Page 45 of The Seven Sisters
‘I think it’s a wonderful suggestion, but that my father would say no,’ Bel stated flatly. ‘If he doesn’t even let me take a walk down the street here alone, I hardly think he would let me go across the sea to Europe. Besides, he wants me here in Rio, available to be married off as soon as possible.’ Bel ground an ant beneath her shoe disconsolately.
The sound of a car pulling into the front drive alerted them to the fact that Maria Elisa’s father had come to collect her.
‘So,’ she said, standing and giving Bel a warm hug, ‘I shall see you next Thursday at your party?’
‘Yes.’
‘Adeus, Bel,’ she said as she walked away across the garden. ‘And don’t worry, I promise we’ll formulate a plan.’
Bel sat where she was, dreaming of seeing the Duomo and the Fountain of Neptune in Florence. Out of all the cultural lessons Senhora Santos had organised for her, history of art had been the one she’d most enjoyed. An artist had been employed to school her in the basics of line drawing and painting. Those afternoons when she’d sat in his airy studio in the Escola Nacional de Belas Artes had been some of the most pleasurable moments since she’d arrived in Rio.
The artist was also a sculptor, and had allowed her to try her hand with a lump of thick red clay. Bel still remembered the damp softness of it between her fingers, its malleability as she struggled to shape it into a figure.
‘You have real talent,’ the artist had nodded approvingly after she’d shown him what she considered a lamentably poor version of theVenus de Milo. But whether she had ability or not, Bel had loved the atmosphere of the studio, and when the lessons came to an end, she’d missed her weekly visits there.
She heard Loen’s voice calling her in from the terrace, signalling that Madame Duchaine had arrived for the final fitting of the gown for her party.
Leaving thoughts of Europe and the glories it held in the jungle behind her, Bel stood up and made her way back through the garden and into the house.
14
On the morning of her eighteenth birthday, Bel woke to see heavy grey clouds scuttering across the horizon beyond her window and heard the sound of approaching thunder. This indicated a storm which would gather ominously in power as the sky was lit up with great bolts of lightning. Then suddenly, the heavens would open and unceremoniously drop their contents on Rio, drenching its unfortunate inhabitants.
As Gabriela bustled around the room, firing Bel’s schedule for the day at her, she too turned to the window and studied the sky.
‘We must only pray that the clouds decide to burst before your party and the rain is gone when your guests begin arriving. What a disaster it would be if your beautiful gown was mud-spattered as you stepped out of the car and into the hotel. I will go to the chapel and ask Our Lady to finish the rain before tonight, and for the sun to appear and dry up the puddles. Come now, Senhorita Izabela, your parents are waiting for you in the breakfast room. Your father wants to see you before he leaves for the office. It is a very special day for all of us.’
Much as she loved Gabriela, Bel wished for the hundredth time that Loen was here to share this special day with her and to calm her nerves.
Ten minutes later, she walked into the breakfast room. Antonio rose from the table, his arms outstretched towards her.
‘My precious daughter! Today you come of age, and I could not be prouder of you. Come, embrace your father.’
Bel walked into his strong, protective arms, smelling the comforting scents of the eau de cologne he always wore and the oil he used on his hair.
‘Now, go and kiss your mother and we will show you the gift we have for you.’
‘Piccolina,’ said Carla, forgetting herself and using the old Italian endearment. She rose from the table and kissed her daughter warmly, then stood back and threw her arms wide open. ‘Look at you! You are so very beautiful.’
‘Inherited of course from your dear mother,’ Antonio interjected, casting a fond glance at his wife.
Bel could see his eyes were filled with tears. It was rare to see her father display emotion these days and she was immediately transported back to when they were just a simple Italian family, before Pai had become very rich. The thought brought a lump to her throat.
‘Come, see what we have bought for you.’ Antonio reached down to the chair next to him and produced two velvet-covered cases. ‘Look at this,’ he said, reaching eagerly for the lid of the larger box to reveal what was inside. ‘And these.’ He opened the second, smaller box.
Bel gasped at the beauty of the emerald necklace and earrings in front of her. ‘Pai!Meu Deus!They are exquisite.’ Bel leant closer and with her father’s nod of permission, lifted the necklace from its silk lining. It was formed of gold, with emeralds which graduated in size and culminated in a glorious, shining stone that would rest in the centre of her décolletage.
‘Try it on,’ her father urged her, motioning to his wife to fasten the necklace at the back.
When Carla had done so, Bel’s fingers went to her throat and caressed the cool smoothness of the stones. ‘Does it suit me?’
‘Before you look, we must add the earrings,’ said Antonio and Carla helped fasten the delicate teardrop-shaped gems to her ears.
‘There!’ Antonio steered Bel directly in front of the mirror which hung above the sideboard. ‘They look wonderful!’ he exclaimed as he surveyed his daughter’s reflection, the jewels luminous against the creamy skin of her slender neck.
‘Pai, they must have cost a king’s ransom!’
‘They are from the emerald mines of Minas Gerais and I myself inspected the uncut stones and chose the best.’
