The truth was that Senhora Bel was not the only female living at the Casa in a similar predicament. She herself had known that she was carrying a child for the past three weeks. She’d told Bruno just before she’d left the fazenda and he had made her promise that she would speak to Bel. She’d been intending to beg her mistress to let her work permanently at the farm so the two of them could marry and raise their child there.

Loen had no idea who owned the fazenda, but she had an inkling that normally a man inherited his wife’s assets on marriage. If this was the case, Gustavo had it in his power to ensure that neither she nor Bruno ever worked for the family again. Which meant any plans they had for the future would be turned to dust. They would be just another impoverished black couple, turned out on the streets, with her pregnant and penniless, headed for the favelas that were expanding daily with their starving inmates.

All this would happen . . . if she told her mistress what had just taken place.

As her breathing began to slow and Loen began to think more clearly, her fingers touched the unfamiliar outline of the life that was growing inside her. Just like Bel, she too had a decision to make. And quickly. The master had asked her to stay silent – in essence, to betray the trust her mistress had always placed in her. In any other circumstances, she would not have adhered to his wishes, whatever the cost. She would have run straight back to Madame Duchaine’s, then asked Senhora Bel to take a short walk as she informed her of what had happened so that her mistress could prepare for what she might face when she returned home.

After all, she had been with Senhora Bel since she was a child. And owed everything she had – as did her mother – to the Bonifacio family.

But now Loen knew she must think of herself. Her fingers moved from her belly and into the other pocket of her apron. They touched the smoothness of the tile that lay within it. Perhaps it would be easier for her to lie if she had at least completed half of her mission.

Making her decision and knowing that Senhor Gustavo would not be back from wherever he had gone in the cab for the next few minutes, Loen stood up and ran blindly in the direction of Laurent Brouilly’s apartment.

A few minutes later, she arrived breathless outside his front door and knocked loudly.

The door opened immediately and a pair of arms reached out to her.

‘Chérie, I was beginning to worry, but—’

As Laurent Brouilly realised that it was not his love, Loen saw his joyful expression contract into a mask of immediate and horrified understanding.

‘She has sent you? On her behalf?’ he said, staggering a little and holding on to the door for support.