“Yes, isn’t it?” Duarte said, then added, “I’ll have some of whatever Don Cletus is drinking.”
“What else would he—or you—drink but a pinot noir from Bodegas de Mendoza?”
“Indeed, what else?” Duarte said.
“This is a ’39,” Estano said.
He snatched a glass and then a wine bottle from the waiter.
“We still have several cases here, and there’s more on Calle Florida, of course.”
He poured wine into the glass and Duarte sipped it appreciatively.
“Very nice,” he said.
“I, from time to time, have a small sip myself,” Estano said. “Would you like menus now, or perhaps wait a few minutes?”
“Give us a few minutes, please,” Duarte said as Estano added wine to both their glasses.
After Estano had left, Cletus said, “Okay. You want to explain all that to me?”
“All what?”
“Why was he so sure we would drink this? I told the waiter to bring me a nice, not-too-sweet red.”
“You own Bodegas de Mendoza,” Duarte said. “Which is well known— perhaps even famous—for the quality of its pinot noir. And ’39 was a particularly good year.”
“I thought I owned a vineyard called Bodegas Frade.”
“You do. You own both. Actually, you own four vineyards.”
“Well, that explains that, doesn’t it? And why are there cases of it on Calle Florida?”
“Because that’s where the Jockey Club is.”
“Oh, yeah. My father took me there. Fantastic place.”
“You haven’t been back?”
Frade shook his head.
“Your father must have arranged for your membership right after you came down here.”
"I suppose. I know he did that at the Círculo
Militar.”
“We could have had lunch there,” Duarte said. “Either the main club, or the Círculo Militar.”
It was a question Frade elected not to answer. “And what was that business about the ‘undeniable physical resemblance’?”
“Six men are credited with founding the Jockey Club, in 1876, in a restaurant called Foyot de Paris. Your great-grandfather, second portrait from the left, was one of them.”
“Oh, boy!”
“And now may I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”