She laughed. “When can
we have the wedding?”
“Whenever we want,” he said. “I was going to suggest that you schedule the date and present it as a fait accompli.”
“That’s really the bride’s mother’s business.”
“Not, I would suggest, under these circumstances.”
She chuckled.
“If I started right now,” Claudia said, “and gave up the luxury of sleep, we could have it next Saturday. That would give me a week. There are so many people to invite…”
“I gave the Cardinal the impression it would be a small ceremony, just the immediate families and the closest of friends.”
“That’s simply impossible, and you know it,” she said.
“That’s also the impression Cletus has,” Welner pursued.
“Cletus better begin to understand who he is, and his obligations,” she said. “He is not in a position to insult people who believe they are the closest of friends.”
“Of his? Or of Jorge’s?”
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Stop being difficult.”
“Cletus has inherited from his father a great capacity to make himself difficult.”
“Why do I think you have something in mind?”
“Someone, actually. What are you going to do about Coronel Perón?”
“If you mean am I going to invite him, of course I am.”
“When you showed Cletus your first rough draft of the guest list, he crossed the Coronel’s name off with…what shall I say? A certain emphasis.”
“Juan Perón is Cletus’s godfather,” Claudia said. “He was Jorge’s best friend. I don’t know what’s happened between them, but Cletus is just going to have to work it out.”
Welner didn’t reply.
“You did call him and tell him the Cardinal granted the dispensation?” Claudia asked.
“I called Señor Mallín,” he said. “I wanted to tell Cletus in person. After I told you.”
“If you called Enrico, then I had better get onto the telephone with Pamela,” she said, as much to herself as to him. Pamela Mallín was the mother of the bride. “Can you find something to occupy you until luncheon?”
“I thought I would go see Cletus—and his aunt and grandfather—now.”
She met his eyes.
“There will be others at luncheon,” she said. “Humberto and Beatrice Frade. And her doctor.”
“Oh, really?” he said noncommittally.
“She called to tell me that they would be spending the weekend at Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo. And I didn’t know how not to suggest they have lunch here on their way.”
He smiled. “Be sure to give them my best regards.”
“I suppose I can deal with Beatrice by not telling her about the Cardinal’s dispensation. All I need is her taking charge.”