Golden Earrings (30 page)

My heart lifted.

Xavier reached out his hand to me and I took it. ‘I know that if you and Gaspar were allowed to marry, he would devote his life to your well-being. He has offered to give up working as a musician and take up law, or work for one of the Montella companies, if that would make our parents approve of him. I will speak to Pare and Mama, Evelina. I will put forward the case for your happiness as strongly as I can. But also understand that I may not succeed. Our parents have devoted their lives to building up the Montella fortune and name. We are not like other people. The burden of our position in society means that we cannot always do as we please.’

A few days after that discussion, Gaspar arrived at our house looking more nervous than I had ever seen him. I met him in the foyer and brushed his hand lightly, before he disappeared into the drawing room to meet Pare, who thought Gaspar was coming to see him about a business proposal, having no idea of our feelings for each other.

‘I’ll come and speak to you afterwards,’ promised Xavier. ‘Now go to your room and have faith. Pray for us.’

As I lingered near the top of the stairs, I heard Xavier escorting Mama to the drawing room. It was Catalan mothers who decided on their children’s wedding partners and it would have been foolish not to include her in the discussion. I already knew where Mama stood regarding Gaspar. My hope was that if Xavier could convince Pare the match was suitable, Pare in turn might persuade Mama to agree.

I was glad that Margarida was out for the day. I found it impossible to settle my mind while my future was being decided downstairs. Dear God, I prayed. Please let me and Gaspar be together. I stayed in that agitated state for nearly an hour. But the longer I waited, the more hope I felt. I reasoned that if my parents had refused to give any consideration to Gaspar’s proposal, the conversation would have been over by now.

I heard voices in the foyer and glanced out my door to see Gaspar leaving. Whether a proposal had been accepted or not, it was the custom for the suitor to leave immediately so the parents could discuss the matter with their child privately. When I ran back to my window and saw Gaspar getting into his car, I realised there was a flaw in our plan. I had not told him that I would be watching from the window and to wave if all had gone well. I chastised myself for not having had that foresight. All I could do now was brace myself for whatever news Xavier would bring.

Another half an hour passed before Xavier came to my door. His mouth was pinched. He shook his head. My heart pounded in a sickening way when I realised it was all over. I barely heard Xavier when he said that Gaspar had spoken from the heart and that he, my brother, had argued passionately that I should be given free choice in deciding on my marriage partner.

‘Pare said that you have been promised to Francesc Cerdà and that was it. Mama added that it wasn’t simply a marriage between two young people but a joining of two important lineages.’

‘It’s medieval,’ I said.

Although I knew we’d had a slim chance of changing my parents’ minds, the refusal came as a shock. I was wobbly on my feet. Xavier wrapped his arm around me. He didn’t try to console me with words, understanding that there was nothing to be said. As a man, he had some chance of finding solace outside his unhappy marriage to Conchita, but there would be no such outlet for me. The truth was terrible: I was to be a prisoner. And what for? An alliance?

The image of Gaspar leaving came back to me.

‘Gaspar!’ I cried. I clasped Xavier’s shoulders. ‘Xavier, I must speak to him! Gaspar and I must at least be able to say goodbye.’

Xavier shook his head. ‘He’s gone, Evelina. He’s going back to South America. It’s for the best.’

I moved away from Xavier and sat down on the bed. So that nervous exchange of hope in the foyer was to serve as my last contact with Gaspar? I pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes but nothing could soothe my throbbing head.

When I looked up again, Mama was standing in the doorway. I stared at her, like someone peering through a fog.

‘I’d like to speak to Evelina alone,’ she told Xavier.

After Xavier had left, Mama came and stood next to me. ‘Didn’t I warn you not to entertain thoughts of someone who is beneath you, Evelina? You brought this unhappiness on yourself — and him.’

I glanced up at her. ‘How can Gaspar be beneath me?’ I asked. ‘He is more intelligent and talented than all of us put together.’

Mama frowned. ‘In social status, I mean.’

Her eyes fell to my hands. While waiting for Pare’s decision, I had bitten my nails and they were now rough and shabby.

I turned away from her. ‘That’s important to you and Pare. It’s not what matters most to me.’

