As she left the drawing room and walked into the hall, she saw Loen and Gabriela whispering together.
‘Jorge is here, Loen, and we must leave,’ she said, then turned to Gabriela. ‘You can see how my father is,’ she said helplessly.
‘Senhora, I will do my best to comfort him. And perhaps, with God’s blessing, he will recover. Please remember that time is a great healer.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be back to see him tomorrow. Come, Loen.’
Bel watched as mother and daughter said a fond goodbye, which only served to underline her own terrible loss.
*
On the short drive to the Casa, Bel wondered what she would encounter when she arrived. She’d ignored Gustavo’s frequent telephone calls as often as she dared, asking Fabiana to tell him she was with her mother, and only speaking to him when she had to. Although to her surprise, when she’d told him of her mother’s death, his response had been unusually sympathetic. And he’d sounded sober. When she’d assured him there was no need to attend the funeral, which Carla had requested to be for close family only, Gustavo had said that he understood and would look forward very much to seeing her on her return.
In the strange hinterland of approaching death, Bel had spent little time contemplating her future, but as they neared her marital home, she realised she must begin to face it. Especially one particular part of it, which she’d discussed with Loen only last week, who’d reassured her that these things could be brought on by stress. She’d allowed herself to be comforted by her maid’s theory, unable to begin to contemplate the complexity of the alternative while her heart was so full of grief.
Bel entered the house, noticing as she always did the change from the warmth of the air outside to the chilly atmosphere within. She shivered involuntarily as Loen helped her remove her hat, wondering if she should simply climb the stairs straight up to her bedroom, or go in search of her husband or his parents. There was certainly no sympathetic welcome committee waiting for her here.
‘I will take your suitcase upstairs to your room, unpack and draw you a bath, Senhora Bel,’ said Loen, sensing her discomfort and giving her shoulder a light pat of understanding as she moved to walk upstairs.
‘Hello?’ Bel called into the empty hallway.
There was no reply. She called again, to no response, and finally decided to follow Loen up the stairs.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the drawing room. ‘I see you are home at last.’
‘Yes, Luiza.’
‘I am sorry for your loss, and so is my husband.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Dinner is at the usual time.’
‘Then I will go upstairs and prepare for it.’
Receiving only a brusque nod in response, Bel walked up the stairs, her feet treading automatically, one after the other. Entering her bedroom, she thought that at least Loen was a comforting, familiar presence. Bel let her maid help her undress, a task she hadn’t asked her to perform at thefazendaas the usual rituals had been forgotten amidst the need to focus entirely on Carla. But now she watched Loen’s surprised expression as she stood naked in front of her.
‘What is it?’
Loen’s eyes had moved to her stomach. ‘Nothing, I . . . nothing, Senhora Bel. The bath is run. Why don’t you get in while the water is warm?’
Bel did as she was told, and lay in the bath. And as she gazed down at herself, she became fully aware of the change in the familiar contours of her body. There were no baths at thefazenda, only pails of water warmed by the sun and thrown over oneself, and she’d barely glanced at herself in the mirror for weeks.
‘Meu Deus!’ said Bel as her fingers tentatively touched the barely visible but newly rounded shape of her normally flat belly, which now appeared like a half-risen soufflé from the water that surrounded it. Her breasts too seemed fuller and heavier.
‘I am with child,’ she whispered, her heart beginning to pound.
There was no further time to contemplate what she had just seen, or berate herself for taking Loen’s advice on the ‘monthly’ she’d missed being merely due to stress as gospel, for she heard Gustavo’s reedy voice talking to Loen next door. Washing herself quickly, she stepped out of the bath, donned her robe, making sure that she tied it loosely in case her husband noticed the subtle change in her shape, and walked into the bedroom.
Gustavo stood there, his expression wary and a little shy.
‘Thank you, Loen. You may go,’ he said.
Loen left the room and Bel stayed where she was, waiting for Gustavo to speak first.
‘I am so sorry for your loss, Izabela,’ he said, parroting the words of his mother.
‘Thank you. I admit it has not been easy.’
