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Authors: Santa Montefiore

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BOOK: The Mermaid Garden
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“The count employs the little stray’s father as chauffeur.”

“How sweet of Costanza to gather her up,” said Allega approvingly.

“That’s beyond the call of duty.”

At this, Costanza felt very proud. She held her nose and jumped into

the water, pleased that they all knew she was not a simple working-

class girl like Floriana, but one of them. As she swam over to her friend she smiled happily to herself, it was right that she was there. As for

Floriana, she was
very
lucky.

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9.

The day was such a success that Damiana invited the girls back

the following day. She telephoned the countess, who nearly wept

with joy at the thought of her daughter being embraced by one of the

wealthiest families in Italy, and sent Graziella again to accompany

them. Without her parents around Damiana enjoyed playing hostess.

They ate lunch on the terrace, cooked by the chef according to
her
instructions, drank fine wine from her father’s cellar, and smoked.

Floriana was full of stories and made them laugh until their bel-

lies ached. She made fun of her father and Signora Bruno, standing

up and imitating them in a brutal satire. Humor was the only way she

could deal with the misery her father caused, and the fact that everyone laughed made him somehow more acceptable.

Costanza sat quietly, seemingly content to give her friend center

stage. Good-Night lay at Floriana’s feet, quietly eating the scraps she secretly fed him under the table. Dante noticed but said nothing. After lunch the two young guests disappeared into the olive grove to play

with Michelangelo. Once they were out of earshot, the group dis-

cussed them, agreeing that it cost them nothing to allow the children

to play in the grounds and swim in the pool. They wondered what sort

of mother could run off and leave a daughter as adorable as Floriana.

They couldn’t understand why she hadn’t taken her with her. Damiana

had grown fond of her in such a short time. She had stolen her heart in the same way that she had stolen Dante’s, and she was eager to take the little stray under her wing.

The following day the girls arrived with Graziella, but the day after

that they came alone. By now the countess felt they were familiar

enough with the lady of the house to go unaccompanied. From then

on they came most days, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the

afternoon, but they were never a burden to Dante and Damiana, who

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liked having them around, like a couple more strays to add to the me-

nagerie that had already taken up residence at La Magdalena. They

wandered around without needing to be entertained. They played in

the gardens and never tired of their games. They explored, spied on

the others when they were lying by the pool unaware, and asked the

gardeners to tell them the names of all the flowers and trees. Floriana played with Good-Night and draped the cat over her arms as she carried him with her everywhere. Michelangelo was too arrogant to show

his growing affection for the little girl who stroked his tummy, and followed them at a distance, pretending not to care.

The days rolled on in a blissful haze. Floriana stopped minding

about her father’s drunken evenings at Luigi’s, and when she wasn’t

at La Magdalena she played with Costanza at her house, beneath the

disapproving gaze of the countess.

“Do you have to take Floriana with you every time you go to the

Bonfantis’?” she asked her daughter one evening after Floriana had

gone home.

“Why?”

“Because, my love, she’s not of your class. It’s inappropriate. It’s very kind of them to tolerate her but . . .”

“If I don’t take her, I’ll have no one to play with.”

“What about the younger daughter? What’s she called?”

“Giovanna. But she’s in Mexico. I don’t think she’s coming at all this

summer.”

“All right, then. You may take Floriana, if they really don’t mind,

until Giovanna returns. Then you must leave her behind and make

friends with Giovanna. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mamma.”

“It’s for your own good, my love. It’s all very well you having a little friend from the town to play with, but now you’re getting bigger you

should mix with your own class. It’s your father’s fault, I know, that you had to be brought up here and go to the local school. If he hadn’t made such stupid business decisions, we’d be living in Rome and you’d have

friends like yourself.”

“I
like
Floriana.”

“She’s very sweet, I agree, and it’s unfortunate to say the least that

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103

her mother ran off and left her with that hopeless Elio. But you mustn’t forget who you are, my dear. One day you’ll marry and live in a place

like La Magdalena, I promise you. I’ll see that it happens, mark my

words. If you constantly hang around girls like Floriana, you’ll end up like her, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“Floriana wants to marry Dante,” Constanza said disloyally.

The countess laughed at the absurdity of such a notion. “It costs

nothing to dream, I suppose,” she said, wiping her eye. “She thinks she is like you, Costanza. You see, your friendship is damaging for both

of you, in different ways. That sort of dream can only end in disap-

pointment. Poor child.” She sighed and wandered off to sit in the

shade and read a magazine. But she didn’t read the words; she was too

busy thinking about Dante and whether it wasn’t completely improb-

able that when her daughter was a little older,
she
might catch his eye.

After all, they were the perfect match:
she
had the pedigree,
he
had the money.

Floriana wished the summer holidays would never end. She loved

spending her days at La Magdalena, breathing the same rarefied air as

Dante. He treated her like a younger sister, pulling her onto his knee

and hugging her, chasing her in the swimming pool, throwing her into

the water like a rag doll, grinning at her across the table as if they had a special secret. She sat on the bench beside the tennis court and watched him play in white shorts and shirt, whacking the ball at his sister, who complained all the time that he was hitting it too hard. Sometimes

he asked Floriana to be ball girl, and she and Costanza would scurry

around picking up the balls. She always threw hers to Dante, while

Costanza was left to retrieve for his sister.

