A Gift for a Lion (16 page)

The darkening of the sky over the sea and a faint, distant rumble of thunder sent them speeding back to the
palazzo
eventually, the first heavy drops of rain beginning to fall as the great iron gates rolled silently back to admit them to the courtyard.

Joanna went straight up to her room, pleading a slight headache, and she used the same excuse when Josef brought the inevitable invitation for her to dine in the
sola
. He exclaimed at her pale cheeks and over-bright eyes and went away to fetch a carafe of chilled fruit juice and some pain-killers, and later brought her a tray with iced consommé, and a thick meat stew redolent of herbs and wine. Joanna ate more than she would have believed possible, considering that she felt every bite might choke her, but she firmly refused the cherry gateau which was offered to her as a sweet, explaining glibly that she needed to watch her figure.

Josef was inclined to pooh-pooh the excuse.

'The
signorina
could do with a little weight,' he said running an admonitory eye over her slender contours. 'In my country we like our women to be well rounded.'

'Where is your country, Josef?' Joanna asked, remembering that in one of their earliest exchanges he had told her he was not Italian.

The neat, dark features became oddly sorrowful for a moment. 'I have no country now,
signorina
,' he replied quietly. 'But my home is with the
signore
.'

Joanna looked down at the tray, suddenly unwilling to probe further.

'Is—is Signorina Fallone—well rounded?' she asked, trying to give the conversation a different turn and immediately regretting it.

'The Signorina Fallone?' Josef's eyes took on a distinct twinkle, so her ploy had worked to some extent. 'She has the body of a Venus,' he admitted candidly. 'But that is now. What she will be like when ten years have passed - is in the hands of the good God.' And he went off chuckling, apparently at the future prospect of the Signorina as a plump Italian matron.

Joanna sighed as she took two of the tablets he had brought for her headache. The sky outside the window had a leaden look, interspersed with jagged flashes of lightning and the rumble of thunder was getting louder all the time. She would be glad when the full force of the storm broke and perhaps her headache would improve. She took a cool shower and went to bed, hoping the tablets would help her sleep in spite of the storm.

She awoke with a start to find the room suddenly lit up as if by technicolor and a noise above her head which suggested the entire roof of the
palazzo
was collapsing inwards. No need to wonder what had woken her, she thought exasperatedly. She could hear a steady splashing and realised with annoyance that she had left the shutters open when she fell asleep and that rain was splashing in on to the bedroom floor through the iron grille across the open window.

She got out of bed and tiptoed across to fasten the heavy shutters, avoiding the slight puddles that had already formed. The storm seemed to be directly overhead and the lightning was so intense that she could manage her task without having to switch on the electric light. She was reluctant to use the light anyway, in case the storm had somehow affected the current.

The shutters in place, she felt her way back to the dressing chest and reached into the top drawer for the torch which had come with the rest of her things from the
Luana
.

She would go to the bathroom, she thought, and fetch a towel to mop up the water on the floor. She let herself out into the passage and stood listening for a moment. The luminous dial on her wristwatch revealed that it was past two o'clock in the morning, so Josef's tablets had given her a reasonable rest. The only trouble was, she was now wide awake and apparently the only person in the
palazzo
who was. No one else seemed to be stirring at all in spite of the violence of the storm. They must either have nerves of steel or ear-plugs, Joanna thought as a particularly reverberating crash seemed to make the whole building shake.

She had completed her mopping up operations and returned the damp towel to the bathroom when a thought occurred to her. If she was the only person awake, this was her ideal opportunity to have a look round the
palazzo
without Nick's overseeing eye observing her every move. She might even get into Leo Vargas' study and recover her passport and other papers which were still in his possession. She hesitated, aware that she still had no means of getting off the island even if she did find her passport, then squared her shoulders resolutely. At least it would be a step towards regaining her freedom.

It was a move she needed to make for her own self-respect.

She slipped back into her room and put on the peignoir which matched her midnight blue chiffon nightdress, then crept in bare feet down the dark corridor towards the main gallery.

She stood at the head of the stairs and listened intently. The lightning flickered intermittently through the windows below her, making the shadows dance and recede. Although she could hear nothing but the storm, she had the curious sensation that somewhere close at hand she was being watched. She shivered slightly and drew the peignoir closer around her as she began her descent of the stairs. There couldn't be anyone there, she told herself reassuringly, or she would have been certain to have been challenged and sent back to her room. Nevertheless the feeling persisted as she reached the great hall and looked back up towards the gallery.

She half ran across the hall to the door of Leo Vargas' study. It was unlocked and the ornate handle twisted easily under the pressure of her fingers. She crept into the room and closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she assessed her surroundings. She could hardly believe the comparatively short period of time that had elapsed since she woke up behind the screen in the corner and saw Leo Vargas sitting at his desk, yet in that time her life seemed to have changed completely. She thought sadly and with a certain detachment of that girl she had been, so sure of herself and her place in the scheme of things. Now she was sure of nothing.

