well—but you're not good enough to be a soloist in a million years,
and both you, and certainly Crispin, must know that, so let's forget
the cover story of burgeoning genius just waiting to be brought to
fruition and get down to brass tacks.'
Sandie drew a quivering breath. 'You,' she said, slowly and
distinctly, 'are the most hateful, obnoxious man I've ever had the
misfortune to meet. You're utterly wrong about me, and everything
about me. But I don't care about the kind of vile conclusions you've
drawn. I know I've got what it takes, and vrtth Crispin's help, I'm
going to prove it.' Her voice shook, and she paused to steady it. 'I've
come here to work,' she went on. 'Work—do you understand? Not—
not to flirt with your brother. I have talent, and I believe in myself.
And nothing you say or do is going to make the slightest difference,'
she added with a little sob.
He looked at her for a long moment, the blue eyes narrowed, then
shrugged again. 'In that case,' he said, 'I'm sincerely sorry for you.'
'And I don't want your bloody sympathy either!' she snapped
angrily. 'Oh, why did you have to come back—and spoil
everything?'
'Put it down to natural perversity,' he said. 'You fight well, Miss
Beaumont, although I enjoyed your struggles last night even more,'
he added with an elliptical grin. 'But appearances, your own in
particular, are against you. It's best you go back, to England without
delay, and I intend to make the necessary arrangements. You may
not believe it now, but it's for your own good.'
The door behind them burst open and Magda Sinclair surged into
the room. She was wearing a scarlet silk caftan this morning,
lavishly embroidered with dragons, but the tartan scarf still
protected her throat.
'Flynn darling,' she exclaimed, 'Crispin tells me you're planning to
send this charming child away. But you can't—you simply can't!'
Flynn's expression suggested he was counting to ten very slowly. He
said quietly, 'And why is that, precisely?'
'Because there's been some terrible misunderstanding,' Magda said
earnestly. 'Sandie's come here for me—to take poor Janet's places—
although why on earth she had to marry that man—but what's the
use?' She paused. 'And this dear girl has given up her summer to
help me instead. Isn't that sweet of her?'
'Sweet,' drawled Flynn, 'is not the word. There seems no end to Miss
Beaumont's versatility. But I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere
for your accompanist, Mother. The young lady is leaving us shortly.'
'Oh, but that's quite impossible,' Magda said swiftly. 'Why, it might
take me weeks—months even- to find someone suitable. And
darling Sandie's right here on the spot, and ideal for the job. I won't
let you take her away from me.'
'That's nonsense, and we both know it.' Flynn was tight-lipped. 'Miss
Beaumont is far from irreplaceable. Whatever Crispin may have
claimed, there are better pianists around too.'
'But I like her.' Magda spread her hands dramatically. 'Oh, Flynn
darling, sometimes you can be so- unkind—unthinking even. When
I remember your beloved father—so sensitive to my every need.'
Her eyes filled with sudden tears. 'How can I explain to you? I need
someone who is
sympathique.
Someone I can get on with. Rapport
between us is essential.' Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. 'But
what's the use? You've never understood the artistic temperament.'
'Perhaps not, but sheer bloody-mindedness doesn't cause me too
many problems,' Flynn said with a kind of weary anger. 'I don't need
to ask who's prompted this little outburst.' He shrugged. 'Let Crispin
have his way, then, as he usually does.' He went round and sat down
behind his desk. 'And now, as we all have so much work to do,
maybe we should get on with some of it.'
'Of course.' Magda's face was wreathed with smiles. 'I knew you'd
see you were being the teensiest bit hasty over poor Sandie.' She
took Sandie's arm. 'Come along, my dear.'
Sandie followed her to the music room, feeling slightly stunned.
She said quietly, 'I'm very grateful to you, Mrs Sinclair, and I'll try
not to disappoint you.' She paused. 'I got the impression yesterday
that you didn't really think I was suitable.'
'Well, that rather remains to be seen,' Magda Sinclair said briskly.
'But Flynn does tend to be rather overbearing in these matters,
particularly where Crispin's concerned. And he'd done quite enough
harm in that direction already. Now my boy deserves a little
happiness.'
Sandie bit her lip. Her own private dreams were one thing, but she
didn't want the rest of the household sharing Flynn's unpleasantly
biassed view of what she was really doing at Killane.
She said awkwardly, 'I hope you don't think...'
'What I think is that it's time we got down to some serious practice,'
said Magda, in a voice that brooked no argument. 'I've decided to
add some traditional ballads to my usual repertoire for the autumn.
You'll find a selection in that green folder in the end cupboard. We'll
do some exercises, then run through a few of them—see what might
be suitable.' She gave Sandie a firm smile. 'Now, let's start, shall we,
my dear? The morning is nearly over.'
In retrospect, Sandie decided it was the most trying and demanding
couple of hours that she had ever spent.
Crispin's hint that Magda was not always easy to get on with proved
to be more than justified. She let Sandie see that her nervousness
and lack of experience were severe irritants, and she made few
allowances for either of them.
And because Sandie was so tense after that traumatic confrontation
with Flynn, she found she was making more mistakes than usual—
playing like an absolute tiro, she realised with dismay.
She could not be thankful that neither the sound of her struggles nor
Magda's strictures could penetrate the walls of the music room, or
Flynn Killane would have something to sneer about in earnest, she
thought unhappily.
