Laurent climbed out of the taxi, paid the driver and stood staring up in wonder at the facade of the building, which was certainly one of the most impressive he’d seen in Rio so far. He mounted the wide marble steps to the gracious front door and rang the bell.
It was opened by a maid, and he was ushered into a drawing room, already occupied by two middle-aged couples. In the corner of the room, draped with a tablecloth to hide it from view, was what he recognised from the shape as his sculpture.
‘Ah, you have arrived!’ said a thin man with features that reminded him of a rodent as he entered the room behind him. ‘The sculptor himself!’ He smiled and held out his pale hand. ‘Gustavo Aires Cabral. And you must be Senhor Laurent Brouilly.’
‘Yes. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, senhor,’ he replied, noticing that the man’s handshake was rather weak and that he stood at least four inches below Laurent in height. Surely, he thought, as Gustavo guided him over to introduce him to the other occupants of the room, this scrawny, unattractive man could not be Izabela’s new husband?
‘Champagne, senhor?’ asked a maid, offering him a glass from a tray.
‘Merci,’ he said as he shook hands with Gustavo’s parents, and was then introduced to Izabela’s mother and father.
Antonio Bonifacio, a tall, attractive man, with flecks of grey appearing in his black hair, shook his hand heartily, and Carla gave him a warm smile. She was a beautiful woman and Laurent could see where Izabela had inherited her dark, sultry looks from. Neither of them could speak French, so Gustavo translated for them both.
‘Senhor Bonifacio says that Izabela has told him so much about Professor Landowski and the time she spent in the atelier while you sculpted her. He waits to see if you have captured her beauty well enough,’ said Gustavo.
‘I can only hope you think I’ve done your daughter justice, senhor,’ Laurent replied, feeling the mother’s eyes upon him, assessing him as he spoke. He recognised her as the woman who’d been with Izabela yesterday on the top of Corcovado Mountain.
‘Senhora Carla says that of course, Izabela doesn’t know anything about either the sculpture being here, or you,’ said Gustavo, ‘and that it will be a big surprise for her when she comes down to join us.’
‘It certainly will,’ Laurent replied with feeling.
‘Are you ready?’ said Gustavo, entering the bedroom and finding Bel sitting on the bed looking pensive.
She turned and smiled at him. ‘Yes.’
Gustavo surveyed his wife in a beautiful gown of green silk, the emeralds her father had presented her with for her eighteenth birthday in her ears and around her neck.
‘You look radiant, querida,’ he said offering her his arm. ‘Shall we go?’
‘I can’t imagine what it might be that warrants such an audience,’ said Bel as she walked with him down the stairs.
‘Well, you shall soon see.’ Gustavo tapped his nose and then opened the drawing room door. ‘Here she is,’ he said to the assembled company, and Bel smiled as her mother and father came over to greet her. Gustavo steered Bel away from them towards his own parents, who were talking to another guest.
‘This is the first part of your surprise, which may help you guess what your gift is. May I present Senhor Laurent Brouilly, all the way from Paris.’
Bel watched as Laurent turned towards her, Gustavo smiling gaily between the two of them, so happy with his surprise plan.
She gazed at Laurent witlessly, knowing that all eyes in the room had turned towards the two of them to watch for her reaction. She could not think of a thing to say to him, so deep was her shock. She felt her silence lasting forever as the seconds ticked by.
‘Madame Aires Cabral,’ said Laurent, taking her hand in his and saving the day. ‘It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance again.’ He kissed her hand, and then studied her. ‘Your father was asking a few minutes ago whether I felt I had done you justice, but seeing you again, I fear I have not.’
‘I . . .’ Bel forced her brain to make her mouth open and speak to him in French. ‘Senhor Brouilly, what a pleasant surprise. I did not expect to see you in Rio.’
‘Well,’ said Gustavo, ‘it was a happy coincidence that Senhor Brouilly was here in Brazil for the Cristo project. Surely you must have guessed what my gift is by now?’
