The Mermaid Garden (43 page)

husband’s wealth and position, and pondered on the divisive force of

money. Once, Floriana would have been acceptable. Now, Beppe would

have his sights on a girl like Costanza.

That afternoon Dante gave Floriana a tennis lesson. Giovanna lent

her a pair of tennis shoes and a racket, then returned to the pool to lie in the sun with Costanza, Damiana, and her friends. Alone on the court,

Dante stood behind her, his arms around hers, showing her how to

hold the racket. He placed her hands on the grip, but his lips digressed to her neck, and he kissed her there where her skin was soft and warm.

She laughed and shrugged him off playfully. “You’re meant to be giving

me a lesson.”

“I am. A lesson in love.”

“Stupido!”

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“I can’t help it, you’re too delicious.”

“So, I hold it like this. When can I hit a ball?”

“I like your spirit,” he said, reluctantly letting her go. “For every ball you miss, I get a kiss.”

“You’re expecting me to be very uncoordinated.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“But if I’m a natural.”

“I’ll claim them by force!”

“Dante!”

He shrugged. “Because I can.”

He walked around to the other side of the net. She put the racket

out, determined to show him that it wasn’t going to be that easy. He

tossed a ball. She watched it bounce, drew her racket back, and hit it.

“Looks like I’m a natural,” she said, grinning at him triumphantly.

“Beginner’s luck.”

“Try again.”

He tossed another ball. She drew her racket back and hit it. He

pulled a face. “This won’t do.”

“You’re just a very good teacher.” He threw another ball, this time on

her backhand. She missed.

“You haven’t taught me that stroke!”

“Rules are rules, and you have to forfeit a kiss!” Jubilantly, he jumped over the net and lifted her off her feet, pressing his lips to hers.

“If you do this every time I miss a ball, I’m never going to learn how

to play,” she protested, coming up for air.

“That was never my intention.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No, I just wanted to get you on your own.”

“Aren’t there simpler ways of doing that?”

“I couldn’t think of one.”

“I can.” He put her down, and she took him by the hand. “Let’s take

a walk.”

Down on the beach she knew so well, she led him to a little inlet

sheltered from the wind. They sat together, watching the speed boats

slicing through the water in the distance.

“Now I truly have you all to myself,” he said, drawing her into his

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arms. Floriana made no protest this time. She wrapped her arms

around him and let him kiss her.

That evening, as Floriana and Costanza walked through the poppy

field, Floriana’s happiness spilled over into her walk, causing her to

bounce with each step. Her face glowed, and her arms swung freely at

her sides. Every now and then she bent down to pick the wildflowers

that grew among the long grasses.

Costanza was still distressed about the lost invitation. Could her

mother
really
have been so devious? What harm could Floriana have done by turning up to a party? She didn’t understand, and yet, she felt desperately guilty, as if she had in some way conspired against her

friend. She regretted her decision to let Floriana go and decided to

make it up to her somehow, as soon as she was in a position to do so.

“I’m in love,” Floriana sighed, unable to keep her feelings secret.

“I know you are,” Costanza replied.

“And he loves me back.”

“Well, he’s very fond of you. I know that.”

“No, he loves me. He’s told me.”

Costanza stopped walking. “What? He’s told you he loves you?”

“Yes. Last night I came to spy on the wall, and he found me there.

We walked and talked for hours and then . . .” She blushed, almost too

afraid to articulate it. “He kissed me.”

Costanza was astonished. “He kissed you?”

“Yes. It was divine!” Floriana began to twirl round and round with

her arms out. “God heard my prayers and answered them. I love Dante.

I love him I love him I love him, and I don’t care who knows it.”

Infected by her friend’s exuberance, Costanza began to laugh.

“I don’t believe it. But he’s so much older than you.”

“What does that matter? Love has no boundaries!”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. If he loves you back, then you will marry him.

You’ll have a jewelry box much bigger than Mother’s.” That thought

gave Costanza a strange sense of satisfaction.

“I don’t want a jewelry box. I just want
him
. I have nothing but love, and I’m the happiest girl in the world!”

Costanza took Floriana’s hand, and they ran down the field together.

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“Then you shall have him!” Costanza shouted, and they both laughed

until they were out of breath and had to stop.

Costanza accompanied Floriana to church. Floriana wanted to light

another candle, in gratitude, Costanza in remorse. She’d never betray

her friend again, so help her God. Padre Ascanio was in the nave, pre-

paring for Mass, shadowed by Father Severo, the sacristan. When he

saw the girls, Padre Ascanio wandered over to greet them, his robes

polishing the stone floor as he swept across it. He had always kept a

close eye on Floriana, as was his duty as shepherd of his flock. He had listened to her in the confessional every week, pouring out her hopes

and dreams, her little heart so full of faith, her spirit unshakable. Now she lit her candle with her eyes closed, a beatific expression on her face; he knew something good had happened.

“Hello, my children,” he said softly.

“Hello, Padre Ascanio,” said Costanza. She flushed guiltily and low-

ered her gaze, expecting the priest to know her innermost thoughts.

Floriana finished her prayer and opened her eyes. “Good evening,

Father.”

“God is delighted by your happiness,” he said with a smile.

“I
am
happy, Father,” Floriana replied. “I’m grateful, too. He has answered my prayer.”

Father Ascanio frowned. Had her mother returned after all these

years? Or had the young Dante Bonfanti reciprocated her love? Father

Ascanio knew all the secrets in Herba—and Father Severo knew all

Father Ascanio’s.

