Page 96 of The Seven Sisters

‘Are you sure? I don’t mind at all if you come in with me.’

‘Absolutely sure. I feel this is something that would be better done woman to woman. Good luck,’ he said, squeezing my hand as I climbed out of the car.

‘Thank you.’ And, taking a deep breath, I crossed the road and stood outside the high gates. I pushed one and it swung open with a groan of neglect. Once behind it, I glanced across to Floriano, who was staring at me from inside his car. With a wave, I turned, walked up the drive and mounted the steps to the front door.

It was opened immediately by Yara, who had obviously been waiting by it. She ushered me inside, then shut and bolted the door behind us.

‘I haven’t got long,’ she said tensely, as she led me down the dark corridor and into the same room in which Floriano and I had previously seen Senhora Carvalho.

This time, though, the shutters remained tightly closed, and there was only a dim standard lamp throwing a ghostly light into the room.

‘Please, sit down,’ she said.

‘Thank you.’ I did so, then looked at Yara as she perched herself nervously on a chair opposite me. ‘I’m so sorry if my sudden appearance has caused you and Senhora Carvalho worry,’ I began. ‘But I have to believe that you gave me those letters for a reason. And you must have known that once I’d read them, I would want to know more.’

‘Yes, yes . . .’ Yara rubbed her brow. ‘Senhorita, you must understand that your grandmother is dying. Once she has gone, I have no idea what will become of me. Whether she has even left me anything to live on.’

Immediately, I wondered if Yara was wanting to offer me information in return for payment. And if so, whether that information was reliable. Yara must have seen my frown and was quick to reassure me.

‘No, I’m not asking for money. What I’m saying is that if she found out I was speaking to you now, she might decide that any pension she was thinking of giving me should be withdrawn.’

‘But why? What is it that she doesn’t wish for me to know?’

‘Senhorita Maia, it is to do with your mother, Cristina. She left this house over thirty-four years ago. I do not wish for Senhora Carvalho to be distressed during her final days on earth. Do you understand?’

‘No, not really,’ I replied, every nerve ending tingling at the first mention of mymother. . . ‘Then why did you give me those letters? They were written eighty years ago by my great-grandmother, three generations before I was even born!’

‘Because to understand what happened to you, you have to know what came before,’ Yara explained. ‘Although I can only repeat what my mother, Loen, told me, as I too was only just born when Senhora Izabela gave birth to Senhora Carvalho.’

‘Please, I beg you, Yara, tell me everything you know,’ I urged, intuiting that before Yara’s courage left her, every second was precious. ‘I swear that I would never compromise you by telling Senhora Carvalho you have spoken to me.’

‘Not even if you knew that you stood to inherit this house?’ Yara eyed me.

‘I assure you that I was adopted by an extremely wealthy man and I want for nothing financially.Please, Yara.’

She stared at me for a few seconds, then gave a small sigh of surrender.

‘The letters you read that were written to my mother ended when Senhora Izabela returned to Rio, yes?’

‘Yes. The last one was posted from the ship when it docked in Africa on its way back from France,’ I confirmed. ‘I know Bel returned home to Rio. I’ve seen the photos of her wedding to Gustavo Aires Cabral in the archives.’

‘Yes. So, I will tell you what my mother said happened to Izabela in the eighteen months that followed . . .’

Izabela

Rio de Janeiro

October 1928

30

‘Izabela! My beloved daughter, you are returned home safe to us!’ Antonio cried as Bel walked off the gangplank and into his open arms. He clasped her in his strong embrace then stood back to look at her. ‘Why, what is this? You feel like a sparrow to hold. Have you not been eating? And you are so pale,princesa,but I suppose that is the Northern European weather for you. You need the hot sun of your own country to put some colour in your cheeks. Come, they are already loading your trunk into the car and it is parked not far along the quay.’

‘Where is Mãe?’ Bel asked, as she walked by his side. The sky was unusually grey and gloomy for October and she only wished the sun had been out; that at least might have lightened her mood.

‘She’s resting at home,’ her father replied. ‘She has not been well.’

‘You said nothing in your letters to me,’ Bel said with a worried frown.