There was a steady stream of them all afternoon, either employees of what Clete had started to think of as El Coronel Incorporated, or representatives of businesses that bought from, or sold to, one El Coronel Inc. subsidiary or an-other.
Humberto, for example, introduced him not only to the man who ran the San Bosco vineyards in Cordoba, but the men who sold San Bosco the wine bottles; the corks that sealed San Bosco's bottles; and the bottle labels-this one also sold San Bosco the cases in which the wine bottles were packed. One man told him his father had begun carting San Bosco wine with horse-drawn wagons. And a somewhat effete gentleman told him that with the exception of Buenos Aires Province, he handled distribution of San Bosco products through-out the country.
The same thing was true of the people connected with Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo itself, and with the other estancias and enterprises of El Coronel Inc. around the country. In some place called Bariloche-he had never previ-ously heard of it-he learned El Coronel Inc. owned both a trout farm and a dairy farm, which also manufactured cheese. He found the trout farm fascinating, for he had previously believed the only way to harvest trout was by stand-ing in a stream with a fly-casting rod.
Several people blurted that they had not known that el Coronel had a son. Yet there was an almost universal surprised relief that el Patron spoke Spanish. Which meant, of course, that everyone knew that he was a norteamericano. He wondered if any of them had heard the rumors that el Coronel was killed by the Germans because his son was an American OSS agent. If anyone had, no one was tactless enough, or careless enough, to make reference to it.
Humberto stood at his side throughout the ordeal. Claudia had left an hour after the requiem mass with what Clete thought of as the Military Delega-tion... but only after telling him what was expected of him in "receiving" the managers and the businesspeople. Humberto, she went on to explain, would suggest how to deal with "the people in Buenos Aires"-he inferred she meant lawyers and bankers and their ilk. He would have to start doing that no later than Wednesday.
He had only a rare glimpse of Dorotea. She and her mother mingled in the reception with the wives of the men who spoke to Clete. But he didn't have a chance to talk to her. Earlier he had sent Little Henry off riding with the good-looking kid-whose name, he learned, was Gustavo, which almost certainly confirmed that Gustavo was German. He firmly admonished Gustavo to put Lit-tle Henry on a horse he would have minimal chance of falling from. He didn't see Henry Mallin, and wondered if this was because Dorotea's father didn't want to see Cletus H. Frade, or whether he was sleeping off the effects of the night before.
Clete sensed that Antonio had walked up behind him.
"Se¤or, your guests are leaving," Antonio said.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, please," Clete said, and placed his coffee cup on the maid's tray.
When Clete reached them, the Mallin family was already on the verandah, their luggage stacked around them, waiting for someone to bring their car. Lit-tle Henry, Clete noticed, showed no signs of a fall from a horse. Dorotea had changed from the black suit she had worn all day into a skirt and blouse.
"Thank you for coming, Henry," Clete said.
"So kind of you to have us," Mallin replied with a smile that would freeze a West Texas water hole in the middle of August.
"I suppose we'll see you very soon, Cletus," Pamela said. "We really have no time at all, do we?"
"I'm going into the city either Tuesday or Wednesday," Clete said. "Clau-dia said she'd help with things out here."
"That's my responsibility-mother of the bride-but it was sweet of you to think of asking her, and I will need her."
"Thank you for the ride, Clete," Little Henry said.
"What ride?" Henry Mallin asked.
"Clete sent Henry riding with one of his gauchos," Pamela replied. "Wasn't that nice of him?"
Henry did not reply.
Rudolpho pulled up before the verandah in the Mallins' Rolls Royce drop-head coupe, stepped out, and started to load the luggage in the trunk.
"Thank you for my ring, Cletus," Dorotea said, and with her father watch-ing in evident discomfort, kissed him on the lips with slightly less passion than she might have kissed Little Henry.
Henry Mallin walked around the front of the car. Clete went to the passen-ger side with Dorotea, ushered Little Henry into the backseat, and waited for an opportunity to kiss Dorotea again. It did not present itself. She slumped against the seat and smiled at him demurely.
"Oh, damn," she said. "I think I left my compact on the roof!"
"Great!" her father said.
Clete surveyed the roof. Dorotea moved forward on her seat to see if he could locate the compact. This movement placed her close to Clete's midsection in such a way that her body concealed the movement o
f her hand, which she used to possessively squeeze Clete's reproductive apparatus.
"It's not here!" Clete cried, referring to Dorotea's compact.
"Well, perhaps I was mistaken," Dorotea said, sliding back onto the seat. From there she smiled demurely at Clete again, waved her fingers at him, and admonished him to "be a good boy, Cletus."
"Goddamn," Clete blurted, "you're really something!"
"Would you please close the door?" Henry Mallin asked impatiently.