Page 63 of The Seven Sisters
‘Of course,’ Landowski agreed. ‘You may feel that my ideas and style are not suitable for your needs. But whatever you decide, I admire your bravery and determination to execute such a difficult project. And I would certainly enjoy the challenge of being a part of it.’
The two men shook hands, and Heitor turned to walk out of theatelier, with Bel following suit.
‘Monsieur da Silva Costa, before you leave, I have a favour to ask of you,’ said Laurent suddenly.
‘And what might that be?’ Heitor asked, turning towards him.
‘I would like to sculpt your ward, Mademoiselle Izabela. She has the most exquisite features and I want to see if I can do them justice.’
Heitor paused uncertainly. ‘I admit I’m not sure what to say. It is a very flattering offer, is it not, Izabela? And if you were my own daughter I would feel more able to answer in the affirmative. But . . .’
‘You have heard the stories of the many disreputable Parisian artists, and what they expect from their models.’ Professor Landowski smiled knowingly. ‘But I can assure you, Monsieur da Silva Costa, that I can vouch for Brouilly. Not only is he a talented sculptor who I believe has the capacity to be a great one, but he is right under my roof. Therefore I can personally guarantee mademoiselle’s safety.’
‘Thank you, professor. I will talk to my wife and contact you when we’re back from Munich,’ agreed Heitor.
‘Then I will wait to hear from you,’ said Laurent. He turned to Bel. ‘Au revoir, mademoiselle.’
Both Bel and Heitor were silent on the journey home, lost in their own thoughts. As the car skirted Montparnasse, Bel felt a thrill running through her veins. Even though her impromptu lunch with Laurent Brouilly had unsettled her, on many different levels she felt truly alive for the first time in her life.
19
Contrary to her thoughts before she’d set sail for Europe – when the idea of visiting Italy, the land of her forefathers, had filled her with excitement – as she packed the following day to travel to Florence, she was loath to leave.
Even when she arrived in the city she’d dreamed of visiting, and saw the spectacular domed roof of the great Duomo from the window of her hotel suite, smelt the aroma of garlic and fresh herbs wafting up from the picturesque restaurants on the street below, her pulse did not rise in the way she’d imagined.
And a few days later, when they took a train to Rome, and she and Maria Elisa dropped coins in the Trevi Fountain, then visited the Colosseum where the brave gladiators had fought for their lives in the vast arena, she felt a vague air of disinterest.
She had left her heart behind in Paris.
That Sunday in Rome, she joined thousands of her fellow Catholics in Saint Peter’s Square for the Pope’s weekly Mass. She knelt down, her black lace mantilla covering her face, looked up at the tiny figure dressed in white on the balcony and gazed at the saints that stood on pedestals all around the square. As she queued with the hundreds of others who were praying and reciting rosaries while waiting to receive the Host, Bel too asked God to bless her family and friends. And then sent up a fervent prayer of her own.
Please, please let Senhor Heitor not forget to ask about my sculpture, and please let me meet Laurent Brouilly again . . .
*
From Rome, having met with the sculptors he’d come to see and studied many of the famous works of art on display in the city, Heitor was leaving to go to Munich. His aim was to view the colossalBavariastatue, fashioned entirely in bronze and innovatively constructed from four enormous sections of metal fused together.
‘I feel it may provide inspiration for my current project, as the construction challenges bear many similarities to those I face with theCristo,’ he’d told Bel when she’d questioned him over dinner one night.
For reasons Bel did not know or understand, Heitor had now decided that the rest of the da Silva Costa family would not accompany him on the long journey to Munich. Instead, they were returning to Paris, where the two boys had a tutor waiting for them.
As they boarded the sleeper train at Roma Termini station to begin the overnight journey to Paris, Bel could only breathe a sigh of relief.
‘You seem brighter tonight,’ Maria Elisa commented as she climbed up into her red velvet-covered cot in their shared couchette. ‘You were so quiet in Italy, it was like you were somewhere else.’
‘I’m looking forward to returning to Paris,’ Bel answered non-committally.
As Bel climbed into her own cot, Maria Elisa’s head appeared over the edge of the bunk above. ‘I’m just saying you seem different, Bel, that’s all.’
‘Do I? I don’t believe I am. In what way?’
‘Like you’re . . . I don’t know . . .’ Maria Elisa sighed. ‘As if you’re daydreaming all the time. Anyway, I too am looking forward to seeing Paris properly this time. We’ll enjoy it together, won’t we?’
Bel reached for the hand that Maria Elisa had offered and squeezed it. ‘Yes, of course we will.’
*
Apartment 4
