The Mermaid Garden

by Santa Montefiore

  The countess watched the other mothers of young daughters with a growing sense of competitiveness. There were some extremely lovely girls in her midst, slimmer and more beautiful than Costanza. She would have to assert more control over her diet if there was to be any hope of fulfilling her dream. As soon as the opportunity arose, the countess took Costanza by the hand and almost dragged her to the other end of the garden, where Dante was talking to a small group of attractive young people. He recognized Costanza immediately and broke away from his friends to greet her.

  “You’ve grown up.” He laughed, kissing her cheek. “Where’s your crazy little friend?”

  The countess bristled. “Hello, Dante, what a divine party.”

  “I’m glad you could come, Contessa.” He took her hand and kissed it formally.

  “Costanza has been seeing a great deal of your sister Giovanna,” she continued. “They’re intimate friends, aren’t you, darling? They write to each other all winter when Giovanna’s at school in Milan.”

  “Is Floriana here?” He raised his eyes and swept them over the guests who now mingled in the candlelit garden.

  Costanza hesitated, knowing her mother would not want her to speak of Floriana. “No, she isn’t,” she said carefully.

  Dante was surprised by the force of his disappointment.

  “I don’t know what she’s up to these days,” the countess continued with a smile. “Dear little local girl. You know how things are, all very well playing with those sort of people when one’s little, but now Costanza is a young lady, it’s only right that she mixes with her own sort.” She gave a little sniff.

  “I see,” said Dante. “Well, it’s good of you to come. I hope you enjoy the rest of the party.” And he went back to join his friends. However, his thoughts were drawn away from their conversation to the point in the wall where Floriana used to climb up and spy.

  Struck by the silliest idea, he strode into the house to get Good-Night. The dog was lying asleep in the kitchen. He whistled for him, and Good-Night, always eager to be part of an adventure, trotted happily into the park at his side. The music had started, and guests were beginning to move onto the dance floor. Some wandered around the gardens; others sat at tables and chairs now placed on the terrace, to drink coffee and talk where it was quieter. The sky was bright with stars, the moon bathing the earth in a soft, silver light. Dante was tired of talking to endless people, bored of having to play the role of hero when he felt he had done nothing that hadn’t been done by so many others, a million times before. But his father liked to make a fuss. He enjoyed the fanfare and relished any excuse to beat his chest and show everyone how rich and important he was. He expected a great deal from his son, but most of all he wanted to be a proud father, because to Beppe, face was everything—hadn’t he earned it? Every lira?

  As he approached the wall Dante’s stomach began to twist with anxiety. The ghost of the little girl danced before his eyes, silhouetted against the night. He felt his throat tighten and wondered why he felt such a crippling sense of loss.

  Distracted by something at the wall, Good-Night bounded off. Dante saw a shadow move, like a cat catching the light before jumping lithely down. But it wasn’t a cat. As he got nearer, he saw that it was a beautiful young woman.

  “Floriana? Is that you?”

  “Dante,” she said in a low voice. Good-Night rushed at her excitedly. She laughed and ran her hands over his ears.

  Dante watched in astonishment as she bent down to caress the dog as if she wasn’t at all surprised to see him. For a moment he was too stunned to speak. “He’s happy to see you,” he said at last.

  “He’s always happy to see me. He’s my dearest friend.”

  “So, you did look after him while I was away?”

  “Of course, we’re almost inseparable.” She grinned up at him, and he was struck by how lovely she looked in the moonlight. “I knew you were back today because he didn’t come to see me.”

  “So he runs off to find you, does he?”

  “He’s very clever.”

  “Because he’s a stray. They’re more streetwise than those who are raised at home.”

  He watched her closely as she stood up and smoothed down her dress. Her body had lost the straight lines of girlhood and expanded into gentle curves. He was surprised to see that she had breasts and a little waist. Five years had transformed the grubby child into an arresting young woman, and he felt his heart inflate with wonder.

