The Seven Sisters

by Lucinda Riley

  By the way, Margarida sends her best love too. She is still in Paris pursuing her artistic talents. She also said that Professor Landowski had asked after you. I hear Monsieur Brouilly is now in Rio, working on the Cristo project. Have you seen him?

  With best regards,

  Your friend, Maria Elisa

  Sadness overwhelmed Bel as she remembered how relatively simple life had seemed when she’d left for Paris eighteen months ago. Her parents had been well, alive and contented and her future – albeit one she hadn’t relished – had been planned out for her. Now, as she sat here, the wife of one man, the lover of another, with one parent dead, the other bankrupt and broken, and with a child growing in her belly that she must protect at all costs, Bel felt that life was a seesaw of pleasure and pain. From one day to the next it never remained the same, and nothing was ever certain.

  She pondered how there were thousands – perhaps millions – of people who had been financially secure and happy a few days ago, and had woken this morning to discover they had lost everything.

  And here was she, sitting in this beautiful house, with a husband who might not be the handsome prince she had imagined when she was younger, but who provided her with everything she wanted. How on earth did she have a right to complain? And how could she even consider leaving her poor father, when it was he who had worked so hard to put her where she was now?

  As for her baby, the idea of running to Paris to an uncertain future that might well subject her child to poverty when it could enjoy security here caused her to realise just how selfish her love for Laurent had made her.

  However desolate the thought made her, Bel forced her mind to contemplate staying where she was. Even though she was sure the baby was not Gustavo’s, there was enough evidence to have him believe it was. She imagined his face when she told him she was pregnant. His talk of a new start yesterday would only be enhanced by her news, and it would put Luiza in her place once and for all.

  Bel stared into the distance. Of course, it would mean giving up the one person in her life who she loved more than any other . . . and any chance of the happiness they’d both dreamt of so often. But was life simply about personal happiness? And how happy would she ever be anyway, knowing she’d deserted her widowed father in his hour of need? Bel knew that she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for that.

  ‘Senhora Bel? Can I get you a drink? The sun is very hot this morning.’ Loen appeared on the terrace.

  ‘Thank you, Loen. I’d like some water.’

  ‘Of course. Senhora, are you all right?’

  Bel paused before she answered. ‘I will be, Loen. I will be.’

  That evening, Antonio came round for dinner. Gustavo welcomed him warmly and the three men closeted themselves in Maurício’s study for an hour. Antonio emerged looking far calmer, with Gustavo following behind him.

  ‘It seems this kind husband of yours might be able to help me. He has some ideas at least. It is a start, Izabela, and I am grateful to you, senhor,’ her father added, bowing to Gustavo.

  ‘Think nothing of it, Antonio. You are family, after all.’

  Bel took a deep breath, knowing that she must say the words now or her courage might fail her and she would change her mind.

  ‘Gustavo, may I speak with you for a few minutes alone before dinner?’

  ‘Of course, my dear.’

  Maurício and Antonio continued to the dining room as Bel led Gustavo into the drawing room and shut the door.

  ‘What is it?’ said Gustavo, his forehead creased into a worried frown.

  ‘Please, it’s nothing to be concerned about,’ Bel assured him hastily. ‘In fact, I hope you will think it is good news. I wanted to tell you now, so that perhaps we could announce the news together over dinner. Gustavo, I am with child.’

  Bel watched her husband’s reaction swing immediately from concern to joy. ‘Izabela, you’re telling me you are pregnant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Meu Deus! I can hardly believe it! My clever, clever girl!’ he said as he came to embrace her. ‘This news will silence my mother forever.’

  ‘And hopefully will please her son,’ she replied with a smile.

  ‘Of course, of course, querida.’ Gustavo was now grinning from ear to ear. ‘I doubt I have ever felt so happy. And it is news that could not have come at a better moment for everyone in our family. And for you, Izabela, who has suffered such a recent loss. And of course, for your father, whom my father and I think we may be able to help. I insisted on it,’ he added. ‘It is only right, given his generosity in the past. Are you absolutely certain you are pregnant, Izabela?’

  ‘Yes. It has been confirmed by the doctor. I went to see him yesterday and he telephoned me earlier today.’

