Page 77 of The Seven Sisters

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I love him. I love him with all my heart. And I can’t even bear to think how I will live the rest of my life without him.’

She burst into tears, the relief of sharing her true feelings face to face with Margarida cutting through her reserve.

‘Bel, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to distress you. Listen’ – Margarida glanced out of the window – ‘we’re near to your apartment now and you can’t arrive home like this. Let’s go and sit somewhere quiet. We’re so late anyway, a few more minutes won’t make any difference.’

Margarida spoke to the driver and gave him directions. A few seconds later, the car pulled up on the Avenue de Marigny beside a small park surrounded by iron railings.

They climbed out of the Delage and Margarida led her to a bench and sat her down. Bel watched the setting sun dip gracefully beyond the plane trees that bordered the park and graced every boulevard she’d seen in Paris.

‘Please, you must forgive me for speaking so bluntly,’ Margarida apologised. ‘The affairs of your heart are none of my business, I know. But seeing both of you so filled with passion for each other made me feel I must say something.’

‘But surely my circumstances are different to yours in Italy?’ Bel insisted. ‘You yourself said in the car that you thought Laurent had feelings for me. That maybe he loved me.’

‘At the time, I was sure that Marcello lovedme. Or at least, I wanted to believe that he did. But whatever Laurent says to you, Izabela, however he persuades you, please remember that although you think there may be a future together, there is not. Laurent can offer you nothing: no home, no security, and believe me, the last thing he wishes for is to ever be tied down with a wife and a brood of children. The problem with creatives is that they are simply in love with the idea of being in love. But it can never lead anywhere, no matter what heights your joint passions reach. Do you understand me?’

Bel stared blankly at a nursemaid with her two young charges, the only other residents of the gardens. ‘Yes. But I will also be honest and say that even though my ears hear you and my brain understands your warning, my heart is not so easy to convince.’

‘No, of course not,’ Margarida conceded. ‘But please, Bel, at the very least, think about what I’ve said. I would hate for you to ruin the rest of your life by allowing your heart to rule your head for a few short minutes. Given that your fiancé allowed you to come here, if he discovered your secret, it would be a betrayal that he could never forgive.’

‘I know.’ Bel bit her lip guiltily. ‘Thank you, Margarida. I’m grateful for your advice. But now, we really must go, or Maria Georgiana will never allow me out of her sight again.’

*

Sweetly, Margarida came up to the da Silva Costas’ apartment with Bel and explained to a stony-faced Maria Georgiana how Landowski himself had kept both of them behind while his assistant cast their hands in a mould.

‘Well, as you can imagine, my mind was full of all sorts of terrible occurrences that might have befallen you. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

‘I will, I promise,’ Bel agreed, then left the drawing room to show Margarida to the door. The two women hugged affectionately.

‘Goodnight, Izabela, and I’ll see you tomorrow.’

In bed, rather than contemplating Margarida’s descriptions of the dreadful fate she might suffer if she succumbed to Laurent’s infinite charms, all Bel could feel was exhilaration.

She thinks Laurent loves me . . . He loves me . . .

And that night she drifted off to sleep easily, a beatific smile on her slumbering face.

24

‘I’ve spoken to the professor,’ said Laurent when Bel and Margarida arrived at theatelierthe next morning, ‘And I simply explained that I could not complete the sculpture within one day. We agreed that from now on you can come here in the early evenings, when we have finished working on the Christ. I can speak to Senhor da Silva Costa and explain the circumstances if it helps.’

Bel, having arrived at theatelierin a state of agonised tension, was so relieved by his words that she nodded eagerly.

‘But, Monsieur Brouilly,’ interjected Margarida with a concerned frown. ‘I will not be able to accompany Mademoiselle Izabela here at that hour of the day. I must return home every night at six for dinner with my mother.’.

‘Surely, mademoiselle, there is nothing inappropriate about the situation?’ said Laurent. ‘The professor himself will be present, and his wife and children are a stone’s throw away in the house.’

In that moment, as she threw a pleading glance at Margarida, Bel saw the surrender in her friend’s eyes. ‘No, of course not,’ she said abruptly. ‘Excuse me, but I must go and change.’

‘So, now we set to work,’ said Laurent, smiling at Bel in triumph.

*

That evening, Heitor announced at dinner that Laurent Brouilly had called him at his office and had explained the circumstances that required Bel’s presence at theatelierin the evenings.

‘Given that it is the urgency of my project that has forced yours to be sidelined, I feel I must agree,’ Heitor concluded. ‘Izabela, my driver will take you to theatelierfor five o’clock each day and return you home here for nine.’

‘But surely there must be a bus that can take me? I don’t want to put you to any trouble, Senhor da Silva Costa,’ Bel suggested.