“Perhaps,” said Violetta, draining her coffee cup. “Anyway, I shan’t ask her. I’m sure it’s an innocent mistake. But I will tell Floriana that she wasn’t excluded. If she didn’t get the invitation, she will be hurt that she wasn’t invited. Will she be coming today with Costanza?”
“I don’t know,” Giovanna replied. “I asked Costanza, and she said nothing about Floriana.”
“I’m sure she will,” said Damiana. “They usually come together, don’t they?”
Dante sat quietly, letting the women discuss the likelihood of Floriana turning up to swim, knowing for sure that she would. He wondered what his parents would think of him courting her. His mother adored her, but would she consider her good enough for her only son?
He watched her across the table. Violetta was from a middle-class family in Venice. Dreamy and idealistic, she was a woman who loved nature and animals like he did, and considered all creatures equal in God’s eyes. How extraordinary that she had chosen to marry Beppe, a man who had left his working-class home in Turin and built a fortune in Milan, making packaging for food and liquids.
They were opposites: one strong, the other fragile; one ambitious, the other unmoved by ambition; one loud and pompous, the other quiet and unassuming. For Beppe, reputation and social standing were all important; for Violetta, it was only the heart that mattered. It was all very well having ideals, accepting people for their natures not for their credentials, but when tested, would she be able to live by them? For the time being Floriana would have to be a secret Dante kept to himself.
After breakfast Dante went into the house with the intention of going up to his room when he bumped into Zazzetta in the hall. The little man smiled—a crooked smile, which revealed a sharp eyetooth that was slightly longer than the others, like a wolf ’s.
“Good morning, Dante,” he said, giving a barely perceptible bow.
“Zazzetta,” Dante replied. He had never liked his father’s fixer. There was something shifty about him.
“Your father wants to see you.”
“Now?”
“If you have nothing better to do.” Dante bristled. Zazzetta knew he had nothing better to do. He cursed under his breath and strode into the study, the black-clad adviser following silently behind.
“Ah, Dante, come in,” said his father, putting down his pen and looking up from the document he was signing. “Done, Zazzetta.” He dabbed his signature with a blotter and handed him the paper. Zazzetta placed it carefully in the black leather folder he was carrying and slid away, closing the door behind him.
“Let’s talk about your future.” Beppe was not a man to waste time with small talk. “You have finished your studies and your apprenticeship and made me proud, Dante. I was never given the opportunities you have been given.”
“I know, and I’m grateful, Father.”
“You’ve excelled youself.” He appraised his son with satisfaction. “You are everything I have ever wanted in a son. You’re handsome, intelligent, athletic, and shrewd. You’ve inherited the best of me and the best of your mother. It’s lucky that you haven’t inherited her flaws, eh?”
“Her flaws?”
“Don’t look so alarmed. No one is perfect. If you had inherited your mother’s gentle nature, you would be no good to me.”
“Her gentle nature is an advantage in a woman.”
“Indeed. But in a man, it is a weakness, and there is no room for weakness in the world of business. I didn’t make my millions being kind and gentle, but shrewd and formidable. As Machiavelli so brilliantly put it: Fear is the way a man commands respect. So, Dante, you will join me in Milan on the first of September.”
Dante was not surprised by his father’s instructions. In fact, he had always known he would be expected to join the family firm. However, he still felt apprehensive, as if a heavy barred door had just closed on his freedom.
“It will be reassuring to know that my son and heir will take over when I retire. I didn’t build my fortune to have it passed on to an outsider. So, what do you say?” His father did not anticipate a refusal.
“I’m ready, Father,” Dante replied dutifully.
“Bravo! Now, how about a game of tennis, eh? You might be younger and fitter than me, but I have the cunning of an old fox.”
They played a set on the rich red sand of the tennis court, assisted by Piero and Mario, the chauffeur’s sons, who made very fine ball boys. Halfway through the set, when Dante was winning and about to serve game point, he saw Giovanna walking in the gardens with Costanza. His heart inflated at the prospect of seeing Floriana, and he served an ace, passing his father on his backhand. Beppe was not a good loser and swore furiously, whacking his racket through the air. The distraction, however, caused Dante’s game to decline as he had one eye on the gardens, searching for Floriana.