‘I’ll give you a lift back to the hotel.’ Floriano rose too.
‘Really, I can walk,’ I said firmly.
‘Okay. Can we say twelve o’clock tomorrow? I have a parent–teacher meeting at nine thirty. They think Valentina might be dyslexic,’ he said with a sigh.
‘Of course. And I’m sorry to hear that. Although Electra, one of my sisters, is dyslexic. And she’s one of the smartest people I know,’ I said to comfort him. ‘Goodnight, Floriano.’
28
When I woke up the next morning, I took Yara’s letters out of the safe and reread the ones that Bel had sent to Loen from Paris. This time, instead of desperately searching for clues to my own heritage, I revisited them as Floriano – the historian – had. And I understood why he was so excited about them. I put the letters down and lay back on my pillows, thinking about him and his pretty daughter, and the mother, who, to my eyes, had seemed at the very most to be in her early twenties.
For some reason, I was surprised that Floriano had chosen such a young woman as his partner. And if I was honest, I’d felt the tiniest prick of jealousy when mother and daughter had appeared in the apartment last night. Sometimes it seemed the whole world was in love except for me.
I showered, dressed and went downstairs to the lobby to meet Floriano. For the first time, he wasn’t there, so I sat down to wait for him. He arrived fifteen minutes later, looking uncharacteristically harassed.
‘My apologies, Maia. My meeting at the school went on longer than I’d anticipated.’
‘No problem at all,’ I assured him as we climbed into the Fiat. ‘Did it go well?’
‘If being told your precious child has a problem can ever go “well”,’ he sighed. ‘At least the dyslexia’s been identified at an early stage, so I hope that Valentina will be able to get the help and support she needs. But obviously, as I’m a writer, it’s sad and ironic that my child will have a lifelong struggle with words.’
‘I can see that must hurt. I’m sorry,’ I offered, not sure what else to say.
‘She’s such a good girl and she hasn’t had an easy life.’
‘Well, from what I saw last night, she certainly has two loving parents at least.’
‘One loving parent,’ Floriano contradicted me. ‘Sadly, my wife died when Valentina was a baby. She went into hospital for a simple operation, returned from it two days later and the wound became infected. Of course we sought immediate medical help and were told it would heal in time. Two weeks later, Andrea was dead of septicaemia. So you can understand why I have so little regard for the Brazilian health service.’
‘I’m so sorry, Floriano. I thought last night that . . .’
‘That Petra was her mother?’ Floriano shot me a grin as his features relaxed a little. ‘Maia, she’s not even twenty, but I’m flattered that you think an old man like me could attract such a young and beautiful woman.’
‘Oh,’ I said, blushing. ‘Sorry.’
‘Petra is a university student and she has a bedroom in my apartment in return for some childcare, especially during the school holidays. Thankfully, Valentina’s grandparents live not far away and have her to stay often, especially when I’m writing. They offered to have her live with them permanently when my wife died, but I refused. It can get complicated sometimes, but we seem to get through somehow. And it helps that she’s such an easy child.’
I looked at Floriano again through new eyes, and realised this man never ceased to surprise me. It also made me ponder how empty my own life was in comparison to the complexity of his.
‘Do you have children, Maia?’ he asked me.
‘No,’ I said abruptly.
‘Any plans for them in the future?’
‘I doubt it. I don’t have anyone special to provide me with any.’
‘So, have you even been in love, Maia?’
‘Once, yes, but it didn’t work out.’
‘I’m sure someone will come along. It’s hard being alone. Even though I have Valentina, I still struggle sometimes.’
‘At least it’s safe,’ I murmured before I could stop myself.
‘Safe?’ he said as he shot me an odd glance. ‘Meu Deus, Maia! My life has had considerable moments of deep pain, especially when my wife died. But “safe” is something I’ve never aspired to.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I backtracked wildly, blushing with embarrassment.
‘You know, I think you did and I find it very sad. Besides, hiding away from the world never works, because you still have to meet yourself in the mirror every morning. You’d make a terrible gambler.’ He smiled suddenly, sensing my tension and wanting to ease it. ‘Now, what is the plan when we get to the convent?’
