Dona Alicia's "eyes glowed with amused disbelief for a moment and she reached out and touched Sally's hand gently. 'Oh, I think not, Sarita,' she said softly, and reminded Sally quite alarmingly of her son.
'Oh, but he does,' Sally insisted, drawn into being frank by the kindly, encouraging smile of the older woman. 'He talks to me as if I'm a not terribly bright four-year-old, Dona Alicia.'
And it makes you angry?' Dona Alicia guessed, ; shaking her head. 'Sometimes clever men can be incredibly silly, my dear. You must forgive him, for my sake.' She glanced at Sally in a way that puzzled her for a moment, until she spoke. 'Did you know that he wishes to paint you?' she asked, and Sally gazed at her for a moment, startled by her knowledge.
'He said something about it, about a week ago,' she confessed. 'But I—I imagine he's had second thoughts about it since then.'
'My son does not have second thoughts about anything,' Dona Alicia assured her with a smile. 'Especially about his work. He means to have you sit for him, Sarita.'
The thought of sitting for hours up there in that isolated studio alone with Miguel Cordova made Sally's head spin. She could never bear to be that long in his company alone, and he would sense how she felt and taunt her unmercifully about it.
Her fingers played restlessly with the hem of her dress. 'I think you'll find he's had second thoughts about that,' Sally assured her. 'And anyway, I couldn't do it, Dona Alicia.'
'My dear child!' The gentle hands touched hers again, and Dona Alicia's kindly blue eyes were shadowed with doubt. 'What has happened?' she asked. 'Why is it that you had only one lesson with Miguel?'
Sally raised her eyes, so tempted to explain what had gone wrong, why she could not spend all that time with Miguel alone. 'Didn't Don Miguel explain?' she asked.
'He has said nothing,' Dona Alicia assured her, 'beyond saying that he is going to paint you as a golden Madonna.'
'It was just a—joke,' Sally protested, her heart racing wildly at the prospect of it being a reality. 'He didn't really mean it, Dona Alicia.'
'Then why should he be so sure that he did, when he spoke to me about it?' Dona Alicia asked, her brows drawn into a small frown. 'And why are you so reluctant to sit for him, Sarita? Would you not like to be painted by my son?'
'It would be quite an honour, I know that,' Sally admitted. 'But it would be—awkward.'
'Awkward?' The strange word sat clumsily on her tongue, and she frowned again. 'Sarita, what is wrong with you and Miguel?'
It sounded so strangely and disturbingly intimate put like that that Sally shrugged uneasily. 'There's nothing wrong, Dona Alicia,' she said at last, and knew she was not believed when her hands were gently squeezed in reproach for the untruth.
'That is not true,' she was told. 'Have you quarrelled with him, Sarita?'
It would have been untrue to say that they had quarrelled, although the manner of their parting had been much the same as if they had. And since that evening she had avoided him as much as possible, although she sat in on the classes now, and never missed one.
'It wasn't exactly a quarrel,' she said slowly, at last. 'It was—it was more a misunderstanding, Dona Alicia.'
'And that is why you have not had any more private lessons?' Sally nodded, and she sighed. 'It is a pity, for it would have been a great help to you, I'm sure, Sarita.'
Sally smiled wryly. 'Oh, I think I'm a pretty hopeless case,' she said. 'I'll never make a good artist.'
'I'm sure you must be wrong.'
Sally was shaking her head. 'Ask Don Miguel,' she advised. 'He'll tell you how useless I am. He's told me often enough.'
'Oh, my dear!'
'It's true,' Sally laughed, determined not to be made gloomy by it. 'And he's probably right, much as I hate to admit it.'
Dona Alicia sighed deeply, as if she despaired of her famous son. 'He is sometimes incredibly foolish for a clever man,' she said, endorsing her former opinion. 'He does not understand the English character, I'm afraid.'
'I'm quite sure he doesn't,' Sally agreed willingly.
'And I had such hopes of an English daughter- in-law,' Dona Alicia said. 'I'm afraid I shall be disappointed in that at least.'
'I am afraid you will, amada!'
Both women turned sharply, almost guiltily, as the object of their conversation came upon them unseen from behind the concealing thickness of a bougainvillaea. Dona Alicia smiled, her momentary surprise soon banished, a hand extended to greet him.
