She wanted to follow them. She did not dare follow them. Instead, she sat under the plane trees, their leaves turning colour in the early autumn sun, and wondered what to do next. A whole summer of asking Iris Hanny questions about Bolzano, about Italy this and Italy that, had not prepared her for this. She thought she’d had an idea of what to expect, but being here was entirely different from her lessons on Italian and city culture. She would have to become a spy.
Annamarie stayed in the park to watch the city people coming and going, how they talked and how they walked. She watched the men interacting with the women, the women interacting with other women, the Italians interacting—or not, to be more precise—with the Tyroleans, and vice versa. When she felt she had enough information, Annamarie slipped behind a group of fashionable women and followed them through the market, watching and copying the way they fingered the clothing, the purses, and negotiated prices with the merchants. Eventually, one group she followed led her to what she was looking for. Propped up against the building on the pavement, the sign outside the parrucchiere read: We Buy Hair. The price was more than adequate. She stepped in, her fingers already unravelling her braids.
***
S o this was what stage fright was. Her palms were sweating, and she had to concentrate on keeping her knees from bouncing. Her heart rattled like the motorcycles in the street below. How had the conductor not been able to know where Monte Fulmini Electrical was? It was one of the biggest buildings in the BIZ, and the oddest: a round tower with windows that looked out on the panorama of mountains and factories.
Several days at the boarding house had given Annamarie the opportunity to rehearse her speech, and now the waiting room of MFE was her first performance. Annamarie Casa de Pietra, from the northern frontier near the Swiss border, member of the Giovanni Italiane. She’d had time to learn about the fascisti, to create a story for herself, and she was relieved when the woman at the reception desk had told her that the Colonel was not here and would not be back until the afternoon.
“I’ll wait,” Annamarie had said, and sat down. She had time to settle her nerves, but the secretary’s indignant stares made the waiting almost unbearable.
She dared herself to look more closely at the woman’s suit, smoothed her own skirt, then straightened the ascot. The purchases pleased her. The market near the river had been a real find. Her blouse was a secondhand calico in navy blue, with puff sleeves, high neckline, and a matching ascot. The beige pleated skirt and the high-heeled slings were both just a little too big, but she’d taken in the skirt herself and padded the toes of her pumps with tissues.
The secretary wore her hair in a bun, but Annamarie’s was now cropped to her neck, and the ends had turned up in untidy waves when the hairdresser was finished with her. All she’d needed was a nice hat—not the wine-red cap the merchant had thrown in with her outfit for free. She had seen a black toque with a red feather, but decided to save her money until her situation was more certain.
She caught the Colonel’s secretary staring at her again, and Annamarie tipped her head and smiled with forced confidence. The woman lowered her eyes and continued pounding at the typewriter.
When the door opened to the waiting room, Annamarie sprang up, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest when she laid eyes on the big, fat man. He was younger than she had expected, but this was certainly Marco’s grandfather. Before the secretary could say a word, Annamarie stepped forward and snapped her hand in a salute.
“Colonel Nicolo Grimani? I’m Annamarie Casa de Pietra, a friend of your grandson. Marco? He’s told me so much about you.”
The man looked surprised and glanced behind him. “Obviously, he didn’t tell you how the Colonel looked.”
Annamarie’s heart fell to her knees when a second man came through the door.
The one she’d mistaken him for said, “I’m Luigi Barbarasso.” With pudgy fingers, he indicated the man next to him. “This is the man you’re looking for.”
The real Colonel did not appear pleased with the matter. He was taller than the other man, but only slightly, and he was not as round. Now it was obvious by his air of importance that this was the grandfather Marco looked up to, and the other one was probably just someone who followed the Colonel’s orders.
“Casa de Pietra?” the Colonel asked. “Where are you from?”
“The Lombardy region, near the Swiss border.” It would explain her accent some. “I met your grandson when I was here with my local youth troop. I was hoping to perhaps see him before I moved on to Rome.”
The Colonel smiled, his new interest in her unmistakable. “Training camp? I see. Luigi, I’ll meet with you afterwards.” He opened one arm as if to embrace her, but walked on so that she had to follow him. As they walked into his office, Annamarie threw the secretary a triumphant look just as the Colonel said, “You must be tired. Did you arrive just today?”
Indeed, she had finally arrived. “I’ve been here for