“Dante loves me, Father.” She beamed so brightly that Father As-

canio couldn’t help but take pleasure from her joy. God had looked

favorably on his little daughter at last. However, his pleasure was tinged with foreboding. Theirs was an unlikely union and one that would undoubtedly be frowned upon by Dante’s family.

“You must ask for God’s guidance, my child.”

“He is already guiding me, Father. It is because of Him that I have

arrived at this point.”

He watched the two girls skip out into the sunshine and shook his

head. “Father Severo, I fear that is not going to end well.”

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“Indeed,” said Father Severo, dabbing his bald head with a handker-

chief. Even he could detect the alcohol in his sweat. He hoped he could rely on Father Ascanio’s poor sense of smell.

“It troubles me that Floriana’s heart might be broken again.” Father

Ascanio continued. Father Severo nodded. “I shall be there, though, to

pick up the pieces and put them back together again. Her father has

taken up with the Devil and is not to be relied on. She relies on us.”

“She has her faith,” Father Severo agreed.

“It is very strong. But is it strong enough to endure another heart-

break? I don’t know. I shall pray for her.”

“And so shall I,” said Father Severo. “Most ardently.”

That evening Costanza ate in the dining room with her parents. Her

mother rattled on about the party, discussing the extravagance of it all and the new friends they had made. Costanza didn’t mention Floriana,

but she was constantly in the back of her mind. If her mother knew that Dante had kissed her and confessed his love, she’d be horrified. It was almost worth baiting her, just to watch her squirm, but her fear over-rode temptation and she kept quiet. She didn’t need to fight Floriana’s battles for her; the girl was more than capable of fighting for herself.

Dante swung by Floriana’s house in his Alfa Romeo Spider and tooted

the horn. Signora Bruno bustled out to admire the car, running her

hands over the shiny bonnet as if it were made of real silver. Children pushed past each other to get a better look, daring one another to

touch it.

Dante noticed the smallest child, who was standing on his tiptoes at

the back of the throng, and waded through to get him. “Do you want to

sit inside?” he asked, and the little boy nodded excitedly.

When Floriana stepped out, she found Dante in the front seat with

the child on his knee, showing him what all the buttons were for.

“You be careful with Floriana,” said Signora Bruno, wagging a stout

finger at Dante.

“Trust me, she’ll be cherished like a jewel,” he replied, lifting the

little boy off his knee and placing him on the ground.

“I’ll wait up,” she added, as Dante started the engine.

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The children stepped back in wonder. Floriana waved and Dante

tooted again. As they drove slowly up the street the children followed, like a pack of playful dogs.

“Where are we going?” Floriana asked.

“Anywhere you want.”

“Let’s just drive.” She took his hand, and he lifted it to his lips.

They drove as the sun set on the olive groves and vineyards of Tus-

cany. The light grew mellow and the sky paled until it was dusk and

the first twinkling of a star could be seen high in the sky. They found a little trattoria and dined on pasta beneath a trellis of tomato plants. The candle glowed as the natural light diminished and the crickets sang

their nocturnal chorus. It was late when they left their table and drove back towards home.

Dante parked the car on the cliff top, overlooking the sea. The moon

shone a path of silver light across the water. He turned off the engine and they sat in silence, gazing out at the beauty before them. For a long while neither spoke, and their stillness was as comfortable as the stars and the moon above them.

“It’s always going to be like this,” he said at last, drawing her close.

“We’re going to sit here when we’re old, discussing our children. We’re going to grow old together.”

“And we’ll tell them how we met.”

“Yes, we’ll tell them about my
piccolina
, pushing her nose through the gates to gaze longingly at the house and her gardens.”

“I’ll be a good mother,” she said wistfully. “I’ll give our children

every thing I never had.”

He kissed her forehead. “
I’ll
give you everything you never had.”

She gazed up at him and her eyes glistened. “You already have.”

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25.

Two months went by. Floriana still had to work to support herself

and her increasingly inebriated father. Some days she helped her

aunt in the laundry; other days she waited on tables in the caffè in

Piazza Laconda. She wasn’t too proud to wash dishes or sweep, any-

thing that would earn her cash to buy food and clothing, and the locals knew they could call on her at the last minute if they needed something doing. Dante was unaware of her plight, having never been acquainted

with someone who had nothing, and Floriana didn’t tell him; she would

have been deeply embarrassed to receive his charity.

Costanza spent most days with Giovanna, either at La Magdalena

or at other beautiful houses nearby. The summer stretched into one

long lunch party, and soon Giovanna’s name was barely mentioned

without Costanza’s attached to it, like a pair of decorative birds who

were always together. Costanza had never had such fun, and her happi-

ness allowed her to feel genuinely happy for Floriana. They didn’t see so much of each other now, for Floriana was excluded from all the grand

social events, but when they did, Costanza watched her flowering ro-

mance with pleasure and a sense of intrigue.

Dante couldn’t hide his love. He wanted to spend every minute

with Floriana. They’d go for drives, or picnic on the beach, or simply lie on the grass in his mother’s mermaid garden and read out loud, with

Good-Night snoozing contentedly beside them. Those were magical

evenings, when the crickets chirruped, the birds settled down to roost, and the light grew soft and golden, and Floriana basked in them, fully

aware of God’s blessing.

Violetta watched her son’s summer romance with growing concern.

They were clearly besotted with each other, which was touching to see,

but she worried that Floriana’s heart would break when it all came to

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an end. In September Dante would return to real life in Milan, leaving