'There is a saying in England, Miguel hijo,' she told him. 'That listeners hear no' She looked at Sally for assistance in quoting the half-forgotten phrase, and Sally obliged with a smile.
'Listeners hear no good of themselves,' she said.
The black eyes gleamed at her for a moment until she lowered her gaze. 'And neither in this case do speakers,' he said softly. 'When I marry, as I must one day for the continuation of the family name, I shall not want a pale timid woman, but a Latin with a passion to match my own.' The black gaze switched to Dona Alicia, and he smiled, a small tight smile that barely moved his straight stern mouth. 'Does that answer you, mi querida madre?'
'Miguel!' His mother's blue eyes reproached him, although Sally told herself it was no more than anyone had a right to expect from him.
He raised his mother's hand to his lips and brushed his lips across her fingers lightly. 'I am sorry to disappoint you, cara,' he told her.
Dona Alicia shook her head, looking up at the dark, stern face of her son as if she despaired of him. 'I was not only reproaching you for your disappointing me, Miguel,' she told him quietly. 'I think you owe Miss Beckett an apology for your rather ungracious statement.' '' He stood between her and the sun, and Sally sat in his shadow wishing she could simply get to her feet and go, but there was no way of escaping without being discourteous to Dona Alicia. Instead she sought to make little of his contempt for her countrywomen by smiling, chancing a brief upward glance at him as she spoke.
'I think the English race will survive without Don Miguel's approval, Dona Alicia,' she said, and laughed shortly as she cast Dona Alicia a mischievous glance. 'Also,' she added softly, 'Don Miguel seems to forget that he is one quarter English himself.'
'That's true, Miguel,' his mother reminded him with a smile. 'Had you forgotten?'
The black eyes were watching Sally, as if he blamed her for his being reminded that he was not a hundred per cent Spanish, as he would so obviously prefer to be. 'I am as Spanish as my father was,' he told her. 'The fact of Abuela Cordova was—a trick of fate.' He smiled down at his mother. 'And I adored her,' he said softly.
'I know you did.' Dona Alicia took his hands in hers, her eyes gentle. She obviously doted on her only son, and for a moment Sally pitied her if Miguel ever did marry his cousin's widow. The two women were so completely unalike, and with Ines Valdaquez as mistress at the Casa de Principes, Dona Alicia's life would be much less pleasant than it was now. 'I have been telling Sarita that she reminds me of my mother,' she said, and Don Miguel frowned.
'I cannot agree,' he stated with certainty. 'There is no resemblance at all, madre.'
'But I can see Mama in so many things that Sarita does, so many things she likes and dislikes, and I think I can claim to have known her rather better than you did, amado.' She spoke softly, but Sally realised with a start she could be as adamant as her son, when she was convinced of her right.
Again the black gaze turned on Sally, a steady, almost clinical gaze that sent a shiver right down from her spine to the soles of her feet. 'I can think of one point of similarity,' he said after a moment, and a small, cruel-looking smile curved his straight mouth briefly as he looked at her. 'Abuela Cordova was also squeamish about the corrida.'
Sally felt the colour flood into her cheeks at the softly spoken jibe. If Dona Alicia had understood and allowed for her dislike of the national sport, her son would be far less tolerant. It is a matter of taste, Don Miguel,' she told him, appalled to find how shaky her voice sounded when she spoke. 'I'm gl
ad I have that much at least in common with Dona Alicia's mother. She must have been a very nice lady.'
'Nice!' He put enough scorn in the retort to shrivel a less resilient spirit than Sally's. 'Apart from that one thing, she had fire and spirit. My grandfather would never have married her otherwise—he was a thorough Spaniard, and had no taste for pallid creatures I' x 'Miguel!'
Dona Alicia's voice brought him up sharply, and after a second, he bobbed a brief, very formal bow in.Sally's direction, his stern-looking face more harsh than she had ever seen it. 'I apologise, Miss Beckett,' he said. 'Yet again I am having to apologise to you for being discourteous. Please excuse me, Madre.' He bobbed his head politely to his mother and strode across the patio to the house.
