The Golden Madonna

by Rebecca Stratton

'You don't sound very enthusiastic about it at all,' Sally told him. 'I thought you weren't very keen when I first told you about it.'

  'But it didn't stop you from taking it on, did it?' Michael asked.

  'You were the one that told me I should be honoured to be immortalised by Cordova,' Sally reminded him, and he shrugged.

  'Well, I suppose that still applies, but it doesn't do much for my prospects, does it?'

  'I shall still see you, like I do now,' Sally said. 'He said something about next week, but I suppose it depends on how things go.'

  'Things?' Michael echoed. 'How what things go?'

  Sally looked down at the sea lace patterned and crested with gold from the evening sun. Everything was so bright and glowingly lovely that it seemed wrong to behave so pettily, to bicker with one another as she and Michael seemed bound to do.

  'Oh, just—things,' she replied vaguely.

  She was thinking of the portrait of Ines Valdaquez that Miguel Cordova had so hastily hidden from her view, and her own interpretation of what went on while the Spanish girl was sitting for her portrait. She had never mentioned the existence of the painting to Michael, because she did not want the fact bandied about among the other members of the party, perhaps taken as a further indication that their host was destined for the altar with his cousin's sultry widow.

  Michael did not press her on the matter of an explanation, but returned to his original complaint. 'And I suppose when he does start on it, I shan't see you at all?'

  'But of course you will, Michael!'

  'But when?' he demanded. 'If he's working on an important religious painting it could take ages, and with only evenings to do it in, God knows how long it'll take. Years probably.'

  That was an aspect that had not so far occurred to Sally and she took a moment to absorb the realisation that what he said was true. There was less than a couple of months left of their scheduled stay at the Casa de Principes, and she knew it was impossible for the work to be finished in that time.

  'I don't know how long it'll take,' she said at last. 'But obviously he'll have to get as much as he can done before we go back home. Maybe he can work from—from drawings or something, after we've gone.'

  Michael gave her a brief, not very complimentary look from the corners of his eyes. 'The way Miguel Cordova works?' he said. 'You really don't know much about painting, do you, darling?'

  'Then I don't know what he means to do,' Sally declared shortly. She was getting a little tired of Michael arguing, he seemed more and more prone to the habit lately, and she felt that there was no one she could turn to, in the way she had once turned to Michael.

  'Even if he does work only in the evenings,' Michael went on, 'I shan't be able to see you, shall I? He'll be demanding your presence daytime and evenings as well, lean see that, just to get the blessed thing done in time.'

  I'm sorry, Michael.' She felt suddenly very small and vulnerable. With Michael so out of temper with her, and Miguel treating her with a formal politeness that hurt even more than Michael's bad temper, she would have liked nothing better than to go home, right there and then, and forget all about the portrait.

  'Ooh!' He hugged her tightly to him suddenly, as if he realised how she felt. 'I'm sorry, darling. I shouldn't take it out on you, but you know how I'd looked forward to this holiday with you, and now you're going to be stuck up there in that wretched studio of the Maestro's day and night, it seems.'

  'Hardly that,' Sally objected with a wry smile. 'But it will take some time, I expect, and I can't back down now, Michael. Apart from Don Miguel, I promised Dona Alicia I'd do it, and I can't let her down.'

  'No, of course not.' His fair brows rose in comment, an arm round her shoulders hugging her closely. 'You get on pretty well with the old lady, don't you?'

  Sally shook her head. 'I wouldn't call her an old lady, Michael,' she said. 'She was very young when Miguel was born, and she's very charming and— and kind.'

  'Kind?' He looked puzzled. 'Does she need to be kind, darling? Why, for heaven's sake?'

  'Oh, you wouldn't know,' Sally told him, unwilling to be too specific about the occasions on which Dona Alicia had spoken out on her behalf. 'It's just that sometimes she—well, she comes to my rescue when your precious Maestro starts throwing his weight around.'

  'With you, you mean?'

  'With me,' Sally agreed, not at all sure that she should have started this trend of conversation. 'He's a real bully given half a chance, you know.'

  'I know you always say he is,' Michael allowed. 'He's an arrogant devil, of course, but that's all part of the Spanish character, and nobody takes too much notice of it, except you.'