  ‘That explains it!’ said Gustavo, relief crossing his face. ‘Yesterday afternoon I went to collect you from your dress-maker’s after the senate meeting. Madame Duchaine told me that you had no appointment booked and that you hadn’t been to her salon. You were seeing the doctor, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bel lied, fear clutching at her heart.

  ‘For a few minutes, as I stood outside wondering why on earth you had lied to me, I even wondered if you had taken a lover,’ Gustavo chuckled as he kissed her on the forehead. ‘I couldn’t have been more wrong. Do you know when the baby is due?’

  ‘In about six months.’

  ‘Then you are over the danger time, and yes, of course, we must announce it,’ he said, almost skipping like an excited child as he led her to the door. ‘Oh my beautiful Izabela, you have made me the happiest man in the world. And I swear to you now that I will do everything to be the father that our child deserves. Now, make your way through to the dining room while I go down to the cellar and open a bottle of our finest champagne!’

  Gustavo blew her a kiss as he left, and Bel stood for a few seconds, knowing that her path was now set. And whatever it took, she would have to live with the duplicity of her actions until the day she died.

  Over dinner that night, celebrations ensued, and the look of joy on her father’s face when Gustavo announced their news confirmed to Bel that she had made the right decision. Luiza’s wintry expression meanwhile had given her a tiny inner glow of satisfaction. After dinner, Gustavo turned to Bel.

  ‘It is past ten, my dear, and you must be exhausted. Come,’ he said as he pulled back her chair and helped her up from it, ‘I will accompany you upstairs.’

  ‘Really,’ muttered Bel, embarrassed, ‘I’m feeling extremely well.’

  ‘No matter. You and the baby have had a difficult few weeks and we must all look after you now,’ he added, looking directly at his mother.

  Bel said her goodnights, and then walked around the table to hug her father tightly, not caring for protocol. ‘Goodnight, Pai.’

  ‘Sleep well, Izabela, and I promise that the little one’s grandfather will make him proud,’ he whispered, indicating her stomach. ‘Come and visit me soon.’

  ‘I will, Pai.’

  Upstairs, Gustavo followed his wife into the bedroom and stood there uncertainly. ‘Izabela, now that you are . . . in this condition, you must tell me if you’d prefer to sleep alone until the child is born. I believe that is what married couples usually do in these circumstances.’

  ‘If you feel that would be more appropriate, then yes,’ she agreed.

  ‘And from now on, you must rest as often as you can. You mustn’t tire yourself.’

  ‘Gustavo, I promise you I am not unwell, just pregnant. And I wish to carry on my life as normally as possible. Tomorrow afternoon, I really must go to see Madame Duchaine and ask her to alter my wardrobe to fit my growing shape.’ She smiled shyly at him.

  ‘Yes, of course. Well then.’ He walked to her and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I shall say goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, Gustavo.’

  Bel watched as he smiled at her then left the bedroom. She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her heart a mixture of conflicting e
motions. Her thoughts travelled to Laurent and the fact that he was expecting her at his apartment tomorrow afternoon. Rising, Bel walked to the window and looked out at the stars, which reminded her poignantly of the nights they had shone so brightly above Landowski’s atelier in Boulogne-Billancourt. She remembered in particular the evening she had found the young boy under the bushes in the garden, and how his suffering had provided a catalyst for the start of her love affair with Laurent.

  ‘I will always love you,’ she whispered to the stars.

  Bel readied herself for bed, then walked over to the writing bureau that sat beneath the window. Given that Gustavo had followed her to Madame Duchaine’s yesterday – albeit it purely out of loving motives, not suspicious ones – Bel knew she couldn’t risk meeting Laurent at his apartment tomorrow. Instead, she would attend an appointment at the dressmaker’s and send Loen as her emissary, carrying with her the letter she would write now . . .

  Taking a sheet of notepaper from the drawer and a pen, Bel sat staring out into the starlit night, asking the heavens to help her compose the last words she would ever say to Laurent.

  Two hours later, she read the letter through one last time.

  Mon chéri,

  The very fact that by now you have been handed an envelope by Loen will have told you that I cannot come with you to Paris. Even though my heart breaks as I write this, I know where my duty lies. And I cannot, even for my love of you, shirk it. I only hope and pray that you understand my decision is made purely on this basis, and not out of any lessening of love and desire. I yearn to be with you for all eternity. I sit here looking up at the stars and wish with all my heart we had met at a different moment in time, for I have no doubt that if we had, we would be together now.