Dona Alicia watched him go without a word, while Sally fought to control that inevitable clamour in her heart that even his anger could arouse. She thought the older woman was more startled than she was herself at his outburst, and wondered what she thought was the cause of it.
They sat there for a long moment in silence, after he had gone, then Dona Alicia turned and looked at Sally, her blue eyes curious, a tiny frown between her brows. 'I am at a loss for words, Sarita,' she said in her quiet voice. 'How can I explain Miguel's behaviour? I have never seen him behave so before; his manner was unpardonable.'
'Please, Dona Alicia!' Sally put a consoling hand on her arm, her eyes downcast so that she should not see what she was afraid her eyes revealed. That his deliberate and calculated contempt had hurt her far more than she would have believed possible. 'Please don't trouble yourself about it,' she begged softly.
I—I don't take much notice of Don Miguel's opinion of me.' She laughed, a little shakily it was true, but at least it should dismiss any idea that it mattered one way or the other to her what Miguel Cordova thought of her. 'I'm afraid I started off on the wrong foot,' she added, 'by arriving on my own with a party of young men. Your conventions are somewhat more strict than ours in England, I believe.'
'They are,' Dona Alicia agreed. 'But that does not excuse my son behaving as he does towards yeu.' The gentle blue eyes looked at her for a moment, then she shook her head. 'I can see now why it is you have had no more than one private lesson with him,' she said. 'You could not be expected to tolerate such discourteous treatment with no one else there to protect you.'
'It wasn't because' Sally bit on her lip hard.
In those three words she had probably betrayed more than she wanted to, indeed Dona Alicia's eyes were already looking at her with a certain shrewdness.
'It is no concern of mine, of course,' she said quietly. 'But if you could find it in your heart to forgive Miguel for the way he has behaved towards you, I am sure he would be grateful for the opportunity to resume your tuition.'
'Oh no!' Sally was shaking her head firmly, her golden fair hair swinging about her face. 'No, I couldn't do that, Dona Alicia!'
'And Miguel's Golden Madonna?' the soft voice asked gently. 'Will you not allow him to do that? It is important to him, I think, Sarita.'
'Surely not!' Her heart was thudding heavily at her ribs and even though she had her hands held tightly together on her lap, they trembled. How could she sit for him, when every time he spoke to her he either scorned her or seduced her? She was never sure enough of either herself or of him to spend all those hours alone up there in the studio with him. 'No, Dona Alicia, I couldn't do it!'
'Not even if I sat with you?' Dona Alicia suggested softly, and Sally stared at her for a moment, wide-eyed.
'You?' she asked. 'You sit with me, Dona Alicia? But you'
'It is important to Miguel, this idea,' Dona Alicia told her, almost as if she was begging for a favour. 'I know him, Sarita. I know my son better than anyone else does, and I know how important it is to him to paint this picture he has set his heart on. He will not beg you to do it, but I am doing it on his behalf.'
Sally sat there with her hands in her lap, her head bent, the exotic fragrances of the garden all around her, fighting an almost overwhelming desire to see her own portrait set on the easel where Ines Valdaquez's had been. She had not realised how serious he had been about the painting when he had spoken of it that evening, but now Dona Alicia was prepared to spend hours sitting with her in the studio, if only she would consent to be his model.
'If you think it's important to him,' she said at last, and Dona Alicia's smile answered her.
'You will do it!' she said with certainty, and added a few, whispered words in Spanish.
Sally looked up at last and smiled, her eyes curious as she questioned the older woman. 'I—I would like to know why it's so important to him, Dona Alicia,' she said.
For a moment Dona Alicia merely smiled, then she put a hand on Sally's, hesitating as if seeking the right words to explain. 'I have not presumed to ask your faith, Sarita, but I think you are not of our I faith, since you have not attended our church while you have been here.'
Sally shrugged, her smile uncertain. 'I'm—I'm just a vague sort of Christian, Dona Alicia,' she confessed. I'm afraid England abounds with them.'
The vague hint of apology was politely ignored, and the gentle hand still covered hers as she spoke. 'The church here in San Gregorio was badly damaged during the civil war, Sarita. The Iglesia de la Virgen Dorada is now completely rebuilt, but for one thing. Miguel is to paint a picture for the church, it has been promised, although as yet he has not begun it.'
