Searching for Sofia, page 2
‘No, Lil. We don’t know where she is. We thought perhaps Helen and Sonia might know something.’
‘Certainly. No doubt you will find them up at the cottage. They don’t travel far these days.’
‘Let us know if we can do anything, Jack. And don’t forget, Montsalvat’s your home, at any time you wish. Living here could even help the grieving process.’ Justus nodded his agreement with Lil, and despite Margaret’s impatient grimace, the Jorgensens’ kindness drew tears to Jack’s eyes.
‘Thanks, Justus, Lil. I appreciate that. We’ll head up to the cottage now and see if the girls know anything.’
* * *
A few minutes later, arriving at the cottage on the hill, Jack and Margaret were greeted by the Skipper sisters, whose rounded faces matched their bellies, the swelling revealing that they were both in the final weeks of pregnancy.
‘Don’t ask,’ Jack muttered, anticipating the question on Margaret’s mind. How could these two young women, sisters—unmarried sisters—dressed in billowing smocks and looking every bit like enormous beach balls, simultaneously be pregnant?
‘Jack, how are you?’ they each cried, hugging him in turn, tears threatening all around.
Ignoring the question, he said, ‘You might remember Margaret—Helen and Sonia Skipper.’
‘My, oh my!’ exclaimed Margaret. ‘Have we got time to talk or should we be rushing you both off to the maternity ward before you each pop like corks?’
The girls laughed. ‘No, we still have a few weeks to go, but thank goodness it will all be over soon,’ Sonia replied.
‘And the fathers? I hope they are not some local scoundrels who’ve left you high and dry. Too much of that goes on, and it’s always believed to be the girls’ faults.’ Margaret looked sympathetic.
‘No, no. Arthur Munday is the father of my baby, he lives here—the pathetic creature that he is. He didn’t know what he wanted to do about the pregnancy, so I saved him from overtaxing his brain and told him exactly what I planned to do. Keep the baby and get rid of him! I think he’s still in shock.’ Sonia had lost none of the feisty bravado that she’d shown at the dinner table seven months earlier, when Justus all but expelled her from Montsalvat when she’d declared to one and all that yes, she was pregnant, and no, she had no intention of marrying the older, dour, indecisive father.
‘Good for you,’ said Margaret. ‘You shouldn’t be forced to do anything against your wishes. I don’t expect it will be easy, though. You know what people can be like!’ She turned to Helen, a question in her eyes.
The other Skipper sister’s voice was quiet as she said, ‘My baby is Justus’.’
‘But isn’t Justus married to Lil...? The same Lil who’s living down in that cottage we’ve just left, with Justus’ son, Max?’ exclaimed Margaret, who was never scared of stating the facts.
‘Oh yes, he certainly is.’ Sonia’s twinkling eyes communicated the amusement with which she viewed the plight Justus had created for himself. ‘That’s what makes it all so entertaining. One minute, he’s about to throw me out as a disgraced harlot. The next minute, on discovering that he’s gotten Helen pregnant, he’s gone and declared that our community will be a model of social progression! A place where a wife loves her husband so much, and is so understanding of his needs, that she permits him to have his floozy and her baby live with him! And, of course, once Helen was pregnant with his child, he could hardly kick me out, could he?’
‘Enough, Sonia!’ Jack wondered whether Helen’s ire was directed at Sonia for highlighting Justus’ absurd inconsistencies, or in fact because she lacked enthusiasm for Justus’ notion that Montsalvat was the setting of an advanced social structure. Turning from them, she muttered that she would put the kettle on and retreated indoors.
Despite having grown up with cousins who were members of the Bloomsbury set, whose very lives epitomized an extraordinary frankness towards matters of a sexual nature, Margaret made it no secret that she found Helen’s position untenable.
‘Trust Justus Jorgensen,’ she said with barely disguised scorn. ‘That is exactly what I would expect from him. He was always one to justify his own appalling behaviour. I suppose he started by painting nudes of Helen, and then lured her into his bed.’ Sonia nodded. ‘And now, somehow, he’s managed to assuage Lil by complimenting her for being so understanding of his needs. Give me strength!’
