“I thought you’d like it,” he said. “If you’d rather, you can have the Horch.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she said. “If I started to drive your beloved Horch, you would have a fit.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I’m trying to get used to the idea that Rudolpho is going to follow me around with a shotgun, the way Enrico follows you.”
He didn’t say anything.
“You really think it’s necessary?” she asked.
“My uncle Jim used to say that you never need a gun unless you need one badly. I suppose the same thing could be said about a—”
“A bodyguard?” she interrupted.
He shrugged, then nodded.
“Do you think he would mind if I got him one of those little caps, so he would look like a chauffeur?”
Clete thought about that briefly, then replied, “Yes, I do. I think he would mind.”
“Well, then, I’ll guess I will have to get used to Rudolpho the bodyguard, won’t I?”
“Baby, I wouldn’t want to live if a
nything happened to you,” Clete blurted.
“Odd,” she said. “That was precisely what I told myself when I realized that Enrico was going with us on our wedding trip.” She looked at him a minute, then touched his cheek with her hand and changed the subject. “Why don’t you ask Father Welner how we can get Perón out of the guest house? I really hate the prospect of calling this museum home.”
“OK,” he said.
“I’ll be down in about fifteen minutes,” she said. “I want to take a good bath before I go—Rudolpho and I go—to see Dr. Sarrario.”
“OK,” he said.
“Cletus, thank you very much for the Buick,” she said. “I really like that auto.”
“With all my worldly goods, baby, you are now endowed. Weren’t you listening?”
“I must have missed that part,” she said. “Anyway, if you have convinced me that you have been a good boy while I was off to the baby doctor, I may have a little present for you myself.”
“What kind of a present?”
“What kind of a present can a wife give a man who has everything?” she asked.
Then, looking into his eyes and smiling sweetly, she placed her hand firmly on the symbol of his gender.
“Think about it, husband of mine,” Dorotéa said, and walked into the bedroom.
The telephone in the downstairs sitting began to ring as Cletus walked through the door.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Jesuit,” he said.
Father Welner, a Champagne glass in his hand, rose gracefully to his feet from a red leather couch and, smiling, walked to Clete with his hand extended. “The value of the compliment would depend, of course, on how many members of the Society of Jesus you know.”
“Counting you?” Clete chuckled, and began to count by folding down the fingers of his left hand. When he stopped, two fingers remained extended.
“That many?” Welner chuckled. They shook hands. “And how do you find married life?” he asked.