The Golden Madonna

by Rebecca Stratton

  'There are no more?' He still held her hand in his, and ran gentle, exploratory fingers over the red marks, while Sally shook her head.

  'No! No, thank you.' She withdrew her captive hand, and he released it reluctantly. 'I'd—I think I'd better go back to the house,' she said.

  She noticed with dismay that her hands were trembling as she folded up her easel and collected her paints, and it was he who bent and picked up her stool and the abandoned canvas, tucking them both under his arm.

  'You will not sit out here again,' he told her, mildly but firmly. 'Especially not during a lesson, and certainly not without a hat.'

  'I'm not prepared to give you an assurance on either,' Sally replied, equally quietly. She was still shaky-voiced, but she was not prepared to allow herself to be bulldozed into meekly accepting his instructions.

  'I must insist that you do,' he told her, and Sally turned her back on him, making her way up the short, steep incline to the driveway.

  'And I must insist that I be allowed to do as I please,' she insisted.

  'That I cannot allow.'

  'Then I shall pack up and go home,' Sally declared, her adamant statement suffering some loss of force from having to be spoken over one shoulder.

  'Ah!' He seemed to find some satisfaction in that, and for a moment she wondered if his behaviour until now really had been calculated to achieve just that move on her part. 'I could have guessed that you would relinquish the rest of your tuition rather than take instruction,' he told her with maddening certainty. 'You are just too stubborn to listen to anyone, are you not?'

  'No, I'm not!' Sally denied swiftly, and half turned to glare at him over her shoulder.

  The move, however, was almost her undoing, for she missed her footing on the rocky incline and would have fallen if he had not put out a hand to save her. For a moment she was pulled against him, and the faster than usual beat of his heart thudded heavily in time with her own.

  He held her there, with his strong fingers gripping her upper arm tightly, looking down at her with an impatient glitter in his black eyes. 'You are wilful and stubborn,' he told her, his breath warm on her cheek when he spoke. 'More strict discipline when you were younger would have made some difference, perhaps, but like most of the women of your country you are wilful and have little notion of your proper place!'

  'Proper place!' Sally wrenched at her arm, trying to free it. Most of all anxious to move away from such close contact with him, for he could undermine her strength of will with dangerous ease. She looked up at the dark arrogant features, and the black eyes looking at her down that straight, aristocratic nose. Even the way he walked—tall and confident, spoke of his pride in what he was, and his conviction that most other species were inferior.

  'Si, mi poco pimienta!' She was horribly uncertain whether it was laughter or anger in his eyes.

  'Well, I thank heaven I wasn't brought up in a country that, lives in the Middle Ages!' she told him. 'We're not second-class citizens, no matter what the likes of you think, senor!'

  'I did not suggest that you were,' he denied quietly, 'but you are—different, you will not deny that, Sarita, surely, and that is what makes the natural rule of man as the dominant one.' An eloquent shrug conveyed his meaning more precisely, and Sally hastily turned her head away again rather than meet the challenge that glittered in those bright, dark eyes. 'It is to be expected, of course,' he went on, 'that you can wrap your father around your little finger, probably without his realising it.'

  'I don't need to wrap anyone round my finger,' Sally told him. 'I'm quite capable of running my own life without having to exert pressure on anyone, even my father.'

  'Just as long as you are getting your own way,' he suggested. 'That is why you are talking now of giving up your course and going home.'

  'No, it isn't!'

  'Because you cannot wrap me around your finger, you will go home, give up and refuse to learn anything.'

  The taunt stung like a whiplash and Sally gritted her teeth as she turned round, stopping in her tracks so that he was forced to stop too, his eyes glittering a challenge at her. The sun beat down mercilessly on the back of her neck and she was breathing unevenly, partly from the exertion of the climb and partly from the tumult of emotions that threatened at any moment to burst into verbal assault.

  'All right,' she said after a long moment, and drawing a deep breath before she spoke. 'I'll stay on for the whole of the three months. No matter what you do to provoke me, I'll prove you're wrong, and that I don't give up because you bully me. I'll stay on and prove you're not only a—a bully, but prejudiced too!'

