However, she thought, as she made her way back to the bedroom, if what she had just endured was the price for leaving Rio to be with her mother until the end, then she was content to have paid it.

The following morning, Bel left Gustavo sleeping and went down for breakfast. Both Luiza and Maurício were at the table.

‘Good morning, Izabela,’ said Luiza.

‘Good morning, Luiza,’ Bel replied politely as she sat down.

‘Gustavo is not joining us?’

‘He will be down very soon, I’m sure,’ said Bel, wondering at her need to protect her husband from his mother.

‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Very well, thank you.’

Every morning, this was the beginning and end of the conversation, the rest of breakfast only punctuated by the odd grunt of pleasure or disapproval emanating from behind Maurício’s newspaper.

‘Luiza, I must tell you that my mother is extremely unwell,’ said Bel as she stirred her coffee. ‘In fact, it is very doubtful she will live to see another summer.’

‘I am sorry to hear that, Izabela,’ replied Luiza, a subtle raise of an eyebrow her only physical reaction to the news. ‘This is very sudden. Are you quite sure?’

‘Sadly, yes. I’ve known for some time, but my mother wished me to say nothing to anyone until she had to. That time has now come and she has requested that she spends her last days at our fazenda. Which, as you know, is five hours’ journey from here. She has asked me to go with her and help nurse her to . . . the end. I spoke to Gustavo last night and he has agreed that I should go.’

‘Really?’ Luiza’s thin lips puckered in displeasure. ‘That is indeed generous of him. For exactly how long will you be away?’ she asked, voicing the same question as her son.

‘I . . .’ Bel could feel the tears beginning to rise in her eyes.

‘Surely, my dear, for as long as it takes,’ said a sudden voice from over his newspaper. Maurício gave her a nod of sympathy. ‘Please send my best wishes to your dear mother.’

‘Thank you,’ Bel whispered, feeling touched by her father-in-law’s sudden show of empathy and support. She took out a handkerchief and surreptitiously dabbed at her eyes.

‘Perhaps you can at least say when you will leave?’ Luiza demanded of her.

‘At the end of this week,’ Bel confirmed. ‘My father will accompany us and stay for a few days, but then, of course, he must return to his office in Rio.’

‘Yes,’ said Maurício gravely. ‘I can understand that things must be difficult for him at the moment. They are difficult for us all.’

Two afternoons later, as Bel sat at a table with the other women in the Igreja da Glória sticking the small triangles of soapstone onto the mesh netting, she thought how the hours she spent in the cool church had provided her with much-needed moments of quiet contemplation. The women – even though they were women and well practised at chatter amongst themselves – did not speak more than they needed to, simply concentrating instead on their joint task. There was a mutual feeling of harmony and peace.