‘I really can’t thank you enough for your kindness, Monsieur Levy,’ Laurent replied gratefully.

‘You are our honoured guest here in Brazil, and we can’t have you reporting back to Senhor Landowski and the rest of Paris that we live like heathens,’ Levy smiled, raising a knowing eyebrow.

‘Indeed not, monsieur. From what I’ve seen so far, I think you are more civilised than us in Paris.’

‘By the way, did your own sculpture arrive safely?’ Levy enquired.

‘Yes, it is at the dock, and the authorities said they will notify the buyer and arrange for it to be delivered to him.’

‘The Aires Cabrals are doubtless away on honeymoon. They married only yesterday.’

Laurent stared at Levy in shock. ‘Mademoiselle Izabela was married yesterday?’

‘Yes. Their photograph is on the front of all the newspapers here today. She looked most beautiful. It was a high-society wedding indeed. It seems the subject of your sculpture has done well for herself.’

Laurent felt physically sick at the news. The irony of arriving in Rio on the very day Izabela had married was almost too much for him to bear.

‘Well, I must be off. Goodnight, Senhor Brouilly.’

Levy left him for the evening, reminding him that he would collect him at two o’clock on Monday afternoon to take him up to the construction site at the top of Corcovado Mountain. Monica was clattering pans in the kitchen and a wonderful smell was emanating from it.

In need of a drink, Laurent pulled a bottle of French wine out of his suitcase, uncorked it, and took it out onto the terrace. Hoisting his feet up onto the table, he poured it into a glass and sipped it, the flavour reminding him immediately of home. He watched the sun setting behind the mountains, his heart heavy.

‘Izabela,’ he whispered to the air, ‘I’m here, in your beautiful country. I came all this way to find you, but now it seems it’s too late.’

36

A week after her marriage, Bel arrived back from her honeymoon tense and exhausted. They’d spent it in the region of Minas Gerais, in an old and once-beautiful house belonging to Gustavo’s great-aunt and uncle. The weather had been stifling, and without a sea breeze or altitude to lower the temperature, the air had been so hot it had felt as if it was burning her nostrils when she inhaled it.

There had been endless dinners to endure as she was introduced to elderly members of Gustavo’s family who’d been too frail to attend the wedding. All of these things she could have coped with, if it hadn’t been for the nights.

One thing her mother had not told her was how often the bedroom loving was meant to happen. She had presumed perhaps once a week, but Gustavo’s appetite seemed to be insatiable. Even though she had done her best to relax and try to enjoy some of the intimate things he liked to do to her – things that no one had ever explained to her and still made her blush just to think of them – she had not succeeded.