The Mermaid Garden (39 page)

there, helping in the kitchens of the restaurants on Piazza Laconda

after school. Everyone knew her situation and was eager to help. Only

her father, Elio, seemed not to want to help at all and took her money

without a word of thanks, as if it were his due.

But Floriana knew she couldn’t stay in bed all day. That was defeat-

ist, and one thing she wasn’t was defeatist. She washed and dressed,

slipping into a simple cotton dress and tying her hair back with a band.

Signora Bruno was outside in the courtyard, arguing with one of the

other residents about the overwatering of his geraniums. When she

saw Floriana’s dejected expression, she waved him away and shuffled

over to meet her.

“What’s that face for?”

“It’s the party tonight,” Floriana said, slowly descending the stair-

case. She didn’t need to say more, Signora Bruno had been there to

comfort her after the countess had told her she wasn’t invited.

The old woman put a sturdy hand in the small of her back and gave

it a firm rub; everything ached nowadays. “Curse the lot of them,” she

scowled. “You’re too good for them.”

“
They
don’t think so.”

“They don’t know.”

“I wonder if Dante even remembers me.”

“Of course he does,
amore
. You’re a young lady now, and so pretty he won’t believe his eyes when he sees you.”

“I love him more each day,” she said, and her gloom lifted at the

thought of his smile and the tender way he looked at her. “One day, I’m going to marry him and have a big party.” She grinned mischievously.

“I’ll invite the countess, though.”

“Now, why would you do that?”

“To see her face and watch her squirm as I walk down that beautiful

stone staircase in a flowing white dress.”

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“You’d better get on with it, then, for I want to be there at the bottom to watch you.”

“Of course you’ll be there, Signora Bruno. It wouldn’t be a party

without you.”

Signora Bruno chuckled. “Don’t leave it too long, I’m wearing thin.”

“Not
thin
, signora,” Floriana teased.

“Well, not thin, no—but I’m wearing out.”

“I won’t tell Elio, though.”

“Wouldn’t he give you away?”

She looked at Signora Bruno solemnly. “I have to belong to him first

for him to give me away.”

“Oh, Floriana.”

“I don’t belong to anyone but Dante.”

“I hope he’s deserving of you.”

“We deserve each other, Signora Bruno.”

“So, what are you going to do today?”

“I’m going to pretend it’s any other day. I’m going to go to Mass

and light my candle, just in case Jesus has decided to tune in. Then I’m going to spend the day with Aunt Zita at the laundry.”

“Really, that ludicrous woman. She’s only ever done the minimum

for you. She should be ashamed of herself.” Signora Bruno had no pa-

tience for Zita.

“The busier I am, the faster the day will go.”

“You’re not going to spy on that wall, then?”

“No.”

“Or go and see the little princess?”

“Costanza? No. I couldn’t bear to watch her in those beautiful dia-

monds.”

The day passed slowly. Floriana knew that Dante must be home

because Good-Night did not come to find her. She missed his eager

face and gentle presence, but she was pleased he was with his master

and excited at the thought that soon she would be with him, too. She

spent the day with Aunt Zita, who knew nothing of the party or her

niece’s love for Dante, and twittered on about the hopeless Elio and his lack of responsibility. Then Floriana wandered down to the beach to

watch the sunset.

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Santa Montefiore

* * *

Costanza dressed alone in her bedroom. Graziella had let out her frock

and it now fitted her perfectly. She still looked fat, but her breasts distracted from her convex waist and wide hips. Her mother had lent her

a diamond necklace with matching bracelet and earrings worthy of

royalty. She felt every inch a princess. However, alone in her room her thrill was dampened by the thought of Floriana. It would have been

much more fun dressing together, sharing makeup and jewelry.

It seemed inconceivable that Signora Bonfanti would have forgot-

ten to invite Floriana. But when Costanza thought about it long and

hard, she remembered how Signor Beppe had ignored her, treating her

with no more courtesy than the stray animals that wandered around

the gardens. Perhaps she had been nothing more than a pet for Dante’s

mother, too—someone she could use for company and entertainment,

but not for public display. Her mother was right: Floriana really wasn’t accepted in their world. Once that thought would have afforded her

pleasure, but now she felt only compassion and an unfamiliar sense of

guilt.

The countess was thrilled by her daughter’s appearance. The dia-

monds were impressive, and the dress no longer pulled around the

waist and hips. She’d have to supervise her diet in future. She was getting too grown up now to get away with being fat.

The count returned from work. He showered and dressed, then the

three of them departed for La Magdalena in a car driven by one of the

boys from the office.

They approached the big, black gates of the villa behind a line of

other grand cars: Alfa Romeos and Savoy-blue Lancias. Security

guards stopped each driver, requesting to see both invitation and iden-

tification. One could never be too sure and Beppe Bonfanti was a man

of caution when it came to his personal safety. The air was charged

with anticipation and Costanza gazed out of the window excitedly. The

countess commented on the magnificence of the drive lined with blaz-

ing flares, and the splendor of the yellow mansion at the end, and se-

cretly envisaged her daughter residing there as mistress of it all.

They were dropped off at the front and taken through the marble

hall and drawing room to the terrace where Beppe and his wife stood

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side by side greeting each guest. They took their places in the queue,

their eyes drawn to the garden below with its flamboyant fountain and

beyond, where the canopy stood ready for the banquet. Costanza rec-

ognized Michelangelo the peacock, wandering around aimlessly, drag-

ging his tail on the ground, and felt her stomach churn with nerves

because she didn’t have Floriana to hide behind.

