‘Do I? I don’t believe I am. In what way?’

‘Like you’re . . . I don’t know . . .’ Maria Elisa sighed. ‘As if you’re daydreaming all the time. Anyway, I too am looking forward to seeing Paris properly this time. We’ll enjoy it together, won’t we?’

Bel reached for the hand that Maria Elisa had offered and squeezed it. ‘Yes, of course we will.’

Apartment 4
48, Avenue de Marigny
Paris
France

9th April 1928

Dearest Mãe and Pai,

Well, here I am back in Paris after Italy. (I hope you received the letter I wrote to you from there.) Maria Elisa and her mother are feeling much better than they were when we were last here, so we have spent the past few days enjoying the sights of the city. We have been to the Louvre and seen the Mona Lisa, to the Sacré-Cœur in an area called Montmartre, where Monet, Cézanne and many other of the great French painters have lived and worked, and we have strolled in the magnificent Tuileries Garden and climbed to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. There are so many other sights still left to see – the Eiffel Tower being one of them – that I’m sure I will never become bored.

Just walking along the streets here is an experience, and Mãe, you would love the shops! The streets nearby contain the salons of many of the great French designers, and I have an appointment for my first wedding dress fitting, as Senhora Aires Cabral suggested, at the house of Lanvin in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.

The women here are so chic, and even if they can only afford to buy from a department store, like Le Bon Marché, they are still turned out as stylishly as the rich. And the food . . . Pai, I must tell you that your daughter has eaten escargots, little snails cooked in garlic, butter and herbs. You must coax them out of their shells with tiny forks. I found them delicious, although I must admit the frogs’ legs were not to my taste.

At night, the city does not seem to sleep, and from my window I can hear the sound of a jazz orchestra playing from the hotel across the street. This kind of music is played in many places in Paris, and Senhor da Silva Costa has said we can go and listen one night, in a respectable establishment, of course.

I am well and very happy, and am trying to make the most of this wonderful opportunity I’ve been given and not waste a second of it. The da Silva Costas have been very kind, although Senhor da Silva Costa has been in Germany for the past ten days, and will return tonight.

I have also met a young Brazilian woman from Rio, who came here for tea with her mother two days ago. Her name is Margarida Lopes de Almeida and you may recognise her mother’s name, for she is Julia Lopes de Almeida, who has earned great acclaim as a writer in Brazil. Margarida is here on a scholarship, granted by the Escola Nacional de Belas Artes in Rio, and is presently in Paris learning the technique of sculpture. She has told me there are courses that run at the École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts and I was thinking that I might try my hand at one. I have become very interested in the subject, due to Senhor da Silva Costa’s influence.

I will write again next week, but for now, I send you love and kisses across the sea.

Your loving daughter,

Izabela