She walked across to the desk and hesitated at the array of drawers with which she was confronted. She might as well be methodical, she thought, and began on the left-hand side, working her way downwards. The contents seemed disappointingly ordinary. There was nothing to give her any clue about whom or what the Vorghese cousins were concealing in the hidden area of the
palazzo
, but she hadn't expected to find anything. But nor was there any sign of her passport. She bit her lip in vexation and began on the other side of the desk, trying not to disarrange the neat piles of business papers and folders that the drawers contained. But her search was fruitless. Even the dossier he had prepared on her was nowhere to be found. She closed the last drawer with a sigh and stared around her, sending the increasingly feeble light from her torch playing over the closely packed shelves of books.

It was far more the room of a dedicated business man who found his recreation in reading than that of a master criminal, Joanna thought, her mind unwillingly creating the arresting, virile image of the man whose refuge this was. It was such a totally masculine environment with not one concession made to the luxury found elsewhere in the
palazzo
, as if its owner was determined to stamp his own very individual personality on this one area at least.

Suddenly Joanna wanted the comfort and security of her own room again. She went out into the hall and made for the staircase, but halfway up she hesitated again. At the other end of the gallery in that maze of passages was the door which had been locked when Nick took her on their tour. This might be the best opportunity she would ever have to find out if it was still mysteriously locked, and if not, what lay behind it.

She swallowed nervously, recognising the hazards involved. What if there really was a gang of dangerous men hiding there? Even a little knowledge could be a dangerous thing under such circumstances and she had to realise the fact that total knowledge could be fatal. Her safest move would be to go back to her room and try to sleep.

Determinedly she turned her back on the gallery leading to her part of the house and plunged down the opposite corridor. If she was ever to convince the authorities that Leo Vargas had broken the law, then she would need proof, whatever risk might be involved in obtaining it.

She caught her breath uneasily as she realised she would have to pass the door of his own suite to reach the passage in question, but all remained silent as she moved stealthily past on her bare feet and reached the archway covered by the crimson velvet curtain. The thunder crackled ominously as she drew back the curtain and peered down the short passage, at the end of which was the door, still inimically shut. It was like a warning, she thought, suppressing the nervous giggle that rose in her throat, and then the torch flickered and went out. She stood quite still in the darkness for a moment, waiting for the next lightning flash to give her her bearings. She felt her way down the wall to the door and groped for the handle. But the latch would not budge even when she pushed her entire weight against it.

Another wild goose chase, she thought despondently, as she emerged into the main corridor and let the curtain fall back into place behind her. There was nothing for it but to go back to bed.

She wished her torch was still working as the shadows ahead of her shifted and diffused. One of them seemed more solid than the others, and again she experienced the uncanny sensation of being watched by unseen eyes.

From the darkness, below the rumble of the thunder and separate from it, came the low-throated snarl of an animal. The solid shadow detached itself and came forward, and Joanna's heart leaped into her throat. A dog, she thought. It's only a dog.

Her knees felt suddenly weak and she leaned against the wall, waiting for the thudding of her pulses to calm. She held out a shaking hand, whispering, 'Here, boy!'

But the dog did not respond. He stood his ground and that low, unearthly snarl brought the hair rising on the nape of her neck.

'Here, boy! Good dog/,'she whispered again, puzzled. She had been used to dogs all her life, liked them and was accustomed to their friendship in return.

The corridor was suddenly alight with the strange brilliance of the storm, and she knew then why the animal had not come to her. It was not a type she had ever previously encountered who stood a few paces from her, his ears laid back and his lip rising from his fangs in another of those blood-chilling snarls. It was a breed she had rarely ever seen before, except in television newsreel pictures of incidents where people had been savaged by guard dogs.

The thunder crashed over the house, but it was nothing to the noise of her own racing heart. She crouched back motionless against the wall, one hand protectively at her throat, the other gripping the useless torch, her only means of defence if—when the dog sprang. Had those red, savage eyes been those she had sensed were watching her as she went downstairs? The dog must have tracked every yard of her progress since she had left her room, she thought unsteadily, and now it had her cornered and was moving in to the attack.

The lightning flickered again and Joanna saw the dog's muscles bunching as it prepared to spring. She screamed then, helpless with terror as the darkness came thundering back and she waited for the impact of harsh fur and bone and muscle against her flesh.

But even as her own cry died in her ears, she felt the solid mass of the wall behind her moving—giving way, and someone was gripping her shoulders, dragging her backwards away from the terror that waited in the darkness into a light that dazzled her eyes.