The days rolled on in a blissful haze. Floriana stopped minding about her father’s drunken evenings at Luigi’s, and when she wasn’t at La Magdalena she played with Costanza at her house, beneath the disapproving gaze of the countess.
“Do you have to take Floriana with you every time you go to the Bonfantis’?” she asked her daughter one evening after Floriana had gone home.
“Why?”
“Because, my love, she’s not of your class. It’s inappropriate. It’s very kind of them to tolerate her but …”
“If I don’t take her, I’ll have no one to play with.”
“What about the younger daughter? What’s she called?”
“Giovanna. But she’s in Mexico. I don’t think she’s coming at all this summer.”
“All right, then. You may take Floriana, if they really don’t mind, until Giovanna returns. Then you must leave her behind and make friends with Giovanna. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mamma.”
“It’s for your own good, my love. It’s all very well you having a little friend from the town to play with, but now you’re getting bigger you should mix with your own class. It’s your father’s fault, I know, that you had to be brought up here and go to the local school. If he hadn’t made such stupid business decisions, we’d be living in Rome and you’d have friends like yourself.”
“I like Floriana.”
“She’s very sweet, I agree, and it’s unfortunate to say the least that her mother ran off and left her with that hopeless Elio. But you mustn’t forget who you are, my dear. One day you’ll marry and live in a place like La Magdalena, I promise you. I’ll see that it happens, mark my words. If you constantly hang around girls like Floriana, you’ll end up like her, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“Floriana wants to marry Dante,” Costanza said disloyally.
The countess laughed at the absurdity of such a notion. “It costs nothing to dream, I suppose,” she said, wiping her eye. “She thinks she is like you, Costanza. You see, your friendship is damaging for both of you, in different ways. That sort of dream can only end in disappointment. Poor child.” She sighed and wandered off to sit in the shade and read a magazine. But she didn’t read the words; she was too busy thinking about Dante and whether it wasn’t completely improbable that when her daughter was a little older, she might catch his eye. After all, they were the perfect match: she had the pedigree, he had the money.
Floriana wished the summer holidays would never end. She loved spending her days at La Magdalena, breathing the same rarefied air as Dante. He treated her like a younger sister, pulling her onto his knee and hugging her, chasing her in the swimming pool, throwing her into the water like a rag doll, grinning at her across the table as if they had a special secret. She sat on the bench beside the tennis court and watched him play in white shorts and shirt, whacking the ball at his sister, who complained all the time that he was hitting it too hard. Sometimes he asked Floriana to be ball girl, and she and Costanza would scurry around picking up the balls. She always threw hers to Dante, while Costanza was left to retrieve for his sister.
Damiana looked effortlessly glamorous in a little white skirt with pleats around the back, and white socks with bobbles at the ankles to match her white tennis shoes, and Floriana longed to be like her. Damiana was a gracious loser, but sometimes, when she played with Dante against her friends, she won. Then she was a gracious winner, laughing carelessly as if winning didn’t matter, and Floriana thought her the most beautifully mannered woman she had ever seen.
* * *
Then one day another visitor arrived, and the air changed around the pool. Gioia Favelli was tall with short brown hair and long tanned legs, a slim waist, and wide, curvaceous hips. Her breasts were large and round, and somehow very provocative in the little black bikini she wore.
Costanza and Floriana whispered to each other in the water, giggling into their hands, until Dante put his arm around Gioia and caressed her back absentmindedly, as if they belonged to each other. Suddenly, Floriana didn’t feel like laughing anymore. Sickened in her heart, she watched furtively from the water. It became obvious that Dante and Gioia were more than just friends; they were a couple.
Floriana sulked. She couldn’t help herself. When Dante came to play with her in the pool, she swam off. When he tried to draw her into his arms at lunch, she wriggled away.
Damiana laughed at the girl’s sudden shyness, but she was perceptive enough to know the real reason. “She’s jealous,” she explained, when the girls had disappeared into the garden.
“How darling,” gushed Gioia, lighting a cigarette. “I don’t blame her; Dante is very handsome.”
“She’s little,” said Dante, feeling bad. “And she’s alone in the world.”
Damiana rolled her eyes. “There you go again! Feeling sorry for the bird with the broken wing or the unwanted dog. It’s now the unwanted child.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t want to mother her. You go all mushy when you look at her.”
“I know, she’s a special little girl. But she adores you, Dante. Don’t break her heart.”
“What can I do?” He reached across the table and took Gioia’s hand.
“Be kind,” said his sister. “And aware.”
That afternoon Dante made a special effort to give Floriana his undivided attention, and after much endeavor, she yielded and allowed him to play with her.
Costanza watched from the other side of the pool, where she sat dangling her legs in the water. She remembered her mother’s words about “above her station” and thought it was probably just as well that Gioia had turned up to burst the bubbles Floriana had been creating in the whimsical well of her imagination.