  'He's a bully,' Sally insisted. 'You're not always there to know how much of a bully he is.' She wrestled with her conscience for a moment or two. 'It's not all that often, to be honest,' she confessed, 'but it's often enough to make me grateful that Dona Alicia's there to stand up for me.'

  'Oh, I see.' His arm tightened around her shoulders. 'I'd no idea it was as bad as that for you, or that there was anything more—personal in your grudge against him. It sounds as if you're almost part of the family, with Dona Alicia speaking up for you like that.'

  'Oh, I wouldn't go that far,' Sally denied hastily. 'But I think Dona Alicia likes me, and I like her very much.'

  Michael looked at her with a wry smile. 'Well, mind you don't get too involved, darling. Miguel Cordova's quite a man with the ladies, you know.'

  'So you've told me, more than once,' Sally said shortly, and he looked at her curiously.

  'I was only joking, darling,' he said. 'I know you better than to worry about you falling for the Latin charm.' He kissed her lightly beside her left ear, and laughed as he nuzzled his face against her neck. 'You prefer the Anglo-Saxon type. I know that. Blue eyes and fair hair is what you go for, isn't it, my sweet?'

  'That's right,' Sally agreed, but wondered as she said it how true it was, for she had so far been alarmingly affected by Miguel Cordova's Latin charm.

  'Sarita!' Sally, about to leave for the teaching studio with Michael, turned to see Dona Alicia making her way across the dining-room towards her. Instinctively her eyes sought Miguel too, but there was no sign of him and, since he had not passed her and Michael, he must have left the room via the door leading to the studio.

  Sally's heart skipped wildly for a moment when she thought she saw the reason for Dona Alicia's call. It seemed this might be the moment she had been expecting, and she met it with a strange confusion of emotions. She did manage a smile, however, when she looked at Dona Alicia.

  'Did you want me, Dona Alicia?' she asked.

  Michael too stopped and turned, and he looked at the older woman curiously for a moment before the reason became apparent to him, then he frowned.

  'I am a messenger for my son,' Dona Alicia said. 'You have a programme laid down for this afternoon, I think. You will be working unsupervised.'

  'That's right, senora.' It was Michael who answered her, and Sally wished he need not sound quite so resentful, as if he knew what she was going to say and did not like it at all.

  Dona Alicia's kindly blue eyes looked a little anxious, Sally thought, as if she was less sure now about asking her to go. 'Miguel has asked me to see if Sarita would come to his studio this afternoon instead,' she said, and Sally smiled, mostly to relieve her of any further uncertainty.

  'Yes, of course, Dona Alicia,' she told her. 'Am I to come now?'

  'If you will.' She was evidently relieved at her response. 'It will be for only an hour or two, and Miguel will be very grateful, Sarita.'

  The idea of Miguel being quite as grateful as his mother gave the impression seemed to strike Michael as rather unlikely and he looked at her unbelievingly. Sally nodded, all sorts of misgivings coming to mind now that she was faced with the actual prospect. Her heart was thudding wildly and she unconsciously curled her hands into tight little fists against her breast.

  'You'll—you'll be coming too, Dona Alicia, w
on't you?' she asked, and the older woman smiled reassuringly.

  'Yes, of course, nina,' she said softly. 'I promised that I would.'

  'You're having a chaperon?' Michael asked, puzzled, and Sally nodded.

  'It's the accepted thing, Michael, you should know that,' she told him, and prayed that Dona Alicia would not see fit to deny it. She need not have worried, however, for her duena did no more than smile gently and look at Michael.

  'Oh well,' Michael shrugged resignedly. 'I'll see you at dinner time, darling.' He planted a kiss firmly on her mouth, and Sally thought she detected a certain air of defiance in the gesture. As if to remind her chaperon that she was still his girl, no matter if Don Miguel did have first call on her time at the moment.

  'I expect so,' Sally said. 'I presume I'm to be allowed to eat between sessions.'

  Dona Alicia seemed to take no offence at the implication, but merely smiled and nodded herhead. 'I shall see that you are not subjected to Miguel's usual gruelling schedule, Sarita,' she promised. 'Shall we go?'

