Authors: Sara Craven
'What are you doing here alone?' he demanded. 'I thought you had gone with Nick and your father. Have you been by yourself since lunch?'
She shook her head. 'I'm meeting them at a bar near here in a few minutes. I'm—I'm quite all right, thank you. You don't have to bother about me.'
'You may no longer be my prisoner,
signorina
,' he said coldly, 'but you are still my guest. Please join us.'
Looking past him she saw Marisa Fallone, her sleek dark head protected from the slight breeze by a scarf of the same gold colour as her dress, sitting at a table on the pavement outside a small bar.
Joanna hung back. 'I don't want to intrude,' she began, before his hand clamped round her arm and she was marched quite inexorably towards the table.
She arrived feeling ruffled both by the breeze and her unceremonious passage. Marisa looked up, and her eyebrows rose as she darted the younger girl a look of sheer icy displeasure.
'Signorina Leighton?' Her voice was equally arctic. 'I thought you were—on the beach with Nicky.'
Joanna's eyes narrowed dangerously. 'That's tomorrow,' she replied with deceptive demureness. 'Today he's buying me a new bucket and spade.'
'Very amusing,' Marisa smiled mirthlessly, crossing slender legs exquisitely clad in the sheerest nylon. She looked far more suited to one of the sophisticated pavement bars of the Via Veneto than a small
trattoria
on Saracina—like an exotic lily that had bloomed by mistake in a vegetable patch, Joanna decided with an involuntary smile.
She accepted the glass of wine Leo poured for her with a quiet word of thanks and sipped it, conscious that his eyes were on her. Marisa began to talk to him in a swift flood of Italian, but he halted her with an upraised hand.
'Speak English, Marisa,' he suggested. 'Otherwise Joanna will not be able to follow what we say.'
Marisa apologised sweetly, accompanying it with a look of real venom, which told Joanna quite clearly that it had not been her intention to include her in the conversation. She was frankly relieved to see her father and Nick approaching.
'I see another boat has put in,' Sir Bernard began as he sat down. 'You seem to have made a thorough job of the evacuation while you were about it, Leo.'
He nodded. 'Here in the town it was a purely voluntary thing, of course. I could only suggest, not order or demand.'
'But did none of the men want to know why—what was going on?'
Leo shrugged. 'Perhaps over the years, I have made them realise I have their best interests at heart,' he said. 'They are my people and they trust me.'
'You're a fortunate man.' Sir Bernard smiled approvingly. 'I wish I could have inspired similar feelings in my men when I was a young officer.'
Leo's mouth twisted slightly. 'Maybe if they had been under your command for five hundred years, you would,' he said.
Under cover of the general conversation that followed, Joanna stole a look at Leo Vargas. He was sitting opposite her, his eyes fixed on the dark red wine in his glass, smiling faintly as he listened to Sir Bernard's not-too-serious theories on how to apply Royal naval discipline to the Mediterranean temperament. She had once thought him cold and proud, she recalled incredulously, her eyes dwelling on the firm rather sensual lines of his mouth.
'Joanna.' Nick touched her arm, bringing her out of her wistful reverie. 'What is it,
cara
? You have hardly spoken a word to me all afternoon.'
She suppressed a little sigh as she turned to him. 'I'm sorry, Nick, I don't think I'm in the mood for social chit-chat. Will you take me back to the
palazzo
?'
He agreed at once, jumping up to help her to rise from her chair, making sure she had her bag and generally fussing round her in a way that immediately made them both the centre of attention, Joanna realised vexedly.
'Is the heat too much for you, Signorina Leighton?' Marisa Fallone inquired solicitously. 'Poor child, I would close the shutters in your room and rest on your bed before dinner if I were you.' Her tone managed to suggest that if Joanna obeyed, she might just be allowed to dine with the grown-ups after all. While she was still trying to think of a reply which would put the older woman firmly in her place without playing into her hands by being schoolgirlishly rude, Nick took her arm and hurried her away.
'That woman!' Joanna raged when they were out of earshot.
Nick laughed a little indulgently. 'You must forgive her,
cara
. She wants so much to become the Princess Vorghese and she knows that time is running out for her.'
'Do you think that Leo—will marry her?' She forced herself to speak steadily.
