‘No, I’m not, Valentina.’ I suppressed a smile at her blatant interrogation tactic.
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ she continued.
‘No, not at the moment.’
‘Then perhaps Papai can be your boyfriend?’ she suggested, as she put a forkful of food to her mouth, chewed it for a few seconds then unceremoniously spat it out into her bowl.
‘Valentina! That was disgusting!’ Floriano chided her harshly.
‘Like this is.’ She indicated her bowl.
‘Well, I rather like it. I’ve always been fond of barbeques,’ I winked at her.
‘I’m really sorry. You don’t have to eat it, either of you. But at least there’s a very good thing for pudding. Why are you here, Maia?’ she asked me, changing the subject without even pausing for breath. ‘Are you helping Papai with his work?’
‘Yes. I’ve translated your father’s book into French.’
‘You don’t sound French and you look Brazilian. Doesn’t she, Papai?’
‘Yes, you’re right, she does,’ Floriano agreed.
‘So do you live in Paris?’ Valentina asked.
‘No, I live in Switzerland, on the shores of a very big lake.’
Valentina rested the palms of her hands under her chin. ‘I’ve never been away from Brazil. Can you tell me about the place you live?’
I did my best to describe Switzerland to her. When I mentioned the snow that fell so heavily in the winter, Valentina’s eyes lit up.
‘I’ve never seen snow, except in pictures. Perhaps I can come and stay with you one time and make the snow angels you said you used to make with your sisters when you were a little girl?’
‘Valentina, it’s very rude to invite yourself to someone else’s house. Now, I think it’s time we cleared away the plates.’ Floriano indicated the half-finished bowls of food.
‘Yes, Papai. Don’t worry, I will do it. You stay here and talk to your girlfriend.’
She winked cheekily at both of us as she collected the three bowls onto the tray and made off with it perilously rattling down the stairs.
‘My apologies,’ said Floriano, as he moved away from the table and leant against the terrace wall to light a cigarette. ‘She can be a little precocious, I’m afraid. Perhaps it comes from being an only child.’
‘There’s no need to apologise for her at all. She asks questions because she’s bright and interested in the world around her. And besides,’ I added, ‘I know from experience that it’s not just “only” children who can be precocious. I’m one of six sisters and the youngest certainly fits the bill. I think your daughter’s delightful.’
‘I always worry that I spoil her, give her too much attention to make up for the fact she doesn’t have a mother,’ Floriano sighed. ‘And whatever the modern ethos is on these things, men are simply not born with the same maternal instinct as women. Although I’ve done my best to learn,’ he added.
‘Personally, I don’t think it matters who brings you up, be it male or female, natural parent or adoptive, as long as the child is loved. But then I would say that, wouldn’t I?’ I shrugged.
‘Yes, I suppose so. You’ve certainly had a very unusual upbringing, Maia, from the sound of what you were telling Valentina just now. It must have had its complications as well as its privileges.’
‘You can say that again,’ I smiled ruefully.
‘At some point, I’d like to know more. Especially about your father. He sounds like a very interesting man.’
‘He was.’
‘So, tell me, are you feeling a little calmer than you seemed this morning?’ he asked me gently.
‘I am. And you’re right, of course, that the shock of losing the person I loved most in the world is only just beginning to dawn on me. It’s easier here because I can still imagine Pa at home. But to be honest, the thought of returning to the reality of him not being there when I leave Rio turns my stomach.’
‘Then stay a while longer,’ he encouraged me.
‘Well, I’ll see what happens tomorrow when I meet with Yara,’ I answered, batting away his comment. ‘But if that leads nowhere, I’ve decided that I’m not going to battle to find out the truth any more. After all, Senhora Carvalho has made it perfectly obvious that she doesn’t wish to know me, whether I’m her granddaughter or not.’
‘I can understand how you would see it like that. But Maia, you don’t yet know what happened in the past to provoke her reaction to you,’ Floriano urged me. ‘Or what her own childhood was like.’
‘Maia’ – Valentina’s head poked round the door – ‘can you come and help me, please?’ she said in a loud whisper.
