She struggled with the words, trying to understand. From underneath her hand, Rioba pushed the envelope over to Enrico, grinning as if he could not be more pleased. Enrico immediately stamped it, and the letter disappeared behind him. What if Angelo was just like these men?
“I…I’d like to have that back. Prego. I need to change something.”
Rioba shrugged and tipped his head, the tassel of his fez brushing his brow. “No tedesco, Signora.”
That was a lie. The former police captain had picked up enough German from them to hold a conversation, at the very least to make it clear to them what he wanted and expected.
Her hand shaking, she paid the postage, trying to convince herself she had done all she could. If she was opening Pandora’s box, then it was because she hoped Minister Angelo Grimani would prevent a flood. Not start one.
Chapter 5
Bolzano, January 1923
In the crowded gymnasium, beneath Mussolini’s photographed stare, Angelo felt as if he were in a sea of Blackshirts. The party had grown exponentially under Il Duce’s leadership.
Angelo found Gina Conti just behind him, who acknowledged him with a curt nod. Her husband stood next to her. Angelo imagined that General Conti had been made fun of as a boy for the scourge that caused the pockmarks across his face. These days, nobody laughed in the general’s presence.
Signora Conti made her way towards the small group of speakers who were leaving the podium. She had her hand on her husband’s arm, but Angelo was certain she was steering him and not the other way around. He remembered the Colonel’s words the first time he had seen Signora Conti: she was a woman who made men.
When he turned around, his father was coming towards him.
“I need to speak to you,” the Colonel said.
“What is it?”
“I’ve received a memo from the king about the Gleno Dam schedule.”
Angelo stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “If this is about opening it by December, the answer is no. We’re already strapped, especially with the two new projects up north. I cannot make further allowances on the inspections.”
“Cannot or will not? You refute me every step of the way.”
“Which reminds me, your permit application never came in either.”
“Angelo, I expected no to be your first answer.” The Colonel rubbed the back of his neck. “Kastelbell and Glurns are not to be compromised. I understand that. Still, I have to push the Gleno forward. I need the inspector’s approvals to do so. Besides, it’s twelve months you’ve got.”
“Because the king wants to hold an opening ceremony before Christmas?” Angelo shook his head. “What everyone’s asking for is to wring blood from a turnip. We have not seen satisfactory repairs to the mess that got started on the Gleno. Besides, you’d have to pull workers off other projects if you push it forward. That would jeopardise our state-run projects. So here’s my second answer: no.”
The Colonel smirked. “Come now, Angelo.”
“It’s my last answer.”
“That’s why we’re talking.”
As the Colonel waved Luigi Barbarasso over, Angelo noted his father’s buttons straining on his suit jacket. Too much of Mama’s braised veal? He had another issue, however.
“Did you pay off another one of my inspectors? He approved that plenary problem surprisingly quickly.”
But Barbarasso had reached them, and the Colonel signalled he would not answer the question. The contractor and lumberman looked more similar as time went on, like two fighting bulldogs. Or, Angelo mused, the way a dog and its owner could begin resembling one another.
“Mr Barbarasso,” Angelo said to his father’s bulldog, “good to see you. You’re looking rather robust.”
“I’ve been taking more exercise,” Barbarasso said.
Angelo followed the lumber baron’s look, which seemed to devour Signora Conti in a single gulp.
“Luigi has four tons of freshly cut trees up in the northeast,” the Colonel said. “He’s ready to ship those to the Kastelbell Dam as soon as tomorrow. At a special price.”
Angelo shook his head. “Very convenient, but he’s not the supplier.” He held Barbarasso’s look. “You’re not the supplier.”
“The state will get a better price,” Barbarasso said. “We can make an exchange. We provide cheaper lumber to the other projects, and you send us workers for the Gleno. It’s a good deal with your budgets so strained.”
Yes, Angelo thought, strained just like your coat buttons, and from whom did you steal those trees?
“Angelo, think about this,” the Colonel said. “You have problems. We’re offering solutions.” He opened his hands. “Talk to your father-in-law. The former minister can certainly give you plenty of examples about how things get done.”
“Not on my watch,” Angelo snapped.
The Colonel’s words had stung. Just as Pietro had suspected when taken in for questioning, the Colonel had gotten “things done” so that Angelo could be crowned Minister of Civil Engineering. Pietro, with his usual grace and dignity, had stepped aside quietly, but his acquiescence had only fuelled his team’s resolve to make things difficult for Angelo. It was hardly a secret that Angelo still required Pietro’s consultations on how to “get things done.”
One tactic was to play the diplomat. He switched from biting to indulging. “I will look into the matter more closely. You have my word.”
The Colonel smiled and shook his head. “But no promises. Now you sound like the politician. Right, Minister Grimani, keep fighting the good fight. You’ll eventually see it leads nowhere but to sleepless nights.” Absentmindedly, Angelo’s father reached into his breast pocket and withdrew his black notebook. He just held it, as if he did not realise he had taken it out.
“There’s something else, Nicolo,” Barbarasso said.
“I haven’t forgotten. The appeals processes, Angelo. With the new water-rights laws likely to pass
