He managed to find an empty table in a corner, set the bottle down, and then waited as Wilson came up, holding the girl protectively by the arm, as if to make sure she did not escape. There was a look of pure adoration in his eyes.
“Jill, this is Zé Da Silva, the man I told you about — the one we were supposed to have dinner with last night.” His eyes came up proudly challenging Da Silva to question his taste in women or the rationale of his being in love. “Zé, this is Jill Howard.”
The two accepted the introductions with brief nods. Wilson pulled a chair out for the girl, waited as she seated herself and unslung her shoulder-strap purse, and then sat down next to her, hitching his chair closer. Da Silva sank down across from them. The girl was looking at him gravely.
“You’re a major, or a lieutenant, or something, aren’t you, Mr. Zé? Mr. Wilson told me which, but I forgot. Do I call you by your title? Or just Mr. Da Silva? Was Zé your mother’s name? I never could manage to understand the way people in South America mix their mother’s name and their father’s name.” She paused suddenly, raising one hand to her mouth, looking contrite. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know if you even speak English. I’m really sorry. You probably don’t understand a word I’m saying.”
Wilson grinned in delight. “That part is probably true, anyway. Jill, the man sitting across from you undoubtedly speaks English better than we do. His first name is Zé, which is a diminutive of José. His mother’s name doesn’t matter; his father’s name was Da Silva. The Brazilians don’t use their parents’ names the way the Spanish do, but rather the way we do. Zé is a captain of police. Does that clear the air?”
The girl nodded, continuing to study Da Silva curiously. “And what do I call him?”
“You call him Captain Da Silva.”
“All right. Captain Da Silva, do you always bring your own bottle to this restaurant? Why?”
“Because they might run out of my particular brand,” Da Silva explained gravely. “And also, of course, it’s much more economical.”
Wilson laughed. “He’s kidding you, Jill. You have to watch out for this man.”
“Oh?” Jill frowned slightly. “Why?”
“Never mind why,” Wilson said. His tone was light, but there was a touch of seriousness beneath it. He took a breath, changing the subject. “By the way, how did you find us here?”
“I asked at the embassy, and they said you were out to lunch and that you usually ate here. I wanted to come here anyway, so I looked for you.” She turned slightly in her chair, studying the busy room. “This is nice. I like breezy restaurants. If I lived in Rio, I think I’d eat here a lot, too.” Her eyes came back. “Do they give you glasses here? Of course, they must. I think I’d like a drink of that. What is it?”
“Portuguese brandy,” Wilson said, and snapped a finger for a waiter. He ordered glasses and then turned back to the girl. “Jill, what happened last night?”
She shook her head a bit dolefully, and then brushed her short hair away from her eyes. “I’m really sorry about last night. It was an awful mess, wasn’t it? I guess I made a fool of myself.” She suddenly smiled, a gamin smile that lit up her face; her eyes twinkled. “Actually, you know, nothing happened. The cabdriver started off so fast I thought he knew what I was talking about, and then I’m afraid I got a bit excited, so the poor man really had a time with me. I felt sorry for him. I guess I’m just lucky he didn’t throw me out of the cab any old place, but he was real nice. He brought me back to the hotel. I guess he figured that was the safest place to get rid of me.”
“More probably,” Da Silva said dryly, “he figured he’d taken the foreigner for about as big a bill as he could hope to collect on the flimsy excuse of not understanding.” He could not suppress a grin. “What about the horn? Did he blow it?”
“You know? I don’t know how to say ‘blow your horn’ in Portuguese!” She thought a moment. “Oh, yes! He did blow it — every time he went through a red light. But that wasn’t because I asked him—”
Wilson refused to be sidetracked. “What about the man you were following?”
“Oh, him? The poor man! He must have really thought I was crazy. I have no idea who he was, but he couldn’t have been the man I saw with Don in California.”
“Why not?”
“Because in the first place the man I saw in California was wearing sun goggles because he was sitting in a plane, and I didn’t really get a good look at him” — she stated this as if she considered it a reason, and followed it with a complete non sequitur. From her it almost sounded logical — “and anyway, it couldn’t have been the same man, because when I got back to the hotel, there was a cable from Don. He’s finishing up his job out there and coming to Rio to meet me sometime next week. It took him a little longer than he figured.” She beamed at the two men impartially. “Isn’t that nice?”
Wilson frowned. To him it seemed more than nice; it seemed quite coincidental. “And just how did he manage to find out what hotel you were staying at? Or even that you were in Brazil?”
She looked at him in surprise. “Well, once I got here, of course, I cabled Don’s office at the university where I was, just so he could get in touch with me.” Her tone sounded a bit hurt, as if Wilson had accused her of being forgetful or something equally ridiculous.
“Well, at least it solves that,” Da Silva said, and smiled at the girl. “Maybe we’ll be able to get some work out of Wilson, now. Where has your brother been working all this time?”
“I don’t know.” She raised her shoulders. “Some place with a long name. It must really be expensive to send cables down here; the names are so long.” She turned back to Wilson, looking repentant. “I’m afraid I really gave you a bad time last night, too. The man at the desk told me all about it. I’m awfully sorry. I guess sometimes I’m a little impulsive.”
“That’s quite all right,” Wilson said magnanimously.
Da Silva, eying his friend across the table, was amazed at the change in the man’s appearance since the girl’s arrival. He was also a bit surprised by Wilson’s easy acceptance of the girl’s statement that she was a little impulsive. This is a little? he thought. May the good Lord save me from the giant, economy-size impulsiveness, then!
Wilson moved aside to allow the waiter to place glasses on the table and then reached over, performing the duties of the host, pouring each glass full. He raised his own in a small gesture of a toast and then paused.
“What will we drink to?”
“How about drinking to eating lunch?” Da Silva asked pointedly.
Jill looked rather crestfallen. “Oh, I’m afraid I couldn’t do that,” she said quickly. “I’d really like to — honestly I would, because it would make up a little bit, at least, for last night — but I really don’t have time. My bags are downstairs now. I have to catch a plane in about twenty minutes.”
Wilson’s euphoric mood deserted him instantly; he set his glass down rather sharply. “A plane? Where to? I thought you said your brother was going to meet you in Rio?”
“He is,” Jill said calmly, and sipped her drink. “Um... This is good, but I don’t imagine you could drink too much of it. It’s strong.” Her eyes came up to meet Wilson’s. “I’m going to spend a few days in São Paulo. Everyone says it’s a city worth seeing, and I don’t know when I’ll ever get to Brazil again, so I think I ought to take advantage of being here, don’t you? If I get a chance, I’d like to see Brasília, too, but it depends on the time. Anyway, Brasília is probably too touristy, don’t you think?”