'Not until after we'd kissed,' said Sarah impishly, but Roy didn't smile, he looked quite white and taking pity on him Sarah told him all about her meeting with Max and their subsequent roller-coaster relationship. If any thing,
Roy began to look sicker, so she threw in the story about Images.
'Why the hell didn't you tell me all this?' he demanded hoarsely. 'You hardly ever mentioned him. I had no idea you had such close contacts with the guy!'
'I didn't want to talk about him,' said Sarah, aware of how lame that sounded. 'I didn't even think I liked him.'
'Oh God!' Roy buried his face in his hands.
'What's the matter?'
'You're not going to like this.' He lifted his head apologetically.
'Is it something you've heard about him? I probably know it already,' said Sarah confidently.
'Why do you think he immediately assumed that we were lovers, not just living together—or brother and sister, or cousins or something?'
'I told him I had no family here . . . and that I lived alone.' One way and another she had told him quite a bit about herself in the course of the evening.
'He and I have met before, Sarah.'
'You never told me,' she said, surprised.
'You never told me about you and him,' Roy pointed out. 'Anyway we only met this morning. At Carerra's gallery. He was opening the exhibition.'
A starburst exploded in Sarah's brain. Max's strange mood, his intense curiosity, the way he had looked at her and talked—the look on his face when she had let down her hair.
'You showed him the painting,' she breathed, appalled. 'You let him see it!' Her voice peaked on a squeak.
'No ... at least—' Roy spread spatulate hands helplessly. 'It was Carerra. When I said it was for sale overseas he dashed off and came back with Wilde in tow.'
Sarah groaned.
'I didn't know who he was,' protested Roy. 'Carerra was fluttering around like a mother hen, and when he got around to introducing us it was too late. I had no idea there was anything between you and Wilde—especially since I could have sworn he didn't recognise you. Why should he? The resemblance is quite slight to the casual eye.'
'His eye is never casual,' stressed Sarah. 'Well, he didn't say anything . . . although he did ask later who the model was.' 'Oh God—'
'But only in a casual way when we were discussing some technical points. I said you were a friend.'
'A friend,' echoed Sarah stupidly. No wonder Max had jumped to the wrong conclusion. That beautiful, damning painting. It gave her a strange, curling sensation in her stomach to think of him standing there before that canvas, studying her naked image. Somehow it seemed more indecent than when he had done so in the flesh.
'He didn't comment. Perhaps he didn't know it was you,' said Roy without hope.
'He knew all right.' Her skin tingled when she remembered the fire in Max's eyes when he saw her hair swirl down around her hips. 'But why didn't he say anything at dinner?'
'He would have to be insensitive not to realise why the painting wasn't being offered for public sale here. He was probably waiting for you to tell him.'
'It never even occurred to me,' said Sarah absently. He had given her several openings, she realised now, but she had ignored them. Such mundane matters had been far from her mind! 'What did he say about it?' she asked, stricken with curiosity.
' "Exceptionally fine",' Roy gave a creditable imitation of Max's drawl and grinned. 'Among other things. I rather liked him. Knows his art, has a shrewd intelligence, and wasn't the least impressed by Carerra's outrageous flattery.'
'So how come you were uptight about me coming back here with such an admirable character?'
He winced at her sarcasm. 'Brainstorm, darlin'; still half asleep, etc. As good at jumping to conclusions as he is.
I thought I'd read him all wrong, that he was one of those slimy creeps whose interest in art is covertly prurient. I thought he was getting his kicks from possessing the original of a work of art, so to speak.'
'You thought an awful lot in a very short time.'