19

Contrary to her thoughts before she’d set sail for Europe – when the idea of visiting Italy, the land of her forefathers, had filled her with excitement – as she packed the following day to travel to Florence, she was loath to leave.

Even when she arrived in the city she’d dreamed of visiting, and saw the spectacular domed roof of the great Duomo from the window of her hotel suite, smelt the aroma of garlic and fresh herbs wafting up from the picturesque restaurants on the street below, her pulse did not rise in the way she’d imagined.

And a few days later, when they took a train to Rome, and she and Maria Elisa dropped coins in the Trevi Fountain, then visited the Colosseum where the brave gladiators had fought for their lives in the vast arena, she felt a vague air of disinterest.

She had left her heart behind in Paris.

That Sunday in Rome, she joined thousands of her fellow Catholics in Saint Peter’s Square for the Pope’s weekly Mass. She knelt down, her black lace mantilla covering her face, looked up at the tiny figure dressed in white on the balcony and gazed at the saints that stood on pedestals all around the square. As she queued with the hundreds of others who were praying and reciting rosaries while waiting to receive the Host, Bel too asked God to bless her family and friends. And then sent up a fervent prayer of her own.

Please, please let Senhor Heitor not forget to ask about my sculpture, and please let me meet Laurent Brouilly again . . .

From Rome, having met with the sculptors he’d come to see and studied many of the famous works of art on display in the city, Heitor was leaving to go to Munich. His aim was to view the colossal Bavaria statue, fashioned entirely in bronze and innovatively constructed from four enormous sections of metal fused together.

‘I feel it may provide inspiration for my current project, as the construction challenges bear many similarities to those I face with the Cristo,’ he’d told Bel when she’d questioned him over dinner one night.

For reasons Bel did not know or understand, Heitor had now decided that the rest of the da Silva Costa family would not accompany him on the long journey to Munich. Instead, they were returning to Paris, where the two boys had a tutor waiting for them.

As they boarded the sleeper train at Roma Termini station to begin the overnight journey to Paris, Bel could only breathe a sigh of relief.

‘You seem brighter tonight,’ Maria Elisa commented as she climbed up into her red velvet-covered cot in their shared couchette. ‘You were so quiet in Italy, it was like you were somewhere else.’

‘I’m looking forward to returning to Paris,’ Bel answered non-committally.

As Bel climbed into her own cot, Maria Elisa’s head appeared over the edge of the bunk above. ‘I’m just saying you seem different, Bel, that’s all.’