‘Good, good. Now,’ she said, tucking her arm into her daughter’s as they walked inside, ‘I have so much to tell you, but I’m sure you that you wish to rest first.’

Given that Bel had just spent many days aboard ship with little to do but rest, she didn’t feel in the least bit weary. But as her mother winced suddenly, Bel realised it was her need, not her daughter’s, that had prompted the suggestion.

‘Of course, we can both take a nap and then talk later,’ she said, seeing a flash of relief pass across her mother’s face. ‘It’s you who seems weary, Mãe,’ Bel said, as they reached her parents’ bedroom door. ‘Shall I come and help you back to bed?’

‘No,’ Carla replied firmly. ‘Gabriela is already inside and she will attend to me. I will see you later.’ She nodded as she opened the bedroom door and then shut it behind her.

Bel sought out her father immediately and found him in his study. ‘Pai, please tell me, how ill is Mãe?’

Antonio, who had begun wearing glasses since she’d last seen him, looked up from his papers and took them off his nose.

‘Querida, your mother did not want you to worry while you were away, but she had an operation a month ago to remove a growth from her breast. The operation was a success and the surgeons are full of positivity for a complete recovery. The procedure has taken its toll on her, that is all. Once she has recovered her strength, she will be well again.’

‘Pai, she looks dreadful! Please tell me the truth. Don’t hide the extent of her sickness from me.’

‘I swear, Izabela, that I am not hiding anything. Ask her doctors if you don’t believe me. All she needs is rest and good food. Her appetite has been very limited since the operation.’

‘You are sure she will recover?’

‘I am sure.’

‘Then now I am home, I will nurse her.’

Ironically, the fact that Bel had her mother’s well-being to think of helped her greatly in the next few days. It gave her a focus, something to concentrate on other than her own misery. She oversaw the preparation of Carla’s food herself, making sure the kitchen staff prepared nourishing dishes that were easy for her mother to swallow and digest. She sat with her in the mornings, talking brightly about what she’d seen in the Old World, about Landowski and the Beaux-Arts school and Senhor da Silva Costa’s wonderful Cristo project.

‘They have started digging the foundations up on the top of Corcovado Mountain,’ Carla had remarked one day. ‘I would love to go up and see it sometime.’

‘And I will take you there,’ Bel had replied, willing her mother to get well again so that it would be possible.

‘And we must, of course, talk about the plans for your wedding,’ said Carla, having pronounced herself well enough to sit in a chair on the terrace that led from her bedroom. ‘There is so much to discuss.’