‘Well, given you’ve just requested the maid to leave us alone, I presume you have made your decision. And I assume it will be to do with some kind of misdemeanour you believe my wife has committed. Would I be right?’
Luiza’s face displayed an exaggeratedly pained expression. ‘Sadly, you would be, yes.’
‘Well then, spit it out. I have a busy day ahead of me.’
‘I have reason to believe that your wife has not been . . . faithful to you during your marriage.’
‘What?’ Gustavo exclaimed angrily. ‘Mãe, I seriously think you are becoming deluded! What evidence do you have of this?’
‘Gustavo, I understand your disbelief and anger, but I can assure you that I am not deluded. And yes, I do have proof.’
‘Really? And what is that?’
‘Our driver, Jorge, who you are aware has worked for me for many years, has seen Izabela entering the apartment building of a certain young’ – Luiza sniffed – ‘gentleman.’
‘You mean Jorge has driven her somewhere in the city to visit a friend perhaps, and you have twisted this into some kind of ridiculous accusation?’ said Gustavo, standing up from the table. ‘I wish to hear no more of this bile! What do you hope to achieve?’
‘Please, Gustavo, I beg you to sit down and listen,’ Luiza entreated him. ‘Your wife has never asked Jorge to take her directly to this particular young man’s address. In fact, she has had him drop her off in front of Madame Duchaine’s salon. Then one afternoon, when he was stuck fast in traffic, he saw Izabela leave the dressmaker’s a few minutes after she’d arrived, and hurry off into the streets of Ipanema.’
Gustavo sat down heavily. ‘So, Jorge came to you with this information of his own volition, did he?’
‘No,’ Luiza admitted. ‘My own suspicions were raised when I went one afternoon in May to the Igreja da Glória, where your wife had told me she was going when she’d left the house an hour earlier. She wasn’t there. I obviously asked Jorge that evening where Izabela had asked him to collect her from. He told me that it was from Madame Duchaine’s salon and confessed to me what I have just told you. I instructed him that the next time he drove her there and saw her leave after a few minutes, he was to follow your wife and find out where it was she was going.’
‘You mean, you asked Jorge to spy on her?’
‘If you wish to put it like that, then yes. However, I was only trying to protect you, my dear son, and you must accept my motives are well intentioned. There was something that had been worrying me since the start of your marriage.’
‘And what was that?’
‘I . . .’ Luiza had the grace to blush. ‘Obviously I’m your mother and I wished to make sure your wedding-night coupling had been successful. I asked the chambermaid at the Copacabana Palace to tell me if it had.’
‘You didwhat?’ Gustavo was on his feet and walking around the table towards his mother, fury in his eyes.
‘Please, Gustavo!’ Luiza put up her arms to protect herself. ‘Your wife had just been away to Paris for many months. I felt it my duty to make sure that she was still . . . pure. The chambermaid informed me that there was no sign of a bloodstain on the sheets or the counterpane.’
‘You bribed a maid for information about my wife’s purity?’ Gustavo shook his head, trying to maintain his anger with his mother, but at the same time knowing she spoke the truth about their wedding night.
‘Well,’ Luiza eyed him, ‘were the sheets stained?’
‘How dare you ask me that!’ Gustavo rallied. ‘It is a private matter between me and my wife!’
‘I take it they weren’t,’ said Luiza, almost contentedly. ‘So, Gustavo, do you want me to continue? I can see how agitated you are becoming. We can leave the subject there, if you wish.’
‘No, Mãe, you’ve gone too far for that. And I’m sure you are desperate to tell me who it is Izabela has been meeting in secret.’
‘I can assure you that it gives me no pleasure at all to tell you’ – the triumphant expression in Luiza’s eyes suggested the opposite – ‘but the . . . “person” in question is someone we all know.’
Gustavo racked his brains to come up with a name before his mother could produce it, but he failed to do so.
‘Who is it?’
‘A young gentleman who has enjoyed hospitality here under our own roof. In fact, someone to whom you paid a great deal of money, as you wished to give your wife a special wedding present. The apartment Izabela has been visiting regularly is none other than that of Senhor Laurent Brouilly, the sculptor.’
Gustavo opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
‘I understand this is the most dreadful shock for you, Gustavo, but given the fact that your wife is with child – after months of being unable to conceive – I felt it was only right to tell you.’
‘Enough!’ cried Gustavo. ‘I agree it is possible that Izabela has visited this man while he has been here in Brazil. They became friends in Paris. And you yourself sent Alessandra Silveira to have Brouilly sculpt her. But even you, Mãe, could not have been in the bedroom with them. And to even insinuate that the child my wife carries is illegitimate is frankly obscene!’
