He caught up with Antonio and Dorotéa, who were standing in the center of the foyer.
“And when would Señora like luncheon?” Antonio asked.
“As soon as it’s convenient,” Dorotéa said.
“Would broiled chicken be satisfactory, Señora?”
“Broiled chicken would be fine,” Dorotéa said. “I’ll need a few minutes to freshen up. Anytime after that.”
“Sí, Señora. Señora, Padre Welner is in the downstairs sitting. Is it your desire that he join you for lunch?”
What the hell does he want? Clete wondered. Then: How did he know we were going to be here?
Dorotéa paused just perceptibly before replying. “Please tell Father Welner that Señor Frade and I would be delighted if he was free to join us for luncheon.”
“Sí, Señora,” Antonio said, and added: “Señor Clete, el Coronel Perón telephoned. He said that he hopes you and the Señora are free this evening, and that he would telephone again at one-twenty to explain.”
Sonofabitch! The last thing I want to do tonight is have dinner with that sonofabitch! What the hell’s going on? Is that damned Jesuit involved?
“How interesting,” Dorotéa said. She looked at Clete, and he shrugged to indicate he had no idea what Perón wanted. She turned to Antonio. “We’ll be down directly,” she said.
“I’m all right, baby,” Clete said. “Maybe Welner knows what’s going on. I’ll ask him.”
“Don’t you think you’d better freshen up?” she asked.
The translation of that is I either go upstairs with you or I will be sorry.
Oh, Jesus! Is that what she’s thinking? A little quickie before lunch? It must be at least five hours since we have shared the now-sanctioned joys of connubial bliss.
“Your wish, my dear, is my command,” Clete said, à la Clark Gable.
She started walking up the wide staircase. He followed, which gave him reason—again—to think that her rear end was one of the wonders of the modern world. But when they were inside the master suite with the door closed behind them, he quickly learned that she did not have anything carnal in mind.
“Not now!” she said, holding him at arm’s length.
“Sorry.”
“What are we doing here?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“I thought we were going to the house on Libertador.”
“Tío Juan is in the house on Libertador,” he said.
“I’d forgotten,” she said. “How long is that going to go on?”
“You want me to tell him to move out?”
“I don’t suppose you could really do that, could you?” she asked, and then, without giving him a chance to reply, asked: “And Rudolpho?”
“Rudolpho comes with your wedding present,” Clete said a little awkwardly. “He was here making sure it glistens.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“You’ve always liked the Buick,” he said. “So, happy marriage, Dorotéa, the Buick is yours.”
She didn’t reply.