Nick shrugged. 'Who knows?' he replied vaguely. 'He must marry one day if he wants an heir, and Marisa has been his'—he paused delicately—'good friend for some time. At least they would have no illusions about one another. She wants his title and his money. He would get a decorative wife who would turn a blind eye to his other —little diversions.'
Joanna stared down at the cobbled street. 'It seems an ideal arrangement,' she managed. 'But I thought Leo— Prince Vorghese did not use his title.'
'No more he does, but Marisa has other ideas. She will probably have her own way of persuading him to think again if they decide to marry.'
'Why did you say time was running out for her?'
'Because in the circles in which she moves she is no longer young to be still unmarried. She needs to establish herself.'
'Doesn't she have a career of any kind?'
Nick burst out laughing. 'Marisa? Can you imagine her,
card
, behind a desk or breaking her nails on a typewriter? She has a share in an interior decorating business in Rome, I believe, but she does not work there herself, merely provides the connections from among her acquaintances.'
Joanna shook her head. It occurred to her that this was very much the kind of life her father would prefer her to lead, with no demands upon her time and energy except his, leading ultimately to a respectable marriage. Perhaps one day she might even have found herself in the same position as Marisa Fallone, she thought with a sigh, searching desperately for a husband against the competition from younger, lovelier girls.
Nick put his arm round her. 'Why do you sigh, little one?'
'I was just thinking—it's not a particularly enviable situation for a woman to be in,' she replied gravely, and could have kicked herself as his friendly arm immediately become more loverlike.
'You need have no fears,
carissima
. You have only to say the word and we will be married as soon as you wish.'
'No, Nick.' She freed herself a little desperately. 'That isn't at all what I meant. Anyway, I don't want to get married—at least not for some time. I want to build a career and some sort of life for myself first.'
'Hm.' Nick's voice was cold and speculative. 'You are not totally convincing,
cara
. Are you sure you do not also dream of becoming the Princess Vorghese?' He looked at the stricken look in her eyes and the sudden colour flaring in her cheeks, and swore angrily under his breath. '
Dio mio
, Joanna, haven't I told you that it is useless to think of Leo in that way? Sleep with him if you must and get him out of your system, but don't fool yourself that you'll ever tame him into becoming one of your docile English husbands. He would break your heart, and then break you.'
Joanna bent her head wretchedly. 'I think this discussion is pointless,' she said. 'Your cousin doesn't feature in any of my plans for the future, I promise you, any more than I do in his.'
But Nick had relapsed into a sullen silence which lasted until they reached the car and during the short drive back to the
palazzo
. Joanna was quite relieved when the brief journey was over and she was able to escape to her room and be alone with her thoughts, even though they were not of the happiest.
Nick's temper remained chilly over the next two or three days, but at least she did not have to fend off any more unwanted attempts to make love to her, Joanna thought a little guiltily.
She spent most of her time with her father, who was in a particularly relaxed and jovial mood. She even dared broach her decision to try her luck as a photographic model on their return, and although he argued with her about the necessity to carve out a career for herself, he did not raise any of the serious opposition she had feared.
Towards the end of the week, the party at the
palazzo
was augmented by the arrival of one of Leo's executives, Antonio Ferrante, his wife Tina and their children, attractive boy and girl twins of seventeen. Young Gino Ferrante made it flatteringly evident that Joanna was his ideal woman while his sister Lucia attached herself to Nick, so Joanna found new and cheerful company without having to be thrown too closely together with Nick, which suited her very well.
As it was her first visit to the
palazzo
, Lucia wanted to be shown the Vorghese portrait, and at dinner that evening, she buoyantly announced her envy of Joanna.
'Imagine to wake in the morning with his eyes upon you,' she shuddered deliciously. 'Are you not thrilled, Joanna, to sleep in that room?'
Remembering her original reactions to the Vorghese room and to the Lion's portrait, Joanna flushed a little, particularly when she intercepted a sardonic look from Leo Vargas. She was saved having to reply by a drawled intervention from Marisa Fallone, strikingly beautiful in a black evening gown with a very low neckline.
'I have often slept in that room,
piccola
. The Lion did not disturb my dreams, I assure you.' She gave an artificial little laugh.
Lucia gazed at her solemnly. 'Perhaps Joanna is more —
romantica
than you, Signorina Fallone,' she said with all the guilelessness of the young.