'Well, that was far from satisfactory,' Magda said at last, her face
taut with displeasure. 'You are going to have to try much harder than
that, my dear. Your sight-reading is poor in the extreme. I imagine
your examiners have commented on it in the past.'
Sandie bent her head, staring down at the keys. 'No,' she returned
despondently, 'it's usually quite good. I—I must be a little on edge.'
'Then I'd be grateful if you'd pull yourself together before our next
session,' Magda said waspishly, and swept out of the room in a swirl
of dragons.
Sandie knew an overwhelming urge to put her head down on the
keyboard and bawl like a baby, before going to the study and asking
Flynn Killane to put her on the next flight to England. But I won't
give him fhe bloody satisfaction, she decided savagely, thumping
out a few discords to relieve her mangled feelings.
Much to her relief, lunch was not a formal meal conducted
en
famille.
Cold salmon and a variety of salads were placed on the
sideboard in the dining- room, and people wandered in and helped
themselves, buffet style.
The twins returned from their ride, mercifully intact.
'We're going for a swim this afternoon,' Steffie informed Sandie,
helping herself lavishly to the strawberries and cream that formed
the dessert. 'Do you want to come?'
Sandie shook her head. 'I don't think I'd better.'
'Well, you won't be wanted for anything else.' Steffie gave a giggle.
'Crispin's gone off in the car in a towering rage. He won't be back
till this evening. And Mother always rests in the afternoon.'
'Come on down to the beach,' James put in. 'You may as well while
you have the chance. O'Flaherty says it will be raining again
tomorrow.'
'All right, then,' Sandie accepted, trying to hide swift
disappointment. She'd wondered all morning where Crispin was.
She'd needed desperately for him to reappear and give her self-
confidence a boost. The fact that he'd apparently stormed off
without even knowing whether she was to go or stay was something
of a blow.
And it would undoubtedly be a relief to get away from the house
and its pressures, she thought, and bit her lip. What a way to feel
when she'd been there less than twenty-four hours!
But it would all have been so different if only Flynn Killane hadn't
returned, she told herself passionately. Oh, why couldn't he have
stayed—a thousand miles away, as Jessica had said?
The twins found her a bicycle, and an hour later she found herself
cycling with them down the narrow lane that led to the sea. The
wind had dropped, and the sun felt warm on her back, and almost in
spite of herself, Sandie's spirits rose. She felt more cheerful still
when they arrived at the beach—a perfect crescent of pale yellow
sand, sloping gently into the cream- edged blue of the Atlantic.
The twins threw their bikes down on to the short turf that fringed the
sand, and charged off, leaving Sandie to follow more slowly,
picking up the outer garments they'd discarded and placing them,
folded, on a convenient flat rock. Like the twins, she was wearing
her swimsuit underneath her clothes, and she peeled off jeans and T-
shirt without haste. The sea looked cold, and it didn't disappoint her,
but once she'd nerved herself to take the plunge she found the water
refreshing and exhilarating.
James had brought a ball, and they played a noisy and cheerful game
of 'catch', aiming the ball near rather than directly at each other to
ensure maximum drenching.
Eventually Sandie called a laughing halt, and waded out to get her
towel. She'd blotted the worst of the moisture from her shoulders
and arms and was wringing out her hair when she heard the
approaching sound of a horse's hooves. She glanced casually over
her shoulder, then froze.
'It's Flynn,' James called out, quite unnecessarily. 'He's on Aran Lad.
Don't they look grand together?'
Sandie was glad she was not expected to reply. The twins ran up to
Flynn and jogged alongside, as he slowed the handsome chestnut
gelding he was riding to a walk.
Sandie, scrubbing the towel wildly over her legs, sent him a fleeting
glance, and saw with a kind of chagrin how much younger and more
attractive he looked as he responded smilingly to the twins' excited
chatter. He could be pleasant when he wanted to, it seemed.
Keep on walking, she prayed silently, as the gelding drew level with
her. Oh, please keep going.
But he didn't, of course. As he reined the horse in, it tossed its head
and executed a neat sideways dance. Sandie caught her breath,
hoping against hope to see Flynn Killane being dumped on his
arrogant head in the sand. But to her annoyance Flynn controlled his
mount effortlessly, bringing it to a docile standstill.
Sandie, bitterly aware of him looming over her, made herself meet
his gaze, and immediately wished she hadn't. Her swimsuit was
conventional in the extreme, cut high on the hip, and square across
her small, firm breasts, but the way he was looking at her, she could
have been naked, she realised with a swift shock of embarrassment.
She'd never been deliberately mentally undressed by a man before,
and helpless colour rose in her face as Flynn's eyes surveyed her
with merciless and explicit sexual curiosity. She was tempted to
snatch up the towel and hold it in front of her like a shield, but she
suspected that any such move on her part would only cause him
more cynical amusement, and refrained.
'Enjoying your afternoon of leisure, Miss Beaumont?' His voice was
silky.
'More than I enjoyed this morning,' Sandie returned shortly, and he
laughed.
'Really? So, my mother gave you a hard time, did she? Maybe
Crispin should have warned you that when she picks up the cudgels
on anyone's behalf, there's invariably a price to be paid.'
'Crispin wasn't around to warn me.'
'Well, that's another thing you'll have to accustom yourself to,
darling, if you remain with us for any length of time. Crispin deals
with his problems by running away from them.'
'Oh, I shall be staying, Mr Killane.' She gave him a defiant look. 'I
thought that question had already been settled.'
'Don't count on a thing, Miss Beaumont.' He was smiling, but the