The Mermaid Garden (16 page)

“He’s my father’s driver,” Costanza added grandly.

“He’s useless,” said Floriana.

Dante frowned as she suddenly looked disheartened. “Come, I’ve

got something I want to show you.” He stood up. “A surprise.”

Floriana shrugged off the thought of her father, and smiled again.

“I love surprises,” she beamed.

The girls followed him through the gate in the wall, out into the or-

namental garden, where stone steps swept up to the house in a graceful

curve. A man in a green overall was raking the gravel, his head shielded from the sun by a white hat. Another watered the formal borders with a

hose. A gray cat lay asleep on the balustrade, and Floriana skipped over to stroke it. “Is this yours?”

“Doesn’t really belong to anyone,” Dante replied. “Another stray.”

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“You are lucky. I wish I could adopt a stray.”

“I’d say you could adopt him, but he’ll only come back here where he

knows he’ll be fed.”

“I wouldn’t dream of taking him away from here. Look, he’s a little

prince asleep at the foot of the palace. He’d be very unhappy in my

little apartment.”

“Your father would probably skin him,” said Costanza.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Floriana retorted defensively. “But he wouldn’t

like him.”

Dante watched Floriana, intrigued. She was like a stray cat herself—

a bold, independent little cat who really wanted someone to take care of her. He led on, to the other side of the garden where an olive grove was planted behind an ancient stone wall. Among the olive trees were fig

and apple trees, cherry and orange trees, and giant terra-cotta pots with their lids in place, once used for storage. The ground was scattered with hundreds of little yellow flowers peeping out from the long grass, and

lining the wall were twisted eucalyptus trees, standing guard like de-

crepit old men.

“This is a wonderful surprise,” enthused Floriana, enjoying yet an-

other stunning garden.

“You haven’t seen the surprise, yet,” Dante laughed, hands in pock-

ets, searching the area for something. “Ah, there he is.”

Floriana and Costanza followed the line of his gaze to see a mag-

nificent peacock pecking the ground, his blue feathers glistening on his chest like oil.

“I told you there were rare birds in this garden,” said Floriana. “He’s beautiful. Does he have a name?”

“No. He’s just Peacock.”

“How lazy of you not to think of a name. I shall think of one, then.”

She narrowed her eyes and then grinned jubilantly. “Michelangelo.”

“A bit grand, isn’t it?”

“Yes, grand for a grand peacock. He has to hold his head up in this

place, so let’s give him a famous name.”

“Does he bite?” Costanza asked a little nervously.

“I don’t think he’ll like you to get too close,” Dante replied cautiously.

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Floriana ignored them both and edged quietly towards the peacock,

hand outstretched, offering friendship.

“Careful,
piccolina
.”

Dante and Costanza watched as Floriana approached him. Michel-

angelo lifted his head and eyed her warily. As she advanced he took a

step towards her, curious to see what she held in her hand. With jerky

movements he observed her and she whispered encouragingly, creep-

ing closer.

Finally, she reached him. He stiffened but didn’t peck her as she

gently ran her fingers over his proud chest, smoothing down the little

feathers that felt like fur.

“I think he likes you,” said Dante. Costanza wished she wasn’t so

afraid. At that moment the bird opened his glorious feathers in a

bright, shimmering fan. “Now I
know
he likes you,” Dante laughed.

“You’re a very special bird, aren’t you, Michelangelo,” Floriana whis-

pered. “I think he likes his new name.”

“It’s very dignified.”

“Better than Peacock. How would you like to be called Man?”

“Not very much.”

“He likes Michelangelo.” She knelt on the grass and placed her hand

on his back. The bird enjoyed her caress for a moment, then moved

away. “He’s had enough,” she announced. “How does he get on with

the cat?”

“Cordial,” Dante replied. “He doesn’t like the cat half as much as he

likes you.”

They walked around the orchard, followed at a distance by Michel-

angelo, who was as curious about Floriana as Dante was.

“My sister’s coming for a week, with some friends. You should come

and use the pool,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t think we should,” said Costanza quickly.

“Why not?” Floriana asked. “I’d like to meet your sister. How old

is she?”

“Sixteen. I have another one of thirteen, Giovanna, who’s in Mexico

with my parents.”

“She’s only a little older than us,” said Floriana to Costanza.

“I don’t think we should impose. Especially if Giovanna isn’t here.”

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“Damiana will enjoy having you about the place. She likes younger

children she can boss around.”

“I don’t know . . .” Costanza mumbled anxiously.

“You can’t sit on the wall and spy all the time.” He winked at

Floriana. “Would you be happier if I called your mother and invited

you formally?”

Costanza was relieved. Her shoulders dropped, and she smiled. “Yes,

please.”

“As for you,
piccolina
, who do I call?”

“No one,” she said breezily.

“No one?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No.” She shrugged as if it couldn’t matter less. “No one cares.” At

that moment, looking at her impish face gazing up at him defiantly, he

realized that, in a brotherly kind of way,
he
did.

Dante honored his word and telephoned Costanza’s mother that eve-

ning. She was delighted that her daughter was invited up to La Mag-

dalena to swim with his sister, Damiana, and Dante suggested that she

take her friend, Floriana, with her for company.

“She’s the daughter of Carlo’s chauffeur,” the countess explained

grandly, as if making excuses for the child’s inadequate pedigree. “She’s a sweet girl, and Costanza likes having her around. I tolerate her for my daughter’s sake, although I would much prefer her to befriend someone of her own class.”

“She’s very welcome to come,” said Dante, smiling to himself at the

woman’s grandiosity.

“I’ll send our maid with them.”

