A Gift for a Lion (7 page)

She found some sachets of a herbal shampoo on one of the shelves and thoroughly washed and rinsed her hair under the shower, towelling it vigorously until it hung in damply curling tendrils around her face. Then she filled the bath with steaming scented water and began to soap herself in a leisurely manner. If it were not for the locked doors and the fact that she was not at liberty to leave the island if she wished, she could be quite happy in these surroundings, she thought drily. Of course her lack of wardrobe would soon cause a serious problem, but… the soap slipped from her hand as something that had been teasing her consciousness thrust itself sharply into the forefront of her mind. That little man had said something about her luggage—that it would soon be here. But how could that be? Surely Tony and the others would not simply hand over her clothes to strangers without question. If so, the note that the
signore
had sent must have been convincing in the extreme, and it annoyed her that she had no idea what he had said in it.

For a moment, she toyed with the idea that Tony would come himself with her clothes, but had to admit it was a forlorn hope. If he believed, as the
signore
had hinted, that she had deserted the cruise because a more attractive invitation had come her way, he would probably be hurt and angry. And Paul and Mary would only be too glad to believe the worst of her behaviour, she realised ruefully.

She got out of the bath and wrapped herself in a huge bathsheet. It really seemed as if there was very little to prevent the
signore
from keeping her on Saracina, just as he had said. And she was still at a loss to understand the reason for her enforced stay. Her body dried, she picked up the black silk robe with a sour expression. It was nauseating having to wear a garment of his. She must ask the servant to bring back her bikini and the towelling shift, which must surely be dry by now. She tied the sash of the robe and looked at herself critically. She felt altogether fresher and more able to cope with whatever the evening might bring, as she knocked on the door for the manservant to release her.

He must have been waiting for her signal, for he appeared almost at once.

'The
signorina
would like to rest before dinner?' It was a statement rather than a question as he took her arm and led her gently but firmly back towards her black and silver prison. Joanna hung back a little.

'Won't you tell me your name?' she asked, again trying one of her most devastating smiles.

'I am Josef,
signorina
.'

'Oh.' Joanna digested that for a moment. 'Then you are not Italian, even though your master is.' She could at least establish the nationality of her captor, she thought triumphantly.

'You are correct,
signorina
. I am not Italian. Please enjoy your rest.'

She looked at the closed door, wondering why she should feel so ridiculously snubbed, when God knew that was the least of her troubles.

She had never felt less like resting in her life. It was beginning to get really dark, and she switched on the pendant lamp which hung in the centre of the room, and the two lamps with silken shades that stood on each side of the bed. As she did so, she saw that another light had come on as well, a light above a painting that she had not really noticed before, hanging on the wall by the door directly opposite the bed.

Her curiosity aroused, she went over to have a look at it and gasped in amazement. For a moment she thought it was an actual portrait of the man downstairs, then she saw that the man in the painting was wearing the clothes of a bygone century and that the canvas itself had the patina of great age.

But it could almost have been the
signore
, his tawny hair hanging smoothly under a little jewelled cap, one hand raised to display the hooded falcon which sat obediently on his wrist. Another prisoner in the dark, she thought ironically.

The portrait was certainly an original, although she could not recognise the signature that was barely visible on the canvas. There were other words too, dim against the dark background, and with a sudden excitement she realised they could well be the name of the sitter, which was often included in the portraits of notables in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. She was hazy about historical costume, but it seemed to her that the velvet doublet opening over a snowy shirt probably belonged more to the earlier period, and she fetched the stool from the dressing chest and stood on it to get a better look.

Even the eyes were the same, she realised, oddly disquieted. Almost topaz in colour, they stared enigmatically down at her as if mocking her attempt to discover the identity of her jailer. It must be her imagination that the firm lips even seemed to quirk a little as she peered more closely. To her disappointment, the words were too old and indistinct for her to decipher, and she climbed down feeling as if she had merely encountered yet another brick wall.

With a sigh she wandered restlessly to the window and stared out through the tracery of wrought iron. She gripped part of the grille and tried to shake it, but it was immovable as a rock and she struck at it, aware even as she did so of the complete futility of the gesture.

It occurred to her for the first time that she was hungry and that the chicken rolls she had eaten on the beach had been a long time ago. That was why she felt so depressed, she told herself resolutely. Josef had mentioned dinner, so it was obviously no part of his master's plan to starve her. Besides, this bedroom was nothing like the popular conception of an
oubliette
, she decided, forcing a wry grin at her too-vivid imagination.