Floriana forgot about Gioia, or perhaps she believed Dante’s affection for her outweighed his affection for the stranger who had suddenly appeared in their midst. Gioia lay on her sun lounger reading a magazine, not at all interested in the activity in the water. Damiana was happy the child had been coaxed out of her sulk, but she sensed the end of the summer would bring her only unhappiness. When they returned to Milan, she would become a stray once again without anyone to take care of her.
After a while Dante tired of his game and retreated to his sun lounger to sunbathe.
“I wish the summer could go on forever,” said Floriana, following him out of the pool.
“But it can’t, piccolina. I will have to return to Milan.”
“And then to America, and goodness knows what else your father has planned for you,” added Gioia thoughtlessly. “And I shall be very sad.”
Damiana glanced at Floriana and registered her stricken face. “You’ll be back soon, though, won’t you, Dante?”
“He’d better be back. I’m not hanging around while he goes gallivanting around the world.”
“Dante,” Damiana warned, but it was too late. Floriana now understood that she wouldn’t see him again for many years and by then, who knew …?
“Why does your father have to send you so far away? Aren’t there any good universities closer to home?” Gioia continued.
Floriana walked up to the edge of the rocks and stared down at the sea below. It gently lapped the rocks, calling to her, goading her to jump. She turned to see Costanza’s face blanch, which encouraged her all the more, and she recalled those times when she had dived into the sea from great heights to scare the other schoolchildren. This was higher than anything she had ever jumped from before, but her heart was breaking, so what did it matter if she hurt herself?
Damiana managed to catch Floriana’s attention and pulled a face, but the little girl edged closer to the verge. Then, without a thought for her own safety, she leapt off in a graceful dive. One moment she was there; the next she was gone.
Dante jumped to his feet in panic. “Che cazzo fa!” he shouted, and dived in after her.
“Oh my God!” Gioia cried, rushing to the edge. “He’s going to kill himself.”
Damiana and
the girls joined Gioia to stare helplessly into the water below. For a while there was nothing, just the waves and a little wisp of foam where the divers had penetrated the surface.
Costanza’s heart froze. She was too afraid to get out of the pool. Floriana was courageous but also reckless. What if she had gone too far this time and killed them both? She squeezed her eyes shut and wished she were at home with her mother.
Floriana let the water wrap her in its cool, silent embrace. For a second the pain in her heart was quelled by the surge of adrenaline that set it racing. She could hear it thumping behind her rib cage and felt relief that she was no longer beside the pool, having it stabbed with unkind words. Then she felt a hand grab her arm and wrench her out of her watery refuge.
With a loud whoosh they both exploded through the surface, taking in great gulps of air.
“You stupid child!” Dante yelled when he had caught his breath. “Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?”
Floriana stared back at him in horror. His entire face was contorted with fright.
“My God, you could have died, you silly girl! Don’t you realize there are rocks beneath the surface that you can’t see? If you had hit your head, you’d have been killed instantly. Is that what you want?”
She shook her head, big eyes gazing at him in astonishment. She had expected his admiration, not his fury. He swam angrily to a place in the rocks where it was safe to climb out, and she followed slowly, wishing she could disappear to the bottom of the sea and never come up again.
“She’s okay,” he shouted up to his sister, who retreated from the edge with relief.
“What an idiotic child, showing off like that,” said Gioia furiously. “She could have led Dante to his death.”
“I don’t think she meant to do it,” Damiana defended her. “She didn’t know.”
Dante and Floriana dragged themselves onto the rocks and sat side by side.
“I’m sorry,” Floriana said in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You frightened me more than I’ve ever been frightened in my entire life.” He shook off his rage with a brisk toss of his head and put his arm around her. His face softened into a forgiving smile. “Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again.”
“I promise,” Floriana replied. Her chin began to tremble. She felt her heart revive, like a punctured tire filling again with air, and she began to cry.
“Don’t cry, piccolina.” But her shoulders shuddered, and she let out a violent sob. “Come on, my little friend, I’m sorry I shouted at you. I was scared, that’s all. I thought you were dead.”
Floriana couldn’t stop herself. She rarely let herself cry, but now her usual tools of defense failed to work. She stuck out her chest and raised her chin, but her emotion was too strong for such clumsy fortification. It wasn’t his fury that made her cry, but his concern. She had forgotten what it felt like to be valued.
After that, the summer no longer felt like it was going to last forever. Every moment of pleasure with Dante was paid for with a sharp sense of loss, as if a little less sand remained in the hourglass to warn Floriana that time was running out. She no longer existed in a limbo of endless summer, for a cloud of gloom hung over the horizon to remind her of its transience, edging its way a little further inland each day, eating up those blissful summer days until the rain came at last to sweep him back to Milan.
“You’ll look after Good-Night for me, won’t you?” he asked of her as he said good-bye.
“I shan’t come into your garden if you’re not here,” she replied, struggling to control her sorrow.