‘Of course,’ I said, as I rose from the table and followed her down the stairs to the kitchen. Where, amidst the chaos of burnt saucepans, stood a cake with candles on the top. Valentina picked it up carefully.
‘Can you light them for me? Papai won’t let me use matches. I’ve put twenty-two candles on it because I’m not sure how old he is.’
‘I think twenty-two will be fine,’ I smiled. ‘Let’s light them at the top of the stairs so they don’t blow out on the way up.’
On the top landing, we crouched outside the door to the roof terrace and I lit the candles carefully, feeling Valentina’s eyes upon me. They held the same perceptive gaze as her father’s.
‘Thank you, Maia,’ she said when I’d lit the last one. As she prepared to parade through the door with the cake, she smiled up at me. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
‘So am I,’ I said. And I realised it was true.
I left the two of them half an hour later, having noticed that Valentina was yawning and angling for a story from Floriano.
‘So, am I taking you tomorrow, or would you prefer to go to the Casa alone?’ he asked me as he opened the door to the apartment.
‘I’d really like you to come,’ I admitted honestly. ‘I think I need some support.’
‘Good. Then I’ll see you at one o’clock tomorrow.’ Floriano kissed me formally on both cheeks. ‘Goodnight, Maia.’
29
I slept well and peacefully that night, my body having finally adjusted to the new time zone. I woke at nine, and crossed the road to Ipanema Beach for what was becoming a habitual daily swim. Then I returned to my suite to reread the letters, making notes of any questions I wanted to ask Yara. Upstairs on the hotel roof terrace, I drank a glass of wine with lunch in an attempt to steady my nerves. I knew that if Yara refused to elaborate, or, in fact, didn’t know herself how I’d ended up being adopted by Pa Salt, I’d have nowhere else to go.
‘Feeling hopeful?’ Floriano asked me as I climbed into the Fiat.
‘Yes. Or at least, I’m trying to.’
‘Good girl. You have to believe that Yara can help you until you know differently.’
‘The problem is,’ I said, ‘I’ve suddenly realised how much this matters to me.’
‘I know,’ he agreed. ‘I can see it.’
When we arrived outside the Casa, we saw with relief that, although the gates were still drawn shut, the padlock had been removed.
‘So far so good,’ said Floriano. ‘I shall wait here for you until you’ve finished.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t mind at all if you come in with me.’
‘Absolutely sure. I feel this is something that would be better done woman to woman. Good luck,’ he said, squeezing my hand as I climbed out of the car.
‘Thank you.’ And, taking a deep breath, I crossed the road and stood outside the high gates. I pushed one and it swung open with a groan of neglect. Once behind it, I glanced across to Floriano, who was staring at me from inside his car. With a wave, I turned, walked up the drive and mounted the steps to the front door.
It was opened immediately by Yara, who had obviously been waiting by it. She ushered me inside, then shut and bolted the door behind us.
‘I haven’t got long,’ she said tensely, as she led me down the dark corridor and into the same room in which Florian
o and I had previously seen Senhora Carvalho.
This time, though, the shutters remained tightly closed, and there was only a dim standard lamp throwing a ghostly light into the room.
‘Please, sit down,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’ I did so, then looked at Yara as she perched herself nervously on a chair opposite me. ‘I’m so sorry if my sudden appearance has caused you and Senhora Carvalho worry,’ I began. ‘But I have to believe that you gave me those letters for a reason. And you must have known that once I’d read them, I would want to know more.’
‘Yes, yes . . .’ Yara rubbed her brow. ‘Senhorita, you must understand that your grandmother is dying. Once she has gone, I have no idea what will become of me. Whether she has even left me anything to live on.’
Immediately, I wondered if Yara was wanting to offer me information in return for payment. And if so, whether that information was reliable. Yara must have seen my frown and was quick to reassure me.
‘No, I’m not asking for money. What I’m saying is that if she found out I was speaking to you now, she might decide that any pension she was thinking of giving me should be withdrawn.’