Sonia laughed. ‘That’s the way it happened! Never mind. We cobble along okay. Operate in our own little bubble. It’s not as bad as you might think.’
‘I better slip in and see if Helen needs a hand, the poor thing!’ Margaret replied.
Minutes later, Margaret and Helen reappeared with a tray of mugs and a plate of Anzac biscuits, and Jack rose to fetch the heavy teapot. After their cuppas were poured, he decided it was time to address the real purpose of their visit.
‘I was wondering if you know where Sofia might be.’ As he spoke, it occurred to him that perhaps Sonia and Helen were actually participants in Sofia’s disappearance—supporting her decision to be alone. He hoped they’d be honest enough to tell him what they knew.
‘She’s missing?’ Sonia asked. ‘No, Jack, surely not!’ The worry in her voice was sincere, assuring him that she knew nothing of Sofia’s whereabouts. ‘We thought she was with you. That she had gone down to your parents’ place, the poor thing.’
‘It’s so awful, Jack, we feel terrible for you both,’ Helen added. ‘Dear little Scotty. A few hours pass and I forget about the accident, and then it all comes back at the most unexpected of moments and I almost collapse with sorrow. I can’t begin to imagine what it must be like for you and Sofia.’ Jack jolted. Ignoring the pain that Helen’s words had unintentionally caused, he quizzed the girls.
‘Did Sofia ever mention anyone she might have met... say, in town here, or perhaps in the city—you know, after her trips into Melbourne?’
‘No, I can’t say she did,’ said Sonia. ‘Sure, she knew some of the villagers, the shopkeepers and so on. I don’t recall anyone that she was particularly close to, though. She occasionally used to speak of the mothers... you know, those that had babies around the same time that Scotty was born, but she hadn’t mentioned anyone in particular, lately.’
‘What about any of Justus’ students, perhaps one of the women?’ Jack was appalled to find himself asking others about his own wife’s friendships. Shouldn’t he know these things? Didn’t Sofia used to tell him everything that was important to her each afternoon on his return from work?
It was clear that neither Sonia or Helen had any information that would help them to find Sofia, and quickly finishing their tea, Jack and Margaret bid them farewell.
* * *
Jack tried to fight off the desolation rising within him as they left Montsalvat. That morning, on waking, he had been sure that today he’d find Sofia. His heart ached from wanting to see her, to know that she was alright, and, in his helplessness, a heaving sob rose from within.
Margaret pulled over and reached for his hand.
‘Jack, we are going to find Sofia. Don’t you worry. She’s got to be somewhere. Let’s just think about this.’ Grasping his hand, she squeezed it tightly, and his sobs slowly settled.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry!’ Margaret shook her head.
‘No! Don’t apologize. I can’t begin to imagine how you must be feeling. I’ve been thinking, Jack, do you think that Sofia has turned to the Spanish community for comfort?
Jack nodded. He should have thought of it himself. There had been an elderly Spanish couple who had a restaurant! Sofia was so excited when she’d met them. She’d insisted that he come with her to meet them also. He remembered how he’d watched them speaking together, the way they’d unconsciously launched into Spanish, their words flowing so fast that he could barely follow as they’d reminisced about the country and the friends they’d each left behind. Eventually they had recalled his presence and apologised for excluding him. The couple had loved Scotty, patting his head and tickling his chin, and then the lady had vanished for a few minutes, returning with a biscuit for him. Later, when the Tomlinsons had farewelled these new friends of Sofia’s, Jack had thought of their neighbours in Malaga, their warmth and support for Sofia, and he’d considered the sacrifice she’d made crossing the world with him to live in Australia. He’d asked Sofia if she missed Spain.
‘It’s okay, Jack,’ she’d replied. ‘I won’t say that I don’t miss the finca and the gallery, Aunt Jovita, Stephan and my friends. But that’s in the past. I am happy here. I have you and Scotty. I love our life amongst the gum trees. Montsalvat is a wonderful place to raise a child. Here, we have family. Scotty has grandparents. We have the community. They are our family now.’
