The Mermaid Garden (37 page)

“I hope he has a good night.”

“After the fright he had today, he’ll sleep like a baby.” He laughed.

“And so will I.”

Clementine climbed into her father’s car, and they motored up the

drive. She saw Rafa watching her in the mirror and waved out of the

window. He waved back. She knitted her fingers and took a deep, satis-

fied breath.

Grey dropped her off outside Joe’s, but instead of going inside, she

waited for her father to leave, then slunk off to find her Mini. She didn’t want to face Joe yet, she wanted to sit a while and feel close to Rafa, so she drove to the house that God forgot.

The moon was big and bright, drenching the landscape with enough

light for her to see her way down the field. She didn’t feel afraid on her 30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 231

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own. It felt good to be out in the wind, blanketed by the night. It was too dark to enter the church, so she sat on the step at the entrance and leaned against the wall, listening to the rustling of leaves and the steady murmuring of the sea below. Moonlight caught the tips of waves as

they rose and fell, splashing them with silver. Tonight, the beauty didn’t make her feel melancholy, but happy. Her heart felt full and warm as

if it were a cupcake, just out of the oven. She knew now that there was such a thing as Big Love and that it could creep up on a person very

suddenly, almost before she recognized it. Well, she recognized it, all right, and, with a shudder of anticipation, she yearned to let it in.

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21.

Tuscany, 1971

Floriana lay on the beach, her gaze lost in eternity. She considered the stars, so bright and vibrant, and wondered how many of them had already burned themselves out long ago, leaving their light to shine on

like memories. She imagined death like that. Her mother might just

as well be dead, for she wasn’t ever coming back. Floriana accepted

that now. Once there had been an afterglow of memory as bright as

those stars, but now it, too, had run its course. She could barely re-

member what her mother looked like. She certainly had no recollec-

tion of her little brother. But she did often wonder where they were

and if her mother ever thought of her. Those meanderings of her mind

used to cause her pain, and in a strange way she had taken pleasure

from the discomfort, like the tongue that seeks the hurting tooth.

Now her heart had hardened and she felt nothing, not even resent-

ment.

It had been almost five years since Dante had left, and she thought

of him every day. She was almost sixteen, a young woman, yet inside

she was still the little girl peering in through the gates of La Magda-

lena; and she still loved him.

After he left she believed her world had imploded, and her will to

live had collapsed. Without Dante in her life, what was the point of

going on? She had sought comfort in the Church, for no one else cared

but Jesus, and He had reached out and touched her heart, whispering

quietly in her ear so that no one else could hear. He had told her to wait, that the day would surely come when Dante would return and ask her

to marry him. So, she had dried her tears and straightened her shoul-

ders and resolved to do exactly as He commanded, for Jesus and His

mother, Mary, loved her—and in case they got diverted by someone

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else’s troubles, she went to church every day to light a candle for Dante, and to remind Them that
her
prayers were a priority.

The following summer Costanza was invited up to La Magdalena

to play with Giovanna, the youngest Bonfanti child. It transpired that

Costanza’s mother had approached Signora Bonfanti at Mass and sug-

gested getting the girls together. Signora Bonfanti had been delighted, embracing Costanza’s mother like a long-lost friend. Contessa Aldorisio had not mentioned Floriana. She was keen for her daughter to

find girls of her own class to play with, now she was growing up. But

Costanza had insisted. She was too frightened to go on her own, and

well aware that it was Floriana who had captured their hearts, not her.

The countess had relented on the condition that once she was com-

fortable with Giovanna she leave Floriana behind, and besides, now

she and Signora Bonfanti were reacquainted, she would take her to La

Magdalena personally, so she was not in need of an escort.

It wasn’t long before Costanza and Giovanna were firm friends.

Like Costanza, Giovanna was timid and uncertain. She had none of

her sister’s confidence nor her brother’s charm. Floriana hung around

them, but she soon grew bored of their games. She longed for Dante to

walk through the trees, but he had gone, and she didn’t know when he’d

be coming back. So, Floriana played with Good-Night. The dog was

the little bit of Dante she could hold on to. She taught him to retrieve, to sit when he was commanded, and to follow her as she weaved in and

out of the trees. They played hide-and-seek and endless other games

she devised for him, and sometimes she’d put on shows for Giovanna

and Costanza, who would sit together in their fancy dresses and clap

prettily as if they were at the theater.

Damiana was delighted to see Floriana again and mothered her as

she had done the summer before. She let her retrieve balls when she

played tennis with her girlfriends and invited her up to her bedroom

to help her choose which dresses to wear. But Floriana’s heart longed

for Dante, and in spite of all the attention, Villa La Magdalena seemed empty without him.

If it hadn’t been for Signora Bonfanti, Costanza’s mother would

have made sure Floriana stayed at home. But this fey, dreamy woman

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with the delicate beauty of a sylph fell in love with
l’orfanella
in the same way that her two elder children had. She had heard her tragic

story from Dante and resolved to embrace the child with all her ma-

ternal love, which she had in abundance, having longed for many more

children than three.

On her initial visit, she took the little girl by the hand and led her

into her mermaid garden, where Floriana had sat with Dante the first

time she had entered the grounds of La Magdalena. There they had re-

mained for the entire afternoon, watching the fountain, listening to the birds, and sharing thoughts and ideas. Signora Bonfanti found in Floriana a child who shared her love of nature and her insatiable curiosity about the world. Floriana found in Signora Bonfanti a gentle mother

who threaded flowers in her hair and read her poetry and stories. A

mother who took trouble with her the way her own mother never had.

