As she walked down the stairs each morning to breakfast and took her place opposite the pinched, disapproving face of Luiza, she’d think of Laurent and allow a secret smile to form on her lips. Nothing could touch her, nobody could hurt her any longer. She was protected and inviolate, simply through the love the two of them shared.

However, when she was unable to visit him at his apartment for a few days, Bel would plummet down to the depths of despair, torturing herself with visions of where Laurent was, what he was doing and who he was with. An icy fear would beset her, freezing the blood in her veins and making her shiver, even though the burning sun still forced sweat onto her brow. The truth was that he was free to love anyone he chose. And she was not.

‘Mon Dieu, chérie,’ Laurent had sighed as they had lain together in his big mahogany bed a few days ago, ‘I admit I’m finding it harder and harder to share you. The thought of him touching you at all sends shudders through me. Let alone in the way I just have,’ he’d added as his fingers lightly brushed her naked breast. ‘Run away with me, Bel. We’ll return to Paris. No more hiding, just endless hours filled with good wine, good food, talking, making love . . .’ His voice had trailed off in a whisper as his lips had covered hers.

Thankfully, at least, her mother-in-law had unwittingly played a part in keeping her lover near her for the time being. As she’d promised to, Luiza had introduced Laurent to many of her rich friends in Rio, who were shown Bel’s sculpture and wanted to immortalise their own family members in a similar fashion. Laurent was currently working on a commission of a chihuahua, beloved by its wealthy owners. In essence, her mother-in-law had become Laurent’s patron, and the irony was not lost on Bel.

‘Not exactly the kind of work I want to be doing,’ he’d admitted to her, ‘but it keeps me out of trouble when you’re not here.’

So, on the afternoons when Bel was unable to steal away, Laurent would chip away at the block of soapstone that Luiza had acquired for him from a mine-owning relative of hers. Luiza’s suggestion that Bel should volunteer to help clad the Cristo in the thousands of mesh sheets of soapstone at the Igreja da Glória had provided a perfect alibi for her absence from the Casa. And as her own hands closed around the smooth, cool triangles of the same material that Laurent was working on, the feel of it would comfort her.

It was only Luiza who noticed her comings and goings to and from the Casa, as Gustavo was spending more and more time at his club and arriving home before dinner stinking of alcohol. Bel’s husband rarely enquired about her daily routine.

In fact, thought Bel as she put on her hat and Loen went to call Jorge, the family’s driver, these days Gustavo hardly noticed her at all. In the past four months since her affair with Laurent had begun, the attentiveness he’d shown her at the start of their marriage had disappeared completely. Although at night, as she joined Gustavo with trepidation in the bed they shared, he’d still attempt to make love to her, more often than not the process ended with him being unable to perform. Bel had deduced that this must be due to the fact that most of the time he could hardly stand upright before he climbed into bed. And on more than one occasion, he had passed out cold in the very act of trying to enter her. She’d roll him off her and would lie next to him, listening to his drunken snores and smelling the sourness of his breath, which seemed to permeate the bedroom. Most mornings, she’d be up, dressed and breakfasted before Gustavo had even woken.