The Seven Sisters

by Lucinda Riley

  Now, the gleaming green stones around her neck seemed vulgar, ostentatious . . . she was simply a canvas on which to exhibit the trappings of his wealth. And her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Ah, querida, don’t cry.’ Carla was immediately by her side. ‘I understand you’re overwhelmed, but you mustn’t upset yourself on your special day.’

  Bel reached instinctively for her mother and rested her head on her shoulder as fear for the future surged through her.

  Bel looked back on her eighteenth birthday party at the Copacabana Palace – the night that she and, more importantly, her father were emphatically launched into Rio society – as a series of vivid, jumbled snapshots.

  Gabriela had obviously made the right offering to Our Lady as, although the heavens had opened for the entire afternoon, at four o’clock, just as Bel had bathed and the hair stylist had arrived to pile her thick glossy mane on top of her head, the rain stopped. Strings of tiny emeralds – a further gift from her father – were woven through her chignon. And her gown, made of duchesse satin sent especially from Paris and expertly fitted by Madame Duchaine to accentuate her breasts, her slim hips and pan-flat stomach, clung to her like a second skin.

  When she’d arrived at the hotel, a crowd of photographers, paid by her father to attend, had sprung into action as she’d emerged with Antonio from the car. A barrage of flashbulbs popped in her face as he led her inside.

  The champagne fountain had flowed like water all evening, and rare beluga caviar, imported from Russia, had been handed round as freely as if it were cheap salgadinhos from a street vendor.

  After an extravagant dinner of lobster thermidor accompanied by the best French wines, Rio’s most fashionable dance band had performed on the terrace. The huge swimming pool had been covered over with boards so that the guests could dance under the starlight.

  Antonio had refused point-blank to countenance any samba, which, although increasingly popular, was still considered the music of the poor in Rio. However, he had been persuaded by Senhora Santos to allow a couple of energetic maxixe numbers on the basis that the racy dance steps were these days considered the height of chic in the sophisticated clubs of Paris and New York.

  Bel remembered being partnered on the dance floor by a series of men, their touch on her bare shoulder as insignificant as a mosquito she would immediately flick away.

  Then Antonio himself had brought across a young man to meet her.

  ‘Izabela,’ he had said, ‘may I introduce you to Gustavo Aires Cabral. He has been admiring you from afar and would like the pleasure of a dance.’

  Bel knew immediately from his surname that this diminutive, whey-faced man represented one of the most aristocratic families in Brazil.

  ‘Of course,’ she had said, lowering her eyes deferentially. ‘It would be my honour, senhor.’

  She couldn’t help noticing Gustavo was so short that his eyes were barely on a level with hers, and as he had bent to kiss her hand, she was afforded a view of the already thinning hair on top of his head.

  ‘Senhorita, where have you been hiding yourself?’ he’d murmured as he led her to the dance floor. ‘You’re surely the most beautiful woman in Rio.’

  As they’d danced, Bel didn’t need to look at her father to know that he was watching them with a self-satisfied smile on his lips.

  Later, when her ten-tiered birthday cake had been cut, and everyone had been served a further glass of champagne from the fountain in order to toast her, a sudden blast of noise assailed Bel’s ears. Like everyone else on the terrace, she had turned her head in the direction of it, to see a boat floating on the waves close to shore, firing off hundreds of catherine wheels, rockets and starbursts. The coloured fireworks lit up the night sky above Rio, and everyone had gasped at the spectacle. With Gustavo hovering at her shoulder, Bel could only muster a false smile of gratitude.

  Bel woke at eleven the next day and, having written to Loen – whom she knew would be desperate to hear news of the party – at the fazenda, she emerged from her bedroom and made her way downstairs. The Bonifacio party had not arrived home until well after four in the morning, and she found her parents taking a late breakfast looking distinctly bleary-eyed.

  ‘Look who it is,’ Antonio crowed to his wife. ‘The newly crowned princesa of Rio!’

  ‘Good morning, Pai. Good morning, Mãe,’ she said as she sat down and Gabriela moved to serve her. ‘Just coffee, thank you,’ she said, as she waved the offer of food away.

  ‘How are you this morning, my dear?’