  His brief, soft laughter was a surprise, and the fingers of his free hand reached out to caress her bare arm before she could draw back. 'I thought perhaps you might,' he said softly.

  Mealtimes were an opportunity for conversation, and as usual the big, cool dining-room buzzed with voices as everyone talked at once. Sally smiled across at Robert Blane, and was immediately aware that Miguel, at the head of the table, had not missed the brief exchange.

  Robert's persistence amused her, and she wondered if he would ever pluck up the courage to come and sit next to her, in the chair that Michael normally occupied. Certainly their host would view the incident, should it ever occur, with less tolerance than she would herself.

  After her encounter with Miguel Cordova that morning, she was feeling vaguely and rather defiantly restless. She felt more uneasy than ever in his presence, and the sensation annoyed her. It was all too obvious that his behaviour towards her was a calculated and deliberate campaign to amuse himself at her expense, and in the cruellest possible way.

  Knowing she was susceptible to his undeniable power to attract, he went out of his way to charm her, only to turn on her, moments later, and treat her as if she was no more than a rather difficult child. She had dubbed him cruel from the beginning, and further acquaintance had given her no cause to change her opinion. She sighed inwardly—two more months and weeks could well prove too much for her staying power, but she would do her best to stick it out.

  She was giving her attention to her lunch when Michael chose to raise the subject of her absence that morning. He spoke close to her ear, his words almost lost in the general hubbub around them. 'Where were you this morning during the teaching session?' he asked, and Sally shrugged resignedly.

  She had much rather he had not asked her, particularly when it would mean her being evasive about Miguel Cordova's appearance. 'Did you miss me?' she asked, hoping to avoid having to be too specific.

  'Of course I did,' Michael told her. 'And so did the Maestro.'

  Her fellow students' use of that rather pretentious title for their host always irritated Sally, perhaps unreasonably, but somehow she could never bring herself to use it. 'I gathered he did, when he came to find me,' she said. She did not look at Michael, but carefully extracted a morsel of delicious zarzuela de pescado from its coating of butter, herbs and sauce, trying to identify the fish before popping it into her mouth.

  'Good God!' Michael breathed, evidently in awe. 'But where on earth were you?'

  'Down on the rocks, below the driveway,' Sally told him. 'I sat there trying to do some work, but without success, needless to say.'

  'But why, for heaven's sake, darling?' he asked. 'You must be crazy!'

  'Possibly,' she agreed, a little tartly. 'But it was better than being lectured. I just wasn't in the mood for being taught.'

  He looked puzzled, and for a moment Sally felt rather sorry for him. He would never see the need to escape from Miguel Cordova's constant criticism. He would never be disturbed in the same way that she was, by the man himself, and she could not explain to him, or even try.

  'Sally darling,' he said slowly, his own meal forgotten for the moment, 'you can't mean that you deliberately missed out on a teaching session, can you?'

  'I mean just that,' Sally assured him. 'Not for the first time, either,' she added. 'I'm surprised you haven't missed me.'

&
nbsp; 'I have,' he replied absently, still trying to believe that her absences had been deliberate. 'But do you mean he actually took the trouble to come and find you?'

  She nodded. 'That's right.'

  'But what on earth did he say?'

  'What could he say?' Sally asked, beginning to quite enjoy shocking him. No one, she felt sure had ever treated Miguel Cordova in such a casual, offhand manner before, and Michael's reaction was doing something to restore her self-confidence. 'We had an argument, and I said I'd leave.'

  'Oh no!' He looked so utterly dismayed that she was tempted to laugh. Though whether it was her own possible departure or her defiance of his hero that worried him most she had yet to discover. 'You promised the other day,' he reminded her. 'You promised you wouldn't leave, darling.'

  'I know I did,' Sally told him. 'But you don't realise what I have to put up with from that man. I object to being treated like a half-wit. Anyway,' she added, returning to her meal, 'you needn't worry, I changed my mind about going.'

  He leaned over and lightly kissed the tip of her ear. 'I'm glad,' he told her. 'You mustn't be so touchy, darling.'

