Clete, smiling smugly at Dorotéa, picked it up.
With the assistance of Chief Schultz, Clete had “fixed” the telephone service at the estancia. One “fix” was to install jacks all over the main house and the outbuildings, including the gazebo, and another was to replace the short cords that connected the instruments to the wall with cords at least four meters long.
It was no longer necessary to return to the house from the gazebo, for example, to take a telephone call. The telephone went to the gazebo.
Clete was proud of the improvements—just a little childishly proud, Dorotéa thought.
Dorotéa could hear both sides of the conversation.
“Hello, Milton,” Clete said cheerfully into the mouthpiece. “Why do I suspect I’m not going to like this call?”
“I had hoped marriage would reduce your cynicism,” Leibermann chuckled. “How was the wedding trip?”
“Compared to what?”
“What did I do, wake you up?”
“Actually no. I got up at first light and had a little ride on the pampas. I am now just finishing my breakfast. Until you called, I didn’t think I had a care in the world.”
“You fell off the horse?”
“I’m an Aggie, Milton. We don’t fall off horses.”
“Never?”
“Never,” Clete said firmly. “So what’s new, Milton?”
“There’s a story making the rounds in Buenos Aires that Señor and Señora Frade, following their return from their wedding trip to Bariloche, are going to have a little “we’re back” soiree tonight for their many friends.”
“Why do I suspect that you suspect that my good señora and I, despite the stories making the rounds in Buenos Aires, could not find time to fit Bariloche into our busy social schedule?”
“Because by nature you are a suspicious cynic who fell off his horse before breakfast?”
Clete laughed heartily. “Then may I cynically suspect that you’ve mentioned the intimate little soiree my señora is having tonight—there won’t be more than five thousand or so people here—because you would like to come?”
“I thought perhaps you didn’t like me anymore,” Leibermann said.
“My house is your house, Milton. I thought you understood that.”
“I’d like to bring someone with me,” Leibermann said.
“Male or female?”
“Male. The new assistant military attaché for air. I thought you would like to meet him. He tells me that he’s a multiengine instructor pilot.”
“That’s fascinating!” Clete said. “By all means, bring him. While he and I are exchanging lies about flying, you can share social notes with el Coronel Martín.”
“You invited Bernardo, and you didn’t invite me?”
“My Tío Juan suggested I should.”
“Your Tío Juan will be there?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you so much for thinking of me, Don Cletus.”
“Don’t mention it, Milton.”