  “Have you tired of your party already?” she asked, and the twinkle in her eyes was so familiar to him.

  “I sensed we were being spied on. I came to check our defenses.”

  “You remembered the weak spot in the wall, then?”

  “And the insurgent who knows how to climb in.”

  “So what do you do when you catch one of these insurgents?”

  He rubbed his chin and considered his answer. “I take her prisoner.”

  Floriana’s heart thumped against her rib cage. “I think she’s more cunning than you give her credit for.”

  “I suppose you may be right. If she’s a stray like Good-Night, then she’ll most certainly outwit a home boy like me.”

  She laughed. “What if the insurgent agrees to call a temporary truce?”

  “You mean, put down her weapon and enter into peaceful talks?”

  “Yes, that sort of thing. Only temporary, of course.”

  “I think that can be arranged. Perhaps we had better walk on neutral ground.”

  He jumped onto the wall and reached out his hand. She took it and let him pull her onto the top. Touching him felt like the most natural thing in the world, as if they had been familiar with each other’s skin forever, and she felt her spirits expand with happiness that they were finally reunited, as God had so clearly intended.

  Once on the other side, they began to stroll up the track, side by side, Good-Night at their heels. There was a strange intimacy between them, as if they knew each other so well they didn’t need to talk.

  “Did you miss me?” he asked, sensing, as she did, that he was being carried along by a strong current.

  “Yes,” she replied. There was no point hiding the truth. “Did you miss me?”

  He paused and took her hand. “I didn’t think I did,” he said, surprised by a sudden rush of tenderness. “But now I realize that I did. You have no idea how much.”

  23.

  Floriana knew now that those five years of waiting had not been in vain. Nothing could keep them apart, because the superior forces of Fate would always draw them back together again, as inevitably as the pull of gravity. It no longer mattered that she hadn’t been invited to the party, because Dante had sought her out in the one place he knew where to find her.

  They ambled slowly up the track, hand in hand, closing the gap that those five years had opened. Then they sat on the rocks overlooking the ocean, and the moon lit a path across the water all the way to Heaven. Floriana thought the night had never been more beautiful. The stars were clearer than ever before, twinkling like shiny new memories, and the breeze was warm and sweet with the scent of pine.

  “I didn’t expect to find a woman at the wall,” Dante confessed, sweeping his eyes over her features.

  “What did you think, after five years?”

  “That you’d be the same little girl lost, with knotted hair and big, frightened eyes.”

  “I was never frightened.” She laughed, nudging him playfully.

  “Yes, you were. You just knew how to hide it.”

  She shrugged. “I can’t allow myself the luxury of fear, Dante.”

  He put his arm around her, drawing her against him. “I’ll never forget the first time I saw you at the gates. You were like a little prisoner, all grubby and disheveled, gazing through the bars at freedom. I’d taken the gardens for granted until I saw them through your eyes. Everything touched you, and you gazed in wonder at the simplest, most overlooked things, like the birds in the trees, or the water
whooshing out of the fountain. And now, you’re a young woman, a beautiful young woman, but inside you’re still the same little girl lost, and I want to take care of you.”

  He took her face in his hand. He had spent the last five years adrift, not knowing the reason for his disquiet, like a sailor so busy navigating the sea that he cannot hear the small voice calling him home. Looking into her eyes, he knew that voice had been Floriana’s all along, and that now he was with her, he was home where he belonged.

  Slowly, he bent his head and brushed her lips with his. She closed her eyes and shut out the world, her senses aware only of the warm sensation of his mouth parting her lips and kissing her deeply. Every nerve tingled with the novelty of his touch and the naked intimacy of his kiss, and she gave herself to him joyfully. Dante wrapped his arms around her and held her fiercely, determined to cherish and love her as no one else had ever done.

