The Devil on Her Tongue (57 page)

Over the next week, Dona Beatriz invited me to visit her every day in the big house.

I lost my stiffness with her and we laughed together as we shared funny stories about our children’s antics. Although noble-born, she had a very easy air, and wasn’t overbearing or arrogant. On the day before she was due to sail back to Lisboa, she arrived at the cottage, leading Leandro by the hand and carrying a basket.

Surprised to see her, I glanced around the sitting room, relieved it was tidy.

“I gave Jacinta the day to visit some of her friends in Funchal, and thought Leandro and Candelária could play together while we visit here for a change.”

“Yes, of course. Please come in,” I said, feeling odd inviting her into the house she owned.

“I always liked this cottage,” she said. “It feels even more pleasant now, a real home with the children’s things. Where is Cristiano?”

“With Tiago. They’re probably down in the stable with Raimundo. They love the horses.”

Beatriz took a flask with a silver cap from her bag and set it on the table.

I fetched glasses from the cupboard and poured the wine. As we sipped, I made a sound of pleasure as the liquid went down my throat. “Round and soft,” I said. “A wonderful Malvasia
velhissimo
.”

Beatriz looked at the unmarked flask. “How do you know what it is?”

“It’s the smoothness, combined with a slight bitterness of flavour underneath. It has to be at least twenty years old.”

She tilted her head. “What is your connection with wines?”

“When I was growing up on Porto Santo, my father often took me to a friend’s inn, where they discussed and tasted wine.” There were many ways to carve the truth; my story sounded almost respectable. I suddenly thought of Bonifacio in Curral das Freiras, telling me I had the devil on my tongue.

“Not many women are interested in the making of wine. Drinking, yes,” she added with a smile, “but the production and blending, no. We are alike in this, it appears. I’m so glad I have you here. You are like the overseer of my property,” she added with a small laugh. The wine was loosening her; her face looked warm. “As my father did not have a son, he took me into the business with him, teaching me all aspects of it. What did your father do?”

“He was a sailor, but then worked in the diamond trade in Brazil.” I took another drink. “He taught me to read and write in both Dutch and Portuguese.”

“It seems our fathers influenced us greatly, and made us into the women we are today. And your mother?”

“She influenced me as well. As I have told you, she taught me the skills of
curandeira
and midwife. She …” I saw her floating in a pale sky, her body undulating, beautiful in its design. “She taught me about strength. About what we must do to survive.”

“In contrast, my mother was very gentle, and perhaps too accommodating. My sister Inêz resembled her in both appearance and nature. But I am my father’s daughter.” She looked at the children on the carpet near our feet. They ignored each other but were both busy with the scattered playthings. “I hope to impart the strengths I have learned to my son. And your husband, Diamantina?” She poured us each another glass.

“What of him?”

“You don’t speak of him. When I visited the Counting House this week, I had a conversation with him. He seems … efficient.”

I nodded. “He is. Efficient and single-minded.”

Dona Beatriz tilted her head. “It’s not my place to say. But you seem unsuited.” She smiled. “As I’m sure people say of me and Abílio.”

I didn’t return the smile. “We marry for different reasons, don’t we, Dona Beatriz?”

Now Candelária cried out as Leandro snatched a small cloth dolly from her. She looked at me and howled in protest. I laughed and went to her, picking her up. “It’s not that bad, little one,” I said, pressing my nose against her sweet-smelling hair. Then I sat again, with her on my lap, caressing her little white leather boots with my fingertips.

“Do you hope for more children?” Dona Beatriz asked.

“No,” Bonifacio said, standing in the doorway.

I gasped, shocked at his unseen presence. How long had he stood there? It was early; he usually didn’t arrive home from work until later in the day.

“Hello, Bonifacio,” Dona Beatriz said, looking from him to me and back to him.

He didn’t return the greeting. “No,” he repeated, coming into the sitting room. “Candelária will be Diamantina’s only child.” He stared at me.

I took a deep breath, feeling the need to respond. “Her birth was damaging.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dona Beatriz said. There was a moment’s silence, and then she said, “Do you care to sit with us, Bonifacio?”

“No, thank you. I will go to the chapel. There is much to pray about on this quinta.” He still looked pointedly at me. Candelária slid off my lap and crawled back to the toys.

