“And I do have a dinner appointment,” Perón said, and put out his hand.
“So tell me about your señorita, von Wachtstein,” von Deitzberg said when they were en route to the Alvear Plaza.
“Her mother and Oberst Frade had a relationship,” Peter replied. “They have adjacent estancias—enormous estancias, Herr General, each more than eighty thousand hectares—”
“Eighty thousand hectares?” von Deitzberg interrupted incredulously.
“Yes, Sir. They’re unbelievable.”
“And you met this young woman in connection with the funeral of Hauptman
n Duarte?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Perón was right. You could do a lot worse than a young woman whose family owns eighty thousand hectares. And the war won’t last forever.”
“Herr General, there is nothing serious between us,” Peter said.
“A connection like that could be very valuable to the Reich,” von Deitzberg said, as if thinking aloud. “This is not the time to get into that subject, but let me say that, for a number of reasons, I wish you every romantic success with the young lady with the eighty thousand hectares.”
“Thank you, Sir, but I really don’t think—”
“So tell me, von Wachtstein, what do you think is Oberst Perón’s little secret? What dark side of his character do you think there is?”
“Herr General, I have no idea.”
“What’s the first thing that came to your mind when I mentioned his interesting dossier?”
“The Herr General is embarrassing me.”
“I don’t mean to,” von Deitzberg said. “What did you think?”
“I thought you were suggesting that he might be homosexual, Herr General.”
“And do you think that’s what his dark side is?”
“I find it hard to accept, Herr General. He is such a…”
“Masculine man?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Röhm* was a masculine man,” von Deitzberg said, obviously enjoying himself. “A picture of the rough, tough-as-steel warrior. And he spent his last night on this earth, indeed, his last moments, in bed with a delicate young man. I’ve seen those photographs, too.”
“I still don’t see Perón as a homosexual, Herr General,” Peter said.
“Then guess again.”
“Herr General, I have no idea.”
“He likes young women, von Wachtstein.”
“Sir?”
“Very young women. At the first blush of womanhood, so to speak. Nothing, I gather, over fifteen.”
Peter looked at him in disbelief.