrilles and the skin that was exposed above them was brown and dry like the earth. When he saw Louis he pushed himself up from the chair and grinned in delight. ‘Louis, my friend! It is a pleasure to see you again.’ He pulled the young man into his embrace and patted him affectionately on the back. Then he looked at Audrey with twinkling brown eyes and raised his ashen eyebrows in admiration.