  ‘A little weary,’ she admitted.

  ‘Perhaps you drank a little too much champagne last night?’ said Antonio. ‘I know I certainly did.’

  ‘No, I only drank one glass all night. I’m simply tired, that’s all. Are you not at the office today, Pai?’

  ‘No. I thought that for once, I might just arrive late. And see here,’ Antonio said, indicating a silver tray on the table, piled high with envelopes. ‘Already a number of guests have sent their maids to deliver thank-you notes for last night and to invite you to lunch and supper. There’s also a letter addressed to you personally. Of course, I haven’t read its contents, but you can see who it’s from by the seal on the back. Take it, Izabela, and tell your parents what it says.’

  Antonio passed the envelope to her, and Bel saw the Aires Cabral insignia stamped in wax on the back of the envelope. She opened it and read the few lines on the thickly embossed notepaper.

  ‘Well?’ Antonio prompted.

  ‘It’s from Gustavo Aires Cabral, thanking me for last night and hoping he will meet me again soon.’

  Antonio clapped his hands in glee. ‘Izabela, what a clever girl you are! Gustavo is descended from the last emperor of Portugal himself and has one of the best pedigrees in Rio.’

  ‘And to think, he has written to our daughter!’ Carla clasped her hands to her bosom, she too carried away with the thought.

  Bel surveyed her parents’ animated faces and sighed. ‘Pai, Gustavo has simply sent me a thank-you card for the evening. This is not a proposal.’

  ‘No, querida, but one day it might be.’ Her father winked. ‘I saw how taken he was with you. He told me as much himself. And why shouldn’t he be?’ Antonio held up the Jornal do Brasil with a photograph of a radiant Bel arriving at the party on the front of it. ‘You are the talk of the town, my princesa. Your life and ours will be very different from now on.’

  And indeed, in the next few weeks, as Christmas approached and the Rio social season got into full swing, Bel’s feet hardly touched the ground. Madame Duchaine was called back to the house and instructed to make many further gowns for Bel to wear to dances, the opera and a number of dinners at private addresses. Perfectly trained by Senhora Santos, Bel acquitted herself on each occasion with aplomb.

  Gustavo Aires Cabral, whom Maria Elisa and she had secretly nicknamed ‘the ferret’, because of his physical likeness to the animal and his habit of constantly nosing around Bel, was present at many of the events.

  And on the opening night of Don Giovanni at the Theatro Municipal, he found her in the foyer and insisted she visit his parents’ box at the interval so that he could formally introduce her to them.

  ‘You should feel honoured.’ Maria Elisa raised her eyebrows as Gustavo left Bel’s side and walked through the crowd sipping champagne in the foyer before curtain up. ‘His parents are the nearest thing to royalty we have left in Rio. Or at least,’ she giggled, ‘they behave as if they are.’

  And indeed, when Bel was led into the box at the interval, she found herself making an impromptu curtsey, as if she’d been meeting the old Emperor himself. Gustavo’s mother, Luiza Aires Cabral, haughty in demeanour and dripping with diamonds, surveyed her through cool, narrowed eyes.

  ‘Senhorita Bonifacio, you are indeed as beautiful as everyone has remarked,’ she said graciously.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bel shyly.

  ‘And your parents? Are they here? I don’t think we have s
o far had the pleasure of making their acquaintance.’

  ‘No, they are not attending tonight.’

  ‘Your father has a number of coffee farms in the São Paulo region, I am told?’ Gustavo’s father, Maurício, an older replica of his son, asked her.

  ‘Yes, senhor, he does.’

  ‘And of course, he is becoming rich off the back of them. There is much new money to be made in the region,’ said Luiza.

  ‘Yes, senhora,’ Bel agreed, understanding the implicit snub.

  ‘Well,’ said Maurício hurriedly, shooting his wife a warning glance, ‘we must arrange for them to visit us for luncheon.’

  ‘Of course.’ Senhora Aires Cabral nodded at Bel, then turned her attention to her neighbour.

  ‘I think they liked you,’ said Gustavo as he led her back out of the box and escorted her to her own.

  ‘Really?’ Bel thought quite the opposite.