  The countess was disappointed that Dante had dismissed them so swiftly. She had hoped that he and Costanza would have more to talk about. But he had mentioned Floriana, and from that moment on, an air of distraction had blown him out of their reach. Her one consolation was the sight of her daughter and Giovanna sitting by the fountain, heads close together as they giggled and shared secrets. That was a friendship time would only make stronger. If her daughter didn’t manage to win the heart of Dante, she would win the heart of another like him, for with Giovanna she would be sure to meet the very best society had to offer.

  The count looked at his watch and saw that it was past two o’clock, time to gather his family together and go home. The countess was ready to leave. She had talked to everyone she felt might be useful to her and made some important new friends.

  Costanza was not ready to go. She had just been invited to dance by a shy young man with thick brown hair and glasses, and had drunk enough champagne to give herself the confidence to accept. Reluctantly, she followed her parents to the front of the villa where their car waited on the gravel, the young chauffeur fast asleep in his seat. They weren’t the only ones leaving. Most of the adults were sweeping off in their big, shiny motors, leaving the young to dance until sunrise.

  Costanza stared out of the window, feeling strangely melancholic. The night had been magical, and now it was over. She had never had such an enchanted evening in her life, and she was sorry that it had come to an end. Dazzling in diamonds, she had felt beautiful for the first time. Without Floriana at her side to eclipse her, she had found she had a light of her own and the confidence to shine. Giovanna had introduced her to all her friends, and she had felt part of the group and no less rich or glamorous; she had looked and felt every inch one of them.

  Her mother was right. Floriana didn’t belong there, and Costanza knew that if she was to secure the future her mother wished for her, she would have to let Floriana go.

  The countess noticed Costanza had gone very quiet. “Did you enjoy the party, darling?”

  “I loved it, Mamma. I wish it hadn’t finished.”

  “All good things come to an end,” said her father.

  “And because of it good things will start. You’ll see,” added her mother, determinedly.

  “Do you think so?”

  “Of course, my dear. I have taken all the important telephone numbers. I’ll make sure that you are invited to all the grand houses in Tuscany.”

  “Out with the old, in with the new,” said the count, thinking of the new contacts he had made and the business opportunities they might give him.

  “I think this summer is going to be very special, darling. A turning point for you now that you’re a young lady.”

  “I felt I belonged tonight.”

  “And, darling, you did belong. I watched you and Giovanna and thought how very like sisters you are.”

  “She’s my best friend.”

  “Indeed she is, and I can’t think of a nicer friend for you.” Floriana’s name rested unspoken on both their lips.

  Dawn was seeping into the sky when Dante and Good-Night walked Floriana back to her home on Via Roma. The stars were beginning to fade, the moon now as pale as a specter. The town was slowly waking, the odd Cinquecento rattling over the cobbles, dogs gathering outside the panetteria that smelled of freshly baked bread.

  “So, this is where you live,” he said, stopping in front of the portone—the big wooden door that once opened to cars, but now remained firmly bolted. Floriana hesitated by the smaller door cut into it. She did not want him to come in and see the simplicity of her apartment, nor her inebriated father.

  “This is it,” she replied. “Signora Bruno doesn’t like visitors.”

  “You need to get some rest.” He ran his thumb over her cheek. “I’m glad I found you, Floriana.” He kissed her again, not wanting to let her go, drunk on love.

  “I must go,” she said, aware that her father could come weaving down the street at any moment.

  “Come to La Magdalena today.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Good-Night will want to see you. And so will I.”

  “Then I’ll come with Costanza.”

  She slipped in and closed the door behind her, leaning against it and shutting her eyes to hold on to the magic.

  “So, you went to the party after all,” came a low voice from the stairs. It was Signora Bruno in her dressing gown, her wide feet squeezed into slippers. “You look like you’ve just been kissed by a prince.”

  “What are you doing up at this hour?”

  “I’m always up. I find it hard to sleep in the heat.”

  Floriana ambled over, her hips swinging playfully. “I have been kissed by a prince,” she laughed.

