Page 137 of The Seven Sisters

Apartment 4

48, Avenue de Marigny

Paris

France

5th October 1929

My dearest Bel,

I can hardly believe it is over a year since I last saw you and you left Paris. I write to tell you that we are on our way back home to Rio, as Pai has finished his computations for the Cristo and wishes to return to oversee the final stages of its construction. By the time you read this, we will be somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean. You’ll be pleased to hear that I will be able to converse with you in French, as my lessons and my work at the hospital have made me proficient, if not fluent. I leave Paris with mixed emotions. When I first arrived, you will remember that I was almost afraid of it; but now, I can honestly say I will miss it – in all its complexity – and perhaps find Rio claustrophobic in comparison. However, there is much I am looking forward to, including seeing you, my dearest friend.

How is your mother’s health? You wrote of concerns about her in your last letter and I hope she is fully recovered. Speaking of health, I have written to the Santa Casa de Misericórdia Hospital and I am enrolling on their nurses’ training programme on my return. This will keep me out of trouble, I’m sure. Sadly, I did not meet my French count while I was here, and no man has shown interest in me, so I have decided that I will be wedded, certainly for the time being, to my career.

How is Gustavo? Will we soon be hearing the patter of tiny feet? You must long to be a mother, and certainly it is the one part of marriage that I long for too.

Our steamer docks in the middle of November. I shall call on you when I’m home and we can catch up properly.

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 evenconsiderleaving 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.’