Little by little Floriana had become a permanent fixture at La Mag-

dalena. As permanent as the stray dogs and cats that Dante had ad-

opted. And like the stray dogs and cats, she was patted and teased with affection by everyone, except Contessa Aldorisio, who resented her

presence there, as if it threatened her secret ambitions for her daughter.

She need not have worried, for Giovanna grew to consider Costanza

a sister and they remained in contact during the winter months when

Giovanna was back at school in Milan. Floriana visited La Magda-

lena every day, although the family had long since departed, and took

Good-Night off into town to chase pigeons in Piazza Laconda. The

dog became her constant companion and her greatest pleasure. Un-

like Costanza, who was too grand to talk to staff, Floriana had made

friends with the locals who worked at La Magdalena, and when she

wasn’t in school or at Mass, she often hung around the gardens, playing with the animals and talking to the gardeners.

Alone again, Costanza sought the company of her old friend, and

Floriana was happy to be welcomed back. But now they had to meet in

town, or on the beach, for Costanza’s mother was doing everything in

her power to separate them. Costanza was thirteen now and resented

being told what to do and who to be friends with, and she felt a strong loyalty to Floriana. But Contessa Aldorisio was confident that one way

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or another the two girls would eventually grow apart. It was inevitable, considering their lives and the stark differences of their class. If it didn’t happen naturally, she would give it a little helping hand.

Another summer blossomed, the second since Dante’s departure,

and Floriana felt his absence more acutely than ever. Long, languid

days at La Magdalena ensued, full of beautiful people, large lunch par-

ties, and afternoons in the mermaid garden, reading poetry. Signora

Bonfanti invited Floriana to help make a picture mosaic, and they

spent hours in the conservatory cutting out small squares of paper and

sticking them onto canvas. Floriana loved being close to her, while

Good-Night lay snoozing by her side. There were pictures of Dante all

over the house, and sometimes she would glean bits of news as Signora

Bonfanti processed her thoughts out loud in rambling soliloquies. It

seemed that Dante was doing exceedingly well in America but that his

future lay here in Italy, where he was expected to rise to great heights in his father’s company.

Floriana did not like Signor Beppe. He had none of his son’s charm

or benevolence. His face was handsome in a hard way, his frown low

over dark, shrewish eyes, and his neck was thick like a bull’s. His

mouth was twisted in repose, cruel in mirth, and when he laughed,

it seemed superficial, as if he did it for affect and not out of joy. His mind seemed constantly occupied by work, and he was always being

called to the telephone, or in his study talking to men in black suits, smoking cigars that reeked into the marble hall. Signora Bruno said

that Beppe Bonfanti was part of the local Mafia and had actually had

people killed, but even though his eyes were remarkably cold, Flori-

ana dismissed the old woman’s gossiping as rumor. She couldn’t believe

that Dante’s father was a murderer. That he was fearsome was without

doubt.

He was shadowed constantly by Zazzetta, a wiry, sinister little man

with a bald head and aquiline nose who whispered in his ear and wrote

things down in a black notebook. Signor Beppe listened to him more

than anyone else, and he seemed to have the power to grab his atten-

tion with as little as a raised eyebrow. Signor Beppe relied on him for everything, calling him his
braccio destro
—his right-hand man. Floriana didn’t like Zazzetta, either.

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Signora Bonfanti kept out of her husband’s way, and he never sought

her out. He barely noticed Floriana, in the same way that he never no-

ticed the stray animals who hung around the terrace at lunchtime, but

he did notice Costanza. He seemed to enjoy his youngest daughter’s

flowering friendship and asked Costanza endless questions about her-

self and her family. Constanza told Floriana that Beppe had invited her parents to dinner and that they were now close friends. Floriana didn’t see the significance of this. She cared only for Dante, his mother, and his dog.

Five long years had passed since Floriana first met Dante and now

summer was here again. But this time it would be better than any other

because he was coming home. She had heard from Costanza, who had

heard from Giovanna, and there was to be a big party to celebrate his

homecoming. Floriana lay on the sand and felt a shiver of excitement

ripple across her skin. Dante was finally coming home. They would be

reunited at last. It never occurred to her that he might have fallen in love with someone else, or that he wouldn’t fall in love with her, because she had lit a candle every single day for almost five years and sent her wish up to Jesus. With such constant badgering it was inconceivable

that He would have the heart to ignore her.

“So? Which do you think? The blue or the white?” Costanza asked

the following afternoon, laying the dresses on her bed. They had taken

care to sneak into the house while the countess was out, and their mis-

chief gave them a heightened sense of excitement.

Floriana sat back against the pillows and took a good long look at

both. “Well, the blue is pretty; the white is a little bridal, don’t you think?”

“So, the blue?”

“Put it on.”

Costanza didn’t need further encouragement. She hurriedly slipped

it on and stood before the long mirror that leaned against the wall.

She was curvier now, her breasts large, her hips wide above short, por-

cine legs and small trotterlike feet. She loved her food and ate copi-

ous quantities of bread and pasta for comfort while she lamented her

clumsy body.

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“Do I look fat in this?” she asked, biting her bottom lip and pulling

her stomach in.

“Of course you don’t,” Floriana lied. “You look voluptuous. Italian