Portrait of a Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

inquisition, she would have frozen up, but she answered easily and truthfully, “We couldn’t afford it. Money was always tight in my house.”
    “But you did go to art school.”
    “Yes. I got into Cooper Union.” She rested her cheek on her updrawn knees. “It’s a terrific school in New York City that gives degrees in architecture, engineering, and fine arts. And the tuition is free.”
    “Free tuition. You can’t beat that.”
    She laughed. “No. And if it weren’t for Mrs. Simpson, I would never have known about it. As it was, I got four years of first-class training.”
    “And now you are on the road to success.”
    She sighed. “I hope so.”
    A comfortable silence descended between the two of them. Isabel thought Leo had fallen asleep. The sun was warm and she opened another button on her shirt. She had rolled up her sleeves before they left Charleston. She gazed out over the water and felt the warmth sinking into her. It was very peaceful. After a few minutes she turned to look at the man sleeping at her side. He was so beautifully blond, she thought. His lids opened, and eyes blue as the cobalt sky above looked into hers. Isabel felt her heartbeat accelerate.
    “I was falling asleep,” he said.
    “Don’t mind me.”
    He smiled and sat up effortlessly. He was very close to her, a fact that did nothing to slow the wild tapping of her heart.
    “Washington is so hectic that I really appreciate a chance to just relax.”
    “I know what you mean.” Isabel hoped her voice sounded normal. “New York is like that, too.”
    He was looking at her slender brown arm revealed by the rolled-up sleeve of her shirt. He reached out with gentle fingers and touched her forearm.
    “How did you get that?”
    He ran his finger along a thin, whitish scar that looked as if it had been there for many years. Isabel cleared her throat. “I fell when I was a child. On glass.” She turned her eyes away from him, fearing the sensations his touch awakened in her.
    He looked for a minute in silence at her averted head, so beautifully and proudly set on her long neck.
    “Look,” he said suddenly. “Over yonder.”
    Isabel followed his pointing finger to a sea bird in full flight carrying a fish in its long orange beak. “It’s a royal tern,” Leo said. “Their nesting grounds are all over the Sea Islands.”
    “It’s lovely,” said Isabel. He stood up and she followed his lead gratefully. It made her uncomfortable to be so close to him. “Do you play golf and tennis?” she asked as they resumed their interrupted walk.
    “I golf some,” he replied. An indefinable change of expression crossed his mouth. Isabel suddenly remembered why he had left football. He had had several operations on his knees, or so she had read in a sports magazine.
    “Football isn’t kind to knees,” she remarked neutrally.
    “No.”
    Isabel glanced at him walking beside her. His hands were in his pockets, his blond head bent a little forward. He sounded perfectly normal.
    “I have never understood this urge men seem to have to knock each other about,” she said astringently. “It makes no sense at all.”
    “I suppose it doesn’t—to women at least.”
    “What a condescending remark!”
    He stopped walking and turned to look at her. “Yours was scarcely complimentary,” he said, and raised his golden eyebrows.
    After a minute Isabel laughed. “I suppose it wasn’t. All right. About football, let us simply agree to disagree.”
    “I’ve gotten used to people disagreeing with me,” he said good-naturedly. “The senate does that for you.”
    “Do you like it?” she asked curiously. “Washington and being a senator, I mean.”
    “Yes,” he answered promptly. “Mama would say it was in the blood, that Sinclairs were born to govern.”
    He slowly walked forward again and Isabel fell into step beside him.
    “Perhaps I should paint you holding a sceptre and a crown.”
    “Don’t be funny,” he said as he took a hand out