‘There was a place, Margaret,’ he said. ‘A Spanish restaurant over near Russell Street. Sofia loved visiting the couple who ran it. Perhaps they might know something?’
* * *
An hour later, walking up and down the streets and laneways around Russell Street, Jack stalled for the third time, peering through the window of a Chinese restaurant. Could this be the same building that had housed the Spanish restaurant Sofia had brought him to, over a year earlier?
Cautiously, they entered, and were greeted by a Chinese gentleman who smiled broadly and waved them towards his tables. They shook their heads at his offer, and a lengthy discussion ensued. His English was only marginally better than their Chinese, however Jack and Margaret established that he’d opened his restaurant the previous September, and that the restaurant had once been leased by a Spanish man and his wife. That was the extent of the facts that he could share, and given their difficulty communicating, Margaret was not convinced.
‘Bloody hell, Jack. How do they expect to fit in if they can’t even speak English?’ she exclaimed in frustration.
Jack looked at her, aghast, at once reminded of Sofia’s experiences when she’d first arrived to Australia and had experienced rudeness just because of her dark complexion and Spanish accent. Realising her error, Margaret tried to make amends. ‘No, no, I wasn’t thinking of Sofia. She was easy to understand,’ she backtracked, before changing the subject. ‘Let’s visit a few of the surrounding shops. Perhaps someone might shed some light on the whereabouts of this Spanish couple.’
After fruitless visits to first a jewellery shop and then a shoe store, they entered a butchery, and the man at the counter confirmed that the Chinese restaurant had once been owned by a Spanish couple, but he knew nothing more. Finally, they entered a paper shop, its shelves overflowing with newspapers, magazines and stationery. A man, so small that he barely reached Margaret’s shoulder, appeared from behind the counter.
‘Yes, I knew Mr and Mrs Santos. They were lovely! They’d come up every morning to buy The Sun, wanting news about the war in Spain. They had family there, and naturally they were terribly worried for them. Such kind people. Mrs Santos used to give me a jar of biscuits from time to time. I think she felt sorry for me, not having my own missus to bake for me and all.’
‘Do you know what happened to them?’ Jack asked.
‘Not really. When Mr Santos died, the restaurant had to be closed. There was no way that Mrs Santos could have managed it alone, but I know that leaving wasn’t easy for her.’
‘Yes, but where did Mrs Santos go after she closed the restaurant?’ Margaret broke in.
‘I couldn’t say, but I do know that they often used to catch the train down south... Geelong, I think it was, on Sundays. They had some family there or friends, at least. Someone they used to visit, that’s for certain. Of course, Mrs Santos might have gone back to Spain. I have often wondered how she is. If you see her, please send her my best wishes. Tell her that I miss her biscuits. I have never tasted anything so wonderful!’
Thanking him, they left.
‘Looks like we’re off to Geelong,’ Margaret said as they returned through the city streets. ‘How about tomorrow? How about I pick you up at eight thirty?’
‘Thank you, Margaret. I do appreciate your help with this.’
‘Of course, Jack! I’m worried about Sofia too, you know.’
Jack did know. Margaret had been with him and Sofia through their best and worst times, from the heights of Jack and Andrés' exhibitions in Paris, to the night that Andrés had collapsed and been taken to hospital. And she had been with Jack and Sofia in Spain for the last weeks of Andrés’ life. Margaret was more than a friend to them both—she was the sister that neither he nor Sofia had ever had.
Chapter 3
At eight-thirty the following morning, Margaret arrived at Copelen Street. Walking from his bedroom to the hallway, Jack could hear his mother speaking with her, her voice quavering with emotion.
‘Thank you for all of this, Margaret. You are a wonder. William and I, we simply wouldn’t know where to start looking... Do you really think that Sofia might be in Geelong? It seems such a long way from here. I did think that we might have heard from her by now. Time is passing though, isn’t it? I hope that she is okay, poor thing. I can barely sleep for worrying about her. Oh, here is Jack now. How are you, love?’
Jack mustered a smile by way of reply and kissed his mother reassuringly. It was dreadful for her and his dad to have lost not only Scotty, but now Sofia, whom he knew they’d loved like their own daughter.
