And only next week, her father’s plans for her future were to reach their crescendo. She would be eighteen, and launched into Rio society with a spectacular party at the beautiful Copacabana Palace Hotel.
After that, Bel knew that she’d be forced into the best marriage her father could find her. And the last vestiges of the freedom she had left would be gone forever.
An hour later, a familiar tap-tapping at the door alerted her to the presence of Loen.
‘Good morning, Senhorita Bel. Is it not a beautiful one?’ her maid asked as she entered the room.
‘No,’ Bel answered bad-temperedly.
‘Come, you must get up and dress. You have a very busy day.’
‘Do I?’ Bel feigned ignorance, knowing full well what obligations her waking hours contained.
‘Now, minha pequena, don’t play games with me,’ Loen warned, reverting as she often did in private to the pet name she’d given Bel as a child. ‘You know as well as I do that you have your piano lesson at ten o’clock, then your French tutor arrives. And this afternoon, Madame Duchaine arrives for the last fitting of your ballgown.’
Bel closed her eyes and pretended not to hear.
Undeterred, Loen walked over to the bed and shook her shoulder gently. ‘What is wrong with you? In only a week’s time you will be eighteen and your father has organised you a wonderful party. Everyone in Rio will be there! Are you not excited?’
Bel did not respond.
‘What do you wish to wear today? The cream or the blue?’ persisted Loen.
‘I don’t care!’
Loen calmly went to the closet and drawers, then laid out her own choice of clothes on the end of Bel’s bed.
Reluctantly, Bel roused herself and sat up. ‘Forgive me, Loen. I’m sad because a sagui came in this morning and stole my hairbrush, a gift from my grandmother. I know Mãe will be angry with me for leaving my shutters open again.’
‘No!’ Loen was horrified. ‘Your beautiful mother-of-pearl hairbrush gone to the monkeys in the jungle. How many times have you been told to keep the shutters closed at night?’
‘Many,’ agreed Bel companionably.
‘I will tell the gardeners to search the grounds. They may find it yet.’
‘Thank you,’ Bel said as she lifted her arms to help Loen ease her nightgown from her body.
Over breakfast, Antonio Bonifacio was studying the invitation list to his daughter’s party at the Copacabana Palace. ‘Senhora Santos has indeed gathered the great and the good, and most of them have accepted,’ Antonio commented with satisfaction. ‘Although not the Carvalho Gomes family, nor the Ribeiros Barcellos. They are sad but they are busy elsewhere.’ Antonio raised an eyebrow.
‘Well, they do not know what they will miss.’ Carla put a comforting hand on her husband’s shoulder, knowing that these were two of the most important families in Rio. ‘It will be talked of all over town, and they will hear of it, I’m sure.’
‘I hope so,’ Antonio grunted. ‘It has cost enough. And you, my princesa, will be at the centre of it all.’
‘Yes, Papa. I am very grateful.’
‘Bel, you know you must not call me “Papa". I am “Pai”,’ Antonio chided her.
‘Sorry, Pai, it’s hard to change the habit of a lifetime.’
‘So.’ Antonio folded his newspaper neatly and stood up, nodding a goodbye to his wife and daughter. ‘I’m off to the office to do the work that will pay for it all.’
Bel’s eyes followed her father as he strode from the room and she thought how handsome he still was, with his tall, elegant physique and his full mane of dark hair, only slightly greying at the temples.
‘Pai is so tense,’ Bel sighed to her mother. ‘Is he worried about the party, do you think?’
‘Bel, your father is always tense. Whether it’s over the yield of coffee beans on one of our farms or your party, he will always find something to worry about. It is just . . . who he is,’ Carla shrugged. ‘Now, I must go too. I’m meeting Senhora Santos here this morning to go through the final preparations for the reception at the Copacabana Palace. She will want you to join us after your piano and French lessons to go through the guest list.’
‘But Mãe, I can already recite it front to back and upside down,’ Bel groaned.
‘I know, querida, but nothing must go wrong.’