But there were so many questions still to be answered that it was small wonder that she was tending to overreact. She looked back over the happenings of the last few hours with a kind of dazed amazement. She had been soaked, kidnapped, threatened and frightened to the edge of panic and beyond. She shuddered again as she remembered her arrival at the
palazzo
and that warning growl from the animal she could not see. What was that phrase she had once read—'the terror that walks about in darkness'? With a shiver, she felt she understood what that meant now.

So it seemed the lion did exist, after all, but surely it must be a tame one, judging by the unfussed reaction from her guards. And yet was any wild animal ever really tamed? she thought, and wondered why the cold, proud face of the master of Saracina should be suddenly so vivid in her mind.

She walked back across the room to the bed, and looked down at it restlessly. How long could one go without sleep? she asked herself, because she was sure she would be too disturbed ever to relax in this room. And when she did lie in this bed, would she be alone? She bit her lip, as a strange quiver ran through her body at the thought.

She turned and stared at the portrait again. The likeness was quite incredible, even down to the same blatant sensual attraction, she thought bitterly. Had that unknown noble of long ago been as aware of his own sexual power as the man downstairs undoubtedly was? She thought it only too likely.

She was so immersed in her own thoughts that she did not notice the noise straight away, and when she did, she did not place it immediately. Instinctively she moved closer to the window and stared out through the grille, gazing up in astonishment at the helicopter coming in above the roof of the
palazzo
. It was so low that she could almost see the faces of the men sitting in it, and incredulously she thought, It's going to land.'

This was a new development, and no mistake. People who came by sea were forced away with guns, or arrested, yet others apparently could fly in and out as they wished. And it meant too that there was an alternative means of leaving the island. Joanna found she was weighing up the chances of being able to stow away on board a helicopter, and allowed herself a wry laugh. First, she had to get out of this room, and heaven only knew how she was to find her way out of the
palazzo
, let alone discover the whereabouts of the landing strip. But nevertheless she felt the first stirrings of hope at this evidence that Saracina did have some contact with the outside world, a contact that in some not yet conceivable way she might be able to turn to her advantage.

She strained her ears, but she could not hear the sound of the helicopter's engine, which could mean that it had already landed, perhaps even in the
palazzo
grounds themselves.

She swung round with a start as the key turned in the lock and Josef entered carrying a tray which held a decanter of sherry and two glasses.

'The
signore
has asked me to tell you that he will do himself the honour to dine with you this evening,
signorina
,' he announced, setting the tray down on a small antique table.

'Well,' Joanna shrugged, 'I suppose I'm in no position to refuse, so you had better tell him that I too shall be honoured. That is if he feels he can leave his other guests.'

'Other guests,
signorina
?' Was that a wary look she detected in Josef's dark eyes?

'Why, yes. The two men who just flew in by helicopter. Aren't they expected, or have they merely been locked in some other part of this jail?' Joanna made her voice as innocent as possible.

Josef bit his lip, obviously ill at ease. 'You are mistaken,
signorina
,' he said at last. 'No helicopter has landed on Saracina. And there are no guests at the
palazzo
other than yourself.'

Joanna gave him her sweetest smile. 'Anything you say, Josef,' she said lightly, but her mind was working overtime. So their arrival was meant to be a secret, she thought. There's something going on in this place. Something that Lorenzo the Magnificent downstairs doesn't want anyone from outside to know about. Now what could the
magnifico
be trying to hide?

It could be worth her while trying to find out, she decided with a private smile, ignoring that annoying inner voice that kept insisting that anyone who went to such lengths to guard his privacy and the secrets it contained as the master of Saracina probably had excellent reasons for doing so, and would deal quite ruthlessly with anyone who tried to meddle in his concerns.

As soon as Josef had departed, Joanna walked towards the dressing chest and surveyed herself critically in the mirror. Her eyes were over-large in her small pointed face, but the effect was not unattractive. It was a pity she could not change, but the expensive silk of the robe made her golden tan glow in contrast. She picked up the flask of scent and laid the crystal stopper against the pulses in her wrists and throat, before drawing a delicate line of fragrance between her breasts. She hesitated over the cosmetics, then contented herself with simply adding a soft coppery sheen to her lips.

Her eyes danced as she regarded herself for a moment, then she walked over to the tray and poured herself a glass of the pale dry sherry.

She turned to the portrait on the wall and lifted her glass in a smiling toast.

'Now, my noble lord. Let's find out if you are human after all,' she whispered under her breath.