  'Touchy!' Sally looked at him reproachfully, then realised that it was unlikely he would realise just how vulnerable she was with a man like Miguel Cordova. She sighed. 'I decided to stay and show him I can paint,' she said, 'however much of a sadistic bully he is!'

  'Sally!'

  'Well, he is,' she insisted. She spoke as quietly as she could because she did not want Dona Alicia to hear what she felt about her famous son. It could only hurt her, even if it was true. She turned her head and looked at Michael's blue eyes, round and blank with disbelief, trying hard to restrain her impatience. Michael was such an ardent disciple that he would never understand her own dislike of the man. In fact no man could ever understand the chaos of emotions that Miguel Cordova aroused in her. 'I'm sorry I don't share your blind adoration of him,' she said, more calmly.

  'It isn't blind adoration,' Michael denied. 'He's a brilliant artist, darling, everyone knows that.'

  'No one more than Miguel Cordova, I suspect,' Sally said wryly, and immediately wished she had not made that rather spiteful comment.

  'Well, he is brilliant, darling,' Michael said quietly.

  'I know he is!' She sighed again, deeply. 'But the fact that he's brilliant doesn't excuse his belittling other people's efforts the way he does. If anything it should make him more—more tolerant and understanding. Instead he's rude and boorish, just because we can't match his standards.'

  He put a comforting hand over hers and smiled. 'You let him get under your skin, darling,' he said. 'Your painting's pretty good really.'

  'Thank you,' Sally told him dryly. 'But that would have sounded more convincing if you'd told me sooner.'

  She gave her attention once more to the delicious food, but her mind was so full of questions that she was almost unaware of what she was eating. She had not only to cope with the almost irresistible force that was Miguel Cordova for the next two months, but also with the question of whether or not she was living in a fool's paradise as far as her artistic abilities were concerned.

  She was so preoccupied that it took her a moment or two to realise she was being watched, surreptitiously, by the dark, malicious eyes of Ines Valdaquez. Two weeks or so had done nothing to mellow the Spanish girl's feeling towards her, and Sally wondered if she knew, or perhaps guessed something of Miguel Cordova's behaviour towards her.

  Not that his relationship with her bore the slightest resemblance to an affair, but his affaires d'amour with all those wealthy beauties that Michael had told her about could hardly have been a secret from his family, she thought, and for the first time felt a twinge of sympathy for Ines Valdaquez.

  Her adoration of her late husband's cousin was so obvious that she must suffer agonies every time he looked at another woman, and Sally wondered if he realised it, and was uncaring. Showing that slight but undeniable streak of cruelty again. Having Sally there, at the villa, must have been an added cross for her to bear. It would, Sally thought, have suited the other woman admirably if she had decided to leave and go back home.

  'We will go into the matter of perspective again this afternoon,' Miguel Cordova said suddenly, and startled Sally out of her reverie. He spoke to the company at large, but his eyes were fixed firmly on Sally. 'If that will suit everyone,' he added.

  There was a chorus of assent from the others, only Sally remaining silent, embarrassed by the pointed implication. The black eyes were watching her steadily from the far end of the table, and she knew she was being challenged to miss the afternoon session as she had done the morning one. 'Miss Beckett?' The soft, relentless voice sent a warning trickle along her spine and there was a small, inscrutable smile on his face as he raised a questioning brow. 'Does that suit you also?'

  Sally's hand curled tightly over the handle of her knife, and she felt the colour warming her cheeks as all eyes turned to her. They would no doubt appreciate the Maestro's joke at her expense, she thought bitterly. Even Michael was smiling with the rest.

  It was very tempting to be outrageously rude to him, but she refused to allow him the satisfaction of that, so instead she merely shrugged her shoulders carelessly, and resumed her meal. 'By all means, senor,' she said with studied politeness. 'If you think it. worthwhile.'

  There was a brief startled silence, during which she would have sworn her own rapid heartbeat was audible and, without quite knowing why, she glanced briefly and half apologetically at Dona Alicia. The glance startled her, for she was prepared to swear that she saw amusement in the older woman's eyes before she hastily looked down.

