Tony Pellechea smiled uncomfortably.
“And not only of our family, Tony,” Beatrice went on. “But of the Carzino-Cormano family as well. What would you say, Claudia, if I told you—judging from the way Alicia looks at him—that it looks very much to me as if Cupid has fired a second arrow from his quiver? And scored another bull’s-eye?”
“I would say your imagination is running away with you again, Beatrice,” Claudia said.
Unfortunately, you poor lunatic, Claudia thought, I’m afraid you’re right on the money.
“But wouldn’t it be nice if that were the case—and I think I’m right, no matter what you say? Alicia and Dorotéa have been friends since they were babies, and I’m sure that Peter and Cletus could be friends, if only they had the chance.”
“Mi querida,” Humberto Duarte said in a desperately transparent attempt to get his wife off the subject. “Weren’t you telling Tony that you were at school with his mother?”
“Yes, I was,” she said. “She was right down the corridor from me at St. Teresa’s. I had a room with Elisa Frondizi—now Elisa Frondizi de Galeano, of course—and your mother shared one with Carmela Burmeister—now Carmela Burmeister de Manasaro, of course—and we were the dearest of friends, all of us.”
She paused thoughtfully.
Tony Pellechea smiled uncomfortably.
Peter smiled gratefully at the maid who offered to fill his wineglass.
“Our favorite sister was Sister Maria Margareta,” Beatrice resumed. “She was strict, but she was fair. You really couldn’t say that about all the sisters. Sister Maria-Elena, for example…”
[THREE]
Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo
Near Pila, Buenos Aires Province
1425 1 May 1943
The Horch was parked on the red gravel on the curved drive in front of the main house. The roof was down, and the second windshield, which rose behind the front seat, had been raised.
“It looks good, Clete,” Martha Howell said.
“Thank you,” Clete said.
“God, it’s big, isn’t it?” Martha added wonderingly. “It’s one and a half times the size of the Caddy.”
“You want to drive it?” Clete asked.
“Give me a rain check. That was an enormous lunch. The Old Lady needs a nap.”
“OK,” he said.
He kissed her cheek. The gesture was somehow different, perhaps more intimate, than an Argentine cheek-kissing.
“Be careful,” Martha sai
d.
Clete walked off the veranda. Enrico, carrying his Browning shotgun, walked quickly ahead of him and opened both driver’s-side doors.
“Let me drive it a little first, Marjorie,” Clete said.
“OK,” she said, and got in the front and slid across to the passenger side.
Clete got in beside her. Enrico waited until Beth had climbed into the rear seat, and then, after closing the driver’s door, got in beside her.
“Hey, Adolf,” the Old Man called, and when Clete looked at him, Cletus Howell raised his arm in the Nazi salute. “Sieg Heil, Adolf!”