“Come, let’s go inside. It’s getting cold.”
“May I confess, Father?”
“If it would make you feel better.”
“It would. One last time.”
She sat in the dark confessional and opened her heart in a way she had never done before. She spoke about her mother and the desperate sense of abandonment she had suffered as a consequence of her leaving. She spoke about her brother, the sorrow of his sudden disappearance and the jealousy she had felt that he had been chosen over her. And she spoke of her father and her deep shame.
Father Ascanio listened compassionately as she cut through the defensive outer shell she had forged for herself and delved into the soft, tender flesh of her sorrow. When she had finished they both sat in silence as the words settled around them like flakes of snow. She felt better for having opened her heart and released her grievances—less bitter towards her father, less resentful towards her mother—and in the light of her new life with Dante, her heart grew warm.
“Now you can see why my child is so important to me, Father. I do believe God has given him to me to make up for all that I have lost. And I will love him with all my heart and soul.”
Father Ascanio silently prayed for the angels to carry her into a bright and happy future.
28.
Beppe and Dante arrived at the office at nine A.M., as they did every morning. Beppe’s driver picked them up from the family home on Via dei Giardini and drove them the twenty-minute journey to the factory, situated in a high-security, purpose-built business park on the outskirts of Milan. Beppe was proud of his son. He was a quick and enthusiastic learner and had wasted no time in rolling up his sleeves and getting to know every aspect of the business, from the factory floor to the boardroom. He cut a dash in his navy-blue suit and crisp white shirt, and looked every inch a figure of authority. One day he would step into his father’s shoes, and Beppe was more than satisfied that he was the right man for the job.
The sky was gray, it looked like it might rain, but inside the lights were bright, and the building buzzed with activity. Beppe’s employees were well aware of his high expectations and made sure they arrived at their posts before him. Too many workers had been dismissed without explanation for anyone to be complacent about his job. Beppe marched through the open-plan office of cubicles, where heads were down over typewriters, telephones were ringing, cigarettes smoking, and employees furiously looking busy. He smiled to himself, taking pleasure from their fear, which generated such high levels of productivity.
Dante strode into his office, leaving his father to his crisp and doting secretary, Signora Mancini. She greeted him with black coffee and a crimson smile and followed him into his office with the post. There, Beppe Bonfanti sat in splendor in a room designed to look as sumptuous as his own drawing room at home. There was a walnut drinks’ cabinet with crystal decanters, a finely upholstered coffee table laden with glossy tomes, a suite of sofas and armchairs in the finest silk, and paintings on the walls from artists from all over the world. His antique desk was vast, to reflect his importance, and behind him large windows gave out onto an ornamental pond complete with swans and geese.
“Your nine o’clock meeting is ready in the boardroom,” Signora Mancini said, placing the letters on his desk. “Signor Pascale has just called to say he is running a little late.”
“Pascale is always late,” Beppe growled, taking off his loden coat and hat. Signora Mancini hung them on the stand by the door, as she did every morning, then awaited his instructions like a well-trained Labrador. Beppe dropped his gaze onto the pile of letters and frowned. Sitting on the top was a hand-written envelope stating “Private and Confidential” in bold black ink. “We’ll start the meeting without him,” Beppe continued, picking it up and opening it. “He’s probably overslept. He should invest in a better alarm clock.”
Signora Mancini watched her boss pull out a small white sheet of paper. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the page. After a moment, he inhaled deeply and flared his nostrils. Signora Mancini felt her blood chill as the air in the office grew cold.
“Bring me Zazzetta,” he said in a low voice, without taking his eyes off the letter. Signora Mancini left, heart pounding. When Beppe Bonfanti was angry, he didn’t lose his temper as others did, but turned cool and steady, as if aiming a gun.
A moment later Zazzetta was standing before him. Signora Mancini closed the door and went back to her desk. She wondered what the letter could possibly contain to inspire such a powerful reaction in her boss. However, it wasn’t her job to dwell on it, nor to wonder how Zazzetta would deal with it. It was better not to know.
Beppe handed him the letter. Zazzetta read it. He showed no emotion at all, but the sallow holes of his cheeks were stained a pale, reluctant pink.
“So, the old drunk has sobered up enough to try to blackmail us,” said Beppe, lighting a cigar. He chuckled cynically. “He must think he’s holding the winning lottery ticket.”
“Are we sure Dante is the father?”
“It could be any man in Herba. Trouble is, we can’t risk it, can we?”
“We don’t want a scandal,” Zazzetta agreed.
“I am perplexed that my son should be so very stupid.”
“He is young and in love.”
“His brain is in his cock. If he wasn’t my son, I’d slice it off.”
“If he wasn’t your son, you wouldn’t care.”
“But he is my son, so, what do we do, my friend?” Beppe shrugged and exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“We deal with it, Capo.”
“Yes, we deal with it in the simplest way. We pay the old scoundrel to shut up, and we get rid of the problem.” He fixed Zazzetta with the cold eyes of a man who has ordered the efficient removal of enemies many times before. “We make her disappear.”
“Do we have to take such drastic measures? She is a young girl—”
“Make it look like an accident.”
