‘I love it,’ Bel replied with feeling.

‘And I hear that you have been investigating the more, shall we say, Bohemian haunts of the city?’

Bel shot Heitor a guilty glance. ‘I . . .’

‘I saw your friend Margarida at Landowski’s atelier yesterday and overheard her chatting to his young assistant about your mutual lunches at La Closerie des Lilas.’

Bel quailed at his remark, but Heitor saw her expression and gave her a comforting pat on the arm. ‘Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. And besides, Margarida is a very sensible young woman. She knows her way around Paris. She also asked me to tell you she will collect you tomorrow at ten o’clock on the way to the atelier. As you know, Monsieur Brouilly wishes to sculpt you. At least that will keep you out of trouble and we will all know where you are.’

Bel watched Heitor raise an eyebrow, but knew he was teasing her.

‘Thank you for relaying the news,’ she replied demurely, not wishing to express the full extent of her delight. She swiftly changed the subject. ‘Are you happy with Professor Landowski’s work on your Cristo?’

‘So far, I’m absolutely certain that I made the right decision and Landowski’s vision seems to be very much the same as mine. However, I have a long way to go before I can safely say we have the final design. And there are a number of problems that I’m pondering over at the moment. The first and major one being what material to clad our Cristo in. I have thought through so many options, but none of them sit well with me aesthetically or practically. Now, how about we try this arcade for a present for your mother? I bought Maria Georgiana a rather beautiful silk scarf from a boutique in here.’

The two of them turned into an elegant gallery and Heitor pointed to the boutique he had spoken of.

‘I shall wait for you here,’ he indicated as she went inside.

Bel picked out a soft peach scarf and a matching handkerchief that she knew would go well with her mother’s complexion. After paying for her purchases, she left the shop to find Heitor leaning over a small fountain that played in the centre of the gallery. He was staring at the bottom of it intently.

She went to stand next to him, and, sensing her presence, he pointed to the mosaic tiles that decorated the bottom of the fountain.

‘What about that?’ he asked her.

‘Forgive me, senhor, but what do you mean?’

‘What about cladding the Cristo in mosaic? Then the outer shell will not be subject to cracking, as each tile will be individual. I would have to source which stone to use, something porous, hardwearing . . . yes, like the soapstone that is found in Minas Gerais, perhaps. It is a light colour and may work well. I must bring Senhor Levy here to see this immediately. He leaves for Rio tomorrow and we must make a decision.’