‘Oh yes, I can imagine,’ said Laurent. ‘And now, forgive me, but I must take my leave.’ He stood up abruptly, and walked away to say his goodbyes to the assembled company.

‘Are you healthy again?’ Gustavo whispered in Bel’s ear as she saw Laurent kissing Carla’s hand.

‘Sadly not, but maybe tomorrow.’

‘A shame,’ Gustavo commented. ‘Tonight I wanted to love my beautiful wife.’

Laurent came back and stood in front of them. ‘I will say goodnight and thank you to both of you.’

Gustavo and Bel rose, Laurent shaking his hand and then taking hers briefly and kissing it.

‘À bientôt, Madame Aires Cabral.’

‘Bonne nuit, Senhor Brouilly.’

Once Laurent had left, the rest of the party began to disperse.

‘Goodnight, querida,’ said Carla on the doorstep. ‘Come and visit me soon,’ she said, giving her daughter a quizzical glance before walking down the steps behind Antonio.

Upstairs on the landing outside their bedroom, Gustavo kissed Bel passionately. ‘I can’t wait until tomorrow evening,’ he said.

Bel shut the door, disrobed and climbed into bed, thanking God she was alone tonight.

37

Bel woke the following morning knowing she must have drunk too much the night before. Or had at least experienced a rush of blood to her head. Why else would she have agreed to meet Laurent this afternoon at his apartment?

She rolled over and groaned. Last night, she’d lain in bed joyfully reliving every heated glance and word that had passed between them, but now she played out the dreadful consequences of Laurent’s presence here in Rio.

She had been married to Gustavo for less than a month. And yet she had confessed to Laurent that not only was she unhappy in her marriage, but that she still loved him . . .

What madness had possessed her?

The madness of love . . .

Whatever affliction it was, the consequences of Gustavo finding out about the relationship they’d had in France, let alone if it was continued now, were too awful even to contemplate.

Bel stood up and went to the bathroom. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, asking it what she should do. The safest option was simply not to visit Laurent at his apartment this afternoon. If she stayed away, she was sure he would accept it and not bother her again.

Laurent’s eyes immediately took the place of her own in the glass, full of love, promise and fulfilment, and she shuddered with pleasure despite herself.

Loen was in her bedroom when she came out of the bathroom.

‘How are you, Senhora Bel?’ Loen asked as she hung up the beautiful silk dress Bel had discarded in a heap on the floor last night.

‘I am . . . a little tired,’ she admitted.

‘He was here last night, wasn’t he? Your sculptor?’ Loen said as she continued to tidy the room.

‘Yes, he was. I . . . Oh Loen.’ Bel sank onto the bed, put her head in her hands and wept. Loen came to sit next to her and put an arm round her mistress.