“Of course.”

“Please thank Damiana for the invitation.”

“I will.”

“I hope they won’t be any trouble.”

“Of course not. It will be a pleasure to have them. I hope they will

come as often as they like.”

“How very kind. Lovely to think of Costanza mixing with the right

sort of people. Send my regards to your parents. It’s been so long since we last saw them. Will they be spending time down here this summer?”

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“I doubt it. They’re taking Giovanna on a tour of South America.”

“What a shame they’re missing the summer.”

“Mother hates the sun. It ages her skin.”

“Well, she
is
very fair.”

“So, we’ll expect the girls tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I know Costanza is very much looking forward to it.”

The following morning the girls arrived at the big gates of Villa La

Magdalena accompanied by Graziella, the maid, a dark little woman as

round as a teapot, dressed formally in a pastel-pink uniform and clean

white shoes. They were met by one of the gardeners, who unlocked the

gates and accompanied them up the cypress avenue to the house. Flori-

ana skipped happily across the shadows, her thoughts full of Dante and

the day ahead that promised to be so thrilling.

Costanza was nervous: anxious about the strangers she was going

to meet, so much older than her, and about having to put on a bathing

suit. She wished she were as fearless as her friend. But she needn’t have worried. They were taken straight down to the swimming pool, which

was built at the end of a long path, high up on the rocks overlooking

the sea. Four girls in little bikinis lay in a colonnaded alcove at one end on sun loungers, sipping drinks and reading magazines, tanning their

skin golden in the sun. Bob Dylan sang out from the little hut at the

other end, where there was a bar, tall stools, and changing rooms.

Dante was in the water at the edge of the pool, chatting to the girls.

When he saw the children descending the steps, he waved and called

out to them. Damiana sat up and waved, too, her beautiful face flower-

ing into a smile. Her blond hair was tied into a ponytail beneath a wide sunhat, and her wrists were adorned with gold bangles. She stood up

in her skimpy white bikini and walked around the pool to greet them.

“Dante has told me so much about you,” she said to Floriana. “And

I believe
we
’ve met before,” she added to Costanza.

Costanza felt very important, being singled out, and replied firmly

that their parents knew each other. “Why don’t you change into your

swimsuits and join us out here. Would you like anything to drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Costanza, too embarrassed to ask for any-

thing.

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“I’d love something,” said Floriana boldly.

“What will you have?”

“What is there?”

Damiana smiled indulgently. “Come and have a look. We have a

whole bar at your disposal.” They followed her into the hut, where Gra-

ziella was already sitting, fanning herself. An attendant stood behind

the bar in a formal black suit and white shirt. Costanza thought he

looked very hot. “Why don’t you let Primo make you a fruit juice?”

“You can choose your fruit,” Primo said to Floriana.

“That sounds fun,” she replied, climbing onto the stool. “Why don’t

you have one, too, Costanza?”

“Well, all right,” she replied, grateful to her friend for having per-

suaded her. She really was very thirsty.

The changing room was very smart, with two lavatories, and marble

basins with all sorts of lotions and perfume flasks lined up on shelves beneath big, elaborate mirrors. The girls hung their dresses on hooks

and put their shoes neatly on the wooden bench beneath. They wrig-

gled excitedly into their swimsuits.

“Isn’t she glamorous?” Costanza hissed. “Did you see how skinny she

is? And her bikini is tiny. She shows everything!”

“She’s like an angel,” Floriana replied, hooking her straps over her

shoulders.

“She’s nice.”

“I don’t think a person could be anything but nice, living in a place

like this.”

“You’re right. You couldn’t be unhappy here, could you?”

“Never.”

“Are you going to swim straightaway?”

“Of course,” Floriana enthused. “I’m boiling.”

Costanza shivered nervously. “Okay, I will if you will.”

They came out of the hut with their drinks where Damiana was

waiting for them with a drink of her own. She had been chatting to

Graziella, who was very surprised that the young woman had deigned

to speak to her at all, and was blushing with pleasure beneath her

brown skin. “Right, girls, let me introduce you to my friends. You al-

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him
.” They 30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 99

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followed her around to the sun loungers, where an attendant in white

shorts and polo shirt was putting out two more, draping towels over

the mattresses and extra ones for swimming neatly folded on the ends.

Floriana noticed everything, and her spirit swelled with happiness.

The other three girls looked up from their magazines and smiled.

Damiana introduced them as Maria, Rosaria, and Allegra. They were

all pretty, with slim figures and flawless skin, but none was as lovely as their hostess, who, together with her brother, seemed to shine with a

superior gloss.

“Well, are you going to come in?” asked Dante from the water. “It’s

lovely in here.” Floriana didn’t need to be persuaded. She placed her

drink on the little white table next to her lounger and tossed her towel onto the floor. With a big leap she jumped straight into the water.

Costanza held back timidly.

“That’s the little stray,
l’orfanella
.” She heard Damiana say to her friends as Floriana swam over to Dante.

“
Poverina
!” Allegra sighed compassionately.

“Terrible not to have a mother,” said Maria.

“Better to have a dead mother than a mother who doesn’t want you,”

added Rosaria, lighting a cigarette.

“Dante’s rescued her,” said Damiana. “He’s like that. If there’s a

wounded dog within a ten-kilometer radius, he’ll find it, bring it home, and look after it. He can sense a bird with a broken wing at a hundred

paces!”

“And
this
one?” whispered Allegra, nodding at Costanza who was

pretending not to listen.

“She’s the daughter of Contessa Aldorisio.”

“Very aristocratic,” said Rosaria, impressed.