The Mermaid Garden (38 page)

women are meant to be voluptuous.”

“You’re not.”

“I have hips and breasts.”

“Not like mine.”

“But you have the grand title and parents. Which would you prefer?”

“I should diet.”

“Then diet.”

“It won’t make a difference in time for tomorrow night.”

“Then eat and be happy. The blue looks lovely, really it does.”

“What are you going to wear?”

“I have nothing special. I’ll probably borrow a dress of Aunt Zita’s.

She’s more or less the same size and she’s very vain, so she’ll have something pretty.”

“You can borrow some of my jewelry.” Costanza volunteered, sud-

denly feeling sorry for her.

“Really?” Floriana’s eyes widened.

“Let’s have a look.” She hurried to her dressing table and opened her

jewelry box. “These were my grandmother’s,” she said, withdrawing a

pair of diamond earrings.

Floriana gasped. “They’re exquisite.”

“Put them on.”

“I couldn’t wear those.”

“Why not?”

“Your mother will have a fit.”

“She won’t know until it’s too late. Anyway, why would you care

what my mother thinks? Here, put them on.”

Floriana clipped them onto her lobes. She pulled out the stool in

front of the dressing table and sat down, then looked at her reflec-

tion with wonder. The white diamonds shone like icicles against her

brown skin.

“See how they light up your face?”

“They’re beautiful,” Floriana sighed, pulling her hair away from her

neck. “I love the way they catch the light and twinkle like stars.”

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“Then borrow them.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. They’re too valuable.”

“Please, it would give me pleasure to see you in them.”

“I feel like someone else—an impostor.”

“But you look like a princess.”

Floriana stared at her reflection, her heart expanding with a sudden

longing for something she could never be.

“My mother has a big jewelry box of gems, all inherited from my

grandmother,” Costanza continued. “I’m going to inherit them all

one day.”

“You’re very lucky.”

“I know. But that’s all I’m going to inherit. Papà lost a fortune and

still hasn’t managed to make it back. Mamma hopes I’ll marry money,

then we’ll be rich again.”

“I’m sure you will,” Floriana said vaguely, gazing dreamily at the dia-

monds.

Costanza flinched as they heard the front door slam downstairs.

Floriana snapped out of her trance. “Is that your mother?”

“It can’t be.”

“You said she had gone out for the day?”

“She has.”

Floriana hastily pulled off the earrings and placed them on the

dressing table. “Well, if she catches me here, so what? What’s the worst she can do? I’m certainly not going to steal out of the window like a

thief.”

Costanza wrung her hands anxiously. “You’re my friend and that’s

that,” she said, trying to be brave.

They heard steps on the stairs, then the countess’s familiar voice.

“Costanza!” Costanza threw her friend a helpless look. “I’m in my bed-

room, Mamma.”

The door opened, and the countess peered in. When she saw

Floriana, her initial reaction was one of horror, but she swiftly com-

posed herself and forced a saccharine smile. “Hello, Floriana,” she said tightly. “What are you two up to?”

“I’m trying on dresses for the party.”

Her mother scrutinized her daughter. Distracted by her ambition

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she strode over to get a better look. “I like the blue on you,” she said, grabbing the skirt and pulling it down. “Though, it’s a little tight.”

Costanza sighed. “I’m holding my stomach in.”

“Not enough,” replied the countess briskly. “Too much pasta, my

dear.”

“I could wear the white.”

“And look like a meringue?”

Costanza’s exuberance deflated like a balloon. “What shall I wear,

then?”

“You shall wear this one, but Graziella will let it out for you.” She

noticed the diamond earrings on the dressing table and guessed that

Floriana had been trying them on. She inhaled through dilated nos-

trils. “And you can wear these,” she said. “Floriana, the earrings, please.”

Floriana suffered a stab of disappointment. She lifted them carefully

and dropped them into the outstretched hand.

“I was going to lend them to Floriana,” Costanza exclaimed without

thinking.

“To Floriana? Whatever for?”

“For the party.”

The countess gave a little snort. “My darling, Floriana isn’t going to

the party.”

Floriana’s anger mounted. “I
am
going to the party,” she interjected firmly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my mistake. I didn’t know you’d received an invita-

tion.”

Floriana flushed. “An invitation?”

“Yes, you can only go to the party if you have an invitation.”

“You have one, don’t you?” Costanza asked as her mother clipped the

earrings onto her lobes.

“There, that’s better. Nothing like diamonds to lift a frock.”

She smiled at her daughter. “You look quite lovely, Costanza. You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Floriana felt dizzy with mortification. “No, I don’t have an invita-

tion,” she replied quietly, and to her fury her eyes began to sting with tears.

“She can come with us, can’t she?” said Costanza.

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“I wish she could, darling, but if she hasn’t been formally invited, it would be rude.”

“But Signora Bonfanti adores her.”

The countess shrugged. “I’m sorry, Floriana. What a disappoint-

ment. Still, it’s only a party.”

Costanza bit her lip. She wanted to wrap her arms around her friend,

but her mother stood between them.

Floriana drew back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You’re right,”

she said. “It’s only a party. And you, Costanza, are going to shine

brighter than the brightest star.” She was damned if she was going to

let the countess see her cry. “I should go now.” There was an awkward

silence as she stood up to leave.

“You don’t have to,” said Costanza at last, bravely defying her mother.

The countess pulled a sympathetic smile, but it was void of any real

feeling. “She’s very strong,” she said as Floriana closed the door be-

hind her.