  ‘Yes. They asked questions and were interested. That’s always a good sign. I will remind them of their promise to entertain your parents.’

  As Bel commented to Maria Elisa when she joined her afterwards, she fervently hoped Gustavo would forget.

  The invitation, however, duly arrived for the three Bonifacios to attend a luncheon at the Aires Cabrals’ home. Carla worried endlessly about what she should wear for such an occasion, trying on most of the dresses in her wardrobe.

  ‘Mãe, please, it is only a lunch,’ Bel pleaded with her. ‘I’m sure the Aires Cabrals will not care what you wear.’

  ‘Oh yes they will. Don’t you see that we are there to be inspected? One negative word from Luiza Aires Cabral and the doors that have so far opened so easily for you in Rio will immediately be shut in our faces.’

  Bel sighed and walked out of her mother’s dressing room, wanting to scream that it didn’t matter what the Aires Cabrals thought of her parents or her because she would not be sold like a parcel of flesh to anyone.

  ‘Will you marry him if he asks you?’ enquired Maria Elisa when she visited that afternoon and Bel told her of the invitation.

  ‘Goodness! I hardly know him. And besides, I’m sure his parents want a Portuguese princess for their son’s bride, rather than the daughter of Italian immigrants.’

  ‘Perhaps they do, but my father says the Aires Cabrals have fallen on hard times. Like many of the old aristocratic families, they made their money from the gold mines of Minas Gerais, but that was two hundred years ago. Then their coffee farms were bankrupted when slavery was abolished. My father says they have done little to remedy the situation since, and their fortunes have dwindled away.’

  ‘How can the Aires Cabrals be poor when they live in one of the finest houses in Rio, and Gustavo’s mother is laden with jewels?’ asked Bel.

  ‘The gems will be family heirlooms, and apparently the house hasn’t had a lick of paint in fifty years. Pai went up there once to survey it because it was in such a bad state of repair. He said it is so damp, it has green mould growing up the bathroom walls. But when he presented Senhor Aires Cabral with a quotation, he gasped in horror and sent him packing.’ Maria Elisa shrugged. ‘I swear, they’re only influential in name, not in wealth. Your father on the other hand is very rich.’ She eyed Bel. ‘However you try to deny it, you must see what’s happening?’

  ‘Even if he does ask, they can’t make me marry him, Maria Elisa. Not if it makes me unhappy.’

  ‘Well, I think your father would take a lot of persuading otherwise. Having a daughter with the Aires Cabral surname and his own grandchildren carrying on the line would be a dream come true for him. Anyone can see it’s the perfect match: you provide the beauty and wealth, and Gustavo provides the noble lineage.’

  Even though Bel had been assiduously avoiding thinking about the scenario, Maria Elisa’s blunt words struck home. ‘God help me,’ she sighed. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘I don’t know, Bel, I really don’t.’

  Bel changed the subject in an attempt to quell the desperation that threatened to overwhelm her, and voiced the thought that had been in her mind since Maria Elisa had first mentioned it. ‘When do you leave for Europe?’

  ‘In six weeks’ time. I’m so excited. Pai has already booked our cabins on the steamer that will take us across the sea to France.’

  ‘Maria Elisa . . .’ Bel reached out and grabbed her friend’s hand. ‘I beg you to ask your father if he would be prepared to speak to mine about me travelling to Paris with you? Convince him to persuade Pai that it will be beneficial for me to finish my education with a tour of the Old World if I’m to make a good marriage? Really, if I don’t do something now, you’re right: my parents will have me married off to Gustavo within the next few months. I have to escape, please.’

  ‘All right.’ Maria Elisa’s steady brown eyes took in Bel’s distress. ‘I will talk to Pai and see what he can do. But it may already be too late. The fact the Aires Cabrals have now invited you and your parents to their home tells me a proposal is imminent.’

  ‘But I’m only just eighteen! Surely far too young to marry? Bertha Lutz is telling us to fight for our independence, to earn our own living, so that we don’t need to sell ourselves to the highest male bidder. And women are joining her in her demands for equality!’

  ‘Yes, Bel, they are, but those women aren’t you. Now’ – Maria Elisa patted her friend’s hand comfortingly – ‘I promise I will speak to Pai and we’ll see if we can whisk you away from Rio, at least for a few months.’