  'Are you not interested in getting the perspective right?' He spoke quietly, but there was an edge of hardness on the deep voice and Sally fought with an increasing pulse-rate that threatened to stifle her. 'You know all that there is to know about it, perhaps?'

  'No! No, of course I don't,' Sally denied. Her own voice was betrayingly unsteady, but she refused to back down now, although she kept her eyes downcast while she spoke and the fingers of her right hand played restlessly with the stem of her wine glass. 'I simply meant that—that I can't learn anything at all when all I get is—is unrelieved criticism.'

  'I see.' He took a sip from his wine glass and the black eyes studied her for a moment over its rim before he spoke again. 'It is strange that no one else seems deterred by my criticism. Can it be that you are perhaps ultra-sensitive, Miss Beckett? That you do not learn so well because you do not have enough attention? If that is so, there is a solution that I can offer.' The black head bowed mockingly. 'If you are agreeable, of course.'

  Sally's head was spinning wildly and she was held by that steady black gaze as if she was hypnotised. 'I^-I'm agreeable to anything that you think would help,' she told him cautiously, and he smiled.

  It was a smile that did little to reassure her, and again he reminded her of a big, dangerous cat as he had done when she first met him. 'Good,' he approved softly. 'Then I will arrange to give you private tuition in the evenings.'

  Sally stared at him in disbelief, and even Michael, she sensed, was at least startled, if not disapproving. She would have refused, but his gaze dared her to do so. 'But——' She swallowed hard, one hand to her throat in an oddly defensive gesture, her eyes wide and uncertain. 'I don't think that will be necessary, Don Miguel,' she said huskily. 'I can take lessons with the rest.'

  But he was not so easily denied, as she should have known. 'I am your tutor,' he reminded her quietly but firmly, 'and I think it will prove to be the answer to your lack of progress so far. It is evident that you do not learn well in a crowd, perhaps you are distracted by the presence of others around you.' He glanced briefly but meaningly at Michael. 'And consequently you are more than usually sensitive to being criticised. So' he spread his large, capable looking hands, 'private tuition is obviously the answer.'

  'No, please, I don't' An imperious hand waved her objections aside.

  'I am h
ere to instruct you, senorita,' he informed her. 'I shall do so to the best of my ability.' He put a hand to his chin and thought for a moment. 'We will start tomorrow night, I think.'

  'Please!' Sally begged, but he ignored her.

  'You have missed several sessions lately,' he said. 'You have much to catch up.' She looked startled, but of course he would have missed her, if no one else did. 'You think I would not notice your absence?' he asked, catching her expression. 'You do yourself an injustice, senorita.'

  'I'm sorry.' It was an added humiliation, having to apologise to. him in front of everybody, but she had to try and change his mind about those private lessons. The thought of being alone with him for heaven knew how long at a time both panicked and excited her, and the latter must on no account be allowed to get the upper hand. 'I promise not to miss any more classes,' she told him. 'I promise, Don Miguel. It won't be necessary to give me extra tuition.'

  He was shaking his head, adamant as she should have expected, a firm, relentless look about his mouth. 'I am decided,' he told her. 'We will start tomorrow, as I said, and in the meantime, while I am instructing the others this afternoon, you may come along and follow as best you can.'

  Sally was beyond words, seething with anger and humiliation, and unable to express it without saying something she would regret later. She also felt inexplicably tearful and bit on her lip as a gentle hand reached over and covered her own. She turned wide, troubled eyes to look at Dona Alicia.

  'It is well meant, mi cara,' the older woman told her kindly. 'Please believe me.'

  Sally nodded, drawing comfort from the gentle plea, and prevented from acting impulsively and regretting it later. 'I know,' she said, quietly. 'Thank you. Dona Alicia.'

  Ines Valdaquez, how7ever, was taking a much less tolerant view of the situation, and she sat sternly upright in her seat beside Miguel, her straight dark brows drawn together above glittering eyes. With his insistence on teaching her privately Miguel had made the Spanish girl her enemy, and a pretty formidable one too, unless Sally had misjudged her.