The Mermaid Garden (49 page)

their fear, which generated such high levels of productivity.

Dante strode into his office, leaving his father to his crisp and dot-

ing 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 sump-

tuous 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

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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 over-

slept. 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 Bon-

fanti 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 Man-

cini 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 emo-

tion at all, but the sallow holes where 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.”

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“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

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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.”

“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 imag-

ine. 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.”

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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 any-

thing else.” Costanza took her hand. “Wherever you go, will you prom-

ise 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

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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.

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“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 fa-

ther. He didn’t appear drunk or hung over, but he wore the most un-

familiar 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 nar-

rowed 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?”