The Golden Madonna

by Rebecca Stratton

  'If you are sure, nina.' Dona Alicia looked across at her doubtfully, and Sally smiled.

  'I'm quite sure, thank you.'

  'Muy bien.' Dona Alicia got to her feet and went to the door, turning in the doorway to smile at Sally. 'I will see you at dinner, Sarita. Do not let Miguel keep you from your meal.'

  'I won't,' Sally promised, and caught a gleam of malice in Miguel's black eyes when he looked at her.'May we now continue?' he asked, with exaggerated politeness, and Sally tossed back her hair without answering.

  It was several minutes later when she got up from the stone sill and walked across the studio. Her legs felt stiff and cramped, and no matter what he said, she simply must move. To her surprise he said nothing, but his eyes followed her as she crossed the room, and he smiled briefly when she chanced a glance at him over her shoulder.

  'I'm so stiff from sitting so long,' she told him, and sounded unconsciously defiant, but he shrugged, and abandoned his sketching for the moment to speak to her.

  'It is because you are not yet used to sitting still,' he told her, with, she suspected, little sympathy for her complaint. 'When you have had more practice it will come more easily to you and you will not be so—uncomfortable.'

  That raised the question again in her mind of how long he would need her to sit for him, and she looked across at him questioningly. 'I was wondering about that,' she told him. 'How long are you likely to need me to sit for you, Don Miguel?'

  He raised a curious brow, another question answering her. 'How does that matter?' he asked.

  Sally hesitated, she had no special desire to tell him that she did not want to spend the rest of her stay being his model, but she had to know just how much of her time he was going to demand. 'It matters to me, in a way,' she said. 'I only have about seven or eight weeks of my stay left, and according to Michael it can take months to paint a work like this Madonna.'

  'That is so,' he agreed quietly. He was watching her in such a way that she could feel her heart leaping in her breast like a wild thing, so that she instinctively put a hand to her throat in a vague, oddly defenceless gesture.

  'Then how' she began, and he shook his head, a small wry smile just touching his straight mouth.

  'You have a saying in England, I think,' he said quietly. 'We will cross that bridge when we get to it, hmm?'

  'Yes, but if' She looked at him earnestly for a moment, then hastily lowered her eyes when realisation dawned. 'Oh yes, of course,' she said in a flat little voice, 'you can always use someone else for the finishing touches, once you get to a certain stage, can't you?'

  The thought of someone else, possibly even Ines Valdaquez, taking her place as his model, was not to her liking at all and she had a cold little core of misery in her heart when she realised she was dispensable after a certain stage of the work.

  'I could,' he agreed quietly. 'But would you have me do that, Sarita? Would you not like to see me finish the Madonna? Just for the sake of a few more weeks.'

  Sally could not answer for several minutes. Every nerve in her body cried out for her to tell him that she would stay just as long as he wanted her to. 'I could stay on, I suppose,' she said at last. 'If that's what you want me to do, Don Miguel.'

  'Would you?' She nodded. 'Gracias, pequena,' he said softly.

  The silence in the big, bright room hung like a tangible thing between them, and Sally wondered what she could possibly do about the positive chaos of emotions he had aroused in her. There was gentleness in the black eyes as he looked across at her, but she remembered all too well just how easily passion could kindle in a moment in that volatile Latin temperament.

  'Do I take it that you consider me a better model than I am a painter?' she asked, without quite realising that her smile and the look in her eyes were a challenge to him to deny it.

  She saw the sudden drawing together of his brows above the glistening black eyes, and he did not smile. 'Very much better,' he agreed quietly.

  Sally laughed, a husky, shaky sound that she fought to control. 'Well, at least you're honest about it,' she told him. 'But if that's so, then why do you find it necessary to snap at me so often?'

  He said nothing for a moment, but looked at her with a steady gaze that almost unnerved her completely. Her heart was turning over and over, and she bit on her lip when he spoke again. 'Do I snap at you?' he asked quietly.

  'Often!'

  'I was not aware of it,' he said, apparently taking it all quite seriously. 'Perhaps I have been unconsciously harsh.'

