He put the ring back in the box and picked up the second box. It contained discarded female jewelry-broaches, necklaces, rings, pendants, and wrist watches. Rolling around loose on the bottom of box were what looked like sev-eral hundred pearls. He saw the rotted-through strings they had escaped. More than two dozen rings were each tagged with a name. But only three could pass for engagement rings. He read the tags. Only one name-Maria Elena Pueyrred¢n de Frade-meant anything to him, and that tag was attached to the least impressive of the three rings. It was old and worn thin, and the stone was tiny compared to the stones in the other rings.
That's a pity. It would have been nice if that one, in particular, had been the sort of thing I could giv
e Dorotea. The reason "the blood of Pueyrred¢n "flows through my veins. And now of our baby.
Well, hell, I'll show her these, and tell her to pick one just for the circus to-morrow. I'll tell her I'll buy her any damned ring she wants later.
He untied the tags and slipped the three rings in his pocket. Enrico was holding out a whiskey glass to him. Clete took it. "Close it up, Enrico," he ordered.
Thirty minutes later. Antonio came into the library to announce the arrival of the Mallin family.
Clete rose quickly out of his chair and started to walk to the library door. The action caused him to realize that his belief thirty-five minutes earlier that Cousin Jorge Alejandro's English riding boots fit perfectly was grossly in error.
"Christ!" he exclaimed, surprised at the intensity of the pain in his feet.
"New boots, eh?" Roberto asked innocently.
By the time he reached the foyer, maids were carrying in the Mallin lug-gage, Enrico Mallin was himself in the doorway, and Clete was hobbling in pain.
Enrico Mallin's eyebrows rose questioningly as Clete limped across the tile floor and put out his hand to him.
"Thank you for coming, Se¤or Mallin," he said.
"How good of you to ask us," Mallin replied, with a smile that Clete thought deserved the all-time, all-category prize for insincerity. The handshake conveyed the same message.
"Have you met el Capitan Lauffer?" Clete asked as Pamela Mallin came through the door.
She laid her hands on his arms and moved her face to his ear.
"I don't know whether I want to kiss you or kill you," she said. "How could you, Cletus?"
His attention was distracted when he saw Dorotea pass through the door. She was wearing a sweater and a skirt, and her hands were folded modestly in front of her. Her head was bent shyly. She looked very quickly at Clete and then lowered her head again.
Christ, she's beautiful!
"How could I what?" Clete asked absently.
"You know very well-" Pamela said, and then, blushing, interrupted her-self.
Little Henry came in the door.
"Little Mr. Big Mouth," Clete said.
That earned a faint smile from Dorotea.
"May I see you a moment, Dorotea?" he asked.
Her father glowered at him.
He walked to her, fishing for the rings in his pocket. He held the three of them out to her, displayed in his palm.
"Pick one," he said. "Just for tonight and tomorrow. I'll get you another one later."
"Are you trying to give me a ring or loan me one?" Dorotea demanded.
"They're all yours, if you want them," he said. "I didn't think you'd like-"
"This is exquisite!" she said, picking up one of the rings. "You can be such a bloody fool, Cletus!"