Page 160 of The Seven Sisters
And today, for the first time, we walked into the room together, without any need for Yara to check first that her mistress was prepared for me. Beatriz was in bed looking dreadfully frail, but her features broke into a smile when she saw me.
‘Maia.’ She indicated for Yara to pull up a chair by her bed. ‘Come and sit down. How are you today, my dear? I was concerned for you overnight. What I told you must have been such a shock.’
‘I’m fine, Beatriz, really,’ I said as I sat down by her and patted her hand tentatively.
‘Then I am glad. I think you are a strong person and I admire you for it. Now,’ Beatriz said, ‘enough of the past. I wish to hear about your life. Tell me, Maia, where do you live? Are you married? Do you have children yet? An occupation?’
For the next half an hour, I told my grandmother everything I could think of about myself. About Pa Salt, and my sisters and our beautiful home on the shores of Lake Geneva. I told her about my translating career, and was half tempted to tell her about Zed and confide in her about my subsequent pregnancy and the adoption of my baby. But I realised instinctively that all she wanted to hear was that I’d been happy, so I didn’t elaborate.
‘And what about the future? Tell me about that very attractive man who accompanied you to see me at the Casa. He’s quite famous here in Rio. Is he just a friend?’ She eyed me slyly. ‘Something told me he was more than that.’
‘Yes, I like him,’ I confessed.
‘So, what will you do from here, Maia? Will you return to Geneva, or stay in Rio with your young man?’
‘As a matter of fact, he flew to Paris yesterday morning,’ I explained.
‘Ah, Paris!’ Beatriz clasped her hands together. ‘One of the happiest times of my life. And, as you already know, your great-grandmother visited when she was younger. I believe you’ve seen the sculpture of her in the garden that my father had shipped over from Paris as her wedding gift?’
‘Yes, I did notice it,’ I confirmed lightly, wondering where this conversation would lead.
‘When I was in Paris and studying at the Beaux-Arts school, the sculptor responsible for it was one of my professors. So I introduced myself to him one day after class and told him I was Izabela’s daughter. To my surprise, Professor Brouilly said he recalled her most clearly. And when I told him of her death, he seemed genuinely grief-stricken. After that, he seemed to take me under his wing, or at least developed a special interest in me, inviting me to his beautiful house in Montparnasse and taking me for lunch at La Closerie des Lilas. He said it was where he’d once spent a splendid lunch with my mother. He even took me to theatelierof Professor Paul Landowski and introduced me to the great man himself. By then, of course, Landowski was old and rarely sculpting, but he showed me photographs of the time when the moulds for theCristowere prepared in hisatelier. Apparently, my mother was there too while Landowski and Professor Brouilly were working on it. He also found a mould from his store cupboard that he said he’d taken of my mother’s hands as a possible prototype for theCristo’s.’ Beatriz smiled in fond remembrance. ‘Professor Brouilly was so generous to me with both his time and affection. And for years afterwards, we corresponded, right up until his death in 1965. The kindness of strangers,’ Beatriz mused. ‘So, Maia, my dear, are you to follow in your great-grandmother’s and grandmother’s footsteps and make the journey from Rio to Paris? It is certainly easier to get there than it used to be. It took me and my mother almost six weeks to get there. By this time tomorrow you could be sitting in La Closerie des Lilas sipping absinthe! Maia, dear? Did you hear me?’
After what Beatriz had just related to me, I was too choked to speak. No wonder Yara had been so wary of telling me the story of my past. It was clear that this woman knew nothing of the father who had originally given her life.
‘Yes. Perhaps I will go to Paris,’ I agreed, trying to recover my equilibrium.
‘Good.’ Beatriz seemed satisfied with my answer. ‘And now, Maia, I’m afraid we must move to more serious matters. This afternoon, I have anotáriocoming to see me. I am intending to rewrite my will and leave most of what I have to you, my granddaughter. It isn’t a lot, sadly, just a house that is falling down and needs many hundreds of thousands of reais to renovate it. Money which you don’t have, I’m sure. So perhaps you may want to sell it and I wish you to know that I don’t mind in the least if you do. But I do have one condition, and that is that you allow Yara to live in it until her death. I know how frightened she is about the future, and I want to reassure her that she will be taken care of. And the Casa is as much her home as it has been mine. She will be left a bequest, a sum of money that should see her through the rest of her life. But if it does not, and she lives longer, I trust that you will take care of her. She is my closest friend, you see. We grew up as sisters.’
‘Of course I will,’ I said, trying to hold back my tears.
‘I do have some jewellery too that belonged to me and to your great-grandmother. And the Fazenda Santa Tereza, my mother’s childhood home. I run a small charity which helps women from thefavelas. The charity uses the farm as a place of refuge for them. If you were able to keep that going, I would be very happy.’
‘Of course I will, Beatriz,’ I whispered, my throat constricting at her words. ‘Beatriz, I really feel I don’t deserve this. Surely you have friends, family—’
‘Maia! How can you say that you don’t deserve it!’ There was real passion in Beatriz’s voice now. ‘Your mother gave you away at birth, denied you your heritage, which, might I add, once upon a time meant something here in Rio. You are a continuation of the Aires Cabral line, and although money can never make up for the loss you have suffered, it is the least I can do. And should do,’ she underlined.
‘Thank you, Beatriz.’ I could see that she was becoming agitated and I didn’t want to upset her further.
‘I trust that you will use the legacy wisely,’ she said, as I saw the now familiar wince of pain.
‘Shall I call for the nurse?’
‘In a few moments, yes. But first, Maia, before you’re tempted to say that you will stay with me until the end, I will tell you equally firmly that after today, I do not want you to come and visit me again. I know where I’m headed and I don’t wish for you to witness my final demise, especially as you are still grieving for your adoptive father. Yara will be with me and she is all I need.’
‘But Beatriz—’
‘No buts, Maia. The pain is so dreadful now that even though I have resisted so far, this afternoon I will ask the nurse for some morphine. And then the end will come quickly. So . . .’ Beatriz forced a smile. ‘I am only happy that I have been lucky enough to share my last lucid moments with my beautiful granddaughter. And youarebeautiful, my dear Maia. I wish so many things for your future. But most of all, I wish that you will find love. It is the only thing in life that makes the pain of being alive bearable. Please remember that. Now, you may call for that nurse.’
A few moments later, I hugged Beatriz to me and we said our final goodbyes. As I left the room, I could see that her eyelids were already drooping and she managed a fragile wave as I closed the door behind me. Sinking onto the bench, I put my head in my hands and sobbed quietly. I felt an arm wrap around my shoulder and looked up to see that Yara had sat down beside me.
‘She never knew that Laurent Brouilly was her father, did she?’
‘No, Senhorita Maia, she didn’t.’
Yara took my hand and we sat together, both of us mourning the tragedy of the situation.
After I wrote down my address, telephone number and email on a piece of paper that Yara had handed to me, she walked me outside to the waiting car.
