“I told you, I don’t know.”
Florian looked off, shaking his head. “I’m taking my family to Germany, Jutta. This Hitler and the NSDAP, they make sense. They have good ideas about how to improve the economy.” He shrugged, “After all, I have a homeland too.”
“Your mother was Tyrolean. Florian, we need you here.”
His smile was sad, and there was an edge to his voice. “Jutta, you once told me I’d never get to the bottom of all the secrets in this valley. You said there’d be a lot more to cover up before I could dig up what’s underneath already. I’m not interested in secrets, and this valley seems to thrive on them. I’ve been forthcoming with you folks. I want to be a part of something where I know whom I’m dealing with. These Italians are bringing out the worst in us instead of the best.”
He stopped, and she felt as if she could cry.
“Who is this Grimani, Jutta?”
“It’s not my secret to tell, Florian.”
“I saw Katharina’s face, Jutta. You already did.”
Chapter 10
Gleno Dam, November 1923
A ngelo and his men drove through the countryside, entering the scattered villages of stone huts, all swept clean and decent in anticipation of the king’s envoy. Each time the locals heard the car, they waved and cheered, only to be visibly disappointed that it was just Angelo and his crew within. It kept his men amused on the long road to the Gleno Dam.
The pylons that marched from the mountains down into the valley reminded him of huge giants with outstretched arms. Angelo remembered a game he’d played as a young man, where he and his friends would create two fronts—arms linked, one team standing opposite the other. They would chant a verse and call a name from the opposite team, and that person had to run with all his strength into the opposite line with the goal to break them apart. That was what the pylons reminded him of now, a team of giants waiting for their opposition.
When the car breached the ridge after Bueggio, he leaned forward to take in the dam’s arches. He could imagine the king’s speech already, referring to it as a monument to Roman culture, Roman tradition, Roman strength. Even from this distance he could see the walkway had been decorated in red, green, and white banners and streamers, with the black flags of the Fascist party.
“The roads are good, Minister,” his driver said. “His Majesty should have no trouble getting to the ceremony.”
Angelo had his eye on the wall, but when the water appeared behind it and he saw its level, he turned to his chief engineer in the back. “Stefano.”
“I see it,” the man said. “Heavy rains from five weeks ago.”
“See to it that you talk to the watchman. I want those levels checked.”
Stefano nodded, and Angelo turned back just as they approached the gate. The guards let them through, and Angelo stepped out of the vehicle, the Colonel on his way to them. The board members of Grimani Electrical and the politicos were already being served glasses of prosecco.
He pointed out Barbarasso to Stefano. “Ask him to find the watchman for you.”
Just as the Angelo’s father approached, Stefano made his way over to the former lumber baron, now the Colonel’s right hand.
“Angelo.” His father formally extended his hand, then pulled him in for a kiss.
“Congratulations, Father. Sorry we’re late.”
His father grimaced, glancing over Angelo’s shoulder. “We? Need I remind you that attending these events without your family is not going to help your political career? Why aren’t Chiara and Marco with you?”
“You didn’t really expect them.”
“Never mind,” the Colonel grumbled. “His Majesty and the Queen are delayed by an hour or so.”
“Hurry up and wait,” Angelo muttered.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.” He was already moving along the dam’s walk to see the water for himself and removed his hat to bend over the rail, when he heard Gina Conti’s laugh.
She and the general were just leaving their car, Gina already being greeted by one of the board members. Since the last time Angelo had seen him, General Conti’s hair had thinned and greyed, and his posture bent forward as if he were caving in on himself. Next to him, Gina stood out in a wine-coloured cloche and a fox coat. He suspected that style was less important to her than the colours she wore: always bold, always resplendent like ripened summer fruits or Christmas ornaments. Either way, it was a far cry from her sombre Fascist outfit the first time he had seen her, or her military-like manner on the day she’d called women to join the party.
Whereas the general seemed to stay where he was, Gina was on the move again. She attracted the Grimani Electrical board members like iron filings to a magnet, while repelling their wives, as they often took a step or two back when she came near. She hovered over one man then the next, leaning on one arm, touching another, and always laughing. Drunk on ability.
He thought of the day they’d had martinis at the Laurin. Angelo felt a stirring, like a near slip off a cliff. For her, he might just jump, save for the fact that Gina would be a woman he would never be able to get rid of. The aftermath of his affair in Arlund had been nothing like that. Which might have been his salvation thus far.
The general had drifted to the railing on the reservoir side, and Angelo wondered what the Contis’ home life was like. Perhaps it was her husband who grounded Gina after an exhausting day of weaving intrigue. Angelo could picture her, calm, not talking, not smiling, not beguiling. For General Conti would not notice anyway, and Gina
