Gina turned from the door, and he followed her in, shutting it behind him.
“I’m afraid the help is not here today,” she said, her heels echoing along the chilly foyer. “I have to make the coffee myself. If you don’t mind, we’ll take it in the kitchen.”
He went in but paused at the doorway of the first room on the left. It too was all white with plaster trimmings on the walls and ceilings. All the furniture was buried under snow-white sheets, revealing only the shapes of settees and side tables, high-backed chairs and a dresser on the far wall near the windows.
“Are you leaving?” Angelo said.
“Just returned, and I’d misinformed the housekeeper of the date.” She stood at the end of the foyer, waiting. “We were in Rome, but you know that.”
“No, I didn’t. I was wondering why I hadn’t seen you around.”
Gina looked taken aback. “I had no idea you were looking for me.” She turned and went through the doorway at the back of the house, her heels clicking again.
He followed her into a kitchen that seemed to be the length of the entire house. It was long and bright with a floor of black and white tiles. There was a long wooden table with ten chairs where the help must have taken their meals, but he walked past it and stood at the counter and watched as Gina unscrewed the moka pot. The flowers lay in the ceramic sink, where she’d propped them. There was a white bowl with oranges in them and a single-stem cobalt vase, standing empty.
“How have you been, Signora Conti?” He reached to unwrap the flowers from the paper.
She raised her eyes to his. “Are we so formal again?”
“I was following your lead.”
“Ah!” She tapped out the old coffee grains from the filter into a bin and then opened a few cabinet doors, muttering to herself about where “they” put the vases. She found one and returned with a white pear-shaped vase, wide enough for his bouquet.
He smiled a little and took the vase, turned on the tap, and filled it with water. When he placed the flowers on the counter, he turned to see that she’d stuck out her right hand.
“Call me Gina.” Her smile teased him.
He took it, warm and soft. “Angelo,” he said with a gentle squeeze and, with regret, slipped it out of hers to hand her the coffee tin on the counter.
As soon as she’d rinsed the three parts of the pot and screwed them back together, she lit the gas flame on the hob and put the coffee on. Arms folded in front of her, her eyes still on his, she leaned against the sink. “So, Angelo, everyone should be here in just a little while. They’ve been deterred by the harvest festival. It’s nice for you to keep me company until then.”
“Everyone?”
“Why, the children, of course.”
“Of course.” Her brood. The reason she was alone in the house.
She tipped her head. “You look a bit preoccupied. Has something happened?”
Angelo considered for a moment. “I’ve just had lunch with my father. The Reschen Valley project. It’s going through, and MFE will most likely be able to purchase it, and now I have to find a way to make sure I keep the Colonel on a lead.”
She raised her chin. “Ah,” she said again. “I see. You mind? I just got in? It’s been a long road.” She indicated her blazer, unbuttoned it, and slipped it off, hanging it on the back of a chair.
The heat creeped up his neck, and he looked at the tiled floor. What did he want from her? Really? He turned with his back to the counter and leaned against it just as Gina came back and opened another cabinet door. He watched her, the row of silk-covered buttons on the back of her blouse moving and rippling with her. Coral was the colour for desire. He dropped his gaze to the curves beneath the linen skirt.
“Why don’t you tell me about the project,” she said at the next cabinet before removing two porcelain cups and saucers, also white. “What’s the trouble?”
Angelo took in a deep breath, considering where he should start and how much he should tell her. “For some time now, my proposal for the Reschen Valley has been to raise two lakes by five metres to build a reservoir. To keep it simple, the SEAA—under the influence of the Colonel, of course—is making a proposal for twenty-two metres and includes a third lake in the lowest part of the valley.”
Gina set out sugar and milk, though he knew she did not take either, and neither did he.
“All right,” she said. “And why the fight?”
“The building authority originally turned down the proposal for the higher levels, but it passed through once.” He explained the king’s decree and his discussion with his father, finishing just as the coffee grumbled, percolating.
“Go on,” Gina said as she poured two demitasse.
Angelo told her how his original proposal had been accepted earlier that year. And he wanted to have separate testing and analyses conducted on the impacts to the population and the environment. “Stefano Accosi, my chief engineer, worked hard with the locals on the Etsch River usage rights. You understand? Drinking water, irrigation, energy reserves? The community needs access to all that. Stefano covered everything with a very good report.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Gina said.
It felt good to talk this out. He told her how the railway lines would be sorely affected, which also meant the forests would have to be cut and the loggers’ livelihoods impacted, the riverways diverted, which meant fishing would be affected. And the land on which the farmers grew barley, rye, and wheat, the
