Over dinner that night, celebrations ensued, and the look of joy on her father’s face when Gustavo announced their news confirmed to Bel that she had made the right decision. Luiza’s wintry expression meanwhile had given her a tiny inner glow of satisfaction. After dinner, Gustavo turned to Bel.

‘It is past ten, my dear, and you must be exhausted. Come,’ he said as he pulled back her chair and helped her up from it, ‘I will accompany you upstairs.’

‘Really,’ muttered Bel, embarrassed, ‘I’m feeling extremely well.’

‘No matter. You and the baby have had a difficult few weeks and we must all look after you now,’ he added, looking directly at his mother.

Bel said her goodnights, and then walked around the table to hug her father tightly, not caring for protocol. ‘Goodnight, Pai.’

‘Sleep well, Izabela, and I promise that the little one’s grandfather will make him proud,’ he whispered, indicating her stomach. ‘Come and visit me soon.’

‘I will, Pai.’

Upstairs, Gustavo followed his wife into the bedroom and stood there uncertainly. ‘Izabela, now that you are . . . in this condition, you must tell me if you’d prefer to sleep alone until the child is born. I believe that is what married couples usually do in these circumstances.’

‘If you feel that would be more appropriate, then yes,’ she agreed.

‘And from now on, you must rest as often as you can. You mustn’t tire yourself.’

‘Gustavo, I promise you I am not unwell, just pregnant. And I wish to carry on my life as normally as possible. Tomorrow afternoon, I really must go to see Madame Duchaine and ask her to alter my wardrobe to fit my growing shape.’ She smiled shyly at him.

‘Yes, of course. Well then.’ He walked to her and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I shall say goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Gustavo.’

Bel watched as he smiled at her then left the bedroom. She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her heart a mixture of conflicting emotions. Her thoughts travelled to Laurent and the fact that he was expecting her at his apartment tomorrow afternoon. Rising, Bel walked to the window and looked out at the stars, which reminded her poignantly of the nights they had shone so brightly above Landowski’s atelier in Boulogne-Billancourt. She remembered in particular the evening she had found the young boy under the bushes in the garden, and how his suffering had provided a catalyst for the start of her love affair with Laurent.

‘I will always love you,’ she whispered to the stars.

Bel readied herself for bed, then walked over to the writing bureau that sat beneath the window. Given that Gustavo had followed her to Madame Duchaine’s yesterday – albeit it purely out of loving motives, not suspicious ones – Bel knew she couldn’t risk meeting Laurent at his apartment tomorrow. Instead, she would attend an appointment at the dressmaker’s and send Loen as her emissary, carrying with her the letter she would write now . . .