  Signora Bruno forgot all about her insomnia. “The devil strike me down,” she exclaimed. “Little Floriana, of all people!”

  “I didn’t go to the party. I spied from the wall, and he found me.”

  “He must have been looking for you.”

  “I think he was.”

  Signora Bruno chuckled. “Well, that’ll teach them.”

  “Our love is too strong to keep us apart.”

  “So, tell me. What does he look like?”

  Floriana sat down on the step below. “He’s tall and fair-skinned, with pale green eyes, the color of a tropical sea.”

  “Well, you must be in love if you see his eyes like that.”

  “But I love his mouth the best, the way it curls at the corners, and when he smiles, it’s so wide, showing all his teeth.”

  “So, you’ve just enjoyed your first kiss.” Floriana blushed and touched her lips with her fingertips. “I remember my first kiss. It was the nicest kiss I’ve ever been given. If I could put it in a box and take it out now and then, I’m sure I’d sleep better. It’s never like that again, you know. Innocence once lost is lost forever. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  “You’re an old cynic.”

  “Perhaps, but a wise cynic. After you make love he’ll never bother to kiss you like that again, for hours and hours. It turns into something else, and kissing is no longer the goal, but the means to an end—and in my experience men usually prefer to skip that bit altogether and jump right to the end as fast as possible. Mind you play hard to get.”

  “He’s already got me.”

  “No, he hasn’t. Don’t go giving in too easily. A man like that might suppose a girl like you is something she’s not.”

  Floriana was appalled. “I’ll be a virgin on my wedding day, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Well, of course you will. Still, this is the time you need a mother to tell you the story of the stork.”

  “But I have you, Signora Bruno.”

  “I knew there must be some purpose to my life. If I wasn’t intended to marry a prince myself, I was charged with making sure you do.”

  “When I marry him, you’re going to come and live with me at La Magdalena.”

  “Oh, good. I’ll die happy.” She pushed herself up with a groan. “Right, the day is beginning. I can’t sit around in
my dressing gown all morning. There are things to be done—and that cretino has overwatered his geraniums again.” She clicked her tongue.

  Floriana lay on her bed fully clothed, but she was too excited to sleep. She replayed the night over and over, dwelling on the kiss and closing her eyes to relive it. Dante was back, and he loved her; nothing in the world mattered anymore. She could hear her father snoring in the room next door. What a useless, selfish man he was. She longed to have a father who loved her, with whom she could share her innermost thoughts and wishes. A father she could be proud of. But nothing would convince her to introduce Elio to Dante.

  Dante appeared for breakfast on the terrace where a round table had been set up in the shade. His mother in a wide sunhat was sipping coffee, her pale skin shiny with moisturizer, eyes hidden behind big sunglasses. Giovanna sat sleepily, nibbling toast while Damiana drank coffee and ate a bowl of fruit. Beppe presided over the table like a king, surveying the remains of the party from the lofty height of the terrace.

  Already the team was back to dismantle the tent and take away the tables and chairs—and the guest who had fallen asleep in the corner. By evening the gardens would be restored to their former perfection and the view of the park once again unbroken.

  “Ah, my son,” exclaimed Beppe. “Come and sit beside me and tell me what you thought of your party.”

  A butler pulled out his chair. Dante sat down and asked for a black coffee. “I had a blast, Papà.”

  His father beamed proudly. “Good boy. No one throws a party like I do. Any girls worth mentioning?”

  Dante hesitated. The one girl he wanted to mention was unmentionable. “Many.”

  Beppe patted his son’s back. “That’s my boy. Many.” The butler poured Dante a cup of coffee just as breakfast was interrupted by a telephone call. Beppe disappeared off to take it in his study.

  “So, girls, how was it for you?” Dante asked.

  “It was magical,” said Damiana, brightening up now her father had left the table.

  “It was the best night I’ve ever had in my life,” enthused Giovanna.