* * *
Travelling across the city, Jack studied Margaret’s Collin’s Road Guide and realized that Geelong was a lot farther away than he’d thought, way out southwest of Melbourne, near the entrance of Port Phillip Bay. He considered her vehicle dubiously. Purchased only a few months earlier, it had managed the short drives they’d taken yesterday without any problems. However, the New Beauty—her ‘little beauty’ as Margaret called it—was ten years old. He hoped it was up to the long trip ahead of them and that they wouldn’t find themselves stranded on the roadside halfway to Geelong.
Shaking aside his concerns, Jack determined that whatever the day brought, he would cling to the optimism that he’d woken with.
As the morning sun had filtered through his curtains, he’d pictured the moment when he would finally lay eyes on Sofia. How she would sink into the warmth of his arms and he’d hold her tight to him, as if never to let her go. The perfume of her freshly washed hair, the sweet, intoxicating aroma that had become part of Jack since he’d known her, had filled him even as he’d lain alone in his bed, and it was as though she were right beside him.
‘It will be okay,’ he’d imagined whispering to her, kissing her eyes, her forehead, her lips, and her reply had come as clear as if she’d been right there beside him.
‘Yes, Jack, it must surely get better. It is good to be home. I have missed you so much.’
The image of their reunion seemed so real it was like it had actually happened.
And when he arose, he’d felt sure that today they would find her. However, for that to happen, he needed to be sharp—his mind alert to all possibilities, not weighed down by disappointment and grief.
‘Perhaps the post office will know who’s who in the village,’ he suggested, and Margaret responded to his upbeat tone with a smile.
‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘Surely they know everybody in Geelong. And anyone Spanish, or who receives mail from Spain must surely stand out.’
Jack’s mind now streamed with possibilities. ‘We could also try the dairy—if Mrs Santos is in Geelong, she is bound to have a milk delivery.’
His confidence that Sofia would have connected with people in the Spanish community increased with every mile. It made sense that when times were tough, people gravitated to their roots. He was positive that they were on the right track.
At ten thirty, arriving in Geelong, Jack was amazed to see brightly lit shops, modern buildings, and even the presence of trams in the main street. The pealing of bells startled him, and looking upwards, he saw two bronze figures—first a man and then a boy—emerging from a bell tower high above them. Suddenly pangs of doubt enveloped him; he’d expected Geelong to be a small rural village, much like Eltham, not this bustling city.
The post office was a formidable bluestone building—its gleaming counter manned by a large lady who proved both willing and able to share a wealth of encouraging information about the Spanish families who had settled in Geelong.
‘Oh, yes, we have lots of Spaniards here... quite the little Madrid we are. I don’t know what has brought them all to our town, but really, I am glad that they are here, for the Spanish surely are the loveliest of people.’
‘We are looking for a Mrs Sofia Tomlinson; she may have arrived quite recently.’ Margaret cut to the chase.
‘No, I haven’t heard of that name...’ The woman’s forehead crumpled into lines of concentration.
‘What about a Mrs Santos?’
‘Oh, no... I don’t think so... Here, look at this. I shouldn’t be giving out personal information, but this page here might be helpful.’
With a wink, Mavis Jones, according to the engraved badge riding up and down her broad bosom, slid an open page of the Sands and McDougall Directory across the desk and tapped alongside a surname—Valverde. ‘And if you were to drive out along the Great Ocean Road for fifteen minutes or so, you will see a farm, Velverde’s Market Gardens. You might like to buy some nice fresh tomatoes! I hear that they employ quite a few Spanish workers. The Valverdes are one of the leading Spanish families in Geelong. If the lady you are looking for is here, they’ll know!’
* * *
Wasting no time, they returned to the car and Jack felt jittery with nervous tension, sure they were mere minutes away from finding Sofia.
‘It’s just the sort of place Sofia would go. You know, working in a market garden. She loves growing things almost as much as she loves art.’
Margaret agreed, and as she drove, they chatted excitedly, easily imagining that Sofia would be out in the fields, working the rows of tomatoes, her mind seeking healing and peace amid the plants.
