She felt hot and dusty and not a little ill-tempered as she pushed back the long fair hair from her face, managing a brief smile at Michael as she did so. The journey had seemed interminable, and quite the most unpleasant part of the trip from London, although it was the shortest. Spanish railways, she felt, were definitely not to be recommended for the fastidious traveller. From the window she could see a small, rather ramshackle building which was presumably the station, and surrounded by what appeared to be an endless panorama of hills, fields and hot sunny stretches of valley. The rest of the party were already on their feet, talking among themselves, and apparently far less discomforted by the horrible little train than she was herself. She got up, thankful to stretch her legs, but reminded again that they would soon be meeting the great man at last. It had seemed like a good idea when her father had suggested she spend three months in Spain, indulging her talent for painting under the expert guidance of Miguel Cordova.
What do You think about The Golden Madonna (2011)?