'Oh, I see.'
'You understand?' Dona Alicia asked softly. It is a very important work, Sarita. Our church is a rich one and every part of it must be as beautiful as the one which was destroyed. Miguel's Madonna will be a part of something that could last for another thousand years. It is very important to him.'
'I can see that,' Sally agreed, although she felt a certain disappointment that the painting was not for his own personal satisfaction and pleasure. 'The Iglesia de' She attempted the unfamiliar Spanish words, and smiled at her own failure. 'What does it mean exactly, Dona Alicia?'
'Iglesia de la Virgen Dorada,' Dona Alicia told her with a smile. 'Church of the Golden Virgin, so you see how right you are for the painting, Sarita?
A Golden Madonna.'
'Yes, I can understand that,' Sally agreed, and after a moment, looked at the older woman and smiled. 'Very well, Dona Alicia, I'll sit for Don Miguel, if he still wants me to.'
'Oh, he does, nina, please believe me about that.'
'I do,' Sally said with a smile. 'I also believe he would never have asked me himself—not again.'
The comforting hand patted hers gently, and Dona Alicia's blue eyes smiled at her with understanding. 'I will not ask why that is so, Sarita, but you will find my son grateful, I promise you that.'
'I never knew you were keen on old churches, darling,' Michael told her when Sally asked to be taken down into the village to see the church, and she smiled.
'You don't have to come if you'd rather not,' she said. 'I just hapen to be interested in the Iglesia de la Virgen Dorada, that's all, and I want to go and see it.'
Her glib pronunciation of the Spanish words surprised him, and puzzled him too, Sally could see that, for he could not know what long moments of practice that perfection had cost her. 'You've got that off pat,' he remarked. 'Who's been coaching you?'
She smiled. 'Dona Alicia,' she said. 'She's been telling me about the church and how it's been rebuilt after it was destroyed during the civil war.'
'Oh yes?' He took her arm and turned her towards the patio gates. 'Well, shall we go, then?'
'Not like this,' Sally told him. 'I'll have to go and change into a dress with sleeves and find something to cover my head.'
Michael sighed deeply and flopped himself down on to the only spare foot of space on the low wall surrounding the fountain that was not overflowing with flowers. 'O.K., but don't take all day,' he told her. 'It's a pretty long walk down there, you know.'
She laughed at his complaint and hurried across the patio to change into something more suitabl
e. She had mentioned a visit to the church to Dona Alicia earlier that morning, and been advised that a dress that covered her arms and a covering for her head would be necessary because, unlike some of the more tourist-geared places in Spain, San Gregorio required women to conform to certain standards when in church.
She chose a dress that she had not expected to wear very often in the bright Spanish sun, but it was not too uncomfortable when she put it on. Dark green nylon nestled softly under her chin when she tied the bow at her throat and long transparent sleeves looked cool over the creamy skin of her arms. What to wear on her head was another matter, for she had only a bright, rather garish yellow scarf with huge red flowers, and that hardly looked suitable for churchgoing.
It was the only thing she had, however, so she picked it up with a grimace for its colour and went out on to the landing. She was already at the head of the stairs when Dona Alicia's voice called after her, and she turned hastily in answer.
The older woman was coming towards her, something in her hand that was soft and black, and Sally smiled at her enquiringly. 'You will need something for your head, Sarita,' she said to her. 'Have you something suitable ?'
'Not very, I'm afraid,' Sally admitted, holding out the brightly coloured scarf for inspection. 'It's a bit garish, but it's all I have.'
'It's very pretty,' Dona Alicia told her with a smile. 'But I think perhaps you will find this more suited for the church, my dear. Have you ever worn a mantilla?'
Sally shook her head, holding the black lace as if she feared it might fall apart in her hand. 'But this is a beautiful thing, Dona Alicia. Aren't you afraid of my losing it, or spoiling it?'
'Oh course not!' She took the lace and draped it gently and expertly over Sally's golden fair hair, the soft points of the border falling on her cheeks at either side. 'You look quite beautiful,' she said softly. 'Just as Miguel's Madonna should look.'
The Golden Madonna Page 9