  Michael watched them go through the door from the dining-room, not quite happy about it, but unable to produce a reasonable argument against it. Dona Alicia was silent for a while as they walked down the narrow passageway towards the studio stairs, then she turned and smiled at Sally.

  'You have no regrets about this, have you, Sarita?' she asked quietly, and Sally shook her head.

  'No, of course not,' she said. 'But' She sought for the right words to voice something that had been puzzling her for the past few minutes. 'I—-I was wondering,' she confessed, 'why Don Miguel asked you to see me—why he didn't tell me himself that he was ready to start on the painting.'

  For a moment Dona Alicia said nothing, but there was a faint glint of laughter in her eyes when she looked at her. 'It is possible that he feared you would refuse to do it,' she suggested quietly.

  'Oh! Oh, I see!'

  'I told him that you would not let him down with anything so important to him,' Dona Alicia went on, 'but he is not as sure of that as I am, I think.' The kindly gaze turned on her for a moment as they mounted the stairs to the studio. 'You would not have refused, would you, Sarita?'

  'No, of course I wouldn't,' Sally affirmed. 'Not after I'd promised.'

  'So I told Miguel,' Dona Alicia said, nodding her satisfaction, and Sally pulled a wry face.

  'I'm afraid Don Miguel hasn't a very good opinion of me, Dona Alicia,' she said. 'In fact it's just about as low as it can be.'

  'Oh no, nina!' She put a hand on Sally's arm and her eyes showed anxiety for a moment, a desire to be believed. 'He does not think so badly of you, Sarita, believe me!'

  'If you say so, Dona Alicia,' Sally allowed, and the older woman smiled as she knocked upon the studio door before opening it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SALLY followed Dona Alicia into the bright, white room she remembered so well from what seemed like a lifetime ago, and saw that Miguel Cordova was already standing near the easel with his back to the door. He had one hand on his hip and the other to his face as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  He turned when he heard them come in, and smiled at his mother. 'Adelante, Madre!' His expressive hands guided her to a large, comfortable- looking armchair that was a new acquisition since Sally's last visit.

  He looked quite incredibly tall and dark against the light background that the studio provided, and Sally felt that betraying curl in her stomach again when she looked at him. An open shirt showed a flash of hard, golden-skinned body as far as the first dark hairs, and the full sleeves gave him that mediaeval look that was so devastating. It was so perfectly in keeping with the stern arrogance of his features and the way he held his head, so that he looked down "his nose at the two women, so much shorter than he was, now that they stood nearer.

  The black eyes held Sally's for a moment, then he smiled. 'Muchas gracias, Sarita,' he said softly, and for one wild moment she thought he was going to add a kiss to his thanks.

  Her heart turned a somersault at the prospect and she hastily looked away, and across the room towards the high window that now admitted the full light of day, and gave the room a still more dazzling look. 'I—I wasn't expecting you to need me today,' she said. 'I don't know if my dress suits you.'

  He looked at the short, sleeveless dress she wore with a long, slow, sweeping glance. Multi-flowered cotton in bright colours, it flattered her colouring and her excellent figure, and made her look far younger than her years, and he smiled his approval of it. 'It suits you,' he told her softly. 'But your clothes do not matter at this stage. Later I will ask you to borrow that mantilla again. The effect of black lace on your golden hair is very beautiful.'

  'You—you're going to paint a Madonna wearing a mantilla?' Sally ventured, and he barely showed more than a slight drawing of his brows for her questioning his decision.

  'It will not appear as a mantilla in this painting, pequena,' he told her softly.

  'Oh! Oh, I see.'

  He saw his mother seated comfortably in the armchair before he turned to Sally again, and he had a slightly quizzical look in his eyes when he spoke, almost as if he expected her to disagree with what he was about to say.

  'For the moment,' he told her, 'I shall simply be making sketches, seeking expressions, discovering the best features, the way you hold your head, that sort of thing. I have to learn to know you much more than I do, Sarita.'

  'I see.'

  It had not occurred to her before just how closely she would be under the intent scrutiny of those disturbing black eyes for hours at a time, and her reaction to it was a jumble of mixed emotions. One part of her foresaw impatience on his part and resentment on hers, another wanted to "stay for as long as he wanted her to, indulging in the luxury of having his undivided attention.

