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!”
“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 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 at 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. “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, preparing 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 lowered 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 Ascanio 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.”
“Indeed,” said Father Severo, dabbing his bald head with a handkerchief. 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 heartbreak? 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 overrode temptation and she kept quiet. She didn’t need to fight Floriana’s battles for her; the girl was more than capable of fighti
ng 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.
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 Tuscany. 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 everything 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.”
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, anything 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 done. 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 happiness 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 romance 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 an end. In September Dante would return to real life in Milan, leaving Floriana behind and bereft.
She didn’t discuss it with Beppe. As far as he was concerned their romance was nothing more than one of the many flings Dante would enjoy in his life, before he settled down with an appropriate spouse. It didn’t surprise him, nor did it interest him.
Not everyone was as heartless as Beppe. Father Ascanio anticipated the catastrophe hovering in the wings, awaiting its cue to swoop and destroy, and decided to speak to Floriana when she came in to light her daily candle.
Floriana had great respect for Father Ascanio, whom she had known for as long as she could remember. She also held him in awe, being the most senior man in Herba and the closest to God. When he said he wished to speak to her, she immediately felt guilty and tried to work out what she had done wrong as she followed him into a little side chapel, where they could talk in private.
“You look fearful, Floriana,” he said, sitting down on one of the wooden chairs arranged in front of the altar.
“I feel I must have transgressed for you to need to speak to me like this.”
His kind old face crinkled indulgently. “You’re not a child any longer, Floriana. The days when you used to leap off cliffs and skip your classes are far behind you. You’re a God-fearing young woman about to be sixteen, and I’m proud of you.”
“So, I’ve done nothing wrong?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Then why do you need to see me, Father?”
He hesitated and silently asked God for guidance; young love was something he knew nothing about. Flaring his nostrils, he inhaled deeply then plunged into the cold pool of reason. “My dear child, in the absence of a mother to guide you as you teeter on the brink of womanhood, I feel it’s up to me, as Father of this parish, to give you some fatherly advice.”
Floriana’s heart contracted with dread, for she knew at once that it must be about Dante. Father Ascanio registered her apprehension and took her hand in his large, doughy one. “I know that you and Dante Bonfanti enjoy a deep friendship.”
“Yes, Father.”
“But I feel I would not be doing my duty, as God bids me, if I did not speak to you about the impossibility of it.”
“Impossibility?”
Father Ascanio frantically searched within himself for strength as Floriana’s eyes welled with tears, which spilled over onto ashen cheeks.
“He will return to Milan in September to work for his father, and your life will return to the way it was. You are so very young, my dear, and he is now twenty-three, a man …” His voice trailed off as Floriana’s heart broke right in front of him. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I want to spare you the hurt by opening your eyes to the truth.”
“But Father, Dante loves me.”
“I’m sure he does. But do you really think he’ll get his father’s blessing to marry you?” Floriana lowered her gaze to the stone floor, defeated. “You are from very different worlds, my child. This is a beautiful love story for you to treasure, but you will move on and settle down with someone from your own class. Dante Bonfanti is not for you.” The sight of her crumpling with sorrow like an autumn leaf was too much for Father Ascanio. “I shall leave you here to compose yourself,” he said gently, patting her hand.
“But I love him, Father.”
“Sometimes love isn’t enough, Floriana.”
“But Jesus—”
He lowered his voice. “You are right, Jesus taught us to love our neighbors as ourselves, but unfortunately Beppe Bonfanti hasn’t yet learned that lesson.”
Floriana remained alone in the little chapel. She buried h
er face in her hands and tried to feel God’s presence, but she felt nothing other than her wet cheeks and leaden heart. Was it really impossible for them to be together? Could something as trivial as wealth keep them apart? For a moment she felt defeated. Beppe Bonfanti rose up before her like a giant, his dark and powerful figure standing firmly between her and the man she loved. Father Ascanio’s kindly face floated in front of her eyes, shaking his gray head helplessly. It seemed everyone was against her. But then the gentle countenance of Violetta shone through the dark and smiled at her with motherly love. Surely, she would give them her blessing? Perhaps she could even persuade her husband to give his?
Clinging onto this small flicker of hope, Floriana dried her eyes on her skirt. It wasn’t fair that she bear this misery alone. She would tell Dante what Father Ascanio had said, and he would reassure her and kiss away her fears. Everything would be all right; she just knew it. Father Ascanio was doing what he thought was right, but he was ignorant of the circumstances. He was unaware of the strength of the love they felt for each other. Her spirits lifted once more as she reasoned with herself; her heart had survived against all odds, she wasn’t about to let Beppe Bonfanti crush it now. If Father Ascanio had taught her anything, it was that all human beings were equal in God’s eyes—she was as precious as everyone else.
It was dusk when she reached La Magdalena. Good-Night rushed up the drive to greet her as the big iron gates opened to let her in. Trembling, she bent down to stroke him, burying her face awhile in his fur, composing herself as her fears now reared up to overthrow her again. She wandered up the avenue of cypress trees, where she had walked with Dante for the first time as a little girl. But she was too anxious to savor the smells of the garden, as they lingered seductively in the evening air.
The Mermaid Garden Page 30