  'Oh no, I didn't mean it like that,' Sally exclaimed breathlessly. 'I just meant that'

  'I am sorry if you find me a harsh master,' he went on in that same quiet voice. 'I shall try not to drive you too hard. I promised that.'

  'But you don't!'

  'My mother probably agrees with you,' he said, ignoring the denial, and Sally shook her head, drawn across the room towards him by something she could not resist.

  Her eyes were half hidden by lowered lids, and their expression betrayed something of the inner conflict that set her heart thudding wildly and curled her fingers into her palms as she looked up at him.

  'I really didn't mean you to apologise,' she told him softly. 'I wasn't complaining.'

  He stood by the easel that now acted as a prop for the sketch pad he had been using, and she vaguely registered the rough black lines of her own head and features from various angles. There was a taut, tingling sense of tension about him, and his fingers, where he held the charcoal he had been using to sketch with, looked tight and white-boned. His grip tightened suddenly and the black stick snapped in two and fell to the floor, leaving his fingers powdery black, while Sally started, even at such a tiny sound.

  'It will soon be time for dinner,' he said quietly, and in a voice that was strangely harsh for all its quietness. 'I promised that I would not keep you from your meal.'

  'I have time.' She smiled, although he did not look straight at her, but at the sketches he had been doing.

  'I am sorry I kept you so long,' he said. 'Now you must go, before you are too late.'

  'But I' She looked at him for a moment with wide eyes, and one hand reached out, vaguely appealing, for all it did not quite touch him.

  'Do as I say!' he urged, and, when she hesitated, shook his head slowly. 'Please go, Sarita!' he said harshly.

  Sally looked at him for a moment, wanting to do something about the way he was dismissing her, but afraid of what it would arouse in him if she stayed and argued with him. Her own heartbeat was a wild clamour that deafened her, and she sought for words that refused to come. She lowered her eyes at last, and the movement of her head sent her long golden hair cascading forward until it half hid her face.

  'Very well,' she whispered. 'I'll go.'

  She made no deliberate move to touch him, although perhaps instinct brought her closer than she realised, and the act of turning away from him brought her bare arm in contact with his left hand.

  The touch on her sensitive skin was like fire, and it kindled a swift, exultant joy in her that forced a cry from her lips as he swept her against him.

  His mouth was hard, almost punishing, on the softness of her lips, and his hands gripped her as if he was angry with both himself and with her. Then his fingers moved up and twined themselves into her soft hair, pulling back her head, holding her firm while his mouth sought the smooth warmth of her neck, and the soft, vulnerable spot at the base of her throat.

  She made no effort to resist the wild feeling of exultation that swept her along, uncaring, but reached up with her hands to pull his dark head even closer. The lean, hard urgency of his body seemed to possess her until she could think of nothing else but the ecstasy of the moment and the delirious joy of belonging to him.

  Not even the sudden opening of the studio door meant anything for several moments and then it was Sally who became aware that they were no longer alone. She fought for breath to tell him, while Miguel whispered her name over and over again, his voic
e muffled by the thick softness of her hair.

  'Miguel!' The harsh voice, the imperious tone could belong only to Ines Valdaquez, and Sally's heart skipped in sudden panic when she recognised it.

  She used her hands to push herself away from Miguel, and looked at the Spanish girl standing in the doorway. Her dark eyes blazed with such fury that Sally shivered, and looked at Miguel appealingly.

  He put her away from him with a gesture so slow as to be reluctant, and his hastily assumed calm would have fooled her if she had not been near enough to feel the passion and intensity that still emanated from him and made her tremble.

  'What is it that you want, Ines?' he asked, and his quiet question came as a shock to her, if her expression was anything to judge by, while Sally marvelled at his iron self-control.

  Harsh-voiced, Ines poured out a spate of rapid Spanish, her eyes gleaming darkly and her mouth twisting into a tight, cruel look that made Sally more apprehensive than ever. She had suspected, more than once, that Ines Valdaquez would make a formidable enemy, and unless she was very much mistaken, she was now due to discover just how formidable.

