It was built like a battleship would be built if Swiss watchmakers built warships. It not only handled beautifully and was powered by a smooth, very strong engine, but was beautifully furnished inside, with fine leather seats and gnarled walnut on both the dashboard and in the passenger compartment. With reasonable care, it would last not only through the warhowever long that lastedbut indefinitely thereafter. He personally supervised its care, and often did the work himself.
The problem was little things. If there was a fender-bender, he had absolutely no way to replace a bumper, a headlight ring, or one of the clever little lights that sat on the fenders and indicated (controlled by a switch on the dash) which way the driver intended to turn. There were simply no parts available in Buenos Aires.
Therefore, it seemed entirely understandable to him that he never permitted anyone to drive it but himself, and on rare, absolutely unavoidable occasions, Enrico. First of all, he was as good a driver as he knewfast but skillful, and thus safe. Secondly, no one else could be expected to share his full appreciation of the mechanical and aesthetic superiority of the Horche, and therefore no one else could be expected to handle the car with the respect it deserved. He had no intention of entrusting the Horche to one of the Alvear Palace Hotel's bellmen to park.
Leaving it at his sister's house seemed a perfectly satisfactory solution to the problem of driving the Horche downtown to meet Cletus.
Luck was not with him. Two of Beatrice's servants were adjusting cobblestones in the drive, and it wasn't until too late that he saw Beatrice herself, in a mourning-black dress, standing there watching. Or believing she was supervising.
Her face lit up when she saw him; her eyes were at once bright and vacant.
Mother of Christ, she's still taking those pills! What the hell is the matter with her husband?
"Jorge, how nice!" she said as he stepped out of the Horche.
He walked to her and she raised her cheek to be kissed.
"I didn't expect to see you," he said. "All I wanted to do was use your drive to park the car."
"The cobblestones are washing loose," Beatrice said, pointing. "Ricardo thinks that water is coming under the drive out of the drainpipes from the roof."
One of the workmen, hearing his name, looked up and smiled at Frade.
"Buenos dias, mi Coronel."
"Buenos dias," Frade said. "Beatrice, you'll have to excuse me. I have a business appointment at noon." She looked at him with empty eyes and a smile. "At the Alvear," he added, nodding down Avenue Alvear.
Beatrice put a hand to her bosom and lifted a lapel watch.
Damn, she has a watch. I'm surprised she knows what day of the week it is, but she has a watch.
"It's eleven-fifteen," Beatrice announced. "You have forty-five minutes. It will take you two minutes to walk to the Alvear. We have time for a coffee."
"It's an important meeting. I don't want to be late."
"You have time. And I have so much to tell you about the arrangements."
She took his arm and led him into the house, to the sitting room.
"Ambassador von Lutzenberger has been to see Humberto'*
"I know," Frade interrupted her. "He called me first, and I suggested he call Humberto."
Alberto came into the library.
"We will have two coffees, please, Alberto. And if mere are any candied orange slices... el Coronel likes candied orange slices; he has since we were children."
"S?, Se?ora," Alberto said, and left.
I don't like candied orange slices. I haven't liked them since I was fourteen or fifteen. Good God!
"Ambassador von Lutzenberger told Humberto that Jorge is to be decorated, posthumously, by the German government," Beatrice said.
"He mentioned that to me."
"AndI thought it would be nice, I'm trying to work it out with Monsignor Kellydo you know him?"
Frade shook his head no.
"Very nice man. He handles important ceremonies for the Archbishop."
"I haven't had the pleasure."
"Well, I thought it would be nice to have that ceremonythey pin the decoration to the flag, which will be covering the casket outside Our Lady of Pilar. On the plaza, before the Archbishop celebrates the high requiem mass. Or do you think it Would be better to do it after the mass, and before we take the casket to Recoleta?"
Has it occurred to you, my poor darling, that you are talking about a decoration to be awarded in the name of a mass murderer? For political reasons, not because poor Jorge did anything valorous?
"If you want my opinion, Beatrice, I would say that sort of decision would best be left to the Monsignor. You said his name was Kelly?"
"Yes. Monsignor Kelly. A fine and holy man."
"Why don't you tell him to do what he thinks is best?"
"You're right, of course," she said. "Have I told you about the reception?"
"No. You haven't."
"I was wondering... We'll have it here, of course. It was Jorge's home. Getting people in and out of their cars will be a problem. Especially if it rains. Otherwise, I suppose they could park their cars by Our Lady of Pilar and walk here from Recoleta. But if it rains, that would pose a problem, of course."
"What were you wondering, Beatrice?"
"Mommy's punch bowl. Do you have it here in the city? Or is it at the estancia?"
Mother's punch bowl?
It was enormous. He suddenly remembered that he and Beatrice were whipped as children after filling it with a litter of nearly grown Llewellyn setters.
"I was thinking it would look so nice," Beatrice explained, "filled with flowers, if we put it in the center of the foyer. We could move in one of the tables from the library and put it on that."
"I think it's here," Frade said. "If it's not... if it's at San Pedro y San Pablo, I'll have it brought to you."
"Just the punch bowl. Not the cups."
"Just the punch bowl."
"You are always so kind to me, Jorge. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Don't be silly, Beatrice."
Alberto appeared with the coffee on a silver tray, a cortado for his mistress, and a cafe doble for Frade.
"Everything for the invitations is ready, except the date. We won't know the date, of course, until the General Belgrano arrives. Humberto spoke with someone at the shipping company ..."
"L.M.A.E.," Frade said without thinkingLineas Mar?timas de Argentina y Europa.
"Yes," Beatrice said, ever so genteelly letting him know she didn't like the interruption. "L.M.A.E. The General Belgrano sailed November eighth, so it's due here around the first of the month. In a week or so. The casket is to be brought here. Humberto wanted to put it in the library, but I said there will be so many people that we'll have to put it in the foyer, to keep the traffic moving, so to speak. Don't you agree?"
If I don't escape from here in the next thirty seconds, I am going insane!
"Yes, Beatrice, I agree."
He looked at his watch.
"Beatrice, I must go."