Mama sighed. ‘Maybe not now. But trust me, it’s important. Do you think Pare and I are so callous as to not consider your happiness? Believe me, happiness runs out quickly when you don’t have a decent home and can’t give your children a stable life.’

‘Gaspar is very successful —’

Mama raised her voice to cut me off. ‘He has no name,’ she said. ‘His parents squandered away their place in society. And you are a
Montella
. Young love doesn’t last, Evelina. What counts is mutual respect.’

I shrugged. Mama and I didn’t seem to speak the same language any more.

‘I don’t think under the circumstances I should become engaged to Francesc Cerdà. It wouldn’t be right.’

Mama prickled. ‘The only people who know about this ridiculous state of affairs are your immediate family. I intend to keep it that way.’ She grabbed my face and turned me so that we were looking into each other’s eyes. Her fingers pressed into my skin so hard I was sure they’d leave bruises. ‘You will accept Francesc Cerdà’s proposal, do you hear? And you will be married before the end of September. Put your foolish notions about Gaspar Olivero out of your mind now. It’s over! Finished! We will not speak of it again.’

The next two months of my life were a blur. Francesc returned from England and proposed. I accepted because I had no other choice. I felt a certain detachment as we went on the rounds of visits and I showed off the diamond and sapphire engagement ring that had once belonged to Francesc’s grandmother. I didn’t feel that the ring belonged to me, as I felt my own life no longer belonged to me. If I could not marry the man I truly loved, how could I be real? I was a spectator watching a game.

As I walked down the aisle of Basílica de la Mercè alongside my father, I could smell orange blossoms and lilies mixed with
the scent of dust and damp stone that always permeated the baroque church’s interior. In keeping with Catalan tradition, Francesc and his mother proceeded down the aisle in front of us. The dimness of the church and the halos of light from the chandeliers and candles added to the surreal atmosphere. I put one foot in front of the other, watching the hem of my lace dress sway with each step. I was lost in a hypnotic trance.

I glanced up and saw Mama sitting in the front pew, sobbing into her handkerchief. Margarida was weeping too. Only Xavier, dear Xavier, smiled for me, although his eyes were sad. Did he think he had failed me?

When Francesc and I were left at the altar to stand alone before the priest, my pulse pounded in my temples so violently that I thought I might faint. The aroma of frankincense from the priest’s censer was overwhelming. I remembered Gaspar telling me the night we saw la Rusa that the incense was made from the hardened resin of the boswellia tree, and this hardened resin was referred to as ‘tears’. Gaspar, he was always full of interesting facts, I thought. I saw his face before me, those alert eyes and ready smile. I heard his soothing voice in my ear:
Have faith. Be strong for me, Evelina.

I glanced at the statue of Our Lady of Mercy. I had cried so much over my loss of Gaspar that I couldn’t cry any more. There was no more hope. There was only surrender.

Francesc touched my elbow and brought my mind back to the present. ‘You look beautiful,’ he whispered.

He was so warm and kind that it bolstered my spirits a little. At least my parents weren’t marrying me off to a monster. If I had never met Gaspar, I would have probably been happy to wed Francesc. It was a match that made my parents happy, the Cerdàs were pleasant people, and Francesc was handsome and possessed a fun personality. But I could not be happy now, and I was beginning to accept that I never would be. I thought of Conchita, sitting with my family and looking beautiful in her dress of
turquoise silk. But her eyes were hollow and her mouth was stretched taut. Would I look like that ten years from now?

Although the church was crowded and the priest conducted a full Mass, the wedding ceremony seemed to be over in a few minutes. Before I knew it, my veil was lifted, the engagement ring that I had worn on my right hand had now become the wedding ring on my left ring finger, and Francesc and I were walking down the aisle as man and wife.

Outside, the early autumn light was fading. The guests cheered their congratulations and the feeling of being outside my body returned to me. Mama, Pare, Margarida and Xavier were standing together and I realised that I would never live with them again. From now on, I would be part of the Cerdà household. I looked at the Marqués and Marquesa and Penélope and suddenly they felt like complete strangers. And exactly how little I knew about my husband, I was soon to find out.

