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The Mermaid Garden(37)

By:Santa Montefiore


“Doesn’t really belong to anyone,” Dante replied. “Another stray.”

“You are lucky. I wish I could adopt a stray.”

“I’d say you could adopt him, but he’ll only come back here where he knows he’ll be fed.”

“I wouldn’t dream of taking him away from here. Look, he’s a little prince asleep at the foot of the palace. He’d be very unhappy in my little apartment.”

“Your father would probably skin him,” said Costanza.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Floriana retorted defensively. “But he wouldn’t like him.”

Dante watched Floriana, intrigued. She was like a stray cat herself—a bold, independent little cat who really wanted someone to take care of her. He led on, to the other side of the garden where an olive grove was planted behind an ancient stone wall. Among the olive trees were fig and apple trees, cherry and orange trees, and giant terra-cotta pots with their lids in place, once used for storage. The ground was scattered with hundreds of little yellow flowers peeping out from the long grass, and lining the wall were twisted eucalyptus trees, standing guard like decrepit old men.

“This is a wonderful surprise,” enthused Floriana, enjoying yet another stunning garden.

“You haven’t seen the surprise, yet,” Dante laughed, hands in pockets, searching the area for something. “Ah, there he is.”

Floriana and Costanza followed the line of his gaze to see a magnificent peacock pecking the ground, his blue feathers glistening on his chest like oil.

“I told you there were rare birds in this garden,” said Floriana. “He’s beautiful. Does he have a name?”

“No. He’s just Peacock.”

“How lazy of you not to think of a name. I shall think of one, then.” She narrowed her eyes and then grinned jubilantly. “Michelangelo.”

“A bit grand, isn’t it?”

“Yes, grand for a grand peacock. He has to hold his head up in this place, so let’s give him a famous name.”

“Does he bite?” Costanza asked a little nervously.

“I don’t think he’ll like you to get too close,” Dante replied cautiously.

Floriana ignored them both and edged quietly towards the peacock, hand outstretched, offering friendship.

“Careful, piccolina.”

Dante and Costanza watched as Floriana approached him. Michelangelo lifted his head and eyed her warily. As she advanced he took a step towards her, curious to see what she held in her hand. With jerky movements he observed her and she whispered encouragingly, creeping closer.

Finally, she reached him. He stiffened but didn’t peck her as she gently ran her fingers over his proud chest, smoothing down the little feathers that felt like fur.

“I think he likes you,” said Dante. Costanza wished she wasn’t so afraid. At that moment the bird opened his glorious feathers in a bright, shimmering fan. “Now I know he likes you.” Dante laughed.

“You’re a very special bird, aren’t you, Michelangelo,” Floriana whispered. “I think he likes his new name.”

“It’s very dignified.”

“Better than Peacock. How would you like to be called Man?”

“Not very much.”

“He likes Michelangelo.” She knelt on the grass and placed her hand on his back. The bird enjoyed her caress for a moment, then moved away. “He’s had enough,” she announced. “How does he get on with the cat?”

“Cordial,” Dante replied. “He doesn’t like the cat half as much as he likes you.”

They walked around the orchard, followed at a distance by Michelangelo, who was as curious about Floriana as Dante was.

“My sister’s coming for a week, with some friends. You should come and use the pool,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t think we should,” said Costanza quickly.

“Why not?” Floriana asked. “I’d like to meet your sister. How old is she?”

“Sixteen. I have another one of thirteen, Giovanna, who’s in Mexico with my parents.”

“She’s only a little older than us,” said Floriana to Costanza.

“I don’t think we should impose. Especially if Giovanna isn’t here.”

“Damiana will enjoy having you about the place. She likes younger children she can boss around.”

“I don’t know …” Costanza mumbled anxiously.

“You can’t sit on the wall and spy all the time.” He winked at Floriana. “Would you be happier if I called your mother and invited you formally?”

Costanza was relieved. Her shoulders dropped, and she smiled. “Yes, please.”