He swept her into his arms and squeezed her. “But you’ll spy from the wall, won’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you will.”
“When will you come back?”
“Soon,” he replied, but he couldn’t be sure.
“I’ll miss you every day.”
“No you won’t. You’ll forget about me as soon as I’ve gone.” He put her down. “Be good now. No more diving off rocks. Promise?”
“Promise.” He grinned, and Floriana smiled back weakly. Inside, she felt as if her heart were filling with cold concrete.
Damiana tried to reassure her by promising that she would be back soon with Giovanna, who was very keen to meet them. Then she hugged the little orfanella and found a lump had formed in her throat, preventing her from saying anything else.
Costanza felt the warmth of their good-byes but knew it wasn’t meant for her. She was just Floriana’s companion—and Floriana had become a sister to them.
The two girls walked slowly back to the town in the rain. They barely said a word to each other, so heavy was Floriana’s heart and so full of envy was Costanza’s. Finally, as they reached the fork in the road, Costanza asked Floriana if she wanted to come back to her house to play, but Floriana shook her head. She wanted to run down to the beach and cry her sorrow into the sea. So Costanza hurried home, to the warmth of her hearth and her mother’s embrace, while Floriana wandered down the path to the lonely, cold beach.
The wind had picked up. It was gusty on the shore. The waves pounded the rocks and raced up the sand to snap at her feet. Her hair flew about her head and whipped against her cheeks. She stood broken and alone, and allowed the rain to wash away her tears. Now she understood love, in all its pain and glory. She understood that it never came alone, that it was always accompanied by its inseparable companion, sorrow.
She knew instinctively that it couldn’t be any other way, as a coin is bound to its duality, but she didn’t mind. The agony was worth the exquisite feeling of love, for even though Dante had gone she loved him in her heart and that feeling would never go away. She’d carry it always and forever. And she’d wait for him. She’d stand at those big black gates come rain or shine and, like a faithful dog, she’d wait. And there would be pleasure in her waiting, for it would be tempered with hope. Hope that he would come back. Hope that he would remember her.
10.
Devon, 2009
On the last day of May Rafa Santoro arrived at the Polzanze. A bright sun welcomed him as he stepped out of his hired Audi, and a cool sea breeze raked careless fingers through his hair. He took a deep, satisfied breath and ran his eyes over the house with an air of fondness, as if to say, “Home at last.”
His arrival had been much anticipated at the hotel, and the small wood-paneled hall was crowded with staff. Jennifer and Rose had left their desk, Bertha her duties, and Heather was hovering by the door to the dining room, her lips an unusually provocative shade of crimson. Jake stood in the middle of the hall in front of the round table, which labored beneath the weight of a lavish display of lilies, while his father positioned himself beside the open fireplace, hands in pockets, a bemused look on his face. Tom, a young Cornish lad who worked with Shane, was already outside offering to carry bags.
This being Sunday, Clementine was not at work, but she felt it was beneath her dignity to hang around the hall like a desperate groupie, so she remained alone in her bedroom, challenging herself not to sneak a peek at the new artist from behind the curtain. Having not seen him, she couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.
Marina had joined the brigadier for breakfast, concealing her excitement behind a large cup of coffee, but now Shane hurried across the dining room to tell her that Mr. Santoro had arrived.
“Thank you, Shane,” she said, getting up. “Is Jake in the hall?”
“Along with everyone else,” he replied with a snigger.
“Who else?”
“Jennifer, Rose, Bertha …”
A shadow of irritation darkened Marina’s face. It was Jake’s duty to make sure everyone was doing his or her job. She smiled despairingly at the brigadier. “I’d better go and set the cat among the pigeons.”
“I’m rather curious myself,” he replied. “Would rather like to be a pigeon.”
“I don’t imagine there’s a sp
are inch in the hall—even for a very discreet pigeon such as yourself.”
“Then I will wait here, and you can introduce me later. I think I’ll go and read the papers in the library.”
“You’d have thought they’d never seen a handsome man before.”
“They’re all too young to remember me,” he added with a chuckle. “In my day I was what they called ‘a dish.’”
When Marina stalked into the hall, she found only Jake and Grey, and guessed correctly that Shane had warned them all to return to their jobs. Tom was coming through the doors with a couple of bags, followed by Rafa, casual in his brown suede jacket and jeans, his silver-buckled belt glinting on his hips. Marina greeted him warmly, and he settled his brown eyes onto her with the familiarity of an old friend. She could see Jennifer and Rose in her periphery vision, craning their necks round the corner like a couple of geese. But her smile did not falter, nor did her gaze. There was a brightness about him that seemed to light up the whole room and reduce all her fears to superfluous particles of dust. It had been so long since she had been able to breathe without tension in her chest. She couldn’t wait for Clementine to meet him; she knew her stepdaughter would approve her choice and that thought made her smile even broader.
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