‘I’m sure if you ask him nicely, my assistant may rouse himself from Sun Yat-sen’s eyeball and provide you with some refreshment.’ Landowski nodded pointedly in the direction of the young man, then left the atelier with Heitor.

The assistant, however, seemed oblivious to her presence as she wandered around, wishing she could move closer to watch what he was doing, but not wanting to disturb him. On the far side of the main workspace was an enormous oven, presumably used for firing the clay. To her left were two partitioned-off rooms: one a very basic washroom, also containing a large sink with bags of clay stacked up the walls around it; the other a small windowless kitchen. She moved into the main atelier and glanced out of the back window, where she saw a number of enormous stone boulders of different shapes and sizes, presumably to be used by Landowski when he was sculpting in the future.

Having exhausted all immediate avenues of distraction, Bel spotted a rickety wooden chair and went to sit herself down on it. She watched the assistant, his head bent, working with total concentration. Ten minutes later, as the clock struck noon, he wiped his hands on his work shirt and abruptly looked up.

‘Lunch,’ he announced, and for the first time, he looked directly at Bel and smiled. ‘Bonjour, mademoiselle.’

Because his head had been lowered up until then, Bel had not been able to see his features. But as he smiled at her she felt a strange tipping in her stomach.

‘Bonjour.’ She smiled back at him shyly. He stood up and walked over to her and she too stood at his approach.

‘Forgive me, mademoiselle, for ignoring you,’ he said, speaking in French, ‘but I was concentrating on an eyeball and it is very delicate work.’ He stopped a metre away from her and studied her intently. ‘Have we met before? You seem familiar.’

‘No, I’m afraid that is impossible. I’ve only recently arrived from Rio de Janeiro.’

‘Then I am mistaken.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I will not shake your hand, as my own is covered in clay. Excuse me for a few moments while I go and clean myself up.’

‘Of course,’ said Bel, her voice seeming to come out as no more than a forced whisper. She had stood up perfectly easily as he’d walked over to greet her, but now, as he disappeared into the room with the sink, she sat down abruptly, feeling dizzy and breathless. She wondered if she was coming down with the chill that Maria Elisa and her mother had been suffering from.

Five minutes later, the young man reappeared, divested of his smock and clad in a clean shirt. Her fingers moved a few centimetres forward of their own volition, instinctively wishing to run themselves through his long, wavy chestnut hair, to stroke the pale skin of his cheek, trace the shape of his perfect aquiline nose, and the full pink lips concealing his even white teeth. The faraway expression in his green eyes reminded her of Heitor’s: physically here, but with his inner thoughts elsewhere.