Page 61 of The Seven Sisters

A few minutes later, Laurent came towards her carrying a tray loaded with two sticks of the delicious freshly baked French bread she so loved, two hunks of strong-smelling French cheese, an earthenware jug and two glasses.

He set it down on the table, before drawing a piece of old curtain that ran on a track nailed to the ceiling. ‘To keep the dust from theatelieroff our food,’ he explained as he emptied the contents of the tray onto the bare boards of the table. Then he poured a generous amount of a pale yellow liquid into the two glasses and passed one to her.

‘You drink wine with bread and cheese alone?’ she marvelled.

‘Mademoiselle, we are French. We drink wine with anything, atanytime.’ He smiled as he lifted his glass towards her. ‘Santé,’ he said, as he raised his glass to hers.

Laurent took a hearty gulp of the wine, and she too took a tentative sip. She watched as he tore a chunk off the baguette, prised it open with his fingers then proceeded to fill it with slices of cheese. Not wishing to ask where the plates were, she followed suit.

Never had such a plain menu tasted so delicious, she thought with pleasure. Although, instead of wolfing down the food in large bites as Laurent did, Bel took a more ladylike approach and tore off small pieces of bread and cheese with her fingers before placing them in her mouth. And all the time, his eyes seemed to be on her.

‘What are you staring at?’ she asked him eventually, uncomfortable under his constant gaze.

‘You,’ he answered, draining his wine glass and pouring himself more.

‘Why?’

He took a further mouthful then shrugged in the uniquely Gallic way Bel had come to recognise from her study of Parisians on the street below her window. ‘Because, Mademoiselle Izabela, you are quite glorious to look at.’

However inappropriate, her stomach somersaulted at his comment.

‘Don’t look so horrified, mademoiselle. I’m sure a woman such as you has been told this a thousand times? You must be used to people staring at you.’

Bel thought about this and supposed that yes, she did attract many admiring glances. But none had ever felt as intense ashis.

‘Have you ever been painted? Or maybe sculpted?’ he asked.

‘Once, when I was a child – my father commissioned my portrait.’

‘I’m surprised. I would have thought they’d have been queuing up in Montparnasse to paint you.’

‘I’ve been in Paris for less than a week, monsieur, and I haven’t been out anywhere so far.’

‘Well, having discovered you, I’m of the mind to keep you all to myself, and let none of those rogues and vagabonds near you,’ he said with a wide grin.

‘I would love to go and visit Montparnasse,’ Bel sighed, ‘but I doubt I would ever be allowed.’

‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘Parents across Paris would prefer their daughters to be drowned in the river rather than lose their virtue and their hearts on the Left Bank. Where are you staying?’

‘In an apartment on Avenue de Marigny, just off the Champs-Élysées. I’m here as a guest of the da Silva Costa family. They are my guardians.’

‘And are they not eager to embrace all Paris has to offer?’

‘No.’ Bel thought he was being serious, until she saw his playful expression.

‘Well, as a true artist knows, every rule is there to be broken, every barrier to be pulled down. We have one life, mademoiselle, and we must live it as we choose.’

Bel remained silent, but the euphoria of finally finding someone who felt as she did was almost too much for her and tears pricked her eyes. Laurent noticed immediately.

‘Why do you cry?’

‘In Brazil, life is very different. We obey the rules.’

‘I understand, mademoiselle,’ he said softly. ‘And I can see already that you have agreed to one of them.’ Laurent indicated the engagement ring on her finger. ‘You are due to be married?’

‘Yes, when I return home from my time in Europe.’

‘And you are happy about this match?’