Carla stood up to leave, then hesitated for a moment and turned back to Bel. ‘There is one more thing I must tell you. My dear cousin Sofia is recovering from a very serious illness and I have invited her and her three children to stay at our fazenda while she recuperates. Since we only have Fabiana and her husband there, I must send Loen to attend to Sofia’s children so she can rest. I’m afraid Loen will have to leave for the mountains by the end of the week.’
‘But Mãe!’ Bel gasped in dismay. ‘My party is only a few days away. What will I do without her?’
‘I’m sorry, Bel, but there is no choice. Gabriela will still be here and I’m sure she will give you all the help you need. Now, I must leave or I will be late.’ Carla patted her daughter’s shoulder comfortingly and left the room.
Bel slumped back in her chair and digested the unwelcome news. She was upset by the thought of being without her closest ally in the run-up to one of the most important events of her life.
Loen had been born at their fazenda, where her African forebears had worked as slaves on the coffee farm. When slavery had finally been abolished in Brazil in 1888, many freed slaves had downed tools that very day and left their former masters, but Loen’s parents had chosen to stay. They had continued to work for the fazenda’s occupants at the time; a rich Portuguese family, until, like so many Rio aristocrats with no more slave labour to rely on to tend the coffee plants, they were forced to sell up. Loen’s father had chosen that moment to promptly disappear into the night, leaving her mother, Gabriela, and nine-year-old Loen to fend for themselves.
When Antonio had bought the fazenda a few months later, Carla had taken pity on them and insisted they were kept on as maids. Three years ago, both mother and daughter had moved with the family to Rio.
While Loen was technically only a servant, she and Bel had grown up together on the isolated fazenda. With few other children of similar age to play with, the two of them had forged a special bond. Although barely older than Bel, Loen was wise beyond her years and an endless source of advice and comfort for her young mistress. Bel, in turn, had sought to repay Loen’s kindness and loyalty by spending the long, languid evenings at the fazenda teaching her to read and write.
So at least, Bel reflected with a sigh as she sipped her coffee, they would be able to correspond while they were separated.
‘Have you finished, senhorita?’ asked Gabriela, interrupting her thoughts and giving Bel a sympathetic smile that indicated she had overheard Carla’s announcement.
Bel glanced at the sideboard heaped with fresh mango, figs, almonds, and a basket of freshly baked bread. Enough to feed an entire street, she thought, let alone a family of three.
‘Yes, you can clear the table. And I’m sorry for the extra work you will have while Loen is away,’ she added.
Gabriela shrugged stoically. ‘I know that my daughter too will be disappointed that she won’t be here for your birthday preparations. But no matter, we will manage.’
After Gabriela had left, Bel reached for the Jornal do Brasil that was lying on the table and opened it. On the front page, there was a photograph of Bertha Lutz, the campaigner for women’s rights, standing with her supporters outside City Hall. Senhorita Lutz had started the Brazilian Federation for the Advancement of Women six years ago and was campaigning for all women in Brazil to have the vote. Bel followed her progress avidly. It seemed to her that times were changing for other women in Brazil, whereas here she was, with a father who was stuck in the past, still believing women should simply be married off to the highest bidder before producing a healthy brood of children.
Since their move to the city, Anto
nio had kept his precious daughter a virtual prisoner, never allowing her even to take a walk outside the house without an older female escort. He didn’t seem to realise that the few girls of her own age she’d been introduced to at formal tea parties, and who had been deemed suitable as friends by Senhora Santos, were from families who were embracing the modern age, not fighting against it.
For example, her friend Maria Elisa da Silva Costa did indeed come from an aristocratic Portuguese heritage. But her family didn’t, as Pai so misguidedly believed, just float from one social event to the next. The old Portuguese court Pai dreamed of his family being a part of had mostly faded into history, the last vestiges of it only championed by a few clinging on to a disappearing world.
