The Mermaid Garden (48 page)

felt the slippery fish in his throat and a sudden bolt of excitement as it slowly worked its way up.

“I have nothing but Floriana, and she despises me.”

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to do so countless times in the past. You have to show her that you seriously intend to change.”

“She doesn’t love me anymore. Once love is dead it cannot be re-

vived.”

“Nonsense. Father Ascanio says that love is always there, at the very

heart of all of us, even those who don’t know it. We just have to let go of all negativity.”

“I don’t deserve her love. Look at me.”

“Of course you do. It’s human to make mistakes. Jesus taught for-

giveness. Floriana is a good Christian. She loves you in her heart, even if she is not aware of it. You’re her father and the only family she has.”

“And what have I done for her?”

“Don’t ask yourself what you have
done
, but what you can
do
.” The slippery fish was now on his tongue and wriggling about so furiously it took all his strength to hold it there. The pleasure was overwhelming,

and he began to sweat little beads onto his nose and forehead. Never

before had he had to wrestle with such a big one.

Elio lifted his chin. “I’m no fool, you know. I am aware that she has a boyfriend. She thinks I don’t know, but I have eyes and ears like everyone else. She won’t tell me, of course. She doesn’t tell me anything these days. Once, when she was a little girl, she used to share her thoughts, but I didn’t listen. I didn’t take any notice.” He crumpled again into a heap of self-pity. “What sort of father am I? She’ll marry one day, and who knows whether she’ll want me there at her wedding. I should walk

her down the aisle to give her away, but what man is going to ask for her hand from me, when I have no right to give it? I have failed her.” His

shoulders began to shudder.

“Let’s get you home.” The sacristan got to his feet. The slippery fish

slid enticingly onto the tip of his tongue.

Elio gazed up at him forlornly. “I have nothing,” he said, and with

that final declaration of despair the fish glided out.

“You’re going to be a grandfather, Elio,” announced the sacristan. To

his surprise, he discovered that the pleasure of divulging the secret far outweighed the pleasure of keeping it. Elio stared up at him in astonishment. “Yes, Floriana is pregnant,” he repeated gleefully.

“Pregnant? Floriana?”

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“It is Dante Bonfanti’s child.”

Elio sobered up as he digested the news. “Are you sure?”

“Trust me, I know. You see, you do have something to live for.”

“But she’s so young.”

“She is young, but I suspect the boy will marry her.”

“He’ll take her away.”

“Surely not.”

“Of course he will.” Elio struggled to his feet.

The sacristan gripped his arm to steady him. “Now, you mustn’t

say a word to anyone, do you understand?” Elio barely heard him.

“I shouldn’t have told you, but when you looked up at me with such

misery, I felt you needed something to live for. Now you have it. You are going to be a grandfather. Floriana will need you. Now is your chance

to make amends.” The sacristan felt a sudden sense of satisfaction at

doing something good.

“Dante Bonfanti?” Elio muttered, scratching his head. “Beppe Bon-

fanti’s only son?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Now remember, I told you not to say a word!”

“Not a word,” Elio repeated vaguely.

“Good. Let’s get you home. I want you to give me all your bottles,

and we’ll pour them down the lavatory. From now on you are going to

be a different man. No more drinking and feeling sorry for yourself.

God has given you another chance. You have it within your power to

change your life and be the father you’ve always wanted to be.”

Elio stumbled over the cobbles, leaning heavily on the sacristan. Did

he really say Floriana was pregnant by Dante Bonfanti? Was it possi-

ble? He grunted and nearly tripped. The sacristan caught him before he

fell. In his inebriated state much was unclear. However, there was one

thing that shone out from the mist as clear as quartz: Beppe Bonfanti

would never allow his only son to marry his daughter.

The following day Dante spoke to Floriana via the public telephone

in Luigi’s. “Everything has been arranged,” he explained. “I will drive down on Friday the nineteenth of November and pick you up Saturday

morning. I think it’s best that we meet at the wall. We can spend the

day together, then I’ll drive you to the convent.”

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“Will you be able to visit me there?”

“Of course I will. It’s not a prison, you know.” He paused a moment.

She could hear him breathing down the line. “You’re not frightened,

are you,
piccolina
?”

“No. I’m excited. At the moment he’s not showing at all. If I didn’t

feel nauseous all the time, I’d wonder whether I really was pregnant.”

