‘Of course,’ Bel replied automatically. ‘I’m sure I will be perfectly safe.’

‘I have contacted the shipping company’s office, and they have replied saying that the purser will find a suitable older woman who can chaperone you during your voyage.’

‘Thank you, senhora,’ Bel responded distractedly, hardly hearing as she pinned on her hat ready to leave for the atelier, her thoughts already with Laurent.

‘Heitor tells me your sculpture is almost finished. So, tonight will be your last night at Landowski’s studio. Tomorrow, our family wish to hold a farewell dinner in honour of you.’ Maria Georgiana smiled at her.

Bel looked at her in barely disguised horror, then realised how churlish she must seem. ‘Thank you, senhora. It is most kind of you.’

In the car on the drive to the atelier, the awful realisation that this was the last night she would ever see Laurent hit her with a jolt of terror.

When she arrived, Laurent was looking pleased and proud.

‘After you left last night, I stayed up until dawn to finish it,’ he said, indicating the sculpture which currently sat shielded from view under a dust sheet. ‘Would you like to see it?’

‘Yes, very much,’ she muttered, not wishing to let her misery spoil Laurent’s obvious excitement. He whipped off the protective sheet with a flourish to reveal it.

Bel stared at her image; as with any subject of a visual study, she was not immediately sure of her reaction. She could see he had caught her shape perfectly and the face that stared back was her own. But what struck her most about the sculpture was the stillness it evoked, as though she’d been captured in a moment of deep contemplation.

‘I look . . . so alone. And sad,’ she added. ‘It’s . . . stark, there’s nothing frivolous about it.’

‘No, which is, as you know, the style Landowski teaches and why I’m here in his atelier. He saw it before he left this evening, and told me it was the best piece of work I’ve ever produced.’

‘Then I’m happy for you, Laurent,’ Bel replied.

‘Well, perhaps one day in the future, you will see it in an exhibition of my work and know that it is of you. And it will always remind you of me, and the beautiful interlude we spent together in Paris, once, long ago.’

‘Don’t! Please don’t!’ she moaned as her control left her and she placed her head in her hands. ‘I can’t bear it.’

‘Izabela, please don’t cry.’ He was by her side immediately, an arm around her shoulder, comforting her. ‘If I could change things, then I would, I swear. Remember, I’m free to love you; it’s you who are not free to love me.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘And tonight will be our last night together, for just as I left the apartment, Maria Georgiana told me the da Silva Costa family are throwing a dinner for me tomorrow night. The following day, I board the ship to return to Rio. Besides, you have finished with me now.’ Bel indicated her sculpture miserably.