  But this was not our fate. And I hope you will, just as I must, accept it. Be assured that every day of my life, I will wake thinking of you, praying for you and loving you with all my heart.

  My deepest fear is that any love for me you have presently may turn to hate for my betrayal of it. I beg you, Laurent, not to hate me, but to carry what we had in your heart and move on to the future, which I can only hope will eventually bring you happiness and contentment.

  Au revoir, mon amour

  Your Bel

  Bel folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope, putting no name on the front of it for fear of it being discovered. Opening the drawer, she secreted it at the back under a stack of fresh envelopes.

  As she closed it, her eye caught the soapstone triangle, which she’d been using to stand her inkpot on. Taking it in her hands, she touched its softness. Then, on impulse, she turned it over and dipped her pen in the ink once more.

  30th October 1929

  Izabela Aires Cabral

  Laurent Brouilly

  Then, painstakingly, she wrote one of her favourite quotations from a parable by Gilbert Parker underneath their names.

  Once the ink was dry, she hid the tile with the letter at the bottom of the envelope pile. When Loen came in to dress her in the morning, she would tell her what she must do with them. If the tile could not be placed onto the Cristo, then at least it would serve as a perfect memory for Laurent of the moment in time they had once shared together.

  Bel stood up slowly from the desk and climbed into bed, curling up like the foetus inside her, as if the arms that crossed her chest could somehow hold together her broken heart.

  44

  ‘Is Izabela not joining us for breakfast this morning?’ asked Luiza of her son.

  ‘No, I asked Loen to take her a tray upstairs,’ replied Gustavo, as he joined his mother at the breakfast table.

  ‘Is she unwell?’

  ‘No, Mãe, but for the past two months she was nursing her poor mother night and day. Which, as you can imagine, has taken its toll on her.’

  ‘I hope that she will not be too precious about her pregnancy,’ said Luiza. ‘I certainly wasn’t during mine.’

  ‘Really? I was talking to Father only last night and he mentioned how you were as sick as a dog for weeks when you were carrying me, and how you rarely rose from your bed,’ he countered as he poured himself some coffee. ‘Anyway, it is the news you have longed for, isn’t it? You must be overjoyed.’

  ‘I am, but . . .’

  Gustavo watched as Luiza signalled for the maid to leave.

  ‘Close the door behind you, if you please,’ she added.

  ‘What is it now, Mãe?’ Gustavo asked her with a weary sigh.

  ‘This morning, I prayed long and hard in the chapel, asking for guidance as to whether I should tell you what I know or not.’

  ‘Well, given you’ve just requested the maid to leave us alone, I presume you have made your decision. And I assume it will be to do with some kind of misdemeanour you believe my wife has committed. Would I be right?’

  Luiza’s face displayed an exaggeratedly pained expression. ‘Sadly, you would be, yes.’

  ‘Well then, spit it out. I have a busy day ahead of me.’

  ‘I have reason to believe that your wife has not been . . . faithful to you during your marriage.’

  ‘What?’ Gustavo exclaimed angrily. ‘Mãe, I seriously think you are becoming deluded! What evidence do you have of this?’

  ‘Gustavo, I understand your disbelief and anger, but I can assure you that I am not deluded. And yes, I do have proof.’

  ‘Really? And what is that?’

  ‘Our driver, Jorge, who you are aware has worked for me for many years, has seen Izabela entering the apartment building of a certain young’ – Luiza sniffed – ‘gentleman.’

  ‘You mean Jorge has driven her somewhere in the city to visit a friend perhaps, and you have twisted this into some kind of ridiculous accusation?’ said Gustavo, standing up from the table. ‘I wish to hear no more of this bile! What do you hope to achieve?’

  ‘Please, Gustavo, I beg you to sit down and listen,’ Luiza entreated him. ‘Your wife has never asked Jorge to take her directly to this particular young man’s address. In fact, she has had him drop her off in front of Madame Duchaine’s salon. Then one afternoon, when he was stuck fast in traffic, he saw Izabela leave the dressmaker’s a few minutes after she’d arrived, and hurry off into the streets of Ipanema.’

