“Is that so?”
“Years ago, they even renamed the farm—”
“The Thalerhof. I remember.”
“Now it’s called”—his eyebrows shot up—“Katharinahof. After the woman. Only relative the old man Thaler had left.”
“Rather unusual.”
“Rather problematic, if you know what I mean.”
Angelo thanked the prefect, and before he reached Stefano, Rioba called to him. “Minister Grimani, if you need help handling these people, you just come back and see me.”
“Very kind of you,” Angelo said and turned to leave. Rioba’s time would be better spent giving his successor tips on how to handle the Colonel. To Stefano, he muttered, “A man in the Colonel’s pocket has only one purpose in playing cooperatively with us.”
Stefano dipped his head. “To monitor and report?”
“Esatto.” Exactly.
Outside the town hall, Angelo straightened his hat and looked towards the lake. “Now what?” he asked Stefano.
“We’ve got two days before we meet with the people. I’m going to go check on the team on the north side of the lake. The house on the hill there belongs to the doctor and his wife—an Italian schoolteacher, I hear.”
“Dr Hanny?” It was the doctor who had taken care of Angelo and driven him to Merano by wagon. Angelo had as much as begged the man to do so as soon as Katharina and her grandfather left the house the night after Angelo had lain with her.
“…and we need to assess the land there,” Stefano was saying. “They’ll be affected and want to know how we intend to settle.”
“The doctor speaks Italian fluently. He could be useful to us,” Angelo said.
“Oh? You know him?” Stefano looked as if he waited for an explanation, but Angelo was not going to tell him anything about his first visit to the valley. The deceased Fritz Hanny—his attacker—had been Jutta Hanny’s husband, which meant Dr Hanny had to be her brother-in-law.
“You go on ahead. I forgot something at the inn.”
Stefano did not press him but instead adjusted his hat and took the road to Reschen, whilst Angelo took the opposite direction, back into Graun’s centre. He pulled his coat tighter around him. Though it was the beginning of April, there was slush on the street and the smell of animal manure lay heavy on the air. Outside the windows of the houses he passed, the flower boxes contained last year’s dead stems and leaves. For spring, it was dismal in comparison to the balmy weather he’d left behind in Bolzano. It would take weeks, he guessed, before warmer weather worked its way up to this altitude.
Behind him, he heard the heavy clopping of oxen hooves bouncing off the stone walls. As they neared, he pressed himself against a rough wall to let a farmer pass, a huge man with a bushy beard and intelligent dark eyes. He tipped his head at Angelo and slowed the cart as he passed, as if to avoid spattering Angelo with the slushy mud. Gratefully, Angelo raised a hand and at the next corner, turned where the street sloped downwards. He was careful not to slip on the icy flagstones. Though the street sweepers had thrown gravel over them, the flat soles of his shoes were not made for these wintery walkways.
The road opened to the churchyard, which also served as the town’s square and marketplace on Thursdays. The inn was just next door, an apple tree in the back garden in bud. Here, the air was fresher, no longer trapped in the narrow alleyways. Between the church and the inn was a large oak tree and a fountain surrounded by an octagonal wooden bench. A woman sat beneath the tree, facing the guesthouse, and as he approached, she looked over her shoulder and stood up to face him.
Blood rushed into all of Angelo’s extremities, as if he had just stopped himself from a fall.
Katharina was wearing a plain blue dress, a dark-green wool cardigan, and a grey headscarf. What hair he could see was blond, but it was the eyes he recognised more than anything: doe brown, with a sweet naivety—kindness, he decided—but something hard edged about her made her almost unapproachable now.
Sooner or later, this had to happen, and today, of all days, seemed most appropriate for things to come full circle.
They gazed at one another for a moment. Recognition and indecision rippled on her face, mirroring what he felt himself. She waited, hands folded in front of her, her chin raised just a little, as if she was steeling herself. She was rounder than he’d remembered. Age had made them both softer, but only by appearance.
Angelo straightened to his full height and strode towards her. Now that the time had come, he was forced to resolve the years between them.
Chapter 6
Graun, April 1937
W hen Angelo was just a few steps away, Katharina rose from the bench.
“Miss…”
Her eyes dropped to the ground before meeting his again. “It’s Mrs Steinhauser now, Minister Grimani. I’ve been married for quite some time.” Her Italian was heavily accented but flawless.
“Of course. Excuse me. I simply did not wish to presume.” He stopped himself from asking how she was, a most banal question.
She rolled her shoulders back. “Would you have a moment to speak with me?”
“Here?” He indicated the bench where she’d been.
“No, not here.” Her voice trembled. “At the inn? In the Stube?”
Angelo glanced at the guesthouse next door. “I don’t see why not, except that the innkeeper is not very fond of me.”
Katharina laughed a little. There was no hint of animosity, and her smile made him relax. They had laughed many times while he had been recovering in her house, over their awkward abilities to communicate, stumbling over cultural barriers. She had been nothing but warm and caring with him then. Despite all that, he treaded carefully.
“Don’t worry about Jutta,” Katharina said. “She’s the one