“But, Capo—”
“It is the only way, or we’ll have the father sucking our blood for the rest of his life. This is not the last time he’ll come asking for money. I don’t want this hanging over us, nor over Dante, the fool. The problem has to go away, full stop. There is only one way to be sure that it won’t come back to haunt us again and again.” He turned to look out of the window. “I wonder whether the old soak will consider it was worth it when he realizes his golden goose is gone forever.”
“Won’t he try to find her?”
“A man who is capable of selling his daughter in this way has no heart. You know as well as I do that Elio is a drunk, hopeless idiot. He’ll take the money and run—and hopefully we’ll never hear from him again.”
“Consider it done, Capo.”
“Good.” He turned back to Zazzetta. “And not a word to my son. Perhaps we can pay someone to say that she ran off with a tomato seller.”
As Floriana left the church she spotted Costanza crossing the square, weighed down with shopping bags. The girls stared at each other warily. It had been awkward between them for so long now. Instead of hurrying on, Floriana waved. Her heart was so full of happiness as she hovered on the brink of her new life that there was no room for bitterness. “Do you want a hand?” she asked, smiling. Costanza looked at her anxiously. “You don’t have to worry; your mother’s nowhere in sight.”
“It’s not like that, really it isn’t,” Costanza protested, but Floriana shook her head dismissively and briskly relieved her of one of the bags.
“What have you got in here?”
“I’m sorry, it’s really heavy.”
Floriana peered inside. “Fruit?”
“Mamma has put me on a diet.” Costanza shrugged. “I’m not sure it’s working, though.” She gave a pathetic smile.
Overcome with nostalgia for the way things used to be, Floriana suggested they go down to the beach. “We can sit and chat like old times.”
“I don’t know. I should be getting home.”
<
br /> “Please.”
“Well, maybe quickly. If you don’t mind carrying that bag.”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
“Okay then. I’ll come, but not for long or I’ll get into trouble.”
They set off along the road that led out of town. “So, your mother is really determined to marry you off, isn’t she?”
“She’s scheming and plotting.”
“In the end you’ll marry who you want to marry, and that’ll be that.”
“No, I’ll marry who she wants me to marry. I know that’s my fate. I don’t have the strength or the courage to go against her will.”
“You have time to grow strong.”
“I’m her only child. She has pinned all her hopes on me.”
“Are you still going to move back to Rome?”
“Papà’s going to become an industrialist,” Costanza declared proudly.
“An industrialist?”
“Yes, we might move to Milan.”
“Milan?” Floriana thought of Dante, and her stomach lurched.
“I only pick up bits and pieces. No one tells me anything. They still think I’m too young to understand. Or too stupid. Anyway, I think he’s going to do something for Beppe Bonfanti. Consultancy work, I imagine. He’s very well connected in the one area that Beppe isn’t.”
“It all boils down to class,” said Floriana quietly.
“Yes, I’m afraid it does.”
They sat on the sand, two girls who had once shared so much, and gazed out across the ocean. “I’m leaving, too,” said Floriana.
Costanza was astonished. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. I need to start afresh somewhere new.”
“What about Dante?”
Floriana longed to confide in her, but Dante had begged her not to tell anyone. “What about him? It was just a summer romance,” she replied carelessly.
Costanza looked genuinely sorry. “Are you very sad?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m looking to my future now. No point dwelling on the past.”
“But you were so in love. I thought you were going to marry him and live happily ever after. I was hoping you would because that would have infuriated my mother more than anything else.”
“Perhaps your mother was right all along. I should find someone from my own world.”
“No, she’s not right. Love has no boundaries of class or age or anything else.” Costanza took her hand. “Wherever you go, will you promise to keep in touch?”
“How will I know where to find you if you move to Milan?”
“I’ll leave my address at Luigi’s. You can get it from him. So, when are you thinking of leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
“Yes, it’s all arranged.”
“So, you weren’t even going to say good-bye?”
“I was planning on slipping away quietly.”
“But where are you going?”
Floriana had to think quickly. “I have a cousin in Treviso, so I shall go there.”
“I didn’t think you had anyone besides Elio and Zita.”
“Neither did I until recently. Zita mentioned her, and I seized the opportunity. She’s married with children my age. She’s agreed to take me in until I find a place of my own.”
“But what are you going to do?”
Floriana felt a stab of guilt as she embellished her lie. “That’s the difference between us, Costanza. I’m happy to do anything. Anything at all: cleaning houses, waitressing, gardening. I’m ready to put my hand to anything. Girls like you are too grand to stoop that low.” She laughed. “Don’t worry about me—I’m very resilient.”
“I’ve always admired that about you, Floriana.”
“Don’t tell anyone I’m going, though, please.” Costanza frowned. “I mean it. Not a soul. I can trust you, can’t I?”
“You know you can. But why mustn’t anyone know?”
“Because I don’t want my father coming after me.”
“I see.”
“I just want to leave without any fuss.”
“But Zita must know.”
“Yes, Zita knows, but she won’t know that you know. So, please, don’t mention it to her.” Floriana was almost breathless with spinning such a complex web of lies. “Just keep it to yourself.”
