It seemed inconceivable that Signora Bonfanti would have forgotten to invite Floriana. But when Costanza thought about it long and hard, she remembered how Signor Beppe had ignored her, treating her with no more courtesy than the stray animals that wandered around the gardens. Perhaps she had been nothing more than a pet for Dante’s mother, too—someone she could use for company and entertainment, but not for public display. Her mother was right: Floriana really wasn’t accepted in their world. Once that thought would have afforded her pleasure, but now she felt only compassion and an unfamiliar sense of guilt.
The countess was thrilled by her daughter’s appearance. The diamonds were impressive, and the dress no longer pulled around the waist and hips. She’d have to supervise her diet in future. She was getting too grown up now to get away with being fat.
The count returned from work. He showered and dressed, then the three of them departed for La Magdalena in a car driven by one of the boys from the office.
They approached the big, black gates of the villa behind a line of other grand cars: Alfa Romeos and Savoy-blue Lancias. Security guards stopped each driver, requesting to see both invitation and identification. One could never be too sure and Beppe Bonfanti was a man of caution when it came to his personal safety. The air was charged with anticipation and Costanza gazed out of the window excitedly. The countess commented on the magnificence of the drive lined with blazing flares, and the splendor of the yellow mansion at the end, and secretly envisaged her daughter residing there as mistress of it all.
They were dropped off at the front and taken through the marble hall and drawing room to the terrace where Beppe and his wife stood side by side greeting each guest. They took their places in the queue, their eyes drawn to the garden below with its flamboyant fountain and beyond, where the canopy stood ready for the banquet. Costanza recognized Michelangelo the peacock, wandering around aimlessly, dragging his tail on the ground, and felt her stomach churn with nerves because she didn’t have Floriana to hide behind.
“Violetta,” gushed the countess at last.
Violetta Bonfanti took her hand and smiled serenely. “It’s so lovely to see you.”
“What a beautiful tent.”
“Yes, it’s like a fairy tale. Costanza, my dear,” and she took the girl’s hand and smiled in the same distracted manner.
Beppe shook the count’s hand vigorously. “No expense spared for my son,” he said, puffing out his chest, keen to show off his wealth to the aristocrat.
“I can see,” replied the count, finding it all highly ostentatious. “It’s magnificent.”
Beppe turned his eyes onto Costanza. “You look radiant, my dear.”
“Thank you, Signor Bonfanti,” she replied timidly.
He chuckled. “I think you know me well enough now to call me Beppe. I’m Beppe to my friends, no?”
The Aldorisios descended the sweeping staircase into the garden. The place was filling up with people, saturating the air with perfume and cigarette smoke. A quartet played classical music, and guests greeted each other and talked, sipping pink Dom Perignon out of tall, crystal flutes.
Costanza was relieved when Giovanna found her, and they fell on each other with excitement. Giovanna was a young woman now, being almost eighteen. Her curvaceous body glittered in a green Dior gown, and her neck sparkled with emeralds.
“I have so much to tell you,” she said, pulling Costanza away by the hand. “Come, let’s go somewhere quiet where we can talk.”
The countess swelled with pride as she watched the two girls weave through the throng, hand in hand. This is what she had always wanted. She sighed happily and surveyed the glamour of her surroundings. This was where she belonged, among people of her own sort. Although the Bonfantis and some of their friends were rather vulgar, their wealth excused any lack of good taste. And there were enough aristocrats present for her to feel she was in the right company. She smiled contentedly and sipped her champagne. It was as if she had come home after a long exile.
“Shall we plunge in?” she asked her husband.
“I think that’s a very good idea,” he agreed, giving her his arm. “Ah, isn’t that Conte Edmondo di Montezzemolo …?”
At last the guests were silenced. Beppe took his position at the top of the stone staircase. He smiled on the garden below like an emperor greeting his people. Then he held out his arms and in a very loud voice announced the arrival of his son. “My friends, it gives me great pleasure to present to you my son, Dante Alberto Massimo Bonfanti, graduated with honors from Harvard, America’s finest university.”