‘About the age of your stepdaughter, Rosemary,’ Luke cut in. ‘I believed someone as beautiful as yourself could not possibly be the mother of a nineteen-year-old girl. Your stepdaughter seems to find my error amusing.’
‘Sophie is a naughty child.’ Rosemary put her hand intimately on his arm. ‘I hope you’ll consider her worthy of your talent.’
And Sophie hoped he wouldn’t! She had had enough of his arrogance already, let alone having to sit for him for possibly hours on end. ‘I’m sure Mr Vittorio is much too busy to paint me,’ she protested.
His dark eyes mocked her. ‘I have not yet made up my mind.’
She bristled angrily. ‘Well, I have,’ she said crossly. ‘I don’t want to be painted, by you or anyone else.’
‘Sophie!’ there was an angry flush to her stepmother’s smooth creamy skin. ‘You’ll do as you’re told.’
‘I do not paint unwilling subjects,’ Luke Vittorio stated haughtily.
Sophie felt sure that all the women he painted were more than willing, and not just to have their portrait painted. ‘Good,’ she smiled happily. ‘That lets me out.’
‘Sophie!’ once again Rosemary gasped.
‘I’m sure Mr Vittorio understands,’ Sophie said uncaringly.
‘And I’m just as sure he doesn’t,’ her stepmother’s voice was harsh. ‘I’m so sorry, Luke,’ she gave him a glowing smile, ’Sophie isn’t normally this rude.’
Only to people as arrogant and condescending as this man! ’Have I been rude?’ she queried with feigned innocence.
Rosemary’s mouth was set in an angry line. ‘You know very well you have.’
‘Then I apologise,’ she said in the same offhand manner she had carried out the rest of the conversation. ‘But I was only telling Mr Vittorio the way I felt.’
He gave her a cool look. ‘The fact that the portrait is to be a gift to your father is of no consequence to you?’
She blushed at his intended rebuke. ‘I’m sure Daddy will survive without it.’
‘I believe it was to have been a birthday present, an addition to the family record.’
‘And would you like that, Mr Vittorio, to be the painter of one of our family portraits?’
He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘It does not bother me one way or the other. I paint only what I want to paint. What my client does with that painting once it has been completed is none of my concern.’
Rosemary gave a light tinkling laugh. ‘Every portrait you do is highly acclaimed, Luke, and they’re always kept in a place of honour.’
‘I’m sure they are,’ Sophie put in dryly, sipping her wine.
‘If you can’t be civil,’ her stepmother snapped, ’then don’t say anything at all!’
Sophie shrugged. ‘That suits me.’
After that she devoted all her attention to the man sitting to her left, dazzling him with her laughing violet eyes, flattering him outrageously. And all the time she was aware of the soft murmuring of conversation between her stepmother and Luke Vittorio. Not that she could hear what was being said, they were talking too quietly for that.
Her stepmother was the gracious hostess to this sophisticated man, and yet Sophie knew that she would be in for a certain amount of angry reprisal once her stepmother had her alone. She had in fact been more outspoken than she intended, but she didn’t regret it. Her stepmother might like the man, enjoy his company, but. she wasn’t going to become another of the women following him with adoring eyes. She didn’t much like the attention Rosemary paid him either, and she could see her father watching them closely too.
Nicholas managed to be at her side again as they stood in the lounge drinking coffee. His boyish face always looked pink and well scrubbed, his fair hair kept short and brushed away from his forehead. Sophie supposed he could be called good-looking—if only he didn’t have such a boring turn of conversation. He was doing it again now, launching into a lengthy tale about a sick cow he had.
‘Of course I knew the diagnosis before the vet told me,’ he said enthusiastically, ’but you have to call these chaps out just to confirm it.’
‘Yes, of course you do,’ she agreed vaguely, watching as her stepmother continued to stay at Luke Vittorio’s side. He was obviously the guest of honour, a feather in Rosemary’s social cap, but it really wasn’t like her to neglect her other guests like this.
‘I—er—I don’t suppose you would care to come over to tea tomorrow?’ Nicholas looked at her expectantly. ‘My mother would love to see you.’
Sophie didn’t doubt it. Every time she saw Mrs Sedgwick-Jones she extolled the virtues of her only child, hinting broadly at how she would welcome Sophie as a member of the family. The Sedgwick-Joneses might have breeding, but they had very little money to go with it. It wouldn’t be so bad if Rosemary didn’t encourage them, inviting Nicholas over here every chance she had.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think I can, Nicholas, not with all these guests here. It wouldn’t look very good if I just disappeared tomorrow afternoon.’
‘But they aren’t your guests,’ he persisted. ‘And I’m sure your stepmother wouldn’t mind. Besides, these people aren’t even in your age group.’
Neither was he, if the truth were known. He might only be twenty-three, but he acted much older. ‘I don’t think I should,’ she refused. ‘Not when we have guests.’
And one guest in particular. It was a disquieting feeling seeing her stepmother’s head bent towards that dark one so often, and her feelings of unease increased as she saw the frown on her father’s face.
‘He’s a distinguished-looking chap, isn’t he?’ Nicholas remarked at her side, drawing her attention back to him.
‘Mm?’
‘Luke Vittorio,’ he explained. ‘He’s a very noticeable chap.’
He had obviously followed her line of vision and misunderstood her interest. ‘I suppose you could say that,’ she acknowledged ruefully.
‘He’s not what you expect of an artist, though, is he?’
Sophie gave an amused smile. ‘And what did you expect? The classical paint-stained smock, the paintbrush behind each ear?’
A dark hue coloured his cheeks. ‘Now you’re mocking me!’
She put a hand on his arm. ‘Only a little,’ she gave him an apologetic smile. ‘But Mr Vittorio could hardly sit down to dinner in his working clothes. I’m sure he wears denims and tee-shirts when he paints.’ And looked just as distinguished in them as he did his other clothes. The man carried himself with arrogant elegance and would stand out in a crowd no matter what he wore.
‘You seemed to have
