Page 141 of The Seven Sisters
‘I can understand your reaction,’ said Luiza calmly. ‘And if I’m right, it is indeed obscene.’
Gustavo was pacing up and down, trying to calm himself. ‘Then tell mewhyyou put this man – whom you obviously suspected was my wife’s lover – under your patronage? It wasyouwho introduced him to society, helped him gain commissions through your recommendations. And, if I remember correctly, even provided him with a soapstone block from our family’s mines to enable him to continue his work!Youprolonged his stay here in Rio. Why on earth would you do that if you were suspicious of his relationship with Izabela?’ Gustavo eyed her furiously. ‘Because, Mãe, I believe you actually wanted to help discredit my wife. You’ve disliked her from the start. You’ve spent every day of her married life here at the Casa patronising her and treating her as if she was simply an irritation to be borne. It wouldn’t surprise me if you wanted our marriage to fail before it had even begun!’ Gustavo was now shouting across the table at Luiza. ‘I will hear no more of this. And I can tell you that I mean to make sure Izabela assumes her rightful position in this house as soon as possible. If you interfere in our marriage any further, I will have you out! Do you understand?’
‘I do,’ Luiza replied without a flicker of emotion. ‘Besides, you need worry no longer about Senhor Brouilly. He is leaving tomorrow for Paris.’
‘You are still spying on him?’ Gustavo raged.
‘Not at all. I halted my patronage as soon as your wife left for thefazendawith her mother. Without a commission, and your wife gone from Rio, I knew it would not be long before he decided to return to Paris. He wrote me a letter only two days ago informing me of his departure and thanking me for my assistance. Here,’ Luiza said, handing him an envelope, ‘you can read it for yourself. You will note the address of his apartment in Ipanema at the top of it.’
Gustavo grabbed the envelope from his mother and stared at her in hatred. His hands were shaking so much that he had difficulty stuffing the envelope into his trouser pocket.
‘Although you say you did this out of love for me, there is not one part of your son who believes you did. And I will not hear another word about any of it. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes.’
With a small smile, Luiza watched her son leave the room.
*
Somehow, Gustavo managed to maintain an outwardly calm demeanour as Izabela left with her maid to visit Madame Duchaine. As he watched the car snaking down the drive, he thought that one way of discovering immediately whether there was any substance to his mother’s story was to ask Jorge, the driver. But given that Jorge had worked for Luiza for over thirty years, Gustavo couldn’t trust him to tell the truth. Walking into the drawing room, his first instinct was to grab the whisky bottle, but he refrained, knowing if he took a little, it would not be enough and he needed a clear head to think now.
Pacing back and forth across the drawing room, wondering how the joy he’d woken to this morning could have dissipated into such anger and uncertainty two hours later, he tried to rationalise everything his mother had said. Even if there was a grain of truth in her story, to accuse Izabela of foisting another man’s baby upon him was surely the ranting of a lunatic? After all, many married women had admirers and Gustavo was not stupid enough to think that his beautiful wife did not have her fair share too. Perhaps this Brouilly had grown fond of her during their time in Paris – had even asked her to sit for him again here in Rio – but he could not bring himself to believe that she had surrendered physically to him.
However, one thing his motherhadsaid to him which had made him uneasy was the lack of bloodstain after they had made love on their wedding night. Gustavo was no biologist and perhaps Izabela had been telling him the truth that night, but . . .
Gustavo slumped into a chair, his head cradled desperately in his hands.
If she had lied, the depth of betrayal was simply too awful to contemplate. He had encouraged Izabela to go to Paris out of purely altruistic reasons, because he truly loved her and trusted her.
Surely, he thought, the best thing to do was to leave the whole sordid matter be? The letter he’d read from Brouilly to his mother indeed confirmed he was travelling back to Paris by steamer tomorrow. Whatever might have passed between the two of them, surely it was over now?
Yes, Gustavo decided, as he stood up and walked determinedly to his father’s study to read the newspapers. He would forget all about his mother’s nonsense, he told himself sternly. But as he sat trying to concentrate on the financial carnage, both in Brazil and in America, he found he could not. His mother’s words had sown unstoppable seeds of doubt in his mind, as she had known they would. And until he knew for certain, Gustavo realised he could not rest. Seeing that Jorge had returned from taking Izabela into the city, he grabbed his hat and climbed into the car to follow her.
*
Bel stood in front of the mirror as Madame Duchaine showered her with congratulations and assured her it was a simple enough job to alter the clothes she had made to fit her burgeoning body over the coming months.
‘I always think the shape of a pregnant woman has a magic all of its own,’ Madame Duchaine twittered as Bel caught Loen’s eye and gave her a barely perceptible nod.
Loen stood up from her chair and walked towards her mistress. ‘Senhora, I should go and collect the tonic your doctor has suggested you should take from the pharmacy. It is only around the corner, and I shall be back as fast as I can.’
Bel suppressed a painful smile as her maid repeated parrot-fashion the sentence she had suggested she say to her. ‘I’m sure I will be fine in Madame Duchaine’s capable hands,’ she replied.
‘Of course she will.’ Madame Duchaine smiled benignly at Bel.
As Loen nodded and left the salon, Bel could see that her eyes were large with trepidation. It was a lot to ask of her maid, but what choice did she have? ‘God speed,’ she whispered inwardly, then took a deep breath and turned back to the mirror.
*
Gustavo had ordered Jorge to take him to his club, which was only a few minutes’ walk from Madame Duchaine’s salon, and the address of the apartment where Brouilly apparently resided. He left the club and walked briskly along the street, deciding that as he was twenty minutes behind his wife, he would go directly to Brouilly’s apartment block. Finding there was a café on the other side of the road, Gustavo secreted himself in a corner of the pavement terrace and, feeling foolish, used his newspaper to disguise himself. Above the pages, his eyes flicked nervously back and forth along the busy street. The waitress came to take his order, and without diverting his gaze, he asked for a coffee.
Twenty minutes later, there was still no sign of his wife scurrying along the road to attend a rendezvous with her supposed lover. Every instinct in him wanted to leave, forget the whole thing. But, he rationalised, perhaps Bel would have a fitting first, giving her an alibi. So he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay where he was.
And not long afterwards, Gustavo spied a familiar face walking fast along the street. It was not that of his wife, but her maid, Loen. Standing upright and knocking over his still full cup of coffee with a clatter, he threw some coins onto the table and darted through the traffic to the other side of the road. Walking past the apartment block and away from Loen, who was approaching tentatively, stopping occasionally as if she was unsure of her destination, Gustavo secreted himself inside the doorway next to the entrance of Brouilly’s apartment.
Let this be a coincidence, he prayed, but a few seconds later, as Loen halted outside the next-door entrance just a few feet away from him, he knew it was not. Just as she made to enter the building, Gustavo stepped out in front of her.
‘Hello, Loen,’ he said as pleasantly as he could. ‘And where are you headed?’