“Why haven’t they invited her?”

“Because she’s not of our world, darling.”

“Does it really matter so very much?”

The countess placed her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and fixed

her with eyes as cold as gunmetal. “Listen to me, Costanza. It mat-

ters more than you can imagine. You are from a good family—don’t

ever forget that. Money comes and goes, but you’ll always be an Al-

dorisio. Floriana is a nothing, a no one. She’ll marry one of her kind, and you’ll forget you were ever friends. But you, my love, will marry one of
your
kind—or at least a man worthy of you in terms of wealth. Life is tough. It will roll over you if you’re not nimble enough to jump on top of it.”

Costanza nodded, but her eyes slid to the door.

Her mother pulled her by the chin. “Look at me, Costanza, and tell

me that you understand.”

“I understand,” she replied.

“Good. Now, diamond earrings, yes, they’re very pretty, but I think

we can do better. Come with me, I have far more beautiful diamonds in

my
jewelry box.” She tossed the earrings onto the dressing table.

* * *

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Floriana ran down the hill, tears tumbling over her cheeks, a sob caught in her chest. It was only when she reached the beach that she let it

out with a loud wail. She sat on the sand and hugged her knees to her

chest, rocking back and forth. How could it be that she hadn’t been sent an invitation? She thought Signora Bonfanti liked her, but she was just like the countess after all, dismissing her like a stray dog. She took a deep breath and gazed out over the sea. Somewhere, in the mist where

the water met the sky, was Heaven. It was there that Jesus lived, in a

palace of marble, too far away to hear her prayers.

Suddenly, a cold, wet nose pressed itself under her elbow. It was

Good-Night. With a rush of affection she wrapped her arms around

him and cried into his fur. He seemed to understand and leaned against

her, sniffing her skin with his prickly muzzle. After a while she felt a little better. With Good-Night to give her strength she realized that it didn’t really matter whether or not she went to the party. It was, after all, only one night. Dante would be down for the whole summer. She’d

have ample opportunity to see him. And anyway, he’d probably be so

busy talking to all his parents’ friends that he wouldn’t have time to talk to her.

“I’m still going to marry him,” she told Good-Night, drying her face

on his ear. “Then I’ll officially be your mother.”

The countess ran herself a bath. Graziella had closed the shutters and

drawn the curtains. She undressed and slipped into a silk dressing

gown. It was old and a little stained on one sleeve, but she didn’t have the money to buy another one. She couldn’t afford that sort of extravagance. But, if she was cunning, Costanza would marry well and she’d be

able to afford the very best of everything again.

She looked around her bedroom, at the peeling plaster, the water-

mark in one corner where the rain had come in through a broken tile,

the general shabbiness of the place. If she started to renovate the villa, she’d never stop. It needed so much work. Her husband was making

money, but not enough to restore them to their former glory. At least

they still had the
appearance
of grandeur—and their illustrious name.

She walked over to her chest of drawers. It was an antique, bought in

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in their palazzo in Rome. She sighed as she remembered the palazzo in

Via del Corso. What a prestigious house that had been and how very

fitting to live there. It grieved her greatly to recall the week they had packed up and left. Dark, dark days indeed. She opened the top drawer

and pulled out a stiff white envelope. The words had been written in the finest calligraphy: “Signorina Floriana.”

She didn’t feel bad. It was the right thing to do. When Signora

Bonfanti had given it to her to pass on to Floriana, the countess had

seized her opportunity. It was for the best. Why give the girl a taste of a world she was never going to be able to live in? Surely that was crueler?

It would only raise her expectations. She replaced the invitation and

closed the drawer. It was for the child’s own good.

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22.

The day of the party dawned. A perfect June morning to herald the

return from America of Beppe’s only son and heir, who had gradu-

ated from one of the finest universities in the world, studied for a master’s degree, and then learned the ropes of business with associates of his father’s based in Chicago. The sky dazzled a sapphire blue, and the sun poured her golden light over the magnificent yellow villa, where an efficient army of staff bustled about importantly, putting the finishing touches to the preparations.

A midnight-blue canopy had been constructed at the end of the

formal garden behind the villa, where two hundred guests would sit

down to eat, listen to speeches, and dance until sunrise. It was designed to light up after dark with a thousand twinkling stars. Inside, the tables were draped in deep blue cloths with antique silver cutlery and crystal glasses brought up from the cellars beneath the house. Extravagant

displays of rare blue orchids were placed in the center of each table in case anyone was in any doubt about the wealth and prestige of Beppe

Bonfanti.

Outside, gardeners clipped the topiary and combed the borders for

weeds that might have been overlooked. The stone steps descending

from the villa were swept for the final time and lined with tea lights

in midnight-blue tumblers. The effect was ravishing. Signora Bonfanti

gave the garden one final touch of magic by placing the peacock beside

the fountain, hoping that once guests arrived, he might open his tail

and dazzle everyone with his beauty.

Floriana lay in bed, hiding her face beneath the sheet. As much as

she had tried to convince herself that she didn’t care whether or not

she went to the party, she still wanted it all to be over and her dis-

appointment to be gone. Her father slept on in the room next door,

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having drunk too much the previous night. She could smell the alcohol

through the wall.

He was completely useless now, so crippled by his addiction that

even the count had stopped employing him. If it wasn’t for Aunt Zita

and the money she reluctantly gave them from time to time, they

would be forced to beg for help. Floriana managed to work here and