Page 129 of The Seven Sisters
‘You’re far too sensitive,’ his mother would say. ‘You are a boy, Gustavo, and you must not show your emotions.’
And certainly, he confessed to himself, when he drank, he found it far easiernotto feel as sensitive. Since his marriage to Izabela – a change that he’d believed would make him feel so much more worthy – if anything, his self-esteem had dissipated, not grown. Which had subsequently made him turn to drink even more regularly.
Gustavo sighed heavily. Even though he’d known Izabela didn’t love him as he loved her, he had hoped that her affection for him would grow once they were married. But he’d felt her reticence towards him – especially when they made love – from the start. And these days, every time she glanced at him, he saw something akin to pity in her eyes, which turned occasionally to blatant dislike. The thought that he might be a disappointment to his wife, as well as his parents, had added to his self-loathing.
And the fact that Izabela had not yet conceived a child exacerbated his feeling of failure. The look in his mother’s eyes told him that he’d not even been able to perform his duties as a man. And even though since his marriagehewas the official master of their household, and Izabela its mistress, Gustavo knew he had done little to stamp his authority on it, or curb his mother’s need to control it.
The waiter passed with a tray and picked up his empty glass. ‘The same again, sir?’ he asked automatically, and expecting the usual nod, was almost walking away before Gustavo said with effort, ‘No, thank you. Can you bring me a coffee?’
‘Of course, sir.’
As he drank the hot, bitter liquid, Gustavo mused on the short time he and Izabela had been married, and, for the first time, confessed to himself honestly how their relationship had deteriorated. It had reached the point where he felt that, only six months on, they led separate lives. He also admitted brutally to himself that much of this was to do with him and the fact that he’d been spending too much time here at the club, drowning his feelings of inadequacy in alcohol.
Gustavo could suddenly see clearly how it was that he had failed his wife.
No wonder she seemed so unhappy. Between the coldness of his mother and his own descent into drunkenness and self-pity, Izabela must feel as though she had made a dreadful mistake.
‘But I love her,’ Gustavo whispered desperately into the bottom of the coffee cup.
Surely, he thought, it wasn’t too late to mend their relationship? To return to the level of affection and communication they had shared before they’d married? Gustavo remembered that at least Izabela had seemed to like him back then.
I will take control, he vowed, as he signed his bill and went outside to his waiting car, determined to speak to his parents on his arrival back at the Casa. For he knew if he did not, he was bound to lose his wife for good.
*
In the last two weeks of Carla’s life, Fabiana, Bel and Loen took it in turns to sit with her so that she was never alone. One evening, in a rare lucid moment, Carla had reached weakly for her daughter’s hand.
‘Querida, there is something I must say to you while I still can,’ she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, so that Bel had to lean in close to hear her words. ‘I understand that married life has not been easy for you so far and I feel it is my duty to offer some guidance—’
‘Mãe, please,’ Bel interrupted desperately. ‘Gustavo and I have had our problems, like all married couples, but really, there is nothing for you to concern yourself with now.’
‘Maybe not,’ Carla continued doggedly. ‘But you are my daughter and I know you better than you can imagine. It has not been lost on me that you may have developed an . . . attachment to a certain person who is not your husband. I saw it that night at the Casa when he came to unveil his sculpture.’
‘Mãe, really, it is nothing. He is . . . was only a friend,’ Bel said, shocked to the core that her mother had noticed.
‘I doubt it,’ Carla replied with a grim smile. ‘Remember that I also saw the look that passed between you that day on Corcovado Mountain. You pretended you did not know him, but I could see you did, very well indeed. And I should warn you that following that path can only result in heartache for all concerned. I beg you, Izabela, you have been married for such a short time. Give Gustavo a chance to make you happy.’
Not wishing to distress her mother further, Bel nodded her acquiescence. ‘I will, I promise.’
*
Two days later, Fabiana came to Bel’s room at sunrise.
‘Senhora, I think it is time to call for your father.’
Antonio came immediately, and for the last hours of his wife’s life, barely left her side. The end came peacefully and Antonio and Bel stood together at the end of the bed, their arms around each other, weeping silently.
They travelled back to Rio together after the funeral – Carla had insisted on being buried in the small cemetery in Paty do Alferes – both of them desolate.
‘Pai, please,’ Bel said as they arrived at Mansão da Princesa and she prepared to return to the Casa. ‘Anything you need, you must tell me. Shall I come and visit you here tomorrow? See how you are? I’m sure Gustavo wouldn’t mind if I stayed with you for the next few days.’
‘No, no,querida. You have your own life to lead. Me?’ Antonio looked around the drawing room in which he’d spent so many hours with his wife. ‘I have nothing left.’
‘Pai, please don’t say that. You know Mãe’s last wish was for you to try to find some happiness in the rest of the time you have here on earth.’
‘I know, myprincesa, and I promise I will try. But forgive me; at this moment, arriving here to this emptiness, it is impossible.’
Seeing that Jorge had just pulled the car up into the drive to collect her, Bel went to her father and hugged him tightly to her. ‘Try to remember that you still have me. I love you, Pai.’