I was embarrassed by his comment, but Dona Beatriz only said, “Good day, then,” as Bonifacio left without another word.

“Dona Beatriz, I apologize for my husband’s behaviour. He … he is often distracted after work,” I said, unable to come up with a better excuse for his rudeness.

“Never mind,” Dona Beatriz said.

We watched the children again. After what felt like a long, uncomfortable time, Bonifacio’s presence still lingering in the room, she said, “Leandro will be my only child as well.”

“Why is that, Dona?”

She looked at her son. “Abílio is wandering. I knew he would, as my father warned me. He has a woman in Lisboa, and I suspect another in Oporto. There are few secrets in the world I live in.” She looked back at me. “He is rarely with me, and it’s clear we feel no attraction any longer. I don’t mind. I like my life in Belém. When we’re together, we do little but argue over the business. He’s not interested in it, not the way he should be.” She raised her eyebrows. “But I got what I wished. I have a child, and I have a new and unexpectedly happy life in Belém. I have nothing to complain about.”

I waited a moment. “Nor do I,” I said, attempting a smile, sure that in Dona Beatriz’s eyes I had nothing to complain about apart from a husband with a lack of manners.

I
n late May of 1752, I sat in the salon with Olívia and Luzia, Candelária toddling about our feet. At sixteen months, she was stringing her first words together and making us laugh with some of her attempts at conversation.

Ana ushered in Bonifacio.

“What is it, Bonifacio?” Olívia asked.

“I am here to escort my wife to the
adega
.”

I rose in alarm at his expression. “Why? Why am I wanted?”

“We will speak of it downstairs,” he said.

“Could you watch Candelária for a few moments?” I asked Luzia and Olívia, picking up my cloak.

“Dr. McManus is coming later,” Olívia said peevishly.

Luzia waved her hand at me. “Go, go, it’s all right.”

I followed my silent husband out into the street. “What’s happened, Bonifacio?”

He stopped and looked at me. “The Englishman Duncan is meeting with Espirito. He expressed a desire for your opinion. Your opinion,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Espirito told him you were visiting upstairs. Duncan sent me to fetch you, as if I were his messenger.” His jaw tightened, and then he grabbed my hand and hurried me along after him, down the alley that led to the
adega
.

I tried to pull my hand free, but he held it too tightly as we went to the blending room together. I was embarrassed to stand in front of Espirito and Mr. Duncan like this, Bonifacio gripping my hand as if I were a child or a lover.

“I’m glad you were nearby, Diamantina,” Mr. Duncan said, and nodded at Bonifacio.

“Hello, Mr. Duncan,” I said, hiding my hand in the folds of my skirt, trying to untangle my fingers from Bonifacio’s. My face was hot. I didn’t look at Espirito.

“Please. Call me Henry,” Mr. Duncan said. “We’re sampling the altar wine from that first harvest two years ago. I’m considering sending it to England.” He lifted a tasting glass. “Espirito and I are debating whether it’s ready for us to ship it now, or should we wait until fall to let it ferment further.” He spoke English, and I knew Bonifacio couldn’t understand him.

Bonifacio finally let go of my hand and stepped forward, taking the glass. He sniffed it, looked at Henry, then handed it to Espirito.

There was an awkward silence as Espirito held the glass. Then he took a sip and let it sit in his mouth. He spat it into a small dish.

“Well, Espirito?” Henry said. “What are your—”

Bonifacio interrupted. “I have to return to my desk.”

We all looked at him.

“All right, Bonifacio,” Henry said, in Portuguese. “Thank you for bringing Diamantina.” He looked at me as Bonifacio left. “Your husband seemed offended. It was not my intention.”

I shook my head and cleared my throat, further embarrassed.

“Perhaps it was discomfort,” Henry said. “It appears he’s not at ease in the
adega
. Well. What are your thoughts on the wine, Espirito?”

“I think we should wait. It would benefit from another few months.”

“And you, Diamantina?” Henry said. “Try it, and see if your opinion is the same as Espirito’s.”