  Gustavo sat down heavily. ‘So, Jorge came to you with this information of his own volition, did he?’

  ‘No,’ Luiza admitted. ‘My own suspicions were raised when I went one afternoon in May to the Igreja da Glória, where your wife had told me she was going when she’d left the house an hour earlier. She wasn’t there. I obviously asked Jorge that evening where Izabela had asked him to collect her from. He told me that it was from Madame Duchaine’s salon and confessed to me what I have just told you. I instructed him that the next time he drove her there and saw her leave after a few minutes, he was to follow your wife and find out where it was she was going.’

  ‘You mean, you asked Jorge to spy on her?’

  ‘If you wish to put it like that, then yes. However, I was only trying to protect you, my dear son, and you must accept my motives are well intentioned. There was something that had been worrying me since the start of your marriage.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘I . . .’ Luiza had the grace to blush. ‘Obviously I’m your mother and I wished to make sure your wedding-night coupling had been successful. I asked the chambermaid at the Copacabana Palace to tell me if it had.’

  ‘You did what?’ Gustavo was on his feet and walking around the table towards his mother, fury in his eyes.

  ‘Please, Gustavo!’ Luiza put up her arms to protect herself. ‘Your wife had just been away to Paris for many months. I felt it my duty to make sure that she was still . . . pure. The chambermaid informed me that there was no sign of a bloodstain on the sheets or the counterpane.’

  ‘You bribed a maid for information about my wife’s purity?’ Gustavo shook his head, trying to maintain his anger with his mother, but at the same time knowing she spoke the truth
about their wedding night.

  ‘Well,’ Luiza eyed him, ‘were the sheets stained?’

  ‘How dare you ask me that!’ Gustavo rallied. ‘It is a private matter between me and my wife!’

  ‘I take it they weren’t,’ said Luiza, almost contentedly. ‘So, Gustavo, do you want me to continue? I can see how agitated you are becoming. We can leave the subject there, if you wish.’

  ‘No, Mãe, you’ve gone too far for that. And I’m sure you are desperate to tell me who it is Izabela has been meeting in secret.’

  ‘I can assure you that it gives me no pleasure at all to tell you’ – the triumphant expression in Luiza’s eyes suggested the opposite – ‘but the . . . “person” in question is someone we all know.’

  Gustavo racked his brains to come up with a name before his mother could produce it, but he failed to do so.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘A young gentleman who has enjoyed hospitality here under our own roof. In fact, someone to whom you paid a great deal of money, as you wished to give your wife a special wedding present. The apartment Izabela has been visiting regularly is none other than that of Senhor Laurent Brouilly, the sculptor.’

  Gustavo opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  ‘I understand this is the most dreadful shock for you, Gustavo, but given the fact that your wife is with child – after months of being unable to conceive – I felt it was only right to tell you.’

  ‘Enough!’ cried Gustavo. ‘I agree it is possible that Izabela has visited this man while he has been here in Brazil. They became friends in Paris. And you yourself sent Alessandra Silveira to have Brouilly sculpt her. But even you, Mãe, could not have been in the bedroom with them. And to even insinuate that the child my wife carries is illegitimate is frankly obscene!’

  ‘I can understand your reaction,’ said Luiza calmly. ‘And if I’m right, it is indeed obscene.’

  Gustavo was pacing up and down, trying to calm himself. ‘Then tell me why you put this man – whom you obviously suspected was my wife’s lover – under your patronage? It was you who introduced him to society, helped him gain commissions through your recommendations. And, if I remember correctly, even provided him with a soapstone block from our family’s mines to enable him to continue his work! You prolonged his stay here in Rio. Why on earth would you do that if you were suspicious of his relationship with Izabela?’ Gustavo eyed her furiously. ‘Because, Mãe, I believe you actually wanted to help discredit my wife. You’ve disliked her from the start. You’ve spent every day of her married life here at the Casa patronising her and treating her as if she was simply an irritation to be borne. It wouldn’t surprise me if you wanted our marriage to fail before it had even begun!’ Gustavo was now shouting across the table at Luiza. ‘I will hear no more of this. And I can tell you that I mean to make sure Izabela assumes her rightful position in this house as soon as possible. If you interfere in our marriage any further, I will have you out! Do you understand?’