She was now at Luigi Barbarasso’s elbow, who may have dominated her in both height and girth, but looked the fool with his wolflike grin and obvious fixation with her. She outranked him in poise and composure. Since Angelo had become minister, he’d been privy to her affairs, the details of which dribbled out with other secret agendas after a long night of wine and spirits. One thing was certain—Gina Conti could either help a man or hurt one, and she used the same network to accomplish either.
She moved to the Colonel, but her eyes were suddenly on Angelo, and the way she smiled and the way her eyebrows tilted up signalled that she’d caught him watching her.
Stefano moved between them, having returned with a tall, humble-looking man in tow, and introduced the watchman.
“If you are on the first shift,” Angelo said to the man, “the king will hand the keys to you after he’s cut the ribbon.”
The watchman thanked him for the honour, but looked nervous. Stefano encouraged him with a slight nod.
“Minister,” the watchman said, “I have been meaning to talk to someone at your agency. I warned Signor Barbarasso about the heavy rains. The reservoir is almost filled up completely, yet he insists that we open the gates tonight.”
“We will have a word with the Colonel.”
“I don’t wish to go behind the backs of my supervisors,” the watchman said.
“I understand. We will keep it discreet. It won’t come back to you.” He pulled Stefano to the side to give him instructions, but his eyes landed on Gina as she slipped away from the group of men and picked two glasses of prosecco off a waiter’s tray.
“Minister, so good to see you again.”
She handed him one of the glasses and kept the other, tilting her head at Stefano in mock disappointment as she raised her glass. “My apologies. I only have two hands.”
Angelo nodded at his chief engineer. “I’ll find you later.”
When Stefano had left, Angelo clinked glasses with Gina.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything serious.”
“I’m afraid I have to check on something. In the end, it is me who is responsible that everything is up to par.”
“Yes, I had almost forgotten about your obsession with details.” She indicated the walkway of the dam’s wall. “But not your love for aesthetics. It is beautiful. Better to look at from above or below than here, but the dam is beautiful. Powerful.” There was a flash in her eye. “What were you thinking when you were watching me?”
He was ready for it, her direct manner. He realised with a start that he’d been looking forward to another chance just like this. “You seem to be the designer of your very own web. That is what I was thinking.”
Gina laughed, her head tilted back, but her eyes never strayed from his face. He felt that thrill again.
“Are you saying I am a spider? I suppose I have heard worse.” She moved so that they were standing side by side on the railing, on the side that overlooked the deep gorge. “I like the idea,” she said, “but only of the spider web, not the spider.”
“No? Why the web?”
She chuckled. “You men all think the women are black widows. Dangerous. Feasting on you. It’s a cliché. The metaphor of the spider is not about the sexes, Minister. It is about where you are on the food chain.”
“What do you mean?”
She became contemplative. “There was a summer night many years ago. I could not sleep. It was hot. And there was a clicking sound outside the window, like someone flicking at their fingernail. It kept up into the morning, and so I went down to the balcony, where the noise was coming from. I looked for the source, and finally, in the corner near the door, I found a small beetle, no bigger than this.” She pressed her thumb and forefinger together. “It was very small, you see, but it had a hard shell and was trapped in the remnants of a spider web. It had gotten itself terribly twisted, almost cocooned. I was amazed that such a tiny thing still had the energy to keep fighting. Its will to live was impressive.”
“And the spider?”
“I found it crouched under the doorframe. It seemed to be waiting, as if it was terrified of coming too close before the beetle had tired.”
“Did you not release the beetle?”
She smiled. “That would be against nature, would it not?”
“So it died.”
“I never went back to look. I didn’t need to. You see, Angelo, I was never inspired by the spider. On the contrary, I often feel like the beetle, surrounded by things that want to suck me dry.” She turned ever so slightly to the group of men behind them. “But they cower in the corner, afraid of what it is my will can do.”
He felt that rush again. “And am I one of those spiders, waiting by your entangled web?”
“Oh, no, Angelo. Like me, you are the beetle.” Her eyes landed on the Colonel before she turned back to him. “Except with you, the spider has already inserted his fangs. “
He was off guard, his laugh proof of it, but her eyes stayed on his, grey and sombre. Like he’d imagined she would be with the general.
He closed his mouth.
***
T he sight of the empty champagne bottles sharpened the pain in Angelo’s head, and his hand went to where he’d find that scar from the attack. They were as much a part of him as anything, he supposed,
