Not his parents. Only Marco’s mother, but Annamarie was not going to tell this woman that. “Yes, Signora Grimani.” Neither Marco nor she wanted his father to find out about them, not after the way he’d reacted to them together in the Reschen Valley.
“I would highly advise you to keep your mouth shut and just watch what happens in that household.” She leaned forward, one elbow on her lap, and pointed a finger. “Tonight you will glimpse into what a future with my grandson may be like. Oh, Marco’s mother is Italian, certainly, but she grew up here.” The old matron narrowed her eyes. “And she has caused my son, Angelo, much heartache with her loyalties and affinities to the Tyroleans. Her ideas! Her attitudes! Why, it’s practically treasonous.” She paused and brightened. “You’re proof enough though, dear, aren’t you? That the Germans can be reasonable? Take the right path?” She laughed. “How I would love to be a fly on that wall and see Chiara’s face when you show up in that fascisti uniform!”
Annamarie looked at her lap. “Marco has already told her.” And she certainly had no intention to attend the dinner in her uniform!
“There is another matter I must address. It has come to my attention that there was a conflict between my grandson and his father. Are you the reason for this conflict?”
Annamarie stared at her hands.
“Well, that clarifies things, I suppose. I do admire your pluck, Annamarie.”
At this, Annamarie looked up, wary.
Signora Grimani pushed the plate of squares towards Annamarie. “Turkish delight? The Colonel loves them. He believes he can hide them from me. You eat them all up if you like.”
Annamarie slowly picked out a pale-yellow one. The woman watched her as she took a bite. Their softness was unexpected, and Annamarie could hardly mask her pleasure. It was just a little sweet and very citrusy as the sugarcoating melted. When she chewed, the delight stuck to her teeth and gums.
Marco’s grandmother picked up the novel. “You may find me to be a cruel woman. I am not. Have another, Annamarie.”
Annamarie picked an orange-coloured one.
“Do you know this book?” Signora Grimani held the novel in the air. “No? Anna Karenina was also looking for love. She is married to an aristocrat, you see, but starts an affair with Count Vronsky. Vronsky and Anna flee to Italy, where they can be together, but she has trouble making friends. She cannot possibly return home because she is shunned, and so she becomes more isolated and anxious.” She paused before adding, “Vronsky, however, has no problems pursuing his social life.”
Annamarie thought of Marco, narrowed her eyes. The pit of her stomach burned. Had the old woman poisoned her?
Signora Grimani seemed unaware of Annamarie’s discomfort. “What happens is that Anna becomes possessive, even paranoid. She imagines that Vronsky is untrue to her. How could she not? In real life, a man who is prone to infidelity once, well, it is like the Turkish delights. It’s difficult to stop after just one.”
The sweetmeat between Annamarie’s fingers grew soft, but she dared not put it back. She put the whole thing into her mouth and tasted the bitterness of orange peel. She swallowed, her mouth thick with syrupy sweetness.
“How does it end?” she asked.
“Anna loses control.” Marco’s grandmother leaned forward, one finger in the air. “A woman should never lose control.”
A piece of Turkish delight was stuck to the roof of Annamarie’s mouth, and she had to cough once to get it off.
“I have a proposal, Annamarie. You will convince my grandson to take you to Venice, to the parade. Then he should take you on holiday into other parts of Italy. I shall see to it that you are well accommodated. I think you are correct, Annamarie. You will make a good actress. Study our Italian ways and integrate yourself into the culture.”
Annamarie did not move, afraid she had heard incorrectly.
“You wonder what has happened for me to change my mind so suddenly about you?”
She shrugged.
“It’s quite simple, my dear. My hope is that Marco has more of his grandfather in him than my son does and that he abandons you somewhere along the side of the road like a puppy that’s too much nuisance. You see, my cruelty is truly your blessing. I am a realist. You will thank me later when it comes to that point, and perhaps you will be closer to Rome, to your dream of working in the cinematic arts. It’s a better stage for your ploys.”
Annamarie swallowed hard, but her anger would not be quashed. “I thought you said you never got past the first page.”
“No, I said I’ve never been able to read it from the beginning. I prefer to read at the point where things get meaty.” She glanced at the plate between them. “Sticky.”
***
“B ut I want to hear the gondoliers singing.”
“I can’t go to Venice,” Marco said, plucking the last delight off the plate on the table. He had come earlier than arranged, as if to prove Maria Grimani wrong. Francesca had just put the final touches on Annamarie’s hair and lent her an organza gown in pale-pink silk. When Marco arrived, he asked about his grandmother, but the old woman had left hours before, thank goodness. They had a little time alone before dinner at the Villa Adige.
Annamarie flopped onto the divan and admired the taffeta roses splayed across her whole lap. “Darling, don’t be such a bore,” she said. “I’m terribly tired of all this nonsense, and Bolzano is also so provincial. Really! Compared to Venice? Verona? Rome! I want to go somewhere and do