I tasted it and spat it out, trying to push aside my discomfort over Bonifacio’s behaviour. “It’s important, isn’t it, Mr. Duncan—Henry—that this first vintage is perfect? You want to show them that your altar wine stands apart, in the hopes they offer another contract. Am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then I agree with Espirito. It’s full-bodied, and perfectly acceptable as it is, but another few months in the warmth would benefit it.”

“As I feel too,” Henry said. “Those in my
adega
are saying we
should be sending it now, though. They’re anxious to get it into the pipes to be shipped because they want to start a new vintage in the barrels with the fall’s harvest.”

I looked at Espirito. “Surely we can have more barrels made. Our cooperage is bigger than yours, isn’t it, Henry?”

Henry crossed his arms. “I can see why Dona Beatriz is so trusting of your judgment, Diamantina.” I smiled, and he added, “Sit down, please. Both of you.” As Espirito and I sat, he continued, “I’ve returned from Lisbon recently, and while there visited with Dona Beatriz and Perez. I have little regard for either the palate or business acumen of Perez, but I’ve known Dona Beatriz since she was younger than you, Diamantina, and I consider us friends. Dona Beatriz was very happy about this new arrangement I have with Kipling’s to make the altar wine.

“As you and I originally discussed, Espirito, after the sale I was prepared to give Dona Beatriz twenty-five percent of the profits.” He laughed. “But she’s a good negotiator, and knows the business. At her suggestion, we will partner on the altar wine contract, with the split at sixty percent to me and forty to her. It will provide sufficient monies to keep the winery going as Martyn wished, but also give her more funds for her pursuits in Belém. Her husband isn’t overly concerned about the Madeira operations, and had pulled me aside to broach the subject of selling Kipling’s to me. He’d rather have a great deal of money outright than depend on a yearly income.”

“You? Buy the winery? But Martyn Kipling …” I stopped, not wanting to disclose that I knew what was in the deed Dona Beatriz’s father had left her.

“Perez is simply greedy. He proposed a ridiculous sum, one I would never even consider.” Henry shook his head and pulled a sheaf of papers from his case. “Here is the copy of the contract Dona Beatriz signed.” He set the papers on the table.

Espirito picked them up. “Barrels apart, your
adega
doesn’t have such capacity, Henry.”

“You’re right. Dona Beatriz has asked me to work on her behalf to obtain the building next door and have a second Kipling
adega
built. But this partnership on the altar wine necessitates other changes
here. Espirito, instead of bringing in another blender, Dona Beatriz and I decided that we’d like you to look after the production of the altar wine and its shipping. How do you feel about that?”

Espirito smiled. “So, Henry, you’re finally getting me to work for you again.” He grew serious. “That’s a lot of responsibility. I’m not sure I can handle my duties between two
adegas
during harvest.”

Henry held up a hand. “Yes. Dona Beatriz and I discussed that as well.” He turned to me. “She’s very taken with you, Diamantina. Her father taught her to be a good judge of character. She would like you to help Espirito oversee the operations here during the busiest periods.”

She had called me the overseer of Quinta Isabella when she was last there. I looked from Henry to Espirito, and back to Henry. “I’m honoured, but I know nothing about the job. What would I do?”

“She didn’t specify, except to say you had an excellent brother-in-law to give you direction. She thinks everyone benefits when business ventures are kept within a family. This means there would be three Rivaldos working for Kipling’s.”

“Dona Beatriz didn’t want to hire another man?” Espirito asked.

“She wants someone she can trust, and she openly contested her husband’s choices for a part-time overseer. Then she asked me about Diamantina’s knowledge. I told her the truth—that Diamantina has a taster’s tongue,” he said, looking at me and smiling. “Her palate is excellent.”

I sat very still, an excited beating in my temples.

“We must do whatever makes Dona Beatriz Kipling Perez happy,” Henry said, nodding first at Espirito and then at me.

Espirito’s expression was less certain. “I don’t think the men Diamantina would have to deal with would accept her.”

“They would have no choice, would they?” I said.

Henry laughed. “Come, Espirito. You won’t throw her into it without help. It doesn’t have to happen all at once. I’m sure she’s already a familiar figure around the
adega
. It will take some time for the wine growers and shippers to get used to her, but if they want to deal with Kipling’s, they’ll have to deal, at times, with Senhora Diamantina Rivaldo.”

“What would I be expected to do, Espirito?” I asked.