“I shall.” Then in a small voice, Costanza added, “I’ll miss you, you know.”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
“We had fun, didn’t we?”
“We certainly did.”
“Until Mamma set us apart. I’ll never forgive her for that.”
“Don’t hold on to bitterness: just make sure that you don’t become as snobby as she is.” Floriana pulled a comic face, and they both laughed.
“No one makes me laugh anymore,” Costanza complained. “I’ll miss your wit.”
“Then you must be the witty one.”
“I’ll try.”
“If you’re fun to be with, you’ll always be popular, and then you can marry whoever you chose.”
“If only!” Costanza looked at her watch. “I’d better go. It’s been nice sitting here talking, just like old times. Are you coming?”
“I’ll accompany you to the fork in the road. Then you’ll have to go the rest of the way on your own. I don’t want to bump into your mother.”
“Neither do I!”
At the fork Floriana handed over the bag of fruit. “Don’t eat them all at once,” she said, suddenly feeling tearful.
“I wouldn’t be allowed to do anything so rash.” Costanza looked at her friend sadly. “Look after yourself, Floriana.”
“You, too.”
Suddenly, Costanza put down the bags and flung her arms around Floriana’s shoulders. She squeezed her hard and long. “I hope your new life makes you happy. I hope it gives you everything you’ve ever wanted. I hope the angels keep you safe.” When she pulled away, Floriana saw that she, too, was crying.
Floriana watched her walk up the road, her tread slow and heavy. Unable to bear it, she turned and hurried off towards home. She had to pack her things and make ready for the morning. Determined to keep her mind off the past she was leaving, she remained focused on the future ahead.
When she arrived back at her apartment, she was met by her father. He didn’t appear drunk or hungover, but he wore the most unfamiliar expression on his face. Before she could speak, she noticed a stranger in the room with them, a strong, burly man with thick black hair and oily skin.
“What’s going on?” Floriana asked, sensing danger but not knowing what form it took.
“My daughter,” said Elio, reaching out for her. She flinched and narrowed her eyes. “I know you are expecting a baby.” The world spun out of control, and she put her hand on the wall to steady herself. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m happy, Floriana. I’m going to be a grandfather. This man is here to take you somewhere safe so you can have your baby without scandal. When you are ready, you can come back and we’ll be a family again.” She stared at the stranger, and her mouth went dry. Where was Dante? How had her father found out? She noticed he was holding a thick brown envelope. “Oh, this?” he said, tapping it against his hand. “This is a little gift from Beppe.”
“You blackmailed him?” she hissed, incredulous that her own father could betray her.
“You might not be happy now, but you’ll thank me later.”
“Where’s Dante?” she asked. “Where is he?”
“He is waiting for you up at the house,” said the stranger.
“But I was to meet him tomorrow.”
“The plan has changed,” the stranger continued. “You are to come now.”
“Can I pack my things?”
The man nodded. “Of course.” She marched past them into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Her first instincts were to climb out of the window and run away. But what if the man was speaking the truth? What if her father had inf
ormed Beppe and he had given him money to support her? What if Dante was waiting for her at La Magdalena? After all, there was no way of letting her know with no telephone in the house. Perhaps Beppe was now taking control of the situation, which would surely be a good thing? In which case they wouldn’t have to skulk about anymore but could declare their love openly.
With these thoughts she began to put her few belongings into a bag. It didn’t take long. She was anxious to get out of the house and as far away from her father as possible. There was something callous about his eyes, something she didn’t recognize or like.
When she emerged, her father tried to embrace her, but she recoiled in disgust and hurried down the stairs after the swarthy man who smelled of cheap cologne. She looked around for Signora Bruno, but she was nowhere to be seen. She climbed into the little black car that was parked in Via Roma, as her spirits fluctuated between excitement and fear. It didn’t look like the sort of car Beppe Bonfanti would own, and she hesitated, her instincts crying out that something wasn’t right. But she was incapable now of doing anything about it. As Floriana’s pulse thumped in her temples, the stranger started the engine and the car rattled up the street.
Floriana didn’t say a word. She was too frightened. She kept her eyes on the road ahead. At least they were going in the right direction. She noticed the man’s hands. They were large and strong and gripped the steering wheel very tightly. Then her gaze strayed past them to the door, and she saw that it was locked. They were all locked. Her breath caught in her chest, and her head grew dizzy with terror. The gates of La Magdalena reared up in front of them and she felt a tremendous wave of longing wash over her, forcing her back in her seat. She began to knot her fingers, and her palms grew damp with sweat. Slowly, they approached, so slowly it was as if she was outside her body, looking down. As if she was watching a movie of someone else’s life.
At that moment, Good-Night ran out into the road, breaking the spell. She sat up and gazed at him in desperation. He seemed to know that she was in the car and strained his neck to see her. The car didn’t slow down, but sped past the dog and the gates of La Magdalena. She swiveled around in her seat and banged on the window. “Good-Night! Good-Night!” The dog recognized her at once and bounded speedily after her.
The Mermaid Garden Page 34