Gift For A Lion

Shs got to her feet, slim and lithe in the minuscule black bikini, but somehow the golden day seemed less radiant, she thought.

In her attempt to be amenable, Joanna not only helped Mary prepare lunch but insisted on clearing away and washing up afterwards, while Mary sat in the most sheltered corner of the deck with a selection from the stock of paperback thrillers they had found in one of the fitted cupboards in the saloon.

As she tidied the last of the cutlery away and wiped down the surfaces, Joanna could hear the murmur of voices from the saloon and guessed that Paul and Tony had got the charts out to plan the next stage of their trip.

Tony loved sailing, she thought, pushing a strand of bright auburn hair back from her damp forehead. It was a pity in many ways that he had no boat of his own. He had been loaned Luana by the senior partner of the firm of architects where he and Paul both worked. Both the partner and his wife were keen sailors and kept the boat moored at Cannes, spending as much of the summer as they could in the South of France. This year, however, they had gone to Canada, where their eldest son was being married, and Tony and Paul had been offered the use of the boat.

Joanna looked round with slightly critical eyes. Luana was fine for two, she thought, but definitely crowded for four. Not for the first time, she toyed with the idea of persuading her father to give Tony and herself a boat as a wedding present. They could spend their honeymoon on board, she thought, at the same time acknowledging that her father would not really approve of the idea. She could almost hear his voice— ‘Behaving like a lot of damned hippies.'

His idea of a honeymoon would be a luxury hotel in Paris or Rome, she decided with amused impatience.

On the whole, he seemed quite pleased with the idea of her marrying Tony. His only complaint was that Tony had become an architect, instead of joining the Navy as his uncle had suggested, but eventually he admitted that at least this decision showed that the boy had some mind of his own. Tony must take after his father, Joanna thought, because both Mary and Aunt Laura were hardly strong characters. Her father had taken the whole family under his rather formidable wing when Anthony Leighton had died suddenly of a heart attack some years before. Mary and Joanna were only a few months apart in age, and Sir Bernard had arranged for them to attend the same school, apparently under the conviction that they would be ideal companions for each other. He had also hoped that Aunt Laura would provide Joanna with the mother she had lost while still a baby.

None of it had really worked out at all, Joanna thought ruefully. She and Mary had barely anything in common except the family name. Mary was inches shorter than she was and inclined to be dumpy, and she was sometimes quick to show resentment of her taller, more attractive cousin. And while Tony had always appeared totally oblivious to the difference in financial standing between both halves of the family, both Mary and Aunt Laura had made no secret of their awareness that they were the ‘poor relations’ of the Leighton family.

In a way, Joanna was thankful that Mary had met Paul and fallen in love with him and settled her own future so painlessly. She would no longer feel obliged to see that Mary received the same party invitations as herself. Not that Mary had ever been particularly grateful for Joanna's efforts to broaden her social life. Joanna had gone through a fairly prolonged art college phase, before eventually recognising the limitations of her talent, and Mary had not approved of the circle of friends she had acquired as a consequence. Mary had an almost suburban horror of ‘getting talked about', and Joanna admitted it was fair to say that some of the past exploits of members of her circle had enlivened the gossip columns of some of the less responsible daily papers, while she had grown quite accustomed to her own doings being highlighted in the social pages of glossy magazines.

On top of that, there had been regular battles with her father, who had condemned all her friends out of hand as ‘hippies and long-haired layabouts'. At first Tony had been someone to grumble to occasionally about her father's uncompromising attitude, but soon she began to enjoy his companionship for its own sake, and not merely because he was her cousin and happened to be handy. Probably that was why her father had made so little demur about their relationship. He was undoubtedly relieved that she seemed to have chosen someone who corresponded fairly well to his idea of an eligible young man.

She looked into the saloon, thick with the smoke from Paul's pipe, and grimaced at the charts spread over the folding table.

‘Where next, Marco Polo?'

‘Corsica, we think, eventually, but we're going to stop here first.’ Tony's finger stabbed a point on the chart. ‘Saracina. It's only a tiny island, but it sounds quite interesting and it's only a couple of hours from here. Rocky, of course, but with a few nice bathing beaches.'

‘Well, that's what we want,’ Joanna said lightly. ‘Nothing too civilised.'

Paul got up and stretched, knocking his pipe out into a large pottery ashtray. ‘I'll go and see what Mary's doing, I think.'

Tony watched him go with a grin, then turned to Joanna, holding out his arms and drawing her down on to his knee. ‘That's what is known as a tactical—and tactful—withdrawal,’ he mentioned.

‘Tact isn't the quality I most associate with Paul,’ Joanna muttered.

‘I wish you liked each other better. He's a great guy when you get to know him—and we shall all be related in the near future.'

‘When he marries Mary.’ She took a strand of his fair hair and wound it round her finger.

‘I wasn't just thinking of that.’ He pulled her head down to him and kissed her on the mouth. It was a long kiss, more intimate than those they usually shared, and Joanna found herself enjoying the pressure of his lips and the movement of his warm hands on her half naked body. Nice Tony, she thought, almost drowsily, realising that she was allowing him more licence with his caresses than she normally permitted. But when his straying fingers penetrated into the bra top of her bikini, she drew away at once.

‘Oh, Jo,’ Tony groaned. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Nothing's wrong. You know the rules.'