‘What do you suggest?’ I asked, shaken from our previous exchange.
‘We ask if your grandmother has been admitted, I suppose. And take it from there.’
‘Okay.’
The rest of the journey passed in silence, with me still regretting my instinctive comment and smarting from Floriano’s reaction to it. I glanced out of the window at the view as we drove away from the city and the road began to climb upwards.
Eventually, we turned along a winding gravel track and arrived in front of a large, austere grey stone building. The convent of São Sebastião, the patron saint of Rio, had been built two hundred years ago and, from the look of it, not modernised much since.
‘Shall we?’ he asked me, then gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
‘Yes,’ I replied, as we both climbed out of the car and walked towards the entrance.
We went inside and found ourselves in a large, echoing hallway. It was completely deserted, and I looked at Floriano askance.
‘As this is a functioning convent, rather than just a hospice, it probably has a hospital wing on the side of it. Ah, here we are,’ he said as we came to halt in front of an old-fashioned Bakelite buzzer mounted on the wall near the door. He pressed it and a loud ringing emanated from somewhere inside the building. A few seconds later, a nun appeared in the entrance hall and walked towards us.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes, we believe that my wife’s grandmother has admitted herself to the convent,’ said Floriano. ‘We weren’t expecting her to come here so soon and we’re obviously concerned for her state of health.’
‘What is the name of the patient?’
‘Senhora Beatriz Carvalho,’ Floriano replied. ‘She may well have come here with her maid, Yara.’
The nun surveyed us, then finally nodded. ‘Yes, she and her maid are here. But it isn’t visiting hours for relatives at present and Senhora Carvalho has requested that she be left in peace. You will obviously know how sick she is.’
‘Of course,’ Floriano agreed calmly. ‘We do not wish to disturb Senhora Carvalho, but perhaps it’s possible for us to speak to Yara, her maid, to ask if there’s anything she needs from her home? We would be happy to go and get it for her.’
‘Wait here, and I’ll see if I can find Senhora Canterino.’
The nun turned and walked away from us and I looked at Floriano in admiration. ‘Well done,’ I said.
‘Well, let’s see if Yara will talk to us, because I’m telling you now, I’d prefer to face a gang of armed bandits than I would a group of nuns who are protecting one of their flock in her last days on earth.’
‘At least we now know where she is.’
‘Yes. You see, Maia?’ he encouraged me. ‘When you trust your instincts, they’re often proved right.’
To distract myself while we waited, I walked outside and sat down on a bench which was placed at a vantage point giving a beautiful view of Rio below. Its hectic streets seemed like a distant dream up here, I mused, as the Angelus bell struck noon, calling the nuns to prayer. I felt the peaceful atmosphere calm me and thought that I too would be happy to spend my last days here. It was as if the convent was suspended somewhere between the earth below and heaven above.
A hand tapped me on the shoulder,
making me jump out of my reverie. I turned round and saw Floriano with Yara next to him, looking distinctly agitated.
‘I’ll leave you two ladies alone for a while,’ Floriano said diplomatically, and walked away through the gardens.
I stood up. ‘Hello. Thank you for coming out to see me.’
‘How did you find us?’ Yara hissed, as if her mistress, far away inside the thick walls of the convent, might hear. ‘Senhora Carvalho would be very distressed if she knew you were here.’
‘Won’t you sit down?’ I gestured to the bench.
‘I can only stay a few minutes, for if Senhora Carvalho found out I was talking to you . . .’
‘I promise that I will leave you both in peace as soon as I can. But Yara, having read the letters you gave me, surely you can understand why I was desperate to speak to you again?’
Finally, she sank down onto the bench. ‘Yes,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’ve regretted giving them to you ever since.’
‘Then why did you?’
‘Because . . .’ Yara shrugged her bony shoulders. ‘Something told me I should. What you must understand is that Senhora Carvalho knows very little of her mother’s past. Her father protected her from it after . . .’ She nervously smoothed her skirt with her thin hands.
