Page 25 of The Lost Story of Sofia Castello

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LISBON, 1940

The summer of 1940 was swelteringly hot, even by Portuguese standards, which didn’t do anything to help ease my nerves. I spent the days preceding the expo opening ceremony wracked with tension and fear, my thoughts swinging like a pendulum.

I couldn’t decide if Judith successfully hiding the diamond from the Gestapo was a good or bad thing. In my more negative moments, I thought it was the worst thing ever – if they thought she didn’t have it, then surely she’d have no more purpose for them. And if they still thought she knew its whereabouts, what would they do to her to try to extract the truth? Either way didn’t bear thinking about. And, of course, the responsibility for the Vadodara Teardrop and where to hide it had now fallen upon me. Given that I had zero vested interest in the damned thing, other than its importance to Judith, it felt a little like being lumbered with an unwelcome guest. I wasn’t sure I believed that a gem could be cursed, but having to hide it from the Gestapo sure as hell felt like one! Every day, I hid the diamond in a different place in my hotel room, paranoid someone might find it.

When I wasn’t in the studio rehearsing, I was pounding the streets searching for Judith. Of course, deep down, I knew that my search was futile, but I felt that if I stopped looking, it would be like admitting defeat and that my beloved jacaranda sister was gone forever.

On the morning of the opening ceremony, I sat in front of my dressing-table mirror staring at the gold embossed invitation trying not to think of who I’d be singing for. But, of course, that was impossible. The Head of the Portuguese State, Marechal Carmona, would be there, and the President of the Council and our soon-to-be dictator, Oliveira Salazar. My mouth was so dry, I could hardly swallow, and even the spirit of my mother seemed too intimidated by the enormity of the event to be able to help me. Instead of offering words of encouragement, I pictured her smiling sympathetically and shrugging. If Judith hadn’t disappeared the way she did, I might have felt differently; in fact, I’m sure I would have. I would have got her an invitation to the expo and turned the whole thing into a fun adventure, but now the very concept of celebrating in such an ostentatious way while the rest of Europe was suffering and my beloved friend was missing felt truly grating.

I took a deep breath and began applying make-up to my clammy skin. I couldn’t back out now. I couldn’t let Alexandre down. I’d become really fond of him and, me being one of his artists, his reputation was on the line as well as my own.

The opening ceremony took place on a stage in the Plaza of the Empire at the centre of the expo which was flanked by two pavilions – one dedicated to Honour and Lisbon and the other to Portuguese in the World. The place was packed, and I’m not sure if I was projecting my own paranoia, but it seemed to me that there was a tension crackling in the air, a bit like the moments before a gathering storm finally breaks. The only people in the crowd who seemed truly carefree were the American sailors from the ships amassed in the harbour as part of the ceremony. ‘We’re just here for a last hurrah,’ their boyish grins seemed to say. ‘Soon we’ll be on the other side of the Atlantic, safe in the land of Uncle Sam and a world away from your war.’

I was scheduled to sing close to the start of the ceremony, which suited me just fine as it meant less hanging around wishing I could flee – or stow away on a boat bound for Kathmandu. I’d been billed as Alexandre Fernandes’ brightest new star; I only hoped that the event didn’t make me famous for all the wrong reasons.

I don’t remember a thing about being backstage, other than I was made to wait in a stuffy room with bright orange walls, which did little to ease my tension. And then, in a blur, I was bustled into the wings of the stage. I heard an announcer call my name, and I thought for one horrible moment that I might faint. What if I forget my lines ? I panicked as I walked onto the stage.

The sun was beating down on me, which in some ways was a blessing because it meant that I was too dazzled to see the audience. As I stepped up to the mic, my mind went as blank as a fresh sheet of paper. What were the lyrics? Jacaranda seeds , I heard Judith whisper in my ear. And her voice was so crisp and clear, I had to look behind me to check that she wasn’t there.

The musicians all gave me encouraging nods, and I turned back to the audience and grabbed the mic, leaning on the stand for support. Jacaranda seeds , I heard Judith whisper again, and I couldn’t help wondering if it was her ghost that I was hearing, and I had the strongest, saddest knowing that I would never see her again.

I cleared my throat and took a breath, and not trusting myself to make any kind of opening gambit, I nodded to Charlie, the piano player, that I wanted to go straight into the song.

As soon as I started singing, all I could think about was Judith, and I poured all the angst and sorrow and pain I’d felt since her disappearance into the words. Even though the emotion was overwhelming, it was in a strange way a godsend, as it stopped me from thinking about my audience.

I only made one slip-up, when my voice tremored with pain and went slightly off-key, but I kept going and didn’t let it put me off. Then, when I reached the final chorus, where the instruments faded away and there was nothing but my voice left, I let my voice fade too. This wasn’t something we’d planned in rehearsals, but in the emotion of the moment, as I was saying farewell to Judith, it felt perfectly natural. I came to an end and closed my eyes, still clinging to that mic stand for dear life.

There were a couple of seconds of silence, which seemed to stretch forever, and I was just about to panic and prepare to flee the stage when the whole place erupted in rapturous applause. My knees almost buckled from the relief, and I squinted in the bright light to make sure my ears weren’t deceiving me, but no, everyone was clapping and cheering and hooting and hollering. I turned to look back at the band and saw that they were all on their feet clapping me too. I turned back to the mic and said ‘ obrigada ’ over and over again, dazed with disbelief, until the applause finally faded.

Afterwards, Alexandre bustled me around meeting and greeting people and giving journalists impromptu interviews. At one point, I remember shaking hands with a man with dark eyes and greying, slicked-back hair. It was only afterwards that I realised it was Salazar!

‘I hope you’re ready for your world to turn upside down and inside out,’ Alexandre said to me later, over a nightcap in the Aviz bar. ‘I think you just made all of Lisbon fall in love with you. And once the record comes out next week, it will be all of Portugal.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ I replied. I wasn’t being cute or deliberately bashful; I still couldn’t quite comprehend the enormity of what had just happened, especially with thoughts of what might have happened to Judith plaguing me.

The next day, when I went to the café to study the morning papers as normal, I had the fright of my life. There was a picture of me on the front of the Avante! under the headline, From Humble Varina to Voice of Portugal . And so the fairy tale that was to become my life had begun. Little did I realise that I’d never have control of the narrative again. The day before the opening ceremony, the Germans began their occupation of France and the cataclysmic events this unleashed would come to affect me more than I ever could have imagined.