She sat down slowly on the edge of the bed and looked at him, taking in his red eyes and the enlarged, drink-sodden pupils. ‘Gustavo,’ she began, ‘my mother is dying.’

‘What?’ He turned his head towards her. ‘This is the first that I’ve heard about it. How long have you known?’

‘A few weeks, but my mother insisted that I tell no one.’

‘Not even your husband?’

‘Not until she’d told her own, no.’

‘I see. The cancer is back, I presume?’

‘Yes.’

‘How long does she have left?’ he asked her.

‘Not long . . .’ Bel’s voice quavered with emotion at his coldness. She steeled herself to ask Gustavo what she needed to. ‘She has requested that she be taken to the mountains to spend her last days at her beloved fazenda. Gustavo, would you let me accompany her?’

He stared at her with glazed eyes. ‘How long for?’

‘I don’t know. It could be weeks, or perhaps, God willing, two months.’

‘Would you be back by the beginning of the season?’

‘I . . .’ It was impossible for Bel to put a timescale on the final time she would spend with her mother merely to suit her husband. ‘I would think so, yes,’ she managed.

‘Well, I can hardly say no, can I? But of course, I would prefer you here by my side. Especially as there seems to be no heir so far, and this will delay the production of one further. My mother is getting most perturbed that you seem infertile,’ he said cruelly.

‘I apologise.’ Bel lowered her eyes, wanting to retort that the situation was hardly her fault. It was at least two months since Gustavo had managed to successfully make love to her, although she accepted that he probably couldn’t remember the full extent of his ineptitude.

‘We will try tonight,’ he said, grabbing her suddenly and throwing her back onto the bed. With one movement, he was on top of her and clumsily pulling her nightgown up, then she felt his hardness poking and prodding to find where it needed to be, but failing to hit its target. His mouth descended on hers and she felt him moving against her, as though he thought he was inside her. As usual, she felt Gustavo’s weight fall more heavily on top of her as he finally moaned with relief before rolling off her. Bel felt the stickiness already congealing on her thighs and looked at him with a mixture of revulsion and pity.

‘Perhaps tonight we will finally have made a child,’ he said, before his breath was consumed by drunken snores.

Bel stood up and went to the bathroom to clean Gustavo from her skin. How he could possibly believe that the apology which had been their coupling could result in the miracle of a baby, Bel did not dare to question. Any slight aptitude he had once shown as a lover was lost – along with his memory of such events – in the mire of drunkenness.