‘After what?’ I persisted.
She shook her head. ‘I can’t speak to you here. Please, you don’t understand anything. Senhora Carvalho has come here to die. She is very sick and only has a short time left. She must be left in peace.’
‘I understand. But senhora, please tell me if you know what happened when Izabela Bonifacio returned from Paris?’
‘She married your great-grandfather, Gustavo Aires Cabral.’
‘I know that much, but what about Laurent Brouilly? I know for a fact he was here in Brazil. I’ve seen a photograph of him in Rio with the Cristo. I—’
‘Hush!’ said Yara, glancing about her anxiously. ‘Please! We must not talk of these things here.’
‘Then where, and when?’ I urged her, seeing she was torn between loyalty to her mistress and her desire to speak further. ‘Please, Yara, I swear I’m not here to make trouble, I just want to know where I came from. Surely that’s the right of every human being? And if you do know, I beg you to tell me. Then I promise I’ll go away.’
I watched as she stared into the distance, her eyes falling on the Cristo, his head and hands currently masked by a cloud.
‘All right. But not here. Tomorrow I must return to the Casa to collect some possessions Senhora Carvalho has asked me for. I will meet you there at two o’clock. Now please, leave!’
Yara was already standing and I followed suit.
‘Thank you,’ I called to her as she walked quickly away from me and disappeared inside the entrance to the convent. I saw Floriano leaning against his car and made my way towards him.
‘Success?’ he asked me.
‘She’ll meet me at the Casa tomorrow afternoon,’ I replied as he opened the passenger door for me and I climbed in.
‘That’s fantastic news, Maia,’ he said as he started the engine and we sped off.
As we approached the city, I realised I was on the verge of tears.
‘Are you okay?’ Floriano asked me as we came to a halt outside the hotel.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I replied abruptly, not trusting myself to say any more because I could hear the wobble in my own voice.
‘Would you like to come round later this evening? Apparently, Valentina is cooking me supper tonight. You’d be welcome to join us.’
‘No, I wouldn’t want to intrude.’
‘You won’t be, really. Actually, it’s my birthday today,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Anyway, as I said, you’re very welcome.’
‘Happy birthday,’ I said, feeling either irrationally guilty for not knowing, or hurt that he hadn’t told me this sooner. And I wasn’t sure which.
‘Thanks. Well, if you won’t join us this evening, shall I collect you tomorrow and drive you up to the Casa?’
‘Really, Floriano, you’ve done enough. I can take a cab.’
‘Maia, please, it would be my pleasure,’ he reassured me. ‘I can see that you’re upset. Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No. I’ll be fine tomorrow after a good night’s sleep.’ I made to open the passenger door, but as I did so, he placed a gentle hand on my wrist.
‘Remember that you’re grieving. You only lost your father a couple of weeks ago and this . . . odyssey back into your past must be emotionally unsettling on top of it. Try to be kind to yourself, Maia,’ he added softly. ‘If you need me, you know where I am.’
‘Thank you.’ I climbed out of the car, walked swiftly through the hotel lobby and took the lift to my floor. Once in the sanctuary of my room, I let the tears flow. Though precisely what I was crying about, I had no idea.
Eventually, I fell asleep, and awoke feeling calmer. It was past four o’clock, so I took myself off to the beach and had a swim in the bracing Atlantic waves. As I wandered back to the hotel, I thought about Floriano and the fact that it was his birthday. He’d been so very kind to me, perhaps the least I could do was to take round a bottle of wine as a gift.
As I showered the beach from my body, I imagined Valentina, Floriano’s six-year-old daughter, making him supper on his birthday. The image was so poignant I could hardly bear it. Floriano had brought her up almost entirely single-handedly, even though he could easily have handed her over to her grandparents.
I knew that witnessing father and daughter together and the obvious love they shared was what had destabilised me earlier. Not to mention Floriano’s incisive comments about me on the drive up to the convent.
Maia, you have to get over yourself, I told myself firmly, aware that all that had happened and was happening to me was making me feel as though my protective outer shell was slowly being peeled away, revealing my vulnerable inner self. And I had to start dealing with it.