‘But why? What is it that she doesn’t wish for me to know?’
‘Senhorita Maia, it is to do with your mother, Cristina. She left this house over thirty-four years ago. I do not wish for Senhora Carvalho to be distressed during her final days on earth. Do you understand?’
‘No, not really,’ I replied, every nerve ending tingling at the first mention of my mother . . . ‘Then why did you give me those letters? They were written eighty years ago by my great-grandmother, three generations before I was even born!’
‘Because to understand what happened to you, you have to know what came before,’ Yara explained. ‘Although I can only repeat what my mother, Loen, told me, as I too was only just born when Senhora Izabela gave birth to Senhora Carvalho.’
‘Please, I beg you, Yara, tell me everything you know,’ I urged, intuiting that before Yara’s courage left her, every second was precious. ‘I swear that I would never compromise you by telling Senhora Carvalho you have spoken to me.’
‘Not even if you knew that you stood to inherit this house?’ Yara eyed me.
‘I assure you that I was adopted by an extremely wealthy man and I want for nothing financially. Please, Yara.’
She stared at me for a few seconds, then gave a small sigh of surrender.
‘The letters you read that were written to my mother ended when Senhora Izabela returned to Rio, yes?’
‘Yes. The last one was posted from the ship when it docked in Africa on its way back from France,’ I confirmed. ‘I know Bel returned home to Rio. I’ve seen the photos of her wedding to Gustavo Aires Cabral in the archives.’
‘Yes. So, I will tell you what my mother said happened to Izabela in the eighteen months that followed . . .’
Izabela
Rio de Janeiro
October 1928
30
‘Izabela! My beloved daughter, you are returned home safe to us!’ Antonio cried as Bel walked off the gangplank and into his open arms. He clasped her in his strong embrace then stood back to look at her. ‘Why, what is this? You feel like a sparrow to hold. Have you not been eating? And you are so pale, princesa, but I suppose that is the Northern European weather for you. You need the hot sun of your own country to put some colour in your cheeks. Come, they are already loading your trunk into the car and it is parked not far along the quay.’
‘Where is Mãe?’ Bel asked, as she walked by his side. The sky was unusually grey and gloomy for October and she only wished the sun had been out; that at least might have lightened her mood.
‘She’s resting at home,’ her father replied. ‘She has not been well.’
‘You said nothing in your letters to me,’ Bel said with a worried frown.
‘I’m sure your presence will speed her recovery.’ Her father stopped beside an impressive silver car and the chauffeur opened the door to the back seat so Bel could climb inside.
‘What do you think?’ asked Antonio as he joined her on the soft grey calf-leather seat. ‘I had it shipped from America. It is a Rolls-Royce, a “Phantom”, and I believe the first one in Rio. I will be proud to take my princesa in it to the cathedral on her wedding day.’
‘It is beautiful,’ said Bel automatically, her thoughts still with her mother.
‘We will take the scenic route along the beach, to remind my daughter of what she has missed,’ Antonio instructed the driver. ‘We have so much to tell each other, it will be hard to know where to begin,’ he said. ‘But business-wise, all is very good here. The price of coffee rises daily, thanks to the demand from America, and I have purchased two further farms. My name has also been put forward as a possible candidate for the Federal Senate,’ he said proudly. ‘Gustavo’s father, Maurício, nominated me. They have just completed a new and marvellous building in Rua Moncorvo Filho, where even the floor and the cornices are decorated with coffee beans. That is the power of our simple bean here in Brazil.’
‘I’m happy for you, Pai,’ Bel replied flatly as they drove through the familiar streets.
‘And I’ve no doubt that yours will be the greatest wedding Rio has ever seen. I have been talking to Gustavo and Maurício about the need to restore their family home, as it will be where you live too once you are married. As you know, it is a gracious old building, but the fabric and interior are ageing. We have agreed, as part of your dowry, that I will finance its restoration, and the renovations have already begun. My princesa, by the time it is finished, you will live in a palace!’
‘Thank you, Pai,’ answered Bel with a smile, wanting to convince him, and, more importantly, herself, that she was grateful.
