"Stick your finger in her eye," Peter said.
"That's a very good idea, if somewhat impractical. Thank you for calling. Goodbye."
He hung up and looked up and saw the maitre d' examining his extended index finger. Then he mimed sticking it in his eye.
"Mother or sister?" the maitre d' inquired.
"The sister."
"I will pray for you. Sisters are more dangerous than mothers."
"Thank you," Peter said. He slipped the maitre d'hotel a bill and got back on the elevator. He rode to the main floor, took a seat in the lobby bar, ordered a beer, and waited for either the maid or a bellman to bring him Standartenf?hrer Goltz's luggage.
[FOUR]
1420 Avenida Alvear
Buenos Aires, Argentina
2105 9 April 1943
The Mercedes pulled up to the heavy gate in the twelve-foot-tall wrought-iron fence. As it did so, a police sergeant, one of three policemen standing on the sidewalk before the mansion, put out his hand and ordered it to stop.
An officer in the uniform of the Husares de Pueyrred¢n was not an ordinary citizen, but the sergeant's orders had been explicit. He was to ensure that no one intruded on the privacy of the mourning Duarte family.
"Are you expected, mi Capitan?" he asked politely when Lauffer rolled down the window.
"We are expected," Lauffer replied, and added: "This is Se¤or Frade."
"Thank you, Sir," the sergeant said, saluted, and signaled for one of his men to open the gate.
The door to the mansion was opened by a maid; but a butler, a black mourn-ing band on his arm, appeared the next moment.
"Se¤or Frade," Lauffer announced. "To see Se¤or Duarte."
"I will announce you," the butler said. "May I show you into the recep-tion (The day-to-day Spanish of middle- and upper-class Argentines is heavily laden with British terms. Liv-ing rooms are called "the living"; dining rooms, "the dining"; reception rooms, "the reception," et cetera.) ?" He met Clete's eyes. "You have my most sincere condolences on the loss of your father, Se¤or Frade."
"Thank you," Clete said.
Clete and Lauffer followed the butler across the foyer to a double door. He opened the door and bowed them through it, then closed the door after them and began to climb the stairs to the second floor.
"Cletus!" a svelte woman in her fifties cried, rising out of one of the armchairs and walking quickly to him. She was dressed in a black dress with a rope of pearls its only ornamentation. Her luxuriant black, gray-flecked hair was parted in the middle and done up in a bun at the neck.
Se¤ora Claudia de Carzino-Cormano kissed Clete on the cheek.
"I'm not entirely sure I'm glad to see you," she said, and then changed her mind. "Yes, I am. Oh, Cletus!"
She wrapped her arms around him and rested her face on his chest.
His hand on her back could feel her stifling a sob, then she got control of herself.
"What are we going to do without him, Cletus?" she asked.
He shrugged and made a helpless gesture with his hands.
Claudia then acknowledged the presence of Capitan Lauffer.
"Good evening," she said. "Despite the circumstances, it is good to see you."