Page 74 of The Seven Sisters
‘Hmm, then I would surmise that it is not your location that affects you, but more your state of mind. Paris too can be very claustrophobic, yet you say you love it here.’
‘You’re right, of course,’ she admitted. ‘It is more to do with the life I live in Rio than the city itself.’
Laurent continued with his sketching as he observed her expression. ‘And what is wrong with that life?’
‘Nothing. I mean . . .’ Bel struggled to find the words to explain. ‘I am very fortunate. I have an extremely privileged life. This time next year, I will be married. I will live in a beautiful house and have all a woman could want.’
‘Then why do I see unhappiness in your eyes as you talk of your future? Could it be – as you hinted the first time we met – because your marriage is an arrangement of the head and not of the heart?’
Bel was silent as the heat rose to her cheeks, betraying the truth Laurent had just spoken.
‘Monsieur Brouilly, you don’t understand,’ she said eventually. ‘Things are different in Rio. It is my father’s wish that I make a good marriage. My fiancé is from one of the highest-placed families in Brazil. And besides,’ she added despairingly, ‘I have no talent like you with which to earn a living. I am completely dependent on my father and, soon, on my husband for everything I have.’
‘Yes, mademoiselle, I understand and sympathise with your plight. But sadly,’ he sighed, ‘it is only you who can do anything to change it.’ He put his pencil down and contemplated his sketches for several minutes while Bel sat tensely, unsettled and frustrated by their conversation.
Finally, Laurent looked up. ‘Well, seeing these, I can assure you that you could earn your own living as an artist’s model in Montparnasse. Not only do you have a beautiful face, but underneath the layers you wear on your body, I’m sure you are the very epitome of womanhood.’
As his eyes swept over her, Bel felt once more a strange heat spreading up from her chest and into her face.
‘Why so embarrassed?’ he asked her. ‘Here in Paris, we celebrate the beauty of the female form. After all, we are all born naked, and it’s only society that dictates we wear clothes. And of course, the weather in Paris in the winter,’ he chuckled, looking up at the clock. ‘And don’t worry,’ he added, appraising her once more, ‘I will be sculpting you in exactly what you are wearing today. It is perfect.’
Bel nodded silently in relief.
‘So, now that I have forced you to reveal your inner soul, it is already noon. I will prepare some bread and cheese and bring you some wine as your reward.’
Laurent collected the coffee cups and walked across the studio in the direction of the kitchen, pausing to ask Margarida if she would join them for lunch too.
‘Thank you,’ she answered, and left her sculpture to wash the clay from her hands. Bel sat alone, gazing out of the window at the beds of lavender, feeling shaken and vulnerable. Somehow, Laurent had coaxed her to reveal her true feelings about the future.
‘Are you all right, Izabela?’ Margarida came to sit next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, her expression one of concern. ‘I heard snippets of your conversation. I hope Monsieur Brouilly didn’t push you too far in his quest to portray you honestly. And I hope,’ she said, lowering her voice, ‘that it really was out of professional motives.’
‘What do you mean?’
But Margarida had no time to reply as Laurent arrived with the tray.
Bel sat quietly during lunch, listening to Margarida and Laurent chat about their mutual acquaintances and gossip about the latest antics of the colourful crowd they knew.
‘Cocteau has set up a back room in a building on the Rue de Châteaudun, and invites his cronies there to drink cocktails that he has made and named himself. I hear they are lethal,’ said Laurent as he took a large gulp of wine. ‘They say his new fad is holding séances.’
‘What are they?’ Bel asked, fascinated.
‘It’s when you try to contact the dead,’ clarified Margarida. ‘Not something that would ever appeal to me,’ she said with a shudder.
‘He’s also indulging in group hypnosis sessions, to see if it’s possible to reach the subconscious mind. Now that I would be interested in. The human psyche fascinates me almost as much as its physical form.’ Laurent glanced at Bel. ‘As you might have realised this morning, mademoiselle. Now, it is time to return to work. While I place a chair in the corner of theatelierwhere the light is best, I suggest you take a short walk in the gardens. For once I begin, I shall insist you are still, like the stone I will work from.’
‘I shall accompany her, Monsieur Brouilly. I too need to breathe some fresh air,’ said Margarida. ‘Come, Izabela.’
The two women stood up, left theatelierand went into the gardens, where they stood by the voluptuously scented beds of lavender.
‘The only sound I can hear is the buzzing of the bees that are stealing the nectar.’ Margarida sighed in pleasure as she took Bel’s arm and crooked her own into it. ‘Are you sure you are all right, Izabela?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Bel confirmed, her tension calmed by the lunchtime wine.
‘Well, just promise me you won’t allow him to make you feel uncomfortable.’
‘I won’t,’ Bel reassured her. ‘Isn’t it strange?’ she said as they walked slowly along the edge of the garden, enclosed by a neatly clipped cypress hedge. ‘Even though, with its wealth of flora and fauna, Brazil has the same beauty, the energy and atmosphere in France is so different. At home, I find it difficult to be contemplative, to be at peace with myself. And yet here, even in the heart of Montparnasse, I am somehow able to do so. To see myself clearly.’ Margarida shrugged. ‘Now, we must return to theatelierso that Monsieur Brouilly can begin his masterpiece.’
*
