Alicia Carzino-Cormano was delighted to see Clete walking toward their table in the lobby restaurant of the Alvear Palace. Her sister was not.
“Well, what a pleasant coincidence,” Clete said. “Alicia. Isabela. Mi Capitán.”
“Teniente,” Peter said, standing up, bowing, and clicking his heels. “Perhaps you would care to join us?”
“I would hate to intrude.”
“Nonsense,” Peter said. “I insist.”
“Well, if you’re sure it will be no imposition,” Clete said, and pulled up a chair.
He met Alicia’s eyes as he sat down and then winked at her. She smiled back.
“You really should be at the Duartes’,” Isabela said.
“Why?” Clete asked simply.
“Jorge was your cousin. It was unseemly of you not to be there with the family.”
“Isabela, I never met the man. I didn’t even know I had a Cousin Jorge until a couple of weeks ago.”
“If you had been there, your father might not have gotten so drunk.”
“Isabela!” Alicia protested.
“Well, he is,” Isabela said. “Disgustingly drunk. Weeping drunk. Telling everyone who’ll listen it’s his fault that Jorge is dead. Making a spectacle of himself. Humiliating Mother.”
“My father,” Clete said, coldly angry, “buried his nephew today. He loved him very much. Maybe that’s why he got drunk.”
“He had no right to make a spectacle of himself. To humiliate my mother. Everyone important in Argentina was there.”
Clete stared hard at her, then stood up and looked down at Peter. “I had the feeling I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Oh, Clete, you’re not leaving. Please don’t leave!” Alicia said.
“Alicia, it’s always a pleasure to see you,” he said, and smiled at her. Then he extended a hand to Peter. “Sorry, mi Capitán,” he said.
“Please,” Alicia pleaded. “Isabela, say you’re sorry!”
Clete nodded at Peter and started down the corridor toward the lobby. As he reached the center of the lobby, Peter caught up with him and touched his arm.
“Cletus, my friend, listen carefully to me. An attempt will be made on your life, probably tonight.”
“What?” Clete asked incredulously.
“Don’t go back to the Guest House tonight. Better yet, go to your father’s estancia.”
Clete looked into Peter’s eyes.
“Jesus Christ! You’re serious.”
“On my word of honor.”
Peter touched Clete’s arm, then turned and walked back toward the restaurant in the corridor.
XVII
[ONE]