‘Shall I remove it?’ Gustavo asked her.

‘Yes,’ said Bel with a gulp, finally understanding what the gift was.

There were gasps of delight as Laurent’s sculpture was revealed. And Bel could only thank God Laurent had captured her as a chaste young woman. No one gazing at her image could possibly suggest the sculpture was in any way inappropriate.

‘So?’ Gustavo’s eyes swept around the room, gauging the onlookers’ opinions.

Antonio was the first to speak. ‘Why, it is the most incredible likeness. You have captured her well, Senhor Brouilly.’

‘Yes indeed, that is the image of my daughter,’ said Carla approvingly.

Gustavo translated both the positive responses to Laurent and he gave them a bow of appreciation.

‘I’m not sure that you have quite caught her lips,’ said Luiza in French, always eager to find something negative to say. ‘They are not as full as they could be.’

‘Well, senhora,’ replied Laurent, ‘studying your daughter-in-law after her marriage, she has definitely flowered since I last saw her in person. It must be that being a wife, with all its pleasures, suits her.’

Bel almost gasped at Laurent’s response to Luiza’s criticism, ostensibly gracious yet so soaked with innuendo that no one in the room could miss it. Luiza had the grace to blush.

‘And what do you think of my gift to you, Izabela?’ enquired Gustavo, placing a proprietorial arm around her waist.

‘I don’t think I can judge the merits of a sculpture of myself without sounding arrogant, but it is a very thoughtful wedding gift, Gustavo. And you have made me very happy.’ As robotically as she had spoken those words, Bel planted a kiss on her husband’s cheek. And during every second of this exchange, she felt – or imagined she felt – Laurent’s eyes burning into her.

The elderly butler entered the room and announced that dinner was served. At the table, Bel was grateful that Laurent had been placed between Luiza and Carla; she was between her father and her father-in-law, with Gustavo holding court at the top of the table. Unfortunately, Laurent was seated directly opposite her, so every time she looked up, there he was. She thought how the table arrangement was a dreadful parody of the hours they had sat facing each other in the atelier in France.

Taking a large gulp of the wine the butler had poured her to calm her nerves, Bel turned to her right and began an in-depth conversation about anything that sprang to mind with Maurício. Antonio, hearing that they had begun discussing coffee prices, soon joined in and the two men spoke of their concerns that the amount currently being produced in Brazil was creating a surplus which was driving the price down.

‘My friends in the senate are talking about the idea of stockpiling,’ commented Maurício.

‘Yes, and I’m planning to follow their lead on my farms,’ confirmed Antonio. ‘The price has already dropped in the space of a month and the profits are not as healthy as they were.’