“You’re not him,” Pamela said.
Mallín slowed, pulled to the side of the road, and stopped.
Less than a minute later, the Horch, braking heavily, stopped beside it. Dorotéa Mallín was driving. Clete was in the front seat with her. Enrico Rodríguez was in the backseat.
“Well, hello,” Clete greeted them. “Something wrong?”
“I didn’t want to be run off the road,” Enrico Mallín said. “What’s your hurry? Is something wrong?”
“No,” Clete said, smiling. “We’re just road-testing the car. How does it look, Enrico?”
Among the many things Enrico Mallín did not like about his son-in-law-to-be was that he addressed him by his Christian name.
“It looks splendid,” Enrico said with a somewhat stiff smile.
Enrico got out of the Rolls-Royce and walked up to the Horch, and Little Henry got out immediately and followed him.
“I thought they normally kept you locked in the attic,” Clete said to him, smiling. “Got out on parole, did you?” Then he walked over and kissed Pamela. “No, I don’t want to hear about the plans for the wedding,” he said, “in case you were going to ask.”
Among the many things Enrico Mallín did not like about his son-in-law-to-be was his sense of humor.
“Be careful,” she said. “I still have not completely forgiven you….”
“Forgiven me for what?” Clete asked innocently.
Little Enrico giggled.
You know damned well for what, Enrico Mallín thought. For what you did to my Dorotéa. Taking her innocence and purity. Ruining her life! I will never forgive you!
“How was Uruguay?” Pamela asked.
“The girls bought out a leather store down by the port,” Clete said. “Each now has a lifetime supply of purses.”
“We have to be getting back to Buenos Aires, Cletus,” Pamela said, seeing that her husband was doing everything in his impatience but pawing the ground.
“We’d sort of expected you for supper,” Clete said.
“Out of the question, I’m afraid,” Enrico said. “Thank you just the same.”
“Perhaps something light, if we had it early,” Pamela said, adding, to her husband, “We have to eat.”
He grunted.
“How about in an hour?” Clete said. “I’ve got a little errand to run.”
“We’ll take Dorotéa with us,” Enrico said.
“We want to be alone, Daddy!” Dorotéa said.
“Can I go, Clete?” Little Enrico asked.
Among the many things Enrico Mallín did not like about his son-in-law-to-be was that Little Enrico idolized him.
“No,” Clete said immediately, and somewhat abruptly, but then, when he saw the look of disappointment on the boy’s face, added, “But I’ll tell you what, Enrico Junior, when you get to the house, tell Beth I said to take you for a ride in a Model A. You can drive.”
“Really?”
“Clete,” Enrico Mallín said sternly, “I’m afraid Enrico is a little young for that. He doesn’t know how to drive.”