Page 122 of The Seven Sisters
‘If it makes you happy, Izabela, you can book an appointment with my doctor and accompany me to see him. Then you will hear, I am sure, that every word I have spoken to you is true. I have only one request if I agree to see the doctor.’
‘What is that?’
‘For the present, do not tell your father. I couldn’t bear to make him suffer for any longer than he has to.’
*
Bel left the house with her parents’ driver half an hour later, after Carla had admitted that she needed to lie down, and asked him to take her to Ipanema. She was reeling from shock. Surely, she thought, her mother was exaggerating through fear?
Bel left the car two blocks away from Laurent’s apartment and began to pick up speed, running mentally and physically to the one person who she believed could give her comfort.
‘Chérie!I thought you were not coming.Mon Dieu!What is wrong? What has happened?’ Laurent appeared at the door and embraced her.
‘My mother,’ Bel managed to utter between gasps. ‘She thinks she is dying!’ she cried into his shoulder.
‘What? Has she been told this by a doctor?’
‘No, but she was sick with cancer a year ago and is certain it has returned. She is convinced that it is the end for her. But she doesn’t want to worry my father, who has business problems. I’ve told her, of course, that she must see a doctor, but . . . in the month since I last saw her, she has deteriorated so much. And’ – Bel looked up into Laurent’s eyes – ‘I am so very fearful that her instincts may be right.’
‘Bel,’ Laurent said, taking her shaking hands and gently pulling her down onto the sofa next to him, ‘of course you and she must go and get a professional opinion. It is easy to imagine these things are back if you have suffered them before, but it may not be what it seems. Your maman tells you that your papa has business problems?’ Laurent clarified. ‘I thought he was as rich as Croesus.’
‘He is, and I’m sure that if he does have concerns, they are overexaggerated,’ Bel agreed. ‘So,’ she said, struggling to pull herself together, ‘are you well, Laurent?’
‘Yes,chérie, I am well, but I think that we are past those kinds of formalities. I have missed you terribly in the past few days,’ he admitted.
‘And I you,’ she replied, turning her head into his chest as if to block out the pain of the past two hours.
Laurent stroked her hair gently and tried to think of something to distract Bel temporarily from her misery. ‘I was here this morning wondering what I would do with myself in a few days’ time when the sculpture of the dreaded dog is finished, when who should come to call but Madame Silveira and her daughter, Alessandra. The mother wishes for me to sculpt Alessandra as a gift for her twenty-first birthday.’
‘Alessandra Silveira? I know her,’ said Bel uneasily. ‘Her family are distant cousins of the Aires Cabrals and she came to my wedding. I remember her being very beautiful.’
‘Well, she is certainly more attractive than the chihuahua,’ Laurent agreed equably. ‘And inevitably there will be better conversation. She spoke to me today in good French,’ he added.
‘And she is unmarried, I believe,’ said Bel dully, a further clutch of fear tugging at her heart.
‘Indeed she is.’ Laurent continued to stroke Bel’s hair. ‘Perhaps her parents are hoping my sculpture can advertise her beauty and sophistication to a suitable husband.’
‘Or perhaps they might see a talented young French sculptor as an appropriate suitor,’ Bel shot back as she pulled away from him, her arms instinctively crossing protectively around herself.
‘Izabela!’ Laurent chided, watching her intently. ‘Please don’t tell me that you’re jealous?’
‘No, of course I’m not.’ Bel bit her lip. The thought of another woman sitting in front of Laurent day after day, just asshehad once done in Boulogne-Billancourt, sent hot ripples of envy coursing through her. ‘But you can’t deny that you’ve been invited to many society soirées recently and have become quite the man about town?’
‘Yes, but I hardly think that I’m seen as a suitable match for any of the young ladies present. I am more of a novelty.’
‘Laurent, I can assure you that the very fact you are French and from the Old World in a town such as Rio, let alone with my mother-in-law’s patronage of your sculpture, makes you far more than a novelty,’ Bel countered firmly.
At this, Laurent threw back his head and laughed. ‘Well, if you are right, I am happy for it,’ he responded eventually. ‘For as you know, in France, I and my band of artists are considered the bottom of the barrel. As I said to you once before, French mothers would prefer their daughters dead rather than shackled to a struggling artist.’
‘Well, I think you should understand that you are viewed differently here.’ Bel knew she was sounding churlish, but couldn’t help herself.
Laurent tipped his head to one side and surveyed her. ‘I understand that you are upset,chérie, especially given the bad news about your mother. But surely you can see that you’re being ridiculous? It is notIwho has to run off back to a husband on the afternoons we do manage to meet. It is notIwho still shares a bed every night with another. And it is notIwho refuses to countenance any thought of changing the situation we currently find ourselves in. No, but itisI who must endure these things.Iwhose stomach churns every time I think of your husband making love to you.Iwho has to be available any time you click your fingers to say you might come to visit me. AndIwho must find something to fill the lonely hours I spend thinking of you without losing my mind!’
Bel put her head onto her knees. It was the first time Laurent had ever spoken of their situation with such bluntness and anger, and she wished she could block out the words from her heart and her mind. For she knew every one of them was true.
The two of them sat in silence for a while until eventually Bel felt a hand on her shoulder.
‘Chérie, I understand that now is not the time to discuss such matters. But please, accept that I am still here in Brazil marking time as best I can for one reason only. And that reason is you.’