Bel’s mind was so full of Laurent, she hadn’t even begun to contemplate the correlation between his presence and the gift from her husband. Luckily, before she could answer, Gustavo steered her towards an object that stood draped under a tablecloth, as everyone gathered round.
‘Shall I remove it?’ Gustavo asked her.
‘Yes,’ said Bel with a gulp, finally understanding what the gift was.
There were gasps of delight as Laurent’s sculpture was revealed. And Bel could only thank God Laurent had captured her as a chaste young woman. No one gazing at her image could possibly suggest the sculpture was in any way inappropriate.
‘So?’ Gustavo’s eyes swept around the room, gauging the onlookers’ opinions.
Antonio was the first to speak. ‘Why, it is the most incredible likeness. You have captured her well, Senhor Brouilly.’
‘Yes indeed, that is the image of my daughter,’ said Carla approvingly.
Gustavo translated both the positive responses to Laurent and he gave them a bow of appreciation.
‘I’m not sure that you have quite caught her lips,’ said Luiza in French, always eager to find something negative to say. ‘They are not as full as they could be.’
‘Well, senhora,’ replied Laurent, ‘studying your daughter-in-law after her marriage, she has definitely flowered since I last saw her in person. It must be that being a wife, with all its pleasures, suits her.’
Bel almost gasped at Laurent’s response to Luiza’s criticism, ostensibly gracious yet so soaked with innuendo that no one in the room could miss it. Luiza had the grace to blush.
‘And what do you think of my gift to you, Izabela?’ enquired Gustavo, placing a proprietorial arm around her waist.
‘I don’t think I can judge the merits of a sculpture of myself without sounding arrogant, but it is a very thoughtful wedding gift, Gustavo. And you have made me very happy.’ As robotically as she had spoken those words, Bel planted a kiss on her husband’s cheek. And during every second of this exchange, she felt – or imagined she felt – Laurent’s eyes burning into her.
The elderly butler entered the room and announced that dinner was served. At the table, Bel was grateful that Laurent had been placed between Luiza and Carla; she was between her father and her father-in-law, with Gustavo holding court at the top of the table. Unfortunately, Laurent was seated directly opposite her, so every time she looked up, there he was. She thought how the table arrangement was a dreadful parody of the hours they had sat facing each other in the atelier in France.
Taking a large gulp of the wine the butler had poured her to calm her nerves, Bel turned to her right and began an in-depth conversation about anything that sprang to mind with Maurício. Antonio, hearing that they had begun discussing coffee prices, soon joined in and the two men spoke of their concerns that the amount currently being produced in Brazil was creating a surplus which was driving the price down.
‘My friends in the senate are talking about the idea of stockpiling,’ commented Maurício.
‘Yes, and I’m planning to follow their lead on my farms,’ confirmed Antonio. ‘The price has already dropped in the space of a month and the profits are not as healthy as they were.’
While the conversation was lost on her, Bel had no choice but to sit slightly back in her chair as the two men conversed across her. Which meant she often found herself staring straight ahead at Laurent.
And as their eyes locked for a few seconds, they both knew that nothing had changed.
Over coffee in the drawing room, Bel found herself in a three-way conversation with Gustavo and Laurent.
‘When will you return to Paris?’ Gustavo enqu
ired of him.
‘I haven’t made a decision yet,’ he said. ‘It depends on how things turn out, and what opportunities I find here,’ Laurent replied, glancing at Bel. ‘Your mother, monsieur, has kindly promised to introduce me to some possible clients who may wish members of their family to be sculpted. Who knows?’ he said with a smile. ‘I may fall in love with your beautiful country and decide to stay here forever.’
‘Well, if you have secured my mother as your champion and patron, then that may well be an option,’ Gustavo said. ‘More brandy?’ he asked, rising from the sofa where he’d been sitting next to Bel.
‘Not for me, thank you, senhor,’ said Laurent.
Gustavo walked away, and the two of them were left alone together for the first time.
‘How are you, Izabela?’ he asked her.
Bel gazed down at the table, at the floorboards, anywhere so that her eyes did not have to meet Laurent’s. There was a world she wanted to say to him, but could not. ‘I am . . . married,’ she managed eventually.