  ‘And I might just never return,’ Bel whispered to herself under her breath.

  The following day, Bel climbed into their car along with her parents and they were driven to A Casa das Orquídeas, the family home of the Aires Cabrals. Carla sat next to her, and Bel could sense her tension. ‘Really, Mãe, it is only lunch.’

  ‘I know, querida,’ said Carla, staring straight ahead as the chauffeur drove through the tall wrought-iron gates and pulled into the drive of an imposing white mansion.

  ‘It is indeed an impressive property,’ remarked Antonio as he climbed out of the car and the three of them made their way to the porticoed front door.

  Yet, despite the size of the house and its graceful classical architecture, Bel couldn’t help remembering Maria Elisa’s words as she noted the less than immaculate gardens and the weathered paintwork.

  A maid greeted them and they were led through to an austere formal drawing room full of antique furniture. Bel sniffed the air. The room smelt of damp, and despite the heat of the day outside, she shivered.

  ‘I will tell Senhora Aires Cabral you are here,’ said the maid, indicating for them to sit down.

  This they did, and after what seemed to be an inordinately long wait, during which the three of them sat in silence, Gustavo finally entered the room.

  ‘Senhora and Senhor Bonifacio, and Senhorita Izabela, I’m so happy to have you here in our home. My parents are a little delayed, but will be joining us shortly.’

  Gustavo shook Antonio’s hand, and kissed Carla’s, then took Bel’s in his. ‘And may I say how beautiful you’re looking today, Izabela. Now, may I offer you some refreshment while we wait for my parents to join us?’

  Finally, after ten minutes of stilted conversation, Senhora and Senhor Aires Cabral entered the room.

  ‘My apologies, some family business held our attention, but we are here now,’ said Senhor Aires Cabral. ‘Shall we go through for luncheon?’

  The dining room was impossibly grand, with a table that Bel thought could perhaps hold forty guests at its elegantly turned mahogany sides. But as she looked up above her to the ceiling, she saw large cracks in the once exquisite ornate cornicing.

  ‘You find yourself well, Senhorita Izabela?’ asked Gustavo, who was seated next to her.

  ‘Yes, I am well.’

  ‘Good, good.’

  Bel racked her brain for a subject to discuss, having exhausted the obvious avenues of small talk with him on the previous occasions she had found herself next to him
at dinner.

  ‘How long has your family lived in this house?’ she managed.

  ‘For two hundred years,’ Gustavo explained. ‘And I think nothing much has changed in that time,’ he noted with a smile. ‘Sometimes, I feel it’s like living in a museum, although a very beautiful one.’

  ‘It is indeed beautiful,’ Bel agreed.

  ‘As you are,’ Gustavo added graciously.

  During the lunch, Bel caught Gustavo staring at her every time she turned her head towards him. His eyes were filled only with admiration, in contrast to his parents, who were not simply making polite conversation with the Bonifacios, but rather interviewing them. Bel saw her mother’s face across the table, strained and pale, as Carla struggled to talk to Senhora Aires Cabral, and shot her a sympathetic glance.

  However, as the wine eased the tension of the diners, Gustavo in particular began to talk more freely to her than he had previously. During that lunch, Bel learnt about his passion for literature, his love of classical music and his studies of Greek philosophy and Portuguese history. Having never worked a day in his life, Gustavo had filled his time with cultural learning and it was while discussing these subjects that he began to come alive. As he shared her own love of art, Bel warmed to him, and the rest of the luncheon passed pleasantly.

  ‘I think you are a natural scholar,’ she said to him with a smile, as the party stood up from the table to take coffee in the drawing room.

  ‘It is most kind of you to say so, Izabela. Any compliment from you is worth a thousand from others. And you, too, are most knowledgeable on the subject of art.’

  ‘I’ve always longed to travel to Europe, to see some of the works of the great masters,’ she admitted to him with a sigh.

  Half an hour later, the Bonifacios said their farewells.

  As their car drew away from the house, Antonio turned and beamed at his wife and daughter sitting in the back seat. ‘Well, I doubt that could have gone better.’