“Violetta,” gushed the countess at last.

Violetta Bonfanti took her hand and smiled serenely. “It’s so lovely

to see you.”

“What a beautiful tent.”

“Yes, it’s like a fairy tale. Costanza, my dear,” and she took the girl’s hand and smiled in the same distracted manner.

Beppe shook the count’s hand vigorously. “No expense spared for

my son,” he said, puffing out his chest, keen to show off his wealth to the aristocrat.

“I can see,” replied the count, finding it all highly ostentatious. “It’s magnificent.”

Beppe turned his eyes onto Costanza. “You look radiant, my dear.”

“Thank you, Signor Bonfanti,” she replied timidly.

He chuckled. “I think you know me well enough now to call me

Beppe. I’m Beppe to my friends, no?”

The Aldorisios descended the sweeping staircase into the garden.

The place was filling up with people, saturating the air with perfume

and cigarette smoke. A quartet played classical music, and guests

greeted each other and talked, sipping pink Dom Perignon out of tall,

crystal flutes.

Costanza was relieved when Giovanna found her, and they fell on

each other with excitement. Giovanna was a young woman now, being

almost eighteen. Her curvaceous body glittered in a green Dior gown,

and her neck sparkled with emeralds.

“I have so much to tell you,” she said, pulling Costanza away by the

hand. “Come, let’s go somewhere quiet where we can talk.”

The countess swelled with pride as she watched the two girls weave

through the throng, hand in hand. This is what she had always wanted.

She sighed happily and surveyed the glamour of her surroundings. This

was where she belonged, among people of her own sort. Although the

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Santa Montefiore

Bonfantis and some of their friends were rather vulgar, their wealth

excused any lack of good taste. And there were enough aristocrats pres-

ent for her to feel she was in the right company. She smiled contentedly and sipped her champagne. It was as if she had come home after a long

exile.

“Shall we plunge in?” she asked her husband.

“I think that’s a very good idea,” he agreed, giving her his arm. “Ah,

isn’t that Conte Edmondo di Montezzemolo . . . ?”

At last the guests were silenced. Beppe took his position at the top of the stone staircase. He smiled on the garden below like an emperor

greeting his people. Then he held out his arms and in a very loud voice announced the arrival of his son. “My friends, it gives me great pleasure to present to you my son, Dante Alberto Massimo Bonfanti, graduated

with honors from Harvard, America’s finest university.”

There was a round of applause, and Dante stepped out of the villa to

embrace his father. Beppe patted him heartily, then kissed him on both

cheeks. “My son!” he bellowed, and the two men stood together, with

their arms around each other, waving at their audience.

Floriana wandered down the beach, shoes in hand, feet in the water.

She imagined Costanza at the party and gave in to a wave of resent-

ment. How unfair that she was excluded just because she didn’t have

rich parents, or a grand title. Why couldn’t a person be judged on what was on the inside? Why did it matter so much where she came from?

Weren’t they all God’s children, equal in His eyes? Didn’t she have just as much right to live and love as anyone? She watched the sun melt into the sea and turn it orange. The beauty was overwhelming and she stood

in awe, watching the light fade to make way for the first star. Beneath so vast a sky she felt very small, and yet, weren’t they all small when viewed from God’s great height? Titles and wealth seemed so unimportant

compared with the natural riches of God’s creation. What mattered

was the heart, for surely that was the only thing she’d take with her

when she died.

As the day evaporated she felt her determination mount. It was up

to her to shape her own destiny, rather than allowing others to decide

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what shape it should be. With her resolve renewed, she put on her san-

dals and strode back up the beach.

Dante made his way through the crowd of guests, shaking hands with

the men, standing firm as they patted him robustly on the back, and

bending down to kiss the women. He enchanted them with his natural

charm and wit. He had grown into a strikingly handsome young man.

With his shoulders back, his head held high, his pale gaze clear and

steady, he looked every inch a crown prince. Yet, there was no trace of arrogance in his expression. A sardonic amusement, perhaps, in the curl of his lips, as if he thought the whole event slightly farcical, but he was too polite and aware of the trouble his mother had taken to let it show.

Five years in America had taught him a great deal about the world,

but also about himself. He was smart, quick to learn, and made friends

easily. Girls fancied him—but he found to his cost that as simple as

it was to get attached, getting
un
attached was a painful and complex operation. So, he had enjoyed countless flings where there was no danger of commitment. There had been enough women on campus who

simply wanted to bed him, so he’d taken his pleasure, then moved on

to the next.

He’d hung out with a group of boys who enjoyed sport like he did,

learning American football and baseball, as well as excelling on the

tennis and squash courts. He’d relished the novelty of living in another country. However, there was a part of him that had always been dissatisfied. An anxiety, like homesickness, that caught him when he was

most vulnerable, like on waking in the morning, or sometimes when he

was alone and pensive. As much as he tried, he couldn’t identify it. He knew for certain it had nothing to do with his parents, and he didn’t

miss his home. But when his mind wandered to La Magdalena, he

had suffered an aching sense of loss. Now he was there, he wondered

whether that feeling would creep over him again, or whether his soul

was finally satisfied.

Dinner was served beneath the canopy of stars. Dante sat beside

two young women who flirted and twittered like a pair of pretty

budgerigars. The countess noticed that Costanza was at a table at the

other end of the room from Dante, with a group of youngsters her own

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Santa Montefiore

age. She resolved to draw her to his attention after dinner. Her place-

ment, however, pleased her very much, for she was on the next-door