Mamie came back from her memories as the winter sky outside began to darken. I’d had no idea that she had been married before Avi. The troubles and the separation their love had endured cast them in a new light. Instead of being simply my grandparents, I saw them as romantic figures. I was dying to ask Mamie how, if she had been married to Francesc, she had ended up with Avi, but I was beginning to understand how complicated her life in Barcelona had been, and how many other people it had involved, and I knew that I had to be patient. I had to let Mamie tell the story her way.

She suddenly stared at me as if she had forgotten I was sitting with her. ‘I knew something was wrong the first night of our marriage,’ she said, a troubled expression on her face. ‘After the wedding dinner, which finished in the early hours of the morning, Francesc and I returned to the Cerdà mansion where we were to spend the night before leaving for our honeymoon the following day. Our suite had been newly decorated and
the walnut furniture contrasted beautifully with the cheerful yellow-papered walls. In the bedroom was a king-sized bed with monogrammed pearl-white pillows and a silver-grey satin cover. Francesc and I both stared at it.

‘Mama had explained what was expected of me as a wife and, although I was exhausted, I brushed out my hair and put on the lace nightgown that had been part of my trousseau. Francesc fixed himself a nightcap. There were bowls of gardenias around the room, which gave the air a heavenly scent. Opposite the bed was a painting of blush-pink camellias, my favourite flowers. I knew Mama had put it there for me. I lay on the bed, feeling awkward and nervous. I wondered how different things might have been if I had married Gaspar. I imagined his soft lips kissing my neck, his warm hands gripping my waist … then I stopped myself. To think about a man other than Francesc now was a sin.’

Mamie paused for a moment, her eyes on my face. She seemed to be having trouble finding the words she wanted to say. I wanted her to go on but I was also afraid of what I might hear.

‘Francesc turned off the light and undressed in the dark,’ Mamie continued. ‘The bed dipped with his weight when he slipped in beside me. I clenched my teeth, wondering what would happen next.

‘“Well, it’s a relief that ceremony is all over,” he said at last. “It was more for our parents than for us.”

‘I giggled. It was so like Francesc to say something like that. “And for God, too,” I reminded him. “It’s important to be joined before God.”

‘“Yes, of course,” he agreed.

‘We became silent again. For a moment I thought he had fallen asleep, but then he got up again and went to the bathroom. I could hear him turning the taps on and off for what seemed like an eternity. I wondered what he was doing. I felt foolish
lying in the dark, so I turned on the side lamp. After more splashing sounds from the bathroom, Francesc returned and seemed surprised to find that I was still awake. He climbed into bed next to me and stared at the ceiling. I stared at the ceiling too. Was it possible Francesc was as nervous as I was? He was older than me, and with all the travelling he had done, Mama had told me not to be upset if he seemed “experienced”.

‘Francesc lay still for another few minutes before a sort of resolve seemed to come over him. He reached across my chest and turned off the light. Then he made a move that was more like a doctor about to perform an operation than an amorous husband about to make love to his wife for the first time. He tugged up my nightdress and lowered himself over me. I gritted my teeth and anticipated the pain Mama had warned me to expect. But all I felt was something fleshy and soft rubbing against me. Absolutely nothing happened.’

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Why is Mamie telling me about her first sexual experience? I wondered, feeling a little queasy. Nobody likes to imagine their grandmother making love, and Mamie was normally on the prudish side about such things. I couldn’t boast any experience myself, but thinking of the women’s magazines I’d read, it sounded as if Francesc was nervous or had consumed too much alcohol during the dinner.

Mamie looked at me pointedly. ‘Nothing happened the next night in Paris either — or the night after that. In fact, we never consummated the marriage. I was young and inexperienced but I knew something was terribly wrong, especially after Mama had told me to be understanding about the fact that men had strong appetites. Francesc wasn’t interested in making love with me at all. Then, not long after we returned from our honeymoon, he told me that he was planning to go to the Moroccan Grand Prix.

‘“Africa is no place for a woman,” he said. “You’d better stay here. Penélope will keep you company.”

‘Although I tried to carry on as normal, the sense of something being wrong was always there. And the failure of this part of my marriage brought back the pain I had tried to suppress over Gaspar. Now it was so great, I was afraid it would engulf me. I distracted myself with ballet lessons, which I now took every day, bending and stretching myself to my limits. There was no one I could talk to about such things. How could I tell my mother or even a priest? Sex was considered something necessary for children, but shameful at the same time.’