‘Maybe this project will change his beliefs,’ Bel suggested.

‘Last night I heard him talking to Mãe about going to Europe to find a sculptor for the statue. As he’ll be away for so long, he said we would all be travelling with him. Can you imagine, Bel? We will see the great sights of Florence, Rome and, of course, Paris.’ Maria Elisa wrinkled her pretty freckled nose in pleasure at the thought of it.

‘Europe?’ exclaimed Bel as she turned to face her friend. ‘Maria Elisa, at this moment, I can truly say that I hate you. It’s been my dream forever to go to the Old World. Especially to Florence, where my family came from.’

‘Well, perhaps, if it is confirmed, you could come with us, for some of the time at least? It would be better for me too, otherwise I’m stuck with only my two brothers for company. What do you think?’ Maria Elisa’s eyes were bright with excitement.

‘I think it’s a wonderful suggestion, but that my father would say no,’ Bel stated flatly. ‘If he doesn’t even let me take a walk down the street here alone, I hardly think he would let me go across the sea to Europe. Besides, he wants me here in Rio, available to be married off as soon as possible.’ Bel ground an ant beneath her shoe disconsolately.

The sound of a car pulling into the front drive alerted them to the fact that Maria Elisa’s father had come to collect her.

‘So,’ she said, standing and giving Bel a warm hug, ‘I shall see you next Thursday at your party?’

‘Yes.’

‘Adeus, Bel,’ she said as she walked away across the garden. ‘And don’t worry, I promise we’ll formulate a plan.’

Bel sat where she was, dreaming of seeing the Duomo and the Fountain of Neptune in Florence. Out of all the cultural lessons Senhora Santos had organised for her, history of art had been the one she’d most enjoyed. An artist had been employed to school her in the basics of line drawing and painting. Those afternoons when she’d sat in his airy studio in the Escola Nacional de Belas Artes had been some of the most pleasurable moments since she’d arrived in Rio.

The artist was also a sculptor, and had allowed her to try her hand with a lump of thick red clay. Bel still remembered the damp softness of it between her fingers, its malleability as she struggled to shape it into a figure.

‘You have real talent,’ the artist had nodded approvingly after she’d shown him what she considered a lamentably poor version of the Venus de Milo. But whether she had ability or not, Bel had loved the atmosphere of the studio, and when the lessons came to an end, she’d missed her weekly visits there.

She heard Loen’s voice calling her in from the terrace, signalling that Madame Duchaine had arrived for the final fitting of the gown for her party.