Secret Honor (Honor Bound 3)

“Perhaps Señora would care to take a look around, to make sure I found everything.”

“That won’t be necessary, Antonio. Thank you.”

“Have another look yourself, Antonio,” Clete ordered. “If you have any question about anything, decide in favor of Señora Carzino-Cormano.”

“Sí, Señor.”

“Damn you, Cletus, now I’ll have to go with him,” Claudia said.

Clete waited until she had followed Antonio out of the room, then went to the Champagne cooler and refilled his glass. He held the bottle up to Father Welner.

“Of course,” Welner said.

“What the hell did I say that made her so mad?”

“She has a lot of memories of this house,” Welner said. “And of your father. Taking her things is painful for her. And then you were condescending to her…just as your father often was.”

“I didn’t mean to be.”

Welner shrugged.

The door began to open.

“That didn’t take long,” Clete said softly.

“Señora de Mallín and I arrived at exactly the same moment!” el Coronel Juan Domingo Perón announced.

He walked to Welner and shook his hand, and then walked to Cletus. “My boy!” he said, clasping Clete’s shoulder.

“Tío Juan,” Clete said. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

Like watching a dog get run over.

Pamela Holworth-Talley de Mallín, grandmother-to-be, walked to Clete and offered her cheek.

Good-looking woman, Clete thought, remembering what his uncle Jim had once told him: “When you really get serious about some female, Clete, take a good look at her mother. That’s what your beloved will look like in twenty, thirty years.”

Looking at Pamela, the prospect is not at all frightening.

“Is this the day you start calling me ‘Mother Mallín’?” Pamela asked.

“I don’t think so,” Clete said firmly. “But I must admit the prospect of watching my father-in-law squirm when I call him ‘Father Mallín’ has a certain appeal.”

“You’re terrible, Cletus,” Pamela said, laughing.

“Would you like a little Champagne?” Clete asked.

“It’s early, and I shouldn’t, but of course I will.”

Clete went to the cooler and poured her a glass of Champagne. “Ol’ Whatsername’s upstairs having a shower,” he said as he handed it to her.

“I know,” Pamela replied, giggling. “She called me, and asked me to go to Dr. Sarrario’s consulting with her. She said you didn’t want to go.”

“If there was a subtle tone of accusation in that, the question never came up. I wasn’t invited.”

“But you didn’t want to go, did you?” Pamela challenged. “Wives have a way of knowing what their husbands want and do not want.”

“Listen to Mother, darling,” Dorotéa said, coming into the room.