Beatrice’s memory had not been at all impaired by her psychological problems. She was now describing in excruciating detail his cousin Jorge’s twelfth birthday party. She remembered who was there (children and parents), and the menu—including the brand of ice cream served, and that it had come from a sweets store that sadly was no longer in business, the wife of the proprietor having been called to heaven and the widower having turned to drink.
There was a sudden silence, and Clete looked around the dining room to see that Beatrice had interrupted herself to glower at Señora Lopez; the housekeeper had had the effrontery to enter the room while she was talking.
“Yes, Maria?” Beatrice asked.
“Excuse me, Señora, but there is a telephone call for Señor Duarte.”
Humberto rose from the table.
Here’s your chance, Martha. Yawn. Say you’ve had a long day and just can’t seem to stay awake. Get us out of here!
“Don’t be too long, dear,” Beatrice called after him. “You know how I dislike having business intrude on family.” She looked around the table. “Now, where was I?”
You were telling us about the ice-cream guy who hit the bottle when his wife died.
Beatrice remembered, and picked up where she had been when Humberto’s business had had the effrontery to intrude on family.
Humberto was gone no longer than three minutes. “Carissima,” he said. “Something has come up in Uruguay. I have to go there tomorrow.”
“Can’t you send someone else?”
“No, I have to deal with this myself, Carissima. Cletus, I wondered is there any way you could fly me to Montevideo?”
“Absolutely,” Clete said. “When would you like to go?”
“As soon as I can. Perhaps right after breakfast?”
“Sure.”
“We may have to spend the night,” Humberto added.
From the look on Martha’s face, she smelled a rat, but Beatrice didn’t. “Well, you’d only be in the way here,” she announced. “Weddings are women’s business, wouldn’t you agree, dear Martha?”
“Absolutely,” Martha said.
“What we’ll do, as soon as the men leave, is drive over to Estancia Santo Catalina and discuss the whole thing with Claudia,” Beatrice announced.
Martha smiled somewhat reluctantly.
Clete said, “Excuse me, please,” stood up, and walked out of the dining room.
Martha gave him a look that was only partially questioning and mostly of disapproval, and she followed him with her eyes.
When he was in the corridor, out of sight of Beatrice, he turned and made a signal to Martha to come into the corridor. She shook her head, and he signaled again, this time with both hands.
Martha shrugged, excused herself, and came
into the corridor. “What?”
“Martha, you don’t have to put up with her lunacy. Have a headache. Or just don’t go.”
She looked at him. “I don’t know whether you get it from the Old Man or your father,” she said. “But there’s a cruel streak in you, Clete, and I don’t like it.”
“What?”
“You planned this unexpected business trip, and don’t tell me you didn’t. You took that airplane up this afternoon, to make sure it would be ready, and you were oh-so-willing to fly Humberto to Uruguay when he asked.”
“OK. You’re right. But what’s this ‘cruel’ business?”