She glanced up for his response and saw him furtively checking the room to see if any eyes were upon them.
‘Bel,’ he whispered, as he leant towards her as close as he dared from his chair. ‘You must know that I came here to find you. You must know it,’ he reiterated. ‘If you wish me to turn around and catch the next boat back to France, I will. But I want to hear if from your lips. Now,’ he urged her as he saw Gustavo pouring the brandy into his glass from the decanter. ‘Tell me, are you happy with your husband?’
She could not find the words to reply. She saw Gustavo replacing the crystal stopper on the decanter. ‘I cannot,’ she finally managed, knowing the seconds were running out.
‘Then do you still love me?’
‘Yes.’ She watched Gustavo bend down to his mother and whisper something in her ear.
‘Then meet me tomorrow afternoon. My address is seventeen Rua Visconde de Pirajá. It’s an apartment block in Ipanema and I am number six on the top floor.’
Bel consigned it to memory as Gustavo swayed back towards them both. She saw Laurent noticing how drunk he was, and she shuddered as Gustavo sat down next to her, put a fierce arm around her and pulled her to him to kiss her.
‘Isn’t my wife beautiful?’ he said to Laurent.
‘Indeed she is, monsieur.’
‘Sometimes I feel I don’t deserve her,’ Gustavo said as he took another slug of his brandy. ‘As you can imagine, I’m enjoying my first few weeks of married life.’
‘Oh yes, I can imagine,’ said Laurent. ‘And now, forgive me, but I must take my leave.’ He stood up abruptly, and walked away to say his goodbyes to the assembled company.
‘Are you healthy again?’ Gustavo whispered in Bel’s ear as she saw Laurent kissing Carla’s hand.
‘Sadly not, but maybe tomorrow.’
‘A shame,’ Gustavo commented. ‘Tonight I wanted to love my beautiful wife.’
Laurent came back and stood in front of them. ‘I will say goodnight and thank you to both of you.’
Gustavo and Bel rose, Laurent shaking his hand and then taking hers briefly and kissing it.
‘À bientôt, Madame Aires Cabral.’
‘Bonne nuit, Senhor Brouilly.’
Once Laurent had left, the rest of the party began to disperse.
‘Goodnight, querida,’ said Carla on the doorstep. ‘Come and visit me soon,’ she said, giving her daughter a quizzical glance before walking down the steps behind Antonio.
Upstairs on the landing outside their bedroom, Gustavo kissed Bel passionately. ‘I can’t wait until tomorrow evening,’ he said.
Bel shut the door, disrobed and climbed into bed, thanking God she was alone tonight.
37
Bel woke the following morning knowing she must have drunk too much the night before. Or had at least experienced a rush of blood to her head. Why else would she have agreed to meet Laurent this afternoon at his apartment?
She rolled over and groaned. Last night, she’d lain in bed joyfully reliving every heated glance and word that had passed between them, but now she played out the dreadful consequences of Laurent’s presence here in Rio.
She had been married to Gustavo for less than a month. And yet she had confessed to Laurent that not only was she unhappy in her marriage, but that she still loved him . . .
What madness had possessed her?
The madness of love . . .
Whatever affliction it was, the consequences of Gustavo finding out about the relationship they’d had in France, let alone if it was continued now, were too awful even to contemplate.
Bel stood up and went to the bathroom. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, asking it what she should do. The safest option was simply not to visit Laurent at his apartment this afternoon. If she stayed away, she was sure he would accept it and not bother her again.
Laurent’s eyes immediately took the place of her own in the glass, full of love, promise and fulfilment, and she shuddered with pleasure despite herself.
Loen was in her bedroom when she came out of the bathroom.
‘How are you, Senhora Bel?’ Loen asked as she hung up the beautiful silk dress Bel had discarded in a heap on the floor last night.
‘I am . . . a little tired,’ she admitted.
‘He was here last night, wasn’t he? Your sculptor?’ Loen said as she continued to tidy the room.