‘By heart. As formulated by Rear-Admiral Sir Bernard Leighton, R.N.—to name only a few.’ He sounded sulky and she gazed at him, concerned.

‘But I thought you agreed …'

‘Of course I did. I would have agreed to anything to get you away with me. Now you're here and—nothing's really different, is it? Big Daddy's influence reaches a long way.'

‘That's horrible.’ She twisted away from him and stood up.

‘I'm sorry,’ he sounded tired. ‘It's just that I thought once we were out of sight, we would also be out of mind.’ He gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘I meant to keep my promise to your father, but it did cross my mind that there could come a time when we would be so carried away that nothing would matter except each other. I feel like that whenever I'm with you, but I'm beginning to realise I'm on my own.'

‘Are you saying I'm frigid?’ Joanna questioned him furiously.

‘No—far from it. I think there's a vibrant, passionate woman waiting to be awoken in you, Jo. But she'll never come alive while you're so much under your father's thumb. I've wondered a few times if what you need isn't a man who could dominate you even more than he does. Someone your father wouldn't dare to take aside on your wedding day and order to be gentle with you on your first night. Someone who'd tell the old boy to mind his own damned business.'

Joanna looked down unseeingly at the littered charts, her eyes blurred with tears. ‘If you think Daddy interferes too much in my life, it's only because he loves me,’ she whispered. ‘I thought you loved me, Tony. Don't you want to protect me—or would you prefer it if I'd slept around with every man I'd met since I was sixteen?'

‘Of course not.’ He got up and came over to her, drawing her against him with gentle hands. ‘Love, if I've upset you, I'll cut my throat. It's just so—frustrating sometimes, having you so near. Probably your father was right to say what he did to me. He certainly seemed to know more about what I'd be feeling than I did.'

He kissed her again, but this time the caress was deliberately light. When he let her go, Joanna stood on tiptoe and brushed his mouth with hers.

‘You're so wrong, Tony,’ she murmured. ‘I don't want another dominating man. I want a real partnership.'

‘I'll just have to hope that's what you continue to want,’ he said, firmly putting her away from him. ‘I could use a drink. I'll go and see what the others want.'

While he was gone, Joanna tidied away the charts and collected some cans of iced lager from the refrigerator unit in the galley. She wanted a few moments to allow her emotions to calm down before she presented herself on deck.

She was startled and a little worried by Tony's outburst. Startled, because of the sudden depth of feeling he had displayed and worried by the possibility of future friction between her father and himself.

She sighed. Maybe the close proximity they had been forced into since the cruise began had something to do with it. It was a strain with the four of them living so close together. They had all become edgy, and an evening ashore even with Calista's limited night life might be good for them all, she thought optimistically.

Hours later she was convinced of it. Surrounded by a shouting, laughing crowd, bumped and pushed but loving every minute of it, she danced to every beat record that the trattoria's ancient jukebox could provide. She had dressed with daring simplicity in a pair of stark white trousers, fitting closely over her hips and flaring towards the ankles, and a brief halter-necked black top which made the most of her tan. She had caught her slightly waving mass of coppery hair up off her neck, securing it with a black velvet ribbon. Her wide hazel eyes sparkled, partly through excitement and partly because of the rough red wine which was Calista's most acceptable drink.

She knew she was the cynosure of every male eye, and the knowledge delighted her. She was delighted too at the way Tony stuck determinedly to her side, making sure that no one got an opportunity to pester her. There was an expression in his eyes when he looked at her that made the back of her neck tingle pleasurably. She even found herself wondering whether it would be possible for them to return to the boat on their own for a time. She knew what she was inviting, and the thought made her pulses throb uncertainly. Was that what she wanted, or was she merely letting the wine and the music take over? Suddenly she didn't know any more. and when Tony reached out and took her into his arms on the crowded space between the tables that served as a dance floor, her hands came up at once to push him away.

‘Darling, don't be silly. It's the wrong sort of music for that.'

‘Oh, Jo, I want you,’ he said huskily.

‘What we both want is more wine,’ she spoke lightly, trying to dispel the awkward moment, caught suddenly in two minds and uncertain which one to choose. ‘Come on, I'm parched. We'll go back to the table.’ She edged her way, laughing and acknowledging greetings and frankly appreciative comments as she went.

Tony followed, his good-looking face mutinous. ‘I don't like hearing you spoken to like that.'

‘Like what?’ She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘Don't tell me you could understand what they were saying.'

‘I don't have to be a language expert to read their minds,’ he retorted sullenly.

‘Well, what people are thinking is a matter of supreme indifference to me,’ she flung at him as they joined Paul and Mary, who were sitting at a candlelit table in the corner making rather laborious conversation interspersed with many gestures with two local fishermen.

They rose and bowed admiringly as Joanna dropped into her chair. Then the conversation began again. How long were they staying in Calista? Only until tomorrow? But that was a tragedy, to think that the signorina would never dance in the trattoria again. Where were they going next?

‘Oh, that's easy,’ Paul said. ‘We decided that this afternoon, didn't we, Tony? We're going further down the coast to a little island called Saracina, and we'll tie up there for a night or two … What's wrong?'

The taller of the two fishermen had seized his arm with an alarmed expression.

‘Not Saracina,’ he said, shaking his head for greater emphasis. ‘Not Saracina. Not good.'