Page 81 of The Seven Sisters
‘Did he? How interesting.’ Landowski nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, so far he has not chosen to share his gift of speech with anyone else. He also carries a leather pouch slung around his body, which my wife discovered when she stripped off his filthy rags. He growled like a mad dog when she tried to remove it from him to wash him, and refused to let her take it. Well, we shall see. My guess is, from looking at him, that he is from Poland. It takes one to know one,’ he added soberly. ‘Goodnight.’
When Landowski left theatelier, Bel turned and saw Laurent smiling at her, his arms folded.
‘Are you happy, now that your little waif is being taken care of?’
‘Yes, and I must thank you for your part in helping him too.’
‘How are you today, my Bel?’
‘I am well, monsieur,’ she whispered, averting her eyes.
‘Not regretting what passed between us yesterday evening?’ He held out his hands to her. And shyly, she lifted her own to meet them.
‘No, not even for a moment.’
‘Thank God for that,’ he breathed, pulling her into the kitchen so they could not be seen from the windows, and kissing her equally passionately again.
*
And so their love affair began, innocent apart from the touch of their lips, both of them knowing the risk they were running if they were caught by Landowski, who had taken to returning to theatelierat odd hours to study his half-finished Christ. Laurent’s hands worked faster on her sculpture than ever before, as he hurried to shape her face so there would be more snatched minutes together afterwards.
‘My God, my Izabela, we have so little time left. This time next week, you will be sailing out of my life,’ he said to her one night as she stood in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder as he held her. ‘How will I be able to bear it?’
‘How will I?’
‘When I first saw you, of course I admired your beauty, and I admit to flirting with you,’ he said as he tipped her chin up so he could see her eyes. ‘And then, as you sat for me day after day, and began to reveal your soul, I found myself thinking of you long after you had left. And finally that night, when I saw your compassion for the boy, I knew that I loved you.’ Laurent sighed and shook his head. ‘This has never happened to me before. I never believed I’d feel this way about a woman. And as fate would have it, it has to be a woman who is promised to another and whom I’ll never see again. It’s a tragic situation that many of my writer friends would put in their books and poems. But sadly, for me it’s real.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Bel sighed despairingly.
‘Then,ma chérie, we must make the most of the time we have left.’
*
Bel floated through her last week in Paris in an ecstatic trance, unable to contemplate her imminent departure. She watched the maid bring her trunk into her bedroom and begin to fill it as if it belonged to someone else. Talk of her passage home and Maria Georgiana’s fears that Bel would be travelling on the ship unaccompanied merely passed her by.
‘Of course, it cannot be helped. You must return in order to prepare for your marriage, but you must swear that you will not disembark from the boat when it docks at any of the ports, especially not in Africa.’
‘Of course,’ Bel replied automatically. ‘I’m sure I will be perfectly safe.’
‘I have contacted the shipping company’s office, and they have replied saying that the purser will find a suitable older woman who can chaperone you during your voyage.’
‘Thank you, senhora,’ Bel responded distractedly, hardly hearing as she pinned on her hat ready to leave for theatelier, her thoughts already with Laurent.
‘Heitor tells me your sculpture is almost finished. So, tonight will be your last night at Landowski’s studio. Tomorrow, our family wish to hold a farewell dinner in honour of you.’ Maria Georgiana smiled at her.
Bel looked at her in barely disguised horror, then realised how churlish she must seem. ‘Thank you, senhora. It is most kind of you.’
In the car on the drive to theatelier, the awful realisation that this was the last night she would ever see Laurent hit her with a jolt of terror.
When she arrived, Laurent was looking pleased and proud.
‘After you left last night, I stayed up until dawn to finish it,’ he said, indicating the sculpture which currently sat shielded from view under a dust sheet. ‘Would you like to see it?’
‘Yes, very much,’ she muttered, not wishing to let her misery spoil Laurent’s obvious excitement. He whipped off the protective sheet with a flourish to reveal it.
Bel stared at her image; as with any subject of a visual study, she was not immediately sure of her reaction. She could see he had caught her shape perfectly and the face that stared back was her own. But what struck her most about the sculpture was the stillness it evoked, as though she’d been captured in a moment of deep contemplation.
‘I look . . . so alone. And sad,’ she added. ‘It’s . . . stark, there’s nothing frivolous about it.’