Damiana looked effortlessly glamorous in a little white skirt with

pleats around the back, and white socks with bobbles at the ankles

to match her white tennis shoes, and Floriana longed to be like her.

Damiana was a gracious loser, but sometimes, when she played with

Dante against her friends, she won. Then she was a gracious winner,

laughing carelessly as if winning didn’t matter, and Floriana thought

her the most beautifully mannered woman she had ever seen.

* * *

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Then one day another visitor arrived, and the air changed around the

pool. Gioia Favelli was tall with short brown hair and long tanned legs, a slim waist, and wide, curvaceous hips. Her breasts were large and

round, and somehow very provocative in the little black bikini she wore.

Costanza and Floriana whispered to each other in the water, gig-

gling into their hands, until Dante put his arm around Gioia and

caressed her back absentmindedly, as if they belonged to each other.

Suddenly, Floriana didn’t feel like laughing anymore. Sickened in her

heart, she watched furtively from the water. It became obvious that

Dante and Gioia were more than just friends; they were a couple.

Floriana sulked. She couldn’t help herself. When Dante came to

play with her in the pool, she swam off. When he tried to draw her into his arms at lunch, she wriggled away.

Damiana laughed at the girl’s sudden shyness, but she was percep-

tive enough to know the real reason. “She’s jealous,” she explained,

when the girls had disappeared into the garden.

“How darling,” gushed Gioia, lighting a cigarette. “I don’t blame her;

Dante is very handsome.”

“She’s little,” said Dante, feeling bad. “And she’s alone in the world.”

Damiana rolled her eyes. “There you go again! Feeling sorry for the

bird with the broken wing or the unwanted dog. It’s now the unwanted

child.”

“Don’t pretend
you
don’t want to mother her. You go all mushy when you look at her.”

“I know, she’s a special little girl. But she adores you, Dante. Don’t

break her heart.”

“What can I do?” He reached across the table and took Gioia’s hand.

“Be kind,” said his sister. “And aware.”

That afternoon Dante made a special effort to give Floriana his un-

divided attention, and after much endeavor, she yielded and allowed

him to play with her.

Costanza watched from the other side of the pool, where she sat

dangling her legs in the water. She remembered her mother’s words

about “above her station” and thought it was probably just as well that Gioia had turned up to burst the bubbles Floriana had been creating in

the whimsical well of her imagination.

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105

Floriana forgot about Gioia, or perhaps she believed Dante’s affection

for her outweighed his affection for the stranger who had suddenly ap-

peared in their midst. Gioia lay on her sun lounger reading a magazine, not at all interested in the activity in the water. Damiana was happy the child had been coaxed out of her sulk, but she sensed the end of the summer would bring her only unhappiness. When they returned to Milan,

she would become a stray once again without anyone to take care of her.

After a while Dante tired of his game and retreated to his sun

lounger to sunbathe.

“I wish the summer could go on for ever,” said Floriana, following

him out of the pool.

“But it can’t,
piccolina
. I will have to return to Milan.”

“And then to America, and goodness knows what else you father has

planned for you,” added Gioia thoughtlessly. “And I shall be very sad.”

Damiana glanced at Floriana and registered her stricken face. “You’ll

be back soon, though, won’t you, Dante?”

“He’d better be back. I’m not hanging around while he goes galli-

vanting around the world.”

“Dante,” Damiana warned, but it was too late. Floriana now under-

stood that she wouldn’t see him again for many years and by then, who

knew . . . ?

“Why does your father have to send you so far away? Aren’t there

any good universities closer to home?” Gioia continued.

Floriana walked up to the edge of the rocks and stared down at

the sea below. It gently lapped the rocks, calling to her, goading her

to jump. She turned to see Costanza’s face blanch, which encouraged

her all the more, and she recalled those times when she had dived into

the sea from great heights to scare the other schoolchildren. This was

higher than anything she had ever jumped from before, but her heart

was breaking, so what did it matter if she hurt herself?

Damiana managed to catch Floriana’s attention and pulled a face,

but the little girl edged closer to the verge. Then, without a thought for her own safety, she leapt off in a graceful dive. One moment she was

there; the next she was gone.

Dante jumped to his feet in panic. “
Che cazzo fa!
” he shouted, and dived in after her.

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“Oh my God!” Gioia cried, rushing to the edge. “He’s going to kill

himself.”

Damiana and the girls joined Gioia to stare helplessly into the water

below. For a while there was nothing, just the waves and a little wisp of foam where the divers had penetrated the surface.

Costanza’s heart froze. She was too afraid to get out of the pool.

Floriana was courageous but also reckless. What if she had gone too far this time and killed them both? She squeezed her eyes shut and wished

she were at home with her mother.

Floriana let the water wrap her in its cool, silent embrace. For a second the pain in her heart was quelled by the surge of adrenaline that set it racing. She could hear it thumping behind her rib cage and felt relief

that she was no longer beside the pool, having it stabbed with unkind

words. Then she felt a hand grab her arm and wrench her out of her

watery refuge.

With a loud whoosh they both exploded through the surface, taking

in great gulps of air.

“You stupid child!” Dante yelled when he had caught his breath.

“Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?”

Floriana stared back at him in horror. His entire face was contorted

with fright.

“My God, you could have died, you silly girl! Don’t you realize there

are rocks beneath the surface that you can’t see? If you had hit your

head, you’d have been killed instantly. Is that what you want?”

BOOK: The Mermaid Garden
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