‘As I told Senhor da Silva Costa and I will now tell you, Izabela, the idea is out of the question.’
‘But why, Pai? Surely you can see how a tour of Europe would improve my education?’
‘You need no more education, Izabela. I have spent thousands of reais on improving you and it has paid off. You have already netted a big fish. We both know that an offer of marriage from Senhor Gustavo is imminent. So tell me, why on earth would I agree at this crucial moment to send you far away across the sea to the Old World when you are about to be crowned queen of the New?’
‘Pai, please, I—’
‘Enough! I will hear no more about it. The matter is closed. I will see you at supper.’
With a sob, Bel turned away from him, ran through the kitchen at the back of the house, surprising the startled staff preparing the evening meal, and charged through the door which led outside. She raced across the garden and, not caring about her dress, began to scramble up the jungle-covered hillside, grabbing the plants and trees to aid her ascent.
Ten minutes later, satisfied she was now high enough for no one to hear her, she sank down onto the warm soil and howled like a wild animal. When her anger and frustration had finally subsided, Bel rolled over and brushed the soil from her muslin dress. She sat with her knees to her chin, her arms tightly folded around them. And as she looked out across Rio, the beautiful view began to calm her. She surveyed the scene below her, taking in the enclave of Cosme Velho. Then she turned to gaze above her at the soaring Corcovado Mountain, a grey cloud ringing its peak.
In the other direction, some distance away on a mountainside, was afavela, a slum village where the penniless inhabitants had built shelters from whatever they could find. If she listened carefully, on the breeze she could hear the faint sounds of the surdo drums the slum-dwellers played night and day as they danced the samba, the music of the hills, to forget the misery of their lives. And the sight and sound of this desperate population brought her back to her senses.
I am nothing more than a spoilt, selfish rich girl, Bel berated herself.How can I behave like this when I have everything and they have nothing?
Bel lowered her head slowly onto her knees and asked for forgiveness. ‘Please, blessed Virgin, strip out my passionate heart, and replace it with one like Maria Elisa’s,’ she prayed fervently, ‘for mine does me no good at all. And I swear I will be grateful and obedient from now on and not fight against my father’s wishes.’
*
Ten minutes later, Bel clambered back down the mountainside and walked through the kitchen, dirty and dishevelled, but with her head held high. Running upstairs, she asked Gabriela to fill her a bath, then she lay in it, thinking how in future she would be the perfect, submissive daughter . . . andwife.
The subject of the rejected trip to Europe was not brought up over dinner, and that night, Bel lay in bed knowing it would never be mentioned again.
16
Two weeks later, the three members of the Aires Cabral family attended a grand dinner at Mansão da Princesa. Antonio pulled out all the stops to impress, making much of how well his coffee business was growing, as the demand from America for Brazil’s magical beans increased with each passing month.
‘Our family once owned a number of coffee farms near Rio, but with the abolition of slavery, they quickly became uneconomical,’ remarked Gustavo’s father.
‘Ah, yes. I am indeed fortunate that my farms are near São Paulo, where of course we never relied so heavily on slave labour,’ replied Antonio. ‘And of course the land around São Paulo is far better suited to growing coffee. I do believe that I produce some of the best. We shall taste it after dinner.’
‘Yes, of course, we must all embrace the New World,’ agreed Maurício stiffly.
‘And strive to maintain the values and traditions of the Old,’ Gustavo’s mother added pointedly.
Bel watched Luiza Aires Cabral during dinner, her face rarely cracking a smile. There was no doubt that when she was younger she must have been a beauty, with her unusual blue eyes and fine bone structure. But it seemed as though bitterness had erased any outward charm, eating her away from the inside. Bel made a promise to herself that, no matter what turn her life took, the same fate would never befall her.
‘I understand you know Heitor da Silva Costa’s daughter, Maria Elisa,’ Gustavo commented to Bel in his quiet voice. ‘She is a good friend of yours?’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Next week, I’m accompanying my father to meet Senhor da Silva Costa on Corcovado Mountain so that he can update us with his plans. Pai is part of the Catholic Circle that first dreamed up the idea of placing a monument to theCristothere. I hear Senhor da Silva Costa’s plans change regularly, and I don’t envy him the task he has set himself. The mountain is more than seven hundred metres high.’
‘I’ve never been up to the top, even though we live so near,’ replied Bel. ‘The mountain rises from the back of our garden.’
‘Perhaps your father would allow me to take you.’
‘I would like that, thank you,’ she answered politely.
‘Then we have a plan. I will ask him later.’
As Bel turned from Gustavo’s gaze to eat the delicious dessert ofpudim de leite condensado, made from condensed milk and caramel, she felt his eyes still on her.
Two hours later, as the maid closed the door on his guests, Antonio beamed at Carla and Bel. ‘I think they were impressed, and I think you, myprincesa’ – he chucked Bel’s chin – ‘will have some news from Gustavo very soon. He asked me before he left if he could take you up Corcovado Mountain next week. It is a perfect place for a young man to propose, is it not?’
Bel opened her mouth to respond negatively to her father’s suggestion, but then remembered her vow to adopt a more accepting demeanour. ‘Yes, Pai,’ she said, lowering her eyes demurely.
