Empire and Honor (Honor Bound 7)

“Father Welner,” Perón called, “would you be good enough to bless us before we begin the ceremony?”

Welner started to raise his hand.

“Up here, i

f you would be so good, Father,” Perón stopped him.

Clete thought he saw on the priest’s face a moment’s indecision before he smiled and walked to the lectern.

When he raised his hand this time, a flashbulb on the Speed Graphic went off, startling Clete.

Welner returned to the table and took his seat beside Clete and Martín.

“In the name of the Republic and Buenos Aires Province . . .” the mayor began.

From what Clete remembered of his own civil wedding ceremony—not much; for some reason he had been a bit distracted at the time—the civil ceremonies were apparently standard.

The mayor gave a little speech announcing they were gathered to witness the union of Juan Domingo Perón and Evita Duarte, told everybody how important marriage was to society in general and the Argentine Republic specifically, and then asked who was giving this woman to be married.

Señor Duarte led Señorita Duarte to the lectern and handed her over to Vice President Perón. Another flashbulb went off. Señor Duarte returned to his seat. When it was only Evita, Juan Domingo, and His Honor the Mayor at the lectern, another flashbulb went off.

—

“You may kiss your bride,” the mayor announced.

Perón kissed Evita with all the enthusiasm he might have had if he had been kissing the mayor.

“And now, if the witnesses will come forward,” the mayor said.

The man with the Speed Graphic used it three times, first as Clete, then Father Welner, and finally General Martín signed the register documents.

“I’ll require two copies of that,” Perón announced.

“Copies?” the mayor asked, confused. “There is only the original.”

“Don’t argue with me,” Perón snapped. “Bring the forms to the hotel. My witnesses can sign them there.”

Flashbulbs went off another three times as the Speed Graphic photographer captured for posterity the bride, the groom, and the three official witnesses to their wedding. The Leica photographer had meanwhile been snapping away steadily.

And for what besides posterity? Clete wondered.

What is my Tío Juan going to do with all these pictures?

What is the clever sonofabitch up to?

—

The bridal party marched to the Hotel Colón, where the missing Señor Nulder was waiting for them in the lobby.

“Everything is ready, Juan Domingo.” He pointed to a door.

“Don’t let them take your picture, Rudy,” Perón replied.

“I understand, Juan Domingo.”

—

Beyond the door to which Nulder had pointed was a room in which half a dozen bottles of champagne and a not very impressive array of hors d’oeuvres waited for them on a table.