Maria Elisa was one of the few young women Bel had met that she felt she had anything in common with. Her father, Heitor, worked for a living as a renowned architect and had recently won the honour of building the planned Cristo Redentor monument on top of Corcovado, the mountain that rose dramatically skywards behind their house. The da Silva Costas lived nearby in Botafogo and if her father was visiting the mountaintop to take measurements for his structure, Maria Elisa would often accompany him as far as Cosme Velho and visit Bel while Heitor took the train up the mountain. Bel was expecting a visit from her later today.
‘Senhorita, can I get you anything else?’ Gabriela asked, hovering by the door with the heavy tray.
‘No thank you, Gabriela, you may go.’
A few minutes later, Bel stood up and left the room after her.
‘You must be so excited about your party,’ said Maria Elisa as they sat in the shade of the dense, tropical forest that overhung the garden of the house. The foliage was kept in check by a small army of gardeners to prevent it invading the immaculate grounds, but beyond the perimeter, it surged untamed up the mountain.
‘I think I’ll be glad when it’s over,’ Bel replied honestly.
‘Well, I’m looking forward to it, that’s for sure,’ Maria Elisa said, smiling. ‘Alexandre Medeiros will be there and I have such a crush on him. I’ll go to heaven if he asks me to dance,’ she added as she sipped her freshly squeezed orange juice. ‘Is there any young man who’s caught your eye?’ She looked at Bel expectantly.
‘No, and besides, I know my father will want to choose a husband for me.’
‘Oh, he’s so old-fashioned! When I talk to you I feel lucky to have Pai, even though his head is in the clouds with his Cristo all the time. Do you know,’ Maria Elisa said, lowering her voice to a whisper, ‘my father is actually an atheist, and yet here he is, building the largest monument to Our Lord in the world!’
‘Maybe this project will change his beliefs,’ Bel suggested.
‘Last night I heard him talking to Mãe about going to Europe to find a sculptor for the statue. As he’ll be away for so long, he said we would all be travelling with him. Can you imagine, Bel? We will see the great sights of Florence, Rome and, of course, Paris.’ Maria Elisa wrinkled her pretty freckled nose in pleasure at the thought of it.
‘Europe?’ exclaimed Bel as she turned to face her friend. ‘Maria Elisa, at this moment, I can truly say that I hate you. It’s been my dream forever to go to the Old World. Especially to Florence, where my family came from.’
‘Well, perhaps, if it is confirmed, you could come with us, for some of the time at least? It would be better for me too, otherwise I’m stuck with only my two brothers for company. What do you think?’ Maria Elisa’s eyes were bright with excitement.
‘I think it’s a wonderful suggestion, but that my father would say no,’ Bel stated flatly. ‘If he doesn’t even let me take a walk down the street here alone, I hardly think he would let me go across the sea to Europe. Besides, he wants me here in Rio, available to be married off as soon as possible.’ Bel ground an ant beneath her shoe disconsolately.
The sound of a car pulling into the front drive alerted them to the fact that Maria Elisa’s father had come to collect her.
‘So,’ she said, standing and giving Bel a warm hug, ‘I shall see you next Thursday at your party?’
‘Yes.’
‘Adeus, Bel,’ she said as she walked away across the garden. ‘And don’t worry, I promise we’ll formulate a plan.’
Bel sat where she was, dreaming of seeing the Duomo and the Fountain of Neptune in Florence. Out of all the cultural lessons Senhora Santos had organised for her, history of art had been the one she’d most enjoyed. An artist had been employed to school her in the basics of line drawing and painting. Those afternoons when she’d sat in his airy studio in the Escola Nacional de Belas Artes had been some of the most pleasurable moments since she’d arrived in Rio.
The artist was also a sculptor, and had allowed her to try her hand with a lump of thick red clay. Bel still remembered the damp softness of it between her fingers, its malleability as she struggled to shape it into a figure.
‘You have real talent,’ the artist had nodded approvingly after she’d shown him what she considered a lamentably poor version of the Venus de Milo. But whether she had ability or not, Bel had loved the atmosphere of the studio, and when the lessons came to an end, she’d missed her weekly visits there.
She heard Loen’s voice calling her in from the terrace, signalling that Madame Duchaine had arrived for the final fitting of the gown for her party.