Having dressed, I listened to my phone messages for the first time in three days. Both Tiggy and Ally had obviously heard from Ma about my abrupt departure and were requesting a call back to find out where on earth I was. I decided I’d contact them once I’d met with Yara tomorrow and perhaps then I could tell them exactly why I was here.
I texted them both to say I was fine and I’d email them all with my news soon, then, mirroring my earlier thoughts with decisive action, I left the hotel and walked into the heart of Ipanema. I found a supermarket and bought two bottles of the best red wine they had and some chocolates for Valentina. I walked through the bustling square, where a night market was attracting the locals, and made my way to the street where Floriano lived.
Climbing the steps, I was faced with the choice of five buzzers. I pressed the first one and got no reply, then the second and the third. Pressing the last one and receiving silence, I was just about to turn tail and retrace my footsteps back to the hotel when I heard a shout from high above me.
‘Hey, Maia! Press the top buzzer and I’ll let you in.’
‘Okay,’ I called out to him. And a few seconds later, I was at the already open door to his apartment.
‘We’re in the kitchen,’ he shouted as I entered. ‘Go up to the roof terrace and I’ll see you there.’
I did as I was told, noticing a definite smell of burnt food pervading the downstairs rooms. I stood looking out over the terrace at the sun setting behind the hillside which housed the favela. Finally, Floriano appeared, sweating slightly.
‘Sorry about that. Valentina insisted she wanted no help heating up the pasta dish that Petra had helped her make earlier for her to serve to me tonight. Sadly, she turned the gas onto full power and I’m afraid it’s a burnt offering for my birthday supper. I’ve left her in the kitchen to plate it up, but she wants to know if you would like some too. I think I could do with some help to chew my way through it,’ he admitted.
‘If you’re sure there’s enough, then yes, I’d love to stay.’
�
��Oh yes, there’s plenty,’ he said as he noticed the bottles of wine and the chocolates.
‘To wish you a happy birthday,’ I said. ‘And also to say thank you for all the help you’ve given me.’
‘That’s sweet of you, Maia, I appreciate it. I’ll go and get another wine glass and see how the cook’s getting on downstairs. And tell her that we have another guest for supper. Please, sit down.’
He indicated the table as he left and I saw that it had been spread with a white lace tablecloth and carefully set for two. In the centre of the table, taking pride of place, was a big homemade birthday card, depicting a man with stick arms and legs, and bearing the caption, ‘Feliz Aniversário Papai!’
Floriano eventually returned, carrying a tray with a wine glass, extra cutlery and two bowls of food. ‘Valentina has ordered us to begin eating,’ he said as he set the contents of the tray on the table and proceeded to open a bottle of the wine I’d brought.
‘Thank you,’ I said as he carried an extra chair to the table and set another place for himself. ‘I really hope I’m not disturbing you. And that Valentina doesn’t mind me gatecrashing her special supper with her father.’
‘Quite the opposite – she’s absolutely thrilled. Although I warn you, she keeps calling you my girlfriend. Just ignore her; she’s forever trying to matchmake her poor old Papai! Sáude!’ he said as he lifted his glass to mine.
‘Sáude. And happy birthday,’ I toasted him.
Valentina appeared through the door and brought another bowl to the table, placing it shyly in front of me.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Papai said your name was Maia; it’s a pretty name. And you are pretty too, don’t you think so?’ she added, turning to her father as she sat down between us at the table.
‘I think that Maia is very pretty indeed,’ Floriano agreed gallantly. ‘And this supper looks delicious. Thank you, querida.’
‘Papai, we both know it’s burnt and will taste horrible and I don’t at all mind if you want to put it in the dustbin and we have chocolate instead,’ Valentina replied pragmatically, eyeing the gift I had brought with me. ‘I’m not a very good cook yet,’ she shrugged as her dark eyes turned to me. ‘Are you married?’ she asked me as we all lifted our forks tentatively to start eating.
The Seven Sisters Page 27