Damiana was delighted to see Floriana again and mothered her as she had done the summer before. She let her retrieve balls when she played tennis with her girlfriends and invited her up to her bedroom to help her choose which dresses to wear. But Floriana’s heart longed for Dante, and in spite of all the attention, Villa La Magdalena seemed empty without him.
If it hadn’t been for Signora Bonfanti, Costanza’s mother would have made sure Floriana stayed at home. But this fey, dreamy woman with the delicate beauty of a sylph fell in love with l’orfanella in the same way that her two elder children had. She had heard her tragic story from Dante and resolved to embrace the child with all her maternal love, which she had in abundance, having longed for many more children than three.
On her initial visit, she took the little girl by the hand and led her into her mermaid garden, where Floriana had sat with Dante the first time she had entered the grounds of La Magdalena. There they had remained for the entire afternoon, watching the fountain, listening to the birds, and sharing thoughts and ideas. Signora Bonfanti found in Floriana a child who shared her love of nature and her insatiable curiosity about the world. Floriana found in Signora Bonfanti a gentle mother who threaded flowers in her hair and read her poetry and stories. A mother who took trouble with her the way her own mother never had.
Little by little Floriana had become a permanent fixture at La Magdalena. As permanent as the stray dogs and cats that Dante had adopted. And like the stray dogs and cats, she was patted and teased with affection by everyone, except Contessa Aldorisio, who resented her presence there, as if it threatened her secret ambitions for her daughter. She need not have worried, for Giovanna grew to consider Costanza a sister and they remained in contact during the winter months when Giovanna was back at school in Milan. Floriana visited La Magdalena every day, although the family had long since departed, and took Good-Night off into town to chase pigeons in Piazza Laconda. The dog became her constant companion and her greatest pleasure. Unlike Costanza, who was too grand to talk to staff, Floriana had made friends with the locals who worked at La Magdalena, and when she wasn’t in school or at Mass, she often hung around the gardens, playing with the animals and talking to the gardeners.
Alone again, Costanza sought the company of her old friend, and Floriana was happy to be welcomed back. But now they had to meet in town, or on the beach, for Costanza’s mother was doing everything in her power to separate them. Costanza was thirteen now and resented being told what to do and who to be friends with, and she felt a strong loyalty to Floriana. But Contessa Aldorisio was confident that one way or another the two girls would eventually grow apart. It was inevitable, considering their lives and the stark differences of their class. If it didn’t happen naturally, she would give it a little helping hand.
Another summer blossomed, the second since Dante’s departure, and Floriana felt his absence more acutely than ever. Long, languid days at La Magdalena ensued, full of beautiful people, large lunch parties, and afternoons in the mermaid garden, reading poetry. Signora Bonfanti invited Floriana to help make a picture mosaic, and they spent hours in the conservatory cutting out small squares of paper and sticking them onto canvas. Floriana loved being close to her, while Good-Night lay snoozing by her side. There were pictures of Dante all over the house, and sometimes she would glean bits of news as Signora Bonfanti processed her thoughts out loud in rambling soliloquies. It seemed that Dante was doing exceedingly well in America but that his future lay here in Italy, where he was expected to rise to great heights in his father’s company.
Floriana did not like Signor Beppe. He had none of his son’s charm or benevolence. His face was handsome in a hard way, his frown low over dark, shrewish eyes, and his neck was thick like a bull’s. His mouth was twisted in repose, cruel in mirth, and when he laughed, it seemed superficial, as if he did it for affect and not out of joy. His mind seemed constantly occupied by work, and he was always being called to the telephone, or in his study talking to men in black suits, smoking cigars that reeked into the marble hall. Signora Bruno said that Beppe Bonfanti was part of the local Mafia and had actually had people killed, but even though his eyes were remarkably cold, Floriana dismissed the old woman’s gossiping as rumor. She couldn’t believe that Dante’s father was a murderer. That he was fearsome was without doubt.
He was shadowed constantly by Zazzetta, a wiry, sinister little man with a bald head and aquiline nose who whispered in his ear and wrote things down in a black notebook. Signor Beppe listened to him more than anyone else, and he seemed to have the power to grab his attention with as little as a raised eyebrow. Signor Beppe relied on him for everything, calling him his braccio destro—his right-hand man. Floriana didn’t like Zazzetta, either.