Leaving thoughts of Europe and the glories it held in the jungle behind her, Bel stood up and made her way back through the garden and into the house.
14
On the morning of her eighteenth birthday, Bel woke to see heavy grey clouds scuttering across the horizon beyond her window and heard the sound of approaching thunder. This indicated a storm which would gather ominously in power as the sky was lit up with great bolts of lightning. Then suddenly, the heavens would open and unceremoniously drop their contents on Rio, drenching its unfortunate inhabitants.
As Gabriela bustled around the room, firing Bel’s schedule for the day at her, she too turned to the window and studied the sky.
‘We must only pray that the clouds decide to burst before your party and the rain is gone when your guests begin arriving. What a disaster it would be if your beautiful gown was mud-spattered as you stepped out of the car and into the hotel. I will go to the chapel and ask Our Lady to finish the rain before tonight, and for the sun to appear and dry up the puddles. Come now, Senhorita Izabela, your parents are waiting for you in the breakfast room. Your father wants to see you before he leaves for the office. It is a very special day for all of us.’
Much as she loved Gabriela, Bel wished for the hundredth time that Loen was here to share this special day with her and to calm her nerves.
Ten minutes later, she walked into the breakfast room. Antonio rose from the table, his arms outstretched towards her.
‘My precious daughter! Today you come of age, and I could not be prouder of you. Come, embrace your father.’
Bel walked into his strong, protective arms, smelling the comforting scents of the eau de cologne he always wore and the oil he used on his hair.
‘Now, go and kiss your mother and we will show you the gift we have for you.’
‘Piccolina,’ said Carla, forgetting herself and using the old Italian endearment. She rose from the table and kissed her daughter warmly, then stood back and threw her arms wide open. ‘Look at you! You are so very beautiful.’
‘Inherited of course from your dear mother,’ Antonio interjected, casting a fond glance at his wife.
Bel could see his eyes were filled with tears. It was rare to see her father display emotion these days and she was immediately transported back to when they were just a simple Italian family, before Pai had become very rich. The thought brought a lump to her throat.
‘Come, see what we have bought for you.’ Antonio reached down to the chair next to him and produced two velvet-covered cases. ‘Look at this,’ he said, reaching eagerly for the lid of the larger box to reveal what was inside. ‘And these.’ He ope
ned the second, smaller box.
Bel gasped at the beauty of the emerald necklace and earrings in front of her. ‘Pai! Meu Deus! They are exquisite.’ Bel leant closer and with her father’s nod of permission, lifted the necklace from its silk lining. It was formed of gold, with emeralds which graduated in size and culminated in a glorious, shining stone that would rest in the centre of her décolletage.
‘Try it on,’ her father urged her, motioning to his wife to fasten the necklace at the back.
When Carla had done so, Bel’s fingers went to her throat and caressed the cool smoothness of the stones. ‘Does it suit me?’
‘Before you look, we must add the earrings,’ said Antonio and Carla helped fasten the delicate teardrop-shaped gems to her ears.
‘There!’ Antonio steered Bel directly in front of the mirror which hung above the sideboard. ‘They look wonderful!’ he exclaimed as he surveyed his daughter’s reflection, the jewels luminous against the creamy skin of her slender neck.
‘Pai, they must have cost a king’s ransom!’
‘They are from the emerald mines of Minas Gerais and I myself inspected the uncut stones and chose the best.’
‘And of course, querida, your gown of cream silk, embroidered with emerald thread, was planned especially to show off your birthday present,’ Carla added.
‘Tonight,’ Antonio mused in satisfaction, ‘there will be no woman in the room wearing adornments more beautiful or expensive. Even if they are wearing the crown jewels of Portugal themselves!’
Suddenly, all the girlish, natural joy at receiving such a magnificent present evaporated. As Bel stared in the mirror at her reflection, she realised that the jewellery had nothing to do with Antonio wishing to please his daughter on her birthday. It was just another way of impressing the many important people who would arrive tonight at her party.
The Seven Sisters Page 13