‘Yes, he was. I . . . Oh Loen.’ Bel sank onto the bed, put her head in her hands and wept. Loen came to sit next to her and put an arm round her mistress.
‘Please don’t cry. Surely you must be a little happy he has come to Brazil?’
‘Yes . . . no . . .’ Bel looked up at Loen. ‘I’ve done something very silly,’ she admitted. ‘I told him I’d meet him at his apartment in Ipanema this afternoon.’
‘I see.’ Loen nodded calmly. ‘Will you go?’
‘How can I? I am married and I have agreed to meet another man! What would you do, Loen? Please, tell me.’
‘I don’t know,’ Loen sighed. ‘I want to tell you that of course it would be wrong to meet with him. But if it was Bruno, I doubt I could stop myself. Especially if I knew he might only be here temporarily.’
‘You’re encouraging me, Loen,’ Bel said as she eyed her maid, ‘when I need to be told that it’s madness.’
‘It is,’ Loen agreed, ‘but you know that anyway. Perhaps it would be best if you met him just this once and told him that you can’t ever see him again. And said a final goodbye.’
‘And how would I do that? Senhora Aires Cabral watches my every move.’
‘You have a fitting in Ipanema with Madame Duchaine at two o’clock this afternoon for your new season’s wardrobe,’ Loen replied. ‘We can attend, then perhaps you could say you felt unwell and leave your fitting, giving you enough time to meet with your sculptor. It would give you at least a couple of hours together.’
‘Loen, what are you doing to me?’ Bel said despairingly, knowing her maid’s plan was all too easy to execute.
‘I’m being your friend, Bel, as you have been mine. I’ve seen the misery in your eyes every day since your marriage. I want you to be happy. Life is very short, and marriage to one you don’t love is very long. So,’ Loen said, rising from the bed, ‘you make your decision and I will do whatever you wish to help you.’
‘Thank you. I will think,’ Bel agreed.
‘Good morning,’ Luiza greeted her as she arrived at the table. ‘Did you sleep well, my dear?’
‘Yes, I did, thank you.’
‘I’ve had a note this morning from a friend of mine. They are looking for young ladies to assemble at Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Glória do Outeiro, the church not far from your parents’ house. Senhor da Silva Costa, the engineer on the Cristo project, has decided he will decorate the statue with a soapstone mosaic. He’s looking for a large number of willing hands to stick the soapstone on the netting, triangle by triangle. It will be a long job, but from what my frien
d tells me, it will be performed by women from the best backgrounds. I have noticed you don’t seem to have many suitable female acquaintances in Rio. This would be the perfect way for you to make more friends.’
‘Yes, of course, I’d be glad to help,’ Bel agreed. ‘Especially as it’s for such a worthy cause and a project close to my heart.’
‘Then I will reply to her and say that you have volunteered. Perhaps you can begin tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ said Bel as the maid served her coffee.
After breakfast, Bel took a walk around the gardens, deep in thought. At least the mosaic would give her something positive to spend her time doing, because here, it was obvious she was never going to be mistress of her own household. Even though Luiza had thrown her a bone by telling her how the household accounts ran, she continued to organise everything herself. If Bel made a suggestion for the dinner menu, it would be rejected, and when she’d attempted to ask yesterday if they could use the Limoges dinner service rather than the Wedgwood, she was told that it only came out for family celebrations such as birthdays and anniversaries.
Every day, Gustavo would disappear off to his club straight after lunch, which meant she spent endless hours of the afternoon alone. Her stomach gave a sudden lurch – so what was she going to do about this afternoon?
By lunchtime, Bel was in a state of frenzy. At half past one, she called for the car.
‘Luiza,’ she said, when she found her writing letters in the drawing room, ‘I am off to see Madame Duchaine in the city. Loen will accompany me. I may be some time as she’s fitting me for my winter wardrobe.’
‘Well, I hear she’s very costly and her stitching can sometimes be clumsy. I can give you the name of another dressmaker who is far less expensive and very reliable.’
‘As a matter of fact, Madame Duchaine has always done an excellent job for me,’ Bel retorted. ‘I will see you at dinner, Luiza.’
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