  When Miguel spoke again, Sally looked at him in surprise, for he answered in Spanish, and normally, when any of the English party were present, he always spoke English, so that they were not excluded. His use of his native tongue now dismayed her, especially as he appeared to be making some sort of an explanation. For him to find it necessary to explain the situation to Ines Valdaquez was bad enough, but to have him do it in a language he knew she could not understand was worse.

  She looked at him for a moment with wide, hurt eyes, then she shook back her hair from her face, her mouth trembling when she spoke, cutting across his words. 'I'll go,' she said, hoping her voice did not betray too much of what she was feeling. 'I have to change for dinner, and I'm late already.'

  'No, Sarita!'

  He put a hand on her arm to stay her, but Sally evaded him, quickly moving away and almost running towards the door. To get out of the room, however, she had to wait for Ines Valdaquez to move out of her way and, for the moment, the Spanish girl looked like holding her ground firmly.

  'Please——' Sally began, and the dark eyes blazed furiously.

  She did not catch the word that was spat at her viciously in Spanish, but its meaning was plain enough and so was the hand that reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair, tugging viciously hard as she was swung round by it and almost brought to her knees.

  'Ines!'

  He was across the room in a flash, with his dark face stormy, black eyes blazing at his cousin. Sally, recovering, stared at her wide-eyed, for the attack had been both vicious and unexpected and she wished now only to escape as quickly as she could.

  'Please don't!' she begged Miguel when he would have taken her hands, and with a swift glance at her attacker she turned and ran down the narrow stairs. It was only as she gained the passageway at the bottom that she was reminded that this was the second time in a couple of weeks that she had fled from Miguel's studio with her emotions shattered and in a state of complete chaos.

  Sally said nothing to Michael about her treatment at the hands of Ines Valdaquez, nor of the way she had fled from the studio with angry voices ringing in her ears. She had been aware during dinner last night, that things could not go on as they were. She must never again stay alone with him, but leave whenever Dona Alicia did, as her common sense had urged her to last night.

  Miguel had shown little sign of the incident as he sat at the head of the table, although he had looked more stern-faced and hard-eyed than usual, so that the one time that she inadvertently caught his eye, she hastily lowered her own gaze.

  This morning, however, things seemed to be very different. All during breakfast Michael showed signs of being full of something that he was bursting to tell her about, although he made no attempt to tell her at the table. It struck Sally in a sudden awful moment to wonder if the news of last night's episode had reached the ears of the rest of the household.

  The thought of such a thing happening made her stomach crawl with embarrassment, but her consolation lay in the fact that whatever it was that Michael knew, he was quite cheerful about it, and that would not have been the case if he had heard about her and Miguel.

  Her and Miguel. She felt the colour warm her cheeks when she even thought about it, and she wondered if Ines would have told Dona Alicia about it. Certainly the older woman was much quieter and less communicative than usual this morning, she would have sworn it. Perhaps Dona Alicia too had hopes of a marriage between her son and Ines Valdaquez.

  A swift, wary glance at. the Spanish girl had revealed a face more woebegone than haughty this morning, and there were unmistakable signs of weeping rimming her dark eyes. Miguel, Sally thought, would be as ruthless in punishment as he was in everything else, and she actually felt sorry for Ines Valdaquez.

  With breakfast over, there was usually time for a stroll round the patio before they were needed for the morning session, and Sally always enjoyed it. The scents of the flowers and the cool, tinkling sound of the water in the fountain had a soothing effect on her, and she did not really want to have Michael regale her with whatever it was he was bottling up so impatiently.

  She had little choice, however, for he took her arm in a firm grip and led her to a wrought iron seat beneath one of the palms, with an air that was both insistent and purposeful. He sat her down and turned beside her on the seat to put an arm along behind her.

  'I have some news to impart,' he said, and looked at her expectantly with a gleam in his blue eyes.

  'I thought you must have,' Sally told him with a wry smile. 'You looked about ready to burst all the time you were eating breakfast.'

