Chiara moved to the door, but Angelo grabbed her hand. “I need to talk to you. Alone. They can stay another time.”
“You don’t want our friends to stay?” Her voice was abnormally loud.
He let go of her. “Of course they can stay.”
“A luncheon would be splendid,” Susi said. “Wouldn’t that be splendid, boys?” She slipped off her cape and perched on the edge of the divan, a bemused grin on her face. Susi was ever Chiara’s ally.
In the meantime, Michael moved to a lounge chair, and Peter stayed standing, looking as if he would rather flee.
“Then I’ll go inform the cook,” Chiara said, but Angelo stopped her again.
“Your father’s not here,” he whispered. “He’s been taken in for questioning.”
Chiara’s feigned smile vanished. “What?”
“Your father’s being held…” He lowered his voice even more. “Only for the interim. I tried to reach the Colonel—”
“For God’s sake, Angelo,” Chiara said loudly. “Why was he arrested?” There was fear in her eyes.
“Who’s been arrested?” Susi asked.
“Father,” Chiara exclaimed.
Why was she making a scene?
“As soon as Nicolo returns, we will attend to it. Your father will most likely be home before tomorrow. Any charges will be dropped, Chiara,” he finished gently.
“What charges, Angelo?” Her voice was steady, demanding.
Treason would be the worst. “There aren’t any yet, but if there are, I promise you, they’ll be dropped. For now, he’s just being held for questioning.”
There was a clicking sound. Michael lit a cigarette for Susi, then himself. “Yes, Chiara,” the dark-haired reporter said. “Whatever charges they invent will be dropped, but tomorrow your father will no longer be minister. Tomorrow, we’ll have a new one.” Behind the haze of smoke, Michael narrowed his eyes at Angelo.
“Who?” Peter asked. “You were with him, Angelo. Who are they thinking to make the new minister? The Fascists will want one from the party, no?”
When Angelo looked at her, Chiara was waiting, the rims of her lips white. When he still said nothing, she said, “Michael said he saw you, but I told him he was wrong. My husband would never be a member of the Blackshirts. Never. But you are, aren’t you? You’re a Fascist.” She whirled to the others, and this time there was no emotion in her voice. “Tell them. Go ahead. Tell them how my own husband and his father have conspired behind Minister d’Oro’s back.”
“Oh my.” Susi touched the back of her turban, and her earrings made the softest tinkling sound.
“Your father has known about this for months,” Angelo said. “He knows it’s inevitable. The German League also made him false promises. They would have ousted him, and you know damned well that the Fascists won’t put up with having a Tyrolean sympathizer as the head of the department.”
Chiara nodded stiffly, her eyes fastened to his. “And you did nothing to stop it, did you? Instead, you joined the Blackshirts to your own advantage.”
“I didn’t want this,” Angelo said. “But I have to take the position, Chiara. It’s either me or someone much worse. I, at least, have the Tyrolean people’s interests at heart and will do my best to make certain our developments are fair.”
She scoffed and faced Michael. “I can’t do this.” To the rest she said, “I beg you to excuse me.”
She was gone before Angelo could stop her. He stared at Michael. What could Chiara not do? He wanted to knock the smug look off the journalist’s face.
Peter turned to his brother, rubbing a hand over his thinning hair. “Du musst ihnen helfen, Michael. For Angelo’s and Chiara’s sake, you get the Tyrolean peoples to accept him as the new minister. Remember, he saved me at that fair.”
“Peter’s right,” Susi said. “The Tyroleans and the pro-German activists should not make Minister d’Oro into a martyr.”
Michael squinted, took a long drag on his cigarette, and stubbed out the rest. He stood and picked up his coat and hat. Susi started to follow him but stopped at Angelo’s side. Tobacco and a spicy perfume wafted from her.
“You poor boy. This is not easy. Not for anyone. You’ll do the right thing. I’m sure of it.”
Michael helped the countess get her cape on. “Herr Minister,” he said, touching his hat. “A good night to you.”
At Angelo’s shoulder, Peter whispered, “I will talk to Michael. Susi and I will talk to him.”
Angelo watched the door close behind them, relieved they were gone. As the prime candidate, he could no longer afford to have these people in his home. He would have to deal with Chiara later. Beatrice, however, was the next person he had to inform. He took in a deep breath before going downstairs to his mother-in-law.
Chapter 3
Graun, December 1922
T he sugar biscuits for the Advent party were almost finished. Jutta put the final touches on the batch before her and checked the ones that Lisl and Sara were finishing off.
“We’re almost done, aren’t we?”
As if Jutta had just released a trap, Sara turned and dusted her hands.
“Where are you off to?” Jutta threw Lisl a knowing look, but before Sara could answer her, Katharina came through the back door with Annamarie and a package under her arm. She was breathless, and her swollen belly protruded beneath her heavy wool wrap.
Jutta took the parcel from Katharina and led Annamarie inside. “Did you walk all the way down like that? Your Opa’s here, Katharina. He’s in the Stube with Herr Federspiel from the bank.”
“I know.” Katharina sank into a kitchen chair. “It smells wonderful in here. Sugar and butter.”
Sara was halfway out the door.
“You going to that construction site again?” Jutta called to her.
“No, ma’am. It’s time to get Alois from school.”
When she’d gone, Jutta turned to Katharina, about to explain what Sara was up to with
