'How convenient,' he said pleasantly. His pen paused and he looked at her for the first time since she had entered the room. The hazel eyes had a strange, opaque quality, quite empty of expression.
Ignoring her sinking heart Sarah rushed untidily into her story, about Roy and the trip, and the hot water cylinder, and his habit of falling asleep in the bath. Shorn of background and atmosphere it sounded painfully thin, even to Sarah. The more she became aware of it the more tangled her explanation became. He listened with an impassive, unblinking, lack of interest for a few minutes before cutting in as she faltered for a third time:
'What are you so uptight about? Forget it, Sarah, it doesn't matter.' He smiled, a thin unpleasant smile that went no further than a faint movement of the lips. 'Postmortems bore me.'
He bent his head again, adding, a few seconds later when he became aware that she was still standing there, stunned:
'Teresa's waiting for you in the studio. Let's get this over and done with, shall we?'
Nobody, but nobody, ignored Max when he spoke in that clipped, impatient fashion, not even Sarah at her bravest, and at that moment her bravery was at its lowest ebb. His studied indifference had a devastating effect on her self-confidence. Did he really care so little? Or was it all a front? With Max it was difficult to tell.
Sarah stretched out a hand to touch the dress which hung alongside the mirror. Perhaps he wouldn't be so indifferent when he saw her in that. He had been mildly complimentary at the fitting and mild approval from Max was equivalent of rave reviews from anyone else. Perhaps he needed something to jolt him into remembrance of what they had shared, of the husky words of promise he had murmured to her last night. This dress could do it, if anything could. It was beautiful.
The long, pure silk dress was the same toffee-apple-red colour as her lips, the broad straps supporting a low, square-cut bodice, the narrow waist stitched in a V-shape at the front, giving the dress a slightly medieval look, with the skirt falling in soft folds to the floor. Over the bodice fitted a high-necked, long-sleeved silk chiffon camisole, embroidered with dark red sequins, fluttering to a scarfed hem at waist-level.
'Sorry to be so long,' Teresa bounced through the door carrying a pair of strappy red high-heeled shoes which she stood neatly under the hanging dress. ‘I must learn to organise myself more . . . Now, where was I? A dab of freshener to set you, I think. Are they ready yet, do you know?'
'Mike's still setting up.' Sarah closed her eyes as the other girl dabbed on some cold, fragrant lotion with a cotton wool ball. Then with a flick of her wrist she whipped off Sarah's cloak of towels, eyeing the two wisps of lace which were all she wore underneath.
'I know you complain about skinniness being the fashion, but I wouldn't mind a few of your curves. It's almost a pity to put on the dress. If you walked around like that you wouldn't have to worry about make-up. No one would look at you above the neck!'
'This is supposed to be an Autumn Collection,' Sarah grinned, used to Teresa's frankness by now.
'That's better. You looked a bit down in the mouth—' she broke off as the door swung open behind them. Sarah's whole body tensed as she saw the reflection of their visitor.
'You could have knocked,' Teresa said, in her mildly bossy tone.
'Sarah's not shy. Are you, Sarah?' Her heartbeat accelerated as she briefly met sardonic eyes in the mirror. Was he going to say something in front of Teresa? She looked hastily around for her towels, but they had already been stuffed into the laundry bag in the far corner of the room and not for anything was Sarah going to stand up and expose herself to that subjective appraisal.
'That's not the point,' said Teresa, unaware of the undercurrents. 'It can be most off-putting to have people barging in on you unexpectedly.'
Fortunately, Max wasn't required to make a reply for at that moment Julie poked her head around the half-open door.
'Excuse me, Max. I know you're not set up yet, can I borrow Teresa for a few minutes? I need some advice and I might not get the chance to ask her later on.'
'Ten minutes,' said Max, not taking his eyes off Sarah.
'Thanks.' She disappeared and Teresa took off her thin protective wrap and hung it on the hook on the back of the door.
'Don't do anything I wouldn't do,' she said cheekily, as she scampered out after Julie.
The skin prickled all the way down Sarah's bare spine but she controlled the impulse to squirm. He had taken off the light jacket he had worn in the office, she noted as her eyes avoided his, to reveal a cool white shirt, tailored in some rough linen weave, tucked into oatmeal trousers with a snakeskin belt. He had rolled up his sleeves for work in the hot studio and undone two shirt buttons, and the black mist of body hair on his forearms and rising from his chest brought back memories that made Sarah swallow nervously. She cleared her throat. By now she should be used to the way that Max used silence as an intimidating weapon.
'Would you mind passing me that wrap behind you?'
'A bit late to worry about covering yourself up, isn't it?' he said laconically.
'It's quite cool in here,' Sarah said with incredible casualness.
'Odd. Such a small room. And no air-conditioning.'
There wasn't either, Sarah suddenly noticed, and flushed furiously, glaring at him. He was using that sarcastic, supercilious voice she so detested. The more so because she suspected it was assumed. He wasn't looking in the least bored.
'And I don't like being stared at,' she said rashly.
'You surprise me.' Icicles dripped from every syllable.
'I thought that was what interested you . . my unexpectedness,' she mocked softly and for a moment the bored mask slipped and hazel eyes blazed yellowly at her, to be veiled immediately. But Sarah felt a surge of triumph. She had penetrated that blank façade, now she must cut off his retreat. Get his anger out in the open where she could fight it. She twisted round in the chair to look at him properly. He was a long way up. 'Do you think that I'm an exhibitionist simply because I have my picture painted?' She caught the thought which hardened his face. 'All right, it was in the nude but Roy is a fine artist, a serious and dedicated man. I wouldn't have posed otherwise.'