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