Page 110 of The Seven Sisters

Laurent stared at Levy in shock. ‘Mademoiselle Izabela was married yesterday?’

‘Yes. Their photograph is on the front of all the newspapers here today. She looked most beautiful. It was a high-society wedding indeed. It seems the subject of your sculpture has done well for herself.’

Laurent felt physically sick at the news. The irony of arriving in Rio on the very day Izabela had married was almost too much for him to bear.

‘Well, I must be off. Goodnight, Senhor Brouilly.’

Levy left him for the evening, reminding him that he would collect him at two o’clock on Monday afternoon to take him up to the construction site at the top of Corcovado Mountain. Monica was clattering pans in the kitchen and a wonderful smell was emanating from it.

In need of a drink, Laurent pulled a bottle of French wine out of his suitcase, uncorked it, and took it out onto the terrace. Hoisting his feet up onto the table, he poured it into a glass and sipped it, the flavour reminding him immediately of home. He watched the sun setting behind the mountains, his heart heavy.

‘Izabela,’ he whispered to the air, ‘I’m here, in your beautiful country. I came all this way to find you, but now it seems it’s too late.’

36

A week after her marriage, Bel arrived back from her honeymoon tense and exhausted. They’d spent it in the region of Minas Gerais, in an old and once-beautiful house belonging to Gustavo’s great-aunt and uncle. The weather had been stifling, and without a sea breeze or altitude to lower the temperature, the air had been so hot it had felt as if it was burning her nostrils when she inhaled it.

There had been endless dinners to endure as she was introduced to elderly members of Gustavo’s family who’d been too frail to attend the wedding. All of these things she could have coped with, if it hadn’t been for the nights.

One thing her mother had not told her was how often the bedroom loving was meant to happen. She had presumed perhaps once a week, but Gustavo’s appetite seemed to be insatiable. Even though she had done her best to relax and try to enjoy some of the intimate things he liked to do to her – things that no one had ever explained to her and still made her blush just to think of them – she had not succeeded.

Every night, once the bedroom door was shut, he would pounce on her, tearing at her clothes to remove them – and on a couple of occasions, not even bothering to do that. She’d lain beneath him as he pounded against her sore, bruised inner flesh, just waiting for it to be over.

At least when it was, he’d fall asleep immediately, but sometimes she’d wake in the morning and feel him reach for her, and within seconds the weight of his body would again be on top of hers.

Last night, he’d tried to push himself into her unwilling mouth. She’d gagged as he did so, and he’d laughed, telling her she’d become used to it, that it was something all wives did for their husbands to give them pleasure and she mustn’t be ashamed.

Bel was desperate to ask someone for advice, someone who could tell her whether this reallywasnormal and something she’d simply have to endure for the rest of her life. Where was the tenderness, the gentle loving her mother had talked of? she asked herself as she entered her newly refurbished marital bedroom at A Casa das Orquídeas. Currently, she thought, sitting down abruptly in a chair, she felt like a rag doll, pushed and pulled at her husband’s bidding.

At home, her father had a dressing room with a bed in it where he would often sleep. There was no such luxury here, she thought desperately as she walked into the newly added bathroom next door. Perhaps if she managed to conceive a child, surely he’d leave her alone then?

Bel tried to comfort herself that in daylight hours Gustavo could not be more loving towards her. He’d constantly reach for her hand, put an arm around her shoulder as they walked together, and tell anyone who would listen how happy he was. If only the nightly horror would cease, she felt she could at least cope with her new circumstances. But until that day came, she knew she would wake up each morning with dread in her heart.

‘You look pale, my dear,’ said Luiza over dinner that night. ‘Perhaps a child is already on the way?’ She looked proudly at Gustavo.

‘Maybe, Mãe. We will see,’ he said.

‘I was thinking that I might go and visit my mother in Cosme Velho tomorrow,’ Bel ventured into the silence. ‘I would like to see how she is.’

‘Of course, Izabela,’ agreed Gustavo. ‘I was thinking I would visit my club, so I can have the car drop you off and then come to collect you later.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, as they walked through to the drawing room to take coffee. As she conversed with Maurício, she saw her husband pouring himself a further large brandy.

‘Tomorrow morning, Izabela,’ interrupted Luiza, ‘I would like you to come and see me in the library and we will go over the household accounts. I’m sure there was no need for a budget at your parents’ home, but here at the Casa we don’t like waste.’

‘Yes, Luiza.’

Bel refrained from pointing out that her father was paying for their family home to be renovated. And had, she knew, granted a very generous sum of cash to Gustavo on their marriage, which was meant to cover such things as their living expenses and her wardrobe.

‘Time for bed, my love,’ Gustavo said, and Bel’s heart began to beat uncomfortably fast at the prospect. The heavy, salty meal which the ageing cook had prepared sat uneasily in her stomach as Gustavo signalled for her to rise.

‘Goodnight, Mãe and Pai.’ He bowed slightly to them. ‘We will see you in the morning.’

With Gustavo leading her by the hand up the stairs, Bel took a deep breath and followed her husband into their bedroom.

*

‘Querida,’ said Carla as she greeted Bel at the front door. ‘I have missed you. Come inside and tell me all about your honeymoon. Was it wonderful?’