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“Oh, come on,” Clete said.
“Yes, thank you,” Marjorie said. “I’d love to. I get to see Junín and meet your Uncle Juan.”
“Out of the question,” Clete said. “God only knows what’s going on in Junín.”
“Don Cletus,” Enrico Rodríguez said, joining the discussion. “If we took two station wagons with Húsares, we’d be all right.”
“Thanks a lot, Enrico,” Frade said.
“Your call,” Dorotea said. “Either we all go, or no one does.”
[FOUR]
Plaza San Martín
Junín, Buenos Aires Province
1645 19 October 1945
Father Welner’s Packard convertible was parked at the curb before the city hall, a not-too-imposing three-story turn-of-the-century masonry structure. Clete, at the wheel of the Horch, followed the first Ford station wagon and pulled up alongside it. There were also a half-dozen cars, four of them official-looking but unmarked Mercedes sedans. At least one of them, Clete decided, probably belonged to General Martín.
Without orders, the ex-Húsares of Frade’s Private Army spilled out of the two station wagons and, led by Enrico Rodríguez, entered the city hall.
Rodríguez came back out almost immediately. He was trailed by el Coronel Juan Domingo Perