A Gift for a Lion Read Online Free Page B

had been chosen most often on the jukebox the previous evening, she recognised, and after a moment or two she joined in with him.
    In snatches of conversation between songs, she learned that he was from Genoa and had married a girl from Calista where he now worked for her father. Joanna guessed that a day trip to Saracina, however much risk was involved, was probably preferable to being at his father-in-law's beck and call all day.
    'We all want freedom,' she thought, smiling to herself, but the smile faded as she suddenly realised what she had implied. But she was free—wasn't she? All her life she had come and gone pretty well as she pleased. She had started and later discarded a number of possible careers including her abortive art college courses without any real pressure being applied by her father. She could have got a flat of her own, if she had wanted, but it had always seemed less bother to live at home. Now for the first time she began to wonder if, in her restless flitting between jobs and courses, she had sacrificed her only real chance of independence. Perhaps it had suited her father quite well to have her living under his eye, without the demands of a career to distract her from acting as his hostess and running his home.
    Much of her life, she realised, had centred so far on attending to her father's needs and considering his likes and dislikes. He invariably demanded that his home should be run like clockwork, but he always held aloof from any problems that arose, and Joanna had known from her early teens that he expected her to cope with staff and make all the everyday decisions that he preferred to avoid.
    If she married Tony, would she merely be exchanging one housekeeping job for another? It was an unexpectedly dismal thought, and she noticed with a slight shiver that she had said 'if she married, and not 'when' as if there was still a basic doubt in her mind. And it was no use thinking she was going to escape from her father's sphere by her marriage. She knew it was his intention to turn part of his large London house into a flat for them, and she recalled with some surprise that Tony had raised no objection to the plan when it was first hinted at. The reservations had all been hers. She shook herself impatiently, trying to dispel her sombre mood, and grinned almost with relief when Pietro burst into a full-blooded rendering of 'O Sole Mio.'
    Her search for a boat had taken longer than she had realised, and it was well after midday when Saracina came into sight. She was watching it so eagerly that it was a few minutes before she realised that Pietro had stopped singing. Of course, it could just have been that he had exhausted his considerable repertoire of songs, but Joanna, glancing at him, noticed that his normally cheerful expression had been replaced by a faint, anxious scowl and that he kept scanning the horizon as if he was searching for something that he did not particularly want to find. She moistened suddenly dry lips. The sea around them seemed to empty. Apart from themselves, the only sign of life was that unwelcoming-looking lump of rock getting steadily nearer.
    If something happened—she preferred not to be too definitive about what—they could simply disappear into the tranquil water without trace, she thought uneasily. Of course Tony would know where she had gone. She had left a brief note on
Luana
explaining. And with any luck by the time she got back Paul and Mary would have said all they had to say about her wilfulness, selfishness and general pigheadedness.
    'Nuts to them,' she thought inelegantly. 'From tomorrow I'll be so good, they'll award me the Nobel Peace Prize!'
    It was an odd feeling, standing on the silvery sand of the tiny bay, watching Pietro's boat with its tan sail disappearing round the rocky headland. So—they had come, and he had gone, and no one, gunslinger or islander, was any the wiser. In a way, it was all a bit of an anticlimax.
    She swung round to the