Joanna could have groaned with embarrassment, especially when she caught sight of the two bright spots of colour burning in Marisa's face. She could see Signora Ferrante desperately seeking for a new topic of conversation to cover up the awkward moment, when Leo Vargas cut in easily, speaking directly to Lucia.
'You have fallen in love with a legend, little one. I doubt if you would have found the reality quite so pleasant, but if it is romance you are seeking I have another Lion to show you after dinner—and another legend.'
Joanna had intended to remain behind in the
salotto
while the others went to see the stone lion, but her plan was foiled by Lucia who insisted volubly that she had to come and threatened to enlist Gino's help in carrying her if she did not come willingly. Joanna could see from Marisa Fallone's sneer that it might be thought she was simply trying to draw attention to herself by her desire to stay behind, so she agreed rather wearily to accompany them.
In the event, she hung back and walked with Signora Ferrante, a plump attractive woman in her late thirties who had lived in London for varying periods during her married life and was anxious to know if all her favourite shops and restaurants still existed. It was a pleasant undemanding conversation and by the time they had strolled slowly through the grounds and out on to the clifftop, the group around the statue had dispersed a little. Sir Bernard and Signor Ferrante were standing, smoking cigars and looking out to sea as they talked in low voices. Gino and Nick were hunting round for pebbles for a competition to see which of them could throw them furthest into the sea.
Marisa was leaning gracefully against the stone lion, smoking a cigarette. She looked bored and not in the best of tempers, perhaps because Leo was sprawled on the grass some yards away watching amusedly as Lucia tried to make a flower garland from the wild blossoms growing around her. Obviously, she had been inspired by the legend, Joanna thought wryly.
'Oh!' Lucia made a noise like an affronted kitten and flung her wilting and despondent blooms away from her. 'I cannot do it. Joanna, will you show me, si?'
Joanna heaved an inward sigh, and complied, showing Lucia how to pierce the stems carefully with her nail.
'This probably isn't the way the girls in the fifteenth century did it, but it's the way I was shown how to make daisy chains when I was a little girl,' she said, kneeling on the ground beside Lucia. Signora Ferrante broke in, concerned about the girls' eyes in the fading light, and Joanna hastily threaded the remaining stems together and placed the finished result on Lucia's head.
'Oh, no, Joanna.' Lucia reached up and detached the fragile circlet of flowers with immense care. It is your garland and you must wear it. Bend your head a little. There! Now you look like a bride,' she added triumphantly.
Joanna felt the colour flood her face. She wanted to tear the inoffensive garland off and trample it, but she knew that such behaviour would only attract unwanted attention. Far better to smile and treat it as the gentle and rather charming joke that her father and the Ferrantes thought it.
Marisa pulled herself away from the statue. 'Brr, it grows chilly,' she remarked to no one in particular. 'Shall we return to the house?'
There was a murmur of agreement led by Signora Ferrante, who was drawing her elegant black crocheted shawl further round her plump shoulders. Joanna waited until nearly everyone had moved off, then she pulled the flowers from her hair and let them fall to the ground before going over to her father and tucking her hand through his arm. He was deep in business talk with Signor Ferrante and paid her little attention beyond an absent smile, but Joanna had long inured herself to her father's list of priorities and his casual attitude no longer had any power to upset her.
They were almost back at the house when Joanna realised that her small kid evening bag was still on the grass at the foot of the statue where she had dropped it when she knelt to help Lucia with her flowers. There was still just sufficient light for her to be able to find it without too much difficulty and with a swift word of explanation, she headed back through the grounds.
She found it at once and as she bent to pick it up, she noticed that the garland of flowers, already wilting, was lying close by. On an impulse, she gathered up the flowers and stood looking down at them, a forlorn little mass of blossom in the palm of her hand. A bride, Lucia had said, but it was not only brides who had brought flowers to the lion, she thought, remembering what Nick had said. No island girl would have been sufficiently daring to have told the Lion of Saracina that she wanted him to his face. The flowers placed on the statue were like some ancient measure in a dance of courtship, as tentative as the taking of a hand. And if her overlord decided to leave the flowers ungathered on the statue to die and eventually to fall, then no one would know except the girl herself, and at least her humiliation would be private.