Page 29 of The Seven Sisters

‘Shall I prepare some lunch for you?’

‘No thanks,’ I said, knowing my stomach was churning enough as it was. ‘I’ll pop in and say goodbye before I leave. And remember, Claudia, if anyone calls for me from now on, I’m not here.’

‘I know, Maia, you’ve already said.’

Two hours later, having booked flights and a hotel and with a hurriedly packed suitcase in hand, I left Atlantis. As the launch carried me smoothly across the water to Geneva, it suddenly struck me that I had no idea whether I was runningawayfrom my past or towards it.

9

Due to the five hours’ time difference, I found myself on Brazilian soil at six o’clock the following morning. Expecting to step out into the glaring South American sun, I was disappointed to arrive to a cloudy sky. Of course, I realised, I’d arrived in their winter, which – even though the temperature was still in the high seventies – meant the absence of the intense tropical heat I’d anticipated. As I emerged into the arrivals hall, I saw a man holding a board with my name upon it.

‘Olá, eu sou Senhorita D’Aplièse. Como você está?’ I asked in Portuguese as I approached the driver, and enjoyed the look of surprise on his face.

As he led me to the car and we drove out of the airport towards Rio, I gazed through the window with avid interest. This was the city – apparently – of my birth. Even though I’d travelled to Brazil during my second year at university, the exchange programme had been based at a university in São Paulo, and my travels had taken me up to the old capital of Salvador. Stories of Rio and its crime, poverty and wild nightlife had made me wary of visiting, especially as a single woman. But now, here I was, and if Pa Salt’s information was correct, I was part of its DNA and it was part of mine.

The driver, happy to have a rare foreigner who spoke fluent Portuguese in his car, asked me where I was from.

‘Here. I was born here,’ I replied.

He surveyed me in the rear-view mirror.

‘Why, of course! Now I can see you look Brazilian! But your surname is D’Aplièse, so I presumed you were French. You’re here to visit relatives?’

‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ I replied, the truth of the words resonating in my brain.

‘Look.’ The driver pointed upwards to a high mountain on which a white statue stood, arms wide open, embracing the city. ‘There is ourCristo Redentor. I always know I’m home when I see Him for the first time.’

I gazed up at the pale, elegantly sculpted figure, who seemed to be hovering amidst the clouds like an angelic apparition. Even though, just like the rest of the world, I’d seen the image countless times in the media, the reality was breathtaking and surprisingly moving.

‘You have been up to visit Him?’ my driver asked.

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Then you are a true native of Rio – acarioca!’ he said with a grin. ‘Even though he’s one of the modern Seven Wonders of the World, we in Rio take the statue for granted. It’s the tourists who flock to it.’

‘I will definitely go,’ I promised, as we disappeared into a tunnel andChrist the Redeemervanished from view.

Forty minutes later, we pulled up at the Caesar Park Hotel. Across the wide road lay Ipanema Beach, deserted for the present due to the early hour but simply magnificent, stretching as far as the eye could see.

‘Here is my card, Senhorita D’Aplièse. My name is Pietro and I will be on call for you any time you wish to go out in the city.’

‘Obrigada,’ I said, thanking him, and I handed him some reais as a tip before following the porter into the lobby to check in.

A few minutes later, I was installed in a pleasantly spacious suite with a wonderful view of Ipanema Beach from the large front windows. The room was ridiculously expensive, but was all they’d had available at such short notice. And given that I rarely spent anything from my earnings, I didn’t feel guilty. Depending on what happened in the next few days, if I decided to stay on for longer, I’d simply rent an apartment.

And whatwouldhappen in the next few days?

The past twenty-four hours had been such a whirlwind, propelled only by how panicked and desperate I’d felt to remove myself from Switzerland, I hadn’t really thought through what I’d do when I actually arrived. But for now, having slept so badly on the plane, and feeling exhausted from the trauma of the past few days, I decided to hang thedo not disturbsign on the door, then slipped between the fresh, sweet-smelling sheets and went to sleep.

*

Waking up a few hours later, and discovering that I was hungry but also eager to see the city, I took the lift up to the top-floor restaurant. Sitting on the small terrace that had a wonderful vista of both the sea and the mountains, I ordered a Caesar salad and a glass of white wine. The clouds had blown away like a memory, and below me the beach was now crowded with bronzed bodies sunning themselves.

Once I’d eaten, I felt my brain begin to clear enough to allow me to think about what was best to do. I studied the address pinpointed by the coordinates, which I’d copied into my mobile, and conceded there was no guarantee that my original family was still occupying the house. I didn’t know their names, or anything about them. I couldn’t help a nervous chuckle at the thought of turning up on the doorstep and announcing I was searching for my long-lost family.

But then, I mused, trying to honour Pa Salt’s quote on the armillary sphere, the worst they could do was to slam the door in my face. Perhaps the glass of wine and the jet lag were providing me with an unusual feeling of courage. So I returned to my suite, and before I changed my mind, called downstairs to see if Pietro, the driver who had collected me from the airport, was available to take me to the address I wanted.

‘No problem,’ said the concierge. ‘Do you wish for the car immediately?’