In spite of her excitement, Dante dearly wished it was a false alarm.

“Once you’ve seen a doctor we’ll know for certain.”

“Oh, I know for sure. I can feel him inside me although he’s just the

size of a seed.”

“And you think he’s a boy?”

“For certain. I’m going to give you a son, Dante.” When he didn’t

reply, she grew anxious. “Are
you
frightened?”

He didn’t want to admit his fear. “I feel guilty for having got you into this mess in the first place.”

“Don’t feel guilty, my love. No child comes into the world by ac-

cident. God wouldn’t be so careless. Every child is precious however

he is conceived. Our son is more precious than most, because he was

conceived with love.”

Dante couldn’t help but smile at her idealism. He wondered whether

she’d be so carefree once the child was born and crying through the

night. “I love you, Floriana.”

“And I love you, too, Dante.”

“Do you remember that day on the bench, when I took your hand

and asked you your name?”

“Of course. I’ll never forget it.”

“I sensed then that you were going to be a part of my life. I didn’t

know how, but I just knew we’d somehow be connected.”

“I sensed it, too.”

“You were lost, and I wanted to look after you.”

“I’m not lost anymore.”

“As long as I live, my
piccolina
, you’ll never be lost.”

Elio watched his daughter like a lion watches an unsuspecting gazelle.

He watched her come in humming to herself, and he watched her leave

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with a skip in her step. Then he sat down and wrote a letter: the letter that was going to transform his fortunes forever.

The sacristan had poured all Elio’s bottles down the toilet. There

wasn’t a drop of alcohol left in the apartment, but Elio didn’t care; his thoughts were on a higher goal, and for that he needed to be focused

and alert. For the first time in years he had woken with a sense of purpose. A tingling sensation rippled over his body as he considered his

daughter’s predicament and what use could be made of it.

Beppe Bonfanti was one of the richest men in the country. There was

simply no way that he would allow his son and heir to marry a local girl from an obscure little town in Tuscany. She might have deluded herself

otherwise, and Dante might have convinced himself that they could

run away together and live happily ever after, but the reality was blatant to anyone who had lived as long as he had. It wasn’t going to happen.

So, if his daughter wasn’t going to become the wife of a millionaire, he had to take what he could from the situation.

He chuckled as he wrote his letter to Beppe. He’d never been within

sights of such easy cash in all his life. He had been a terrible father, but now he had the chance to make it up to his daughter. He couldn’t demand that Dante make an honest woman of her, but he could demand

money to support her and their bastard child—with a little extra for

good measure.

Floriana decided that she wasn’t going to tell anyone but Signora

Bruno that she was leaving. She would simply go. Signora Bruno could

inform her father that she had moved away to start a new life some-

where else, and he could tell Aunt Zita. However, she was deeply in-

debted to Father Ascanio, and it was right that she should go and thank him for his kindness.

The day before she was due to leave, she skipped over the cobbles

with a light heart. Her future didn’t frighten her at all. In fact, she looked forward to moving to a new town and starting over. There, no

one would pity her for the mother who had left her and the father who

got drunk every night and cheated at cards. No one would know any-

thing about her. She’d reinvent herself as a mother with a small child

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and a handsome young husband who worked in Milan—no one would

have to know that they weren’t married. No one would have to know

anything at all. She’d create a whole new identity.

That cold November morning Father Ascanio was giving Mass.

Floriana sidled into the back of the church and waited until it was over.

The usual party ensued in the square, and it was another half hour be-

fore the last stragglers dispersed. Father Ascanio smiled warmly at the sight of her. She stood a little apart, a coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders, arms folded against the autumn chill. Her hair blew about

her face, which was pale and thin, and more beautiful than he had ever

seen it. She no longer looked like a child.

“Floriana,” he said, taking her hands.

“I’ve come to thank you.” She lowered her eyes and found to her sur-

prise that they were welling with tears. Father Ascanio and his church

had been home to her. Now she was leaving; she didn’t know when she

would see them again.

“Don’t cry, my child. God will always be with you wherever you are

in the world.”

“You have been so generous and understanding and wise. I realize

only now how much I have depended on you.” Her voice thinned, and

she couldn’t go on.

“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 de-

fensive 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

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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.

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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 employ-

ees furiously looking busy. He smiled to himself, taking pleasure from