The old man told me in case Mallin became difficult not to forget that he, and his father before him, have made a good deal of money out of Howell Petroleum, and to deal with him accordingly.
"I hope you don't mind coming into the house via the garage," Enrico Mallin said. "I hate to leave the car in front. I don't trust the old man to park it for me."
"Don't be silly," Clete said. "I'm flattered that you're having me in the house at all. I'm afraid I'm imposing."
A narrow, steep, and dark staircase led from the garage to a butler's pantry. A woman was waiting there for them.
"Welcome to our home, Mr. Frade," Pamela Mallin said. She was a tall, slim woman in a linen dress with a single strand of pearls and a simple gold wedding ring. "And forgive my husband for bringing you through the basement. I'm Se?ora de Mallin, but I do hope you'll call me Pamela."
Clete had always found English women attractive, and he decided that this one was ten degrees above the average: She wore her pale-blond hair parted in the middle and had startlingly blue eyes and a marvelous complexion.
"I'll call you Pamela if you call me Clete. And thank you for having me in your home. It's unexpected."
"It gives us much pleasure," Mallin said, and went on: "I suggest we give Clete a chance to freshen uphe's been on the airplane for thirty-six hours, at leastand then we can have a little chat over a cocktail before dinner."
"Ramon called," Pamela replied, with a look of disappointment on her face. "There was some trouble with the luggage. The officials, not only the customs people, were going through everybody's luggage dirty sock by dirty sock. He said they were obviously looking for something."
"He should have known enough to see Inspector Nore," Mallin said, annoyed. "When did he call?"
"About ten minutes ago. He wanted to know whether you wanted him to go to the Alvear first, or here."
"And you told him the Alvear, right?" Mallin asked, not pleasantly.
"In the absence of instructions to the contrary," Pamela replied, with a strained smile, "I thought that was the thing to do."
Mallin flashed a smile.
"Well, then," he said, "we can have a little chat now, and wait for your luggage, Clete. Sorry about this."
"Don't be silly," Clete said.
They followed her out of the butler's pantry through a dining room, where an enormous table was already set with five places, and then across a foyer to double doors, behind which was a sitting room. One wall was filled with books.
Pamela arranged herself gracefully on a dark-brown leather couch, then reached to a side table and pressed a button.
"Perhaps it would be easier if you told me what'd you'd like," she said. "Alberto's English is not as good as it could be. I am permitted to offer you a drink? Henryperhaps I shouldn't say thisused the word 'boy.' "
In Spanish, Clete said, "A weak one. I had champagne on the plane, and a beer at the hotel. And a glass of water first, please? The airplane dehydrated me."
"He also didn't tell me that you spoke Spanish," Pamela said. "I'm disappointed; I looked forward to having someone in the house who speaks English."
Clete switched to English: "I don't speak English, but if you're able to put up with my American ..."
"Beggars can't be choosers, can they?" she asked with a laugh.
A middle-aged male servant in a linen jacket appeared at the double doors, then walked into the room.
"Alberto, this is Mr. Frade, who will be staying with us. He speaks Spanish, but you are to speak Spanish with him only in an emergency. You understand? I am determined that you improve your English."
"S?, Se?ora," he said.
"Mr. Frade will have first an agua con gas and then a scotch with a little water and ice; Mr. Mallin will have... what, Henry?"
"Scotch is fine."
"... and if you have opened the dinner wine, I will have a Malbec. We are going to have a Malbec?"
"S?, Se?ora," he said, and half backed out of the room.
Pamela turned to Clete.
"I believe polite custom requires me to ask, 'How was your flight?' "
"Very long," Clete said.
She laughed dutifully. "And now you can't get the authorities to release your luggage. I wonder what that was all about."
So do I. Am I already a paranoid secret agent, wondering why they were searching our luggage?
"What I'm wondering," Mallin said, "is what brings you to Argentina. Would it be rude of me to ask?"
"No, of course not. Actually, it's pretty silly. There are apparently paranoid people in our government who suspect that both crude from Venezuela and refined product from the States is being diverted to the Germans or the Italians."
"That's absurd!" Mallin flared.
"So my grandfather said," Clete replied. "But after extensive negotiations with the government, a solution was reached. If representatives of Howell, American representatives, were actually present in Argentina to more or less swear that our product is in fact staying in Argentina, the government would be satisfied. And I was chosen to come for several reasonsfor one, my middle name is Howell; for another, I was recently discharged from the service and needed a job."
"Oh, you were in the service?" Pamela asked. "Which one?"
"I would like to know where the idea started that SMIPP could be involved with something like that," Mallin said indignantly.
"The Marine Corps, briefly," Clete said.
"And you were released?" Pamela asked. "Or shouldn't I have asked?"
"I was to be trained as a pilot," Clete said. "At the final physical, they found out that I have a heart murmur. Pilotsfor that matter, Marinescannot have heart murmurs."
That story came from Washington, with Adams the mentor. At one point Clete asked Adams why he had to deny that he was a pilot who had seen active service (at one point, Adams had told him that the best cover story was one which comes close to the truth, and which only alters or invents those facts that have a bearing on the deception). Adams replied that if Clete had a physical defect, his release from the service would be more credible than if he had actually become a Marine aviator. Clete didn't see the reasoning then or now, but Adams was supposed to be the expert in that sort of thing.
He was surprised at how easily he was able to tell both fabrications. He had previously thought of himself as a more-than-honest man who would have difficulty lying. That obviously wasn't the case.
Am I a natural-born liar, or can I do it now because this whole business is so unreal, like a game? Will I be able to lie as easily when it is important?
Or am I missing the point here and forgetting that these lies are important?
Alberto returned, bearing a silver tray on which were a crystal bottle with a silver "Scotch" tag hanging from its neck; a wine bottle; a silver bowl full of ice; a crystal water pitcher; a wineglass; and two large, squat crystal glasses. He made quite a ceremony of preparing the drinks, first pouring a sip of wine in the wineglass, then offering itplus the cork, held in his palmto Pamela for her approval.
She sniffed the cork, smiled, looked at Clete, said, "I think you will like our wines," and then sipped her wine. "That's fine, Alberto."
He filled her glass; then, with tongs, he added an ice cube to a crystal glass, and asked Clete, "Is sufficient, Sir?"