‘Well, don’t think of it as too much of a favour,’ responded Heitor. ‘After all, your future father-in-law is a member of the Catholic Circle, instrumental in promoting the idea of a monument on the top of Corcovado and organising fund-raising to build it. It would be a grave embarrassment to return you to Rio and tell him I have failed to introduce you to the cultural riches of the Old World. So,’ Heitor said, smiling at her, ‘we leave at eleven.’

As they drove over the Pont de l’Alma and onto the Left Bank, Bel peered eagerly out of the window, as though she expected Picasso himself to be sitting at a street café as they passed by.

‘Landowski’s atelier is some distance from here,’ said Heitor. ‘I think he’s less interested in drinking with his cronies in the streets of Montparnasse and more inspired by his work. And, of course, he has a family, which is not something easily accommodated on the Left Bank.’

‘His surname doesn’t sound French,’ said Bel, a little disappointed that Landowski was not part of the circle she craved to discover.

‘No, he comes from Polish ancestors, although I believe his family has lived in France for seventy-five years. Perhaps his temperament doesn’t suit the more outlandish vagaries of some of his contemporaries. However, he does embrace the new Art Deco style, which is becoming prominent in Europe. I think this may well prove very suitable for my Christ.’

‘Art Deco?’ questioned Bel. ‘I don’t know what that is.’

‘Hmm . . . how can I explain the style?’ Heitor murmured to himself. ‘Well, it’s as if anything you might see in the everyday world, like a table, or a gown, or even a human being, gets stripped down to its basic lines. It isn’t fanciful or romantic in the classical style of many of the great artists and sculptors of the past. It is simple, raw . . . as I believe Christ Himself wished to be seen.’

As they drove on, the landscape became more rural, the built-up city giving way to occasional clusters of houses along the roadside. Bel couldn’t help thinking how ironic it was that the moment she’d actually managed to escape the apartment, she was being driven away from the pulsating heart of the city she so longed to explore.

Having taken a number of wrong turns, finally their driver turned left into the entrance of a large, rambling house.

‘This is it.’ Heitor climbed out of the car immediately, his eyes alight with expectation. As Bel followed him through the gardens, she saw a wiry figure sporting a head of unruly grey hair and a long beard emerge from the side of the house, clad in a clay-spattered smock. She watched as the two men shook hands and began to talk earnestly together. She hovered some distance away, not wishing to interrupt their conversation, and it was a few minutes before Heitor seemed to remember she was there.