  'Does it matter where I sit?' she asked, and he shook his head.

  'Not as long as you are where I can see you clearly,' he told her.

  With a brief, enquiring glance at Dona Alicia, who smiled encouragingly at her, she went and sat near the big window at the far end of the room. She curled herself on to a low stool, with her slim legs tucked under her. Just high enough to be able to see out of the window and enjoy the wonderful view of the sea and the rocks that the house stood on, with a strip of hot, copper-coloured sand in the distance.

  She rested her chin in one hand, her profile outlined against the background of endless blue sky, and tM sun hot on her skin. Her long gold-coloured hair was loose, because she had supposed he would want her to have it that way, and it caught the sun and gleamed softly.

  She had been there for no more than a few minutes, however, when he called across to her. 'Sarita! It is much too hot for you to be sitting in the sun like that. Move away from the window.'

  'I'm O.K.,' Sally told him. 'I'm not too hot.'

  His dark face looked at her sternly over the top of the easel and he paused in his sketching for a moment. 'Do as I say,' he told her quietly.

  For two pins Sally would have stood her ground, although it was already uncomfortably warm in the direct sun, but Dona Alicia was watching her a little anxiously, and she had no desire to upset her by quarrelling with her son over such a small matter. So she got up from her stool with a deep sigh of resignation, swinging back her hair, and looking at him steadily.

  'Where would you like me to sit, Don Miguel?' she asked with pseudo-meekness, and knew7 he had seen through it by the way his brows drew together.

  'Over by the west window!' he said shortly.

  Sally made no demur, but went and sat in the deep stone sill of the smaller west window. It was through this window that the sun had poured like molten gold on that evening she had come up here with him, and she felt something of the same warm glow she had then when she looked across at him busily sketching and frowning over what he was doing.

  'Keep your head still!'

  Sally started guiltily, then frowned at the imperious tone. She was very tempted to remind him that she was there f
or his benefit alone, but she thought better of it and turned her head back to look out of the window again. 'I'm sorry,' she said instead.

  He worked in silence for some time, while Sally sat as still as she could, watching the sun gradually moving round towards the west in a sky as blue as glazed porcelain. It was quite a lazy way to spend an afternoon, and she was beginning to feel quite sleepy. Once she dared to move from a position she had held for rather too long, trying to ease a crick in her neck, and was scolded by a sharp 'tch!' from Miguel. She glared at him, then caught Dona Alicia's eye and smiled.

  It was Dona Alicia who broke the silence at last, calling across to Sally. 'It is getting late, Sarita,' she told her, ignoring her son's cluck of annoyance at the interruption. 'You will wish to change for dinner, will you not?'

  'Sit still!' Miguel ordered sharply when she turned to answer, and Dona Alicia shook her head at him.

  'Poor Sarita is tired and hungry, Miguel, mi hijo,' she said. 'You must allow her to have her dinner.'

  'Condenar!' He swore softly under his breath and for a moment the black eyes met and held Sally's, her emotions responding in the inevitable way. 'Perhaps,' He suggested softly, 'you will leave us for a while on our own, si, madre amada}'

  Dona Alicia looked to Sally for guidance in her own reply, but Sally had hastily sought refuge in the view outside again. 'I was to stay with Sarita while she was up here, Miguel,' she told him quietly, uncertain just what she should do.

  'But you have to attend to other things, mi amar,' he said, softly persuasive. 'And Sarita does not mind being here for just a few moments, do you, nina?'

  Sally looked at Dona Alicia, her eyes betraying her uncertainty, and while she hesitated Miguel frowned, disliking to be kept waiting and impatient with her reluctance. 'I—I suppose not,' she said at last.

  'Madre de Dios!' Miguel breathed piously, raising his black eyes to heaven. 'You are always telling me that you are a grown woman, and yet you behave like a frightened baby when I ask you to sit for me a moment longer without your duena!'

  Sally felt the colour flood into her face at the scorn he put into the words and she looked across at Dona Alicia with the light of battle in her blue eyes, her chin in the air. 'Don't worry about me, Dona Alicia,' she told the older woman. 'I'll stay for a little while longer, if that's what Don Miguel wants.'