The Mermaid Garden(38)

“As for you, piccolina, who do I call?”

“No one,” she said breezily.

“No one?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No.” She shrugged as if it couldn’t matter less. “No one cares.” At that moment, looking at her impish face gazing up at him defiantly, he realized that, in a brotherly kind of way, he did.


Dante honored his word and telephoned Costanza’s mother that evening. She was delighted that her daughter was invited up to La Magdalena to swim with his sister, Damiana, and Dante suggested that she take her friend, Floriana, with her for company.

“She’s the daughter of Carlo’s chauffeur,” the countess explained grandly, as if making excuses for the child’s inadequate pedigree. “She’s a sweet girl, and Costanza likes having her around. I tolerate her for my daughter’s sake, although I would much prefer her to befriend someone of her own class.”

“She’s very welcome to come,” said Dante, smiling to himself at the woman’s grandiosity.

“I’ll send our maid with them.”

“Of course.”

“Please thank Damiana for the invitation.”

“I will.”

“I hope they won’t be any trouble.”

“Of course not. It will be a pleasure to have them. I hope they will come as often as they like.”

“How very kind. Lovely to think of Costanza mixing with the right sort of people. Send my regards to your parents. It’s been so long since we last saw them. Will they be spending time down here this summer?”

“I doubt it. They’re taking Giovanna on a tour of South America.”

“What a shame they’re missing the summer.”

“Mother hates the sun. It ages her skin.”

“Well, she is very fair.”

“So, we’ll expect the girls tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I know Costanza is very much looking forward to it.”


The following morning the girls arrived at the big gates of Villa La Magdalena accompanied by Graziella, the maid, a dark little woman as round as a teapot, dressed formally in a pastel-pink uniform and clean white shoes. They were met by one of the gardeners, who unlocked the gates and accompanied them up the cypress avenue to the house. Floriana skipped happily across the shadows, her thoughts full of Dante and the day ahead that promised to be so thrilling.

Costanza was nervous: anxious about the strangers she was going to meet, so much older than her, and about having to put on a bathing suit. She wished she were as fearless as her friend. But she needn’t have worried. They were taken straight down to the swimming pool, which was built at the end of a long path, high up on the rocks overlooking the sea. Four girls in little bikinis lay in a colonnaded alcove at one end on sun loungers, sipping drinks and reading magazines, tanning their skin golden in the sun. Bob Dylan sang out from the little hut at the other end, where there was a bar, tall stools, and changing rooms.

Dante was in the water at the edge of the pool, chatting to the girls. When he saw the children descending the steps, he waved and called out to them. Damiana sat up and waved, too, her beautiful face flowering into a smile. Her blond hair was tied into a ponytail beneath a wide sunhat, and her wrists were adorned with gold bangles. She stood up in her skimpy white bikini and walked around the pool to greet them.

“Dante has told me so much about you,” she said to Floriana. “And I believe we’ve met before,” she added to Costanza.

Costanza felt very important, being singled out, and replied firmly that their parents knew each other. “Why don’t you change into your swimsuits and join us out here. Would you like anything to drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Costanza, too embarrassed to ask for anything.

“I’d love something,” said Floriana boldly.

“What will you have?”

“What is there?”

Damiana smiled indulgently. “Come and have a look. We have a whole bar at your disposal.” They followed her into the hut, where Graziella was already sitting, fanning herself. An attendant stood behind the bar in a formal black suit and white shirt. Costanza thought he looked very hot. “Why don’t you let Primo make you a fruit juice?”

“You can choose your fruit,” Primo said to Floriana.

“That sounds fun,” she replied, climbing onto the stool. “Why don’t you have one, too, Costanza?”

“Well, all right,” she replied, grateful to her friend for having persuaded her. She really was very thirsty.

The changing room was very smart, with two lavatories, and marble basins with all sorts of lotions and perfume flasks lined up on shelves beneath big, elaborate mirrors. The girls hung their dresses on hooks and put their shoes neatly on the wooden bench beneath. They wriggled excitedly into their swimsuits.