‘We are planning the wedding for after the New Year, just before the Carnival. You and your new home will have three months to prepare yourselves. So you will be kept busy, querida.’
Bel had been half expecting to be marched up the aisle as soon as she’d returned to Rio. So at least a small delay was something, she thought, as they drove past the Copacabana Palace Hotel and she stared out at the roaring grey sea, crashing its white foam onto the sand.
‘When you have recovered from your journey, we will hold a dinner so that you can share all the wonderful new sights and culture you have gleaned from the Old World and impress our friends with your knowledge.’
‘I loved Paris,’ she ventured. ‘It’s such a beautiful city, and Professor Landowski, who is making the outer shell of the Cristo figure for Senhor da Silva Costa, had an assistant who made a sculpture of me also.’
‘Well, if it is good, we must contact him. I will buy it and bring it to Brazil,’ commented Antonio.
‘I doubt that it would be for sale,’ she said wistfully.
‘Querida, anything is for sale at the right price,’ Antonio stated flatly. ‘Now, we’re almost home and I’m sure your mother will have risen from her bed to greet you.’
If Antonio had expressed concern at the pale, waif-like appearance of his daughter, it was nothing compared to Bel’s shock when her mother appeared to greet her. Carla, always voluptuous, seemed to have shed half her bodyweight in the eight and a half months since Bel had last seen her.
‘Mãe!’ Bel exclaimed as she ran into her arms and hugged her. ‘What have you done to yourself? You must have been on a diet!’
Carla did her best to smile and Bel saw how huge her brown eyes looked in her gaunt face. ‘I wish to look modish for my daughter’s wedding,’ she joked. ‘Do you not think the weight loss suits me?’
Used to her comfortingly large breasts, which had cushioned Bel on many occasions as a child, Bel looked at Carla and thought her new figure had aged her by years.
‘Yes, Mãe, I think it does,’ she lied.
‘Good, good. Now,’ she said, tucking her arm into her daughter’s as they walked inside, ‘I have so much to tell you, but I’m sure you that you wish to rest first.’
> Given that Bel had just spent many days aboard ship with little to do but rest, she didn’t feel in the least bit weary. But as her mother winced suddenly, Bel realised it was her need, not her daughter’s, that had prompted the suggestion.
‘Of course, we can both take a nap and then talk later,’ she said, seeing a flash of relief pass across her mother’s face. ‘It’s you who seems weary, Mãe,’ Bel said, as they reached her parents’ bedroom door. ‘Shall I come and help you back to bed?’
‘No,’ Carla replied firmly. ‘Gabriela is already inside and she will attend to me. I will see you later.’ She nodded as she opened the bedroom door and then shut it behind her.
Bel sought out her father immediately and found him in his study. ‘Pai, please tell me, how ill is Mãe?’
Antonio, who had begun wearing glasses since she’d last seen him, looked up from his papers and took them off his nose.
‘Querida, your mother did not want you to worry while you were away, but she had an operation a month ago to remove a growth from her breast. The operation was a success and the surgeons are full of positivity for a complete recovery. The procedure has taken its toll on her, that is all. Once she has recovered her strength, she will be well again.’
‘Pai, she looks dreadful! Please tell me the truth. Don’t hide the extent of her sickness from me.’
‘I swear, Izabela, that I am not hiding anything. Ask her doctors if you don’t believe me. All she needs is rest and good food. Her appetite has been very limited since the operation.’
‘You are sure she will recover?’
‘I am sure.’
‘Then now I am home, I will nurse her.’
Ironically, the fact that Bel had her mother’s well-being to think of helped her greatly in the next few days. It gave her a focus, something to concentrate on other than her own misery. She oversaw the preparation of Carla’s food herself, making sure the kitchen staff prepared nourishing dishes that were easy for her mother to swallow and digest. She sat with her in the mornings, talking brightly about what she’d seen in the Old World, about Landowski and the Beaux-Arts school and Senhor da Silva Costa’s wonderful Cristo project.
The Seven Sisters Page 28