The Mermaid Garden

by Santa Montefiore

  “Don’t be frightened, Costanza,” said Dante, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. “He’s very friendly.” Costanza watched as the dog fell into Floriana’s embrace, nearly knocking her over.

  “Isn’t he adorable! Look, he’s licking me again!”

  “Don’t you like animals?” Dante asked Costanza.

  “No,” she replied.

  “I love them,” Floriana gushed. “I wish I had a dog. A companion who is always by my side and loves me without question. I’d like that.”

  “You can borrow Good-Night whenever you like,” said Dante, finding her delight infectious. “Come on, let’s go and sit in Mother’s garden.”

  He put his hands in his pockets and strode off in the direction of the house. Good-Night sensed something moving in the bushes, pricked up his ears, and stiffened his tail, then bounded over to have a look. Floriana smiled at her friend, as if to say, “Didn’t I tell you he was handsome?” and Costanza smiled back nervously, feeling better now they had been properly introduced.

  They walked through the gardens, marveling at the marble statues and hedges cut into perfect spheres. A few gardeners worked in the borders, watering before the sun got too hot, and weeding, tossing the offending plants into wheelbarrows. When they saw Dante, they stopped what they were doing and took off their hats, nodding respectfully. Floriana noticed and felt proud to be walking beside such an important man.

  Dante smiled indulgently as the two girls chatted away excitedly. Costanza forgot her nervousness and let Floriana show her everything, as if the place already belonged to her. When they reached the mermaid garden, she sat down and announced that this was her favorite spot because she could hear the birds in the trees and the water trickling in the fountain and feel the sun on her face.

  “This is heaven,” she stated simply, leaning back and closing her eyes. “A place as beautiful as this must be where God lives, mustn’t it? When He’s not in church.”

  Dante laughed and joined her on the bench. “Perhaps church is where He works, like going into the office, and here is where He comes to get away from all those people making impossible requests.”

  “My requests aren’t impossible,” Floriana said. “I would never put Him under pressure.”

  “What do you ask for, piccolina?”

  She smiled secretively. “I can’t tell you. If I do, I’ll have to kill you.”

  “Well, you had better not tell me, then.”

  “She asks for her mother to come back,” volunteered Costanza, feeling more confident now and a little jealous that he had just called Floriana “little one,” as if he had known her a long time and was fond of her. She sat on one of the other benches.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “She ran off with a man she met at the market,” said Floriana carelessly. Seeing as she was going to marry Dante, he might as well know everything about her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I. I used to wish she had taken me with her, but I wouldn’t be sitting here now in this lovely place if she had.”

  He looked at her curiously. “You’d rather be here than with your mother?”

  “Of course. I don’t imagine my mother has a garden like this. She might have a vine—after all, the man she ran off with sold tomatoes.” She laughed as if nothing mattered.

  “So, you live with your father?”

  “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 ornamental 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.”

  “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 decrepit old men.

  “This is a wonderful surprise,” enthused Floriana, enjoying yet another stunning garden.

  “You haven’t seen the surprise, yet,” Dante laughed, hands in pockets, searching the area for something. “Ah, there he is.”

  Floriana and Costanza followed the line of his gaze to see a magnificent 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.

  Floriana ignored them both and edged quietly towards the peacock, hand outstretched, offering friendship.

  “Careful, piccolina.”

  Dante and Costanza watched as Floriana approached him. Michelangelo 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, creeping 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 whispered. “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 Michelangelo, 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.”

  “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 evening. She was delighted that her daughter was invited up to La Magdalena 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?”

  “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. Floriana 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 flowering 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 anything.

  “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 Graziella 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 persuaded 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 wriggled 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 already know my silly brother, so I won’t introduce you to him.” They 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 l
isten.

  “She’s the daughter of Contessa Aldorisio.”

  “Very aristocratic,” said Rosaria, impressed.

  “The count employs the little stray’s father as chauffeur.”

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

  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 bellies 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 discussed 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 liked having them around, like a couple more strays to add to the menagerie 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.