  'Did I?' He laughed, then reached out and took one of her hands in his. 'The senora is leaving,' he pronounced solemnly, and Sally stared at him for a moment unbelievingly.

  'Ines?' she said, and Michael nodded.

  'Bag and baggage—she's been slung out on her . proud Spanish neck.'

  Sally still stared at him, unable to absorb it yet, but with a cold sense of realisation slowly forming in her stomach. 'But how do you know?' she asked.

  She thought of Ines Valdaquez's woebegone features and the traces of tears round her eyes, and her heart began a rapid tattoo against her ribs. It wasn't possible, she told herself, it just wasn't possible that it could be because of what had happened up there in the studio.

  'Well, aren't you pleased she's going?' Michael demanded, obviously peeved because she was not showing the enthusiasm he expected her to. 'You've never liked her, darling, I thought you'd be glad to see the back of her.'

  'I—I don't care for her very much,' Sally admitted. But I wouldn't want' She bit on her lip hastily. The less said to Michael at this moment, the better, and it was quite possible that there was some other reason for Ines Valdaquez to be leaving the Casa de Principes.

  'Well, anyway,' Michael went on, anxious to impart the rest of his news, 'Dick, as you know speaks Spanish, and he overheard an almighty row last night when he was out on the patio before he went to bed. It was mostly Ines and the Maestro, so he says. Apparently Dona Alicia was there too, but she didn't say much—the other two were going at it hammer and tongs.'

  'And he stayed and listened!' Sally said scornfully.

  'Well, he couldn't help overhearing, 'Michael said defensively. 'Naturally he was interested, and so should I have been if I could have understood what was being said.' He looked at her a little crossly, as if he did not understand her reticence. 'I must say I thought you'd be a bit more interested than you appear to be.'

  'It—it doesn't really concern any of us,' she said. 'What Don Miguel and his family do is their own affair.'

  Michael frowned at her impatiently. 'Oh, for heaven's sake, darling, don't be so prissy! Just because you've got that bee in your bonnet about not liking the Maestro, you don't have to act as if the comings and goings are of no interest at all to you.' He kissed her lightly on h
er left cheek. 'It seems the Maestro's been up to his tricks again!'

  'Oh, Michael, please!' Hearing him say that, and with such obvious relish, made her stomach crawl and she wished she need not hear any more of this distasteful gossip, but it was too much to hope that she would be spared the rest of it, having gone so far.

  'He's been dallying with some fair maid and Senora Ines doesn't approve—naturally,' Michael went on with a suggestive grin that put Sally's teeth on edge. 'Dick says she was fair boiling with fury, and the Maestro was giving her a right royal dressing down.'

  Sally looked down at her hands lying tightly clasped together in her lap, the thickness of her ; lashes concealing the expression in her eyes. 'Did— did Dick hear who the lady was?' she queried, almost afraid to ask, and he chuckled.

  'I knew you'd be interested,' he said. 'But according to Senora Ines, whoever she is, she's no lady! But you could say she was prejudiced, of course. Anyway,' he sighed his satisfaction, 'eventually the Maestro told her to leave.'

  'She'd been crying this morning,' Sally said quietly, and Michael nodded.

  'She probably hoped for a reprieve in the cold light of day,' he guessed. 'But knowing the Maestro, he wouldn't budge once he'd made up his mind.'

  Sally looked up at him, wondering if she knew him as well as she had always supposed she did. 'And don't you feel any pity for her at all?' she asked.

  Michael shrugged. 'Why should I?'

  'Because,' Sally said softly, 'she's very much in love with him.'

  'Then she should know better!' Michael retorted. 'No woman in her right mind would expect to hold a man like the Maestro for life. He's an artist first and foremost, and that's what matters most to him.'

  Sally knew the words were true, but somehow her heart refused to accept it. She had read somewhere once that no woman will ever admit that any man is immune from the lure of her sex, and the more reluctant HE is, the more determined SHE is. Perhaps it was only that age-old reluctance to admit that Don Miguel was unattainable, but she thought not, and put a hand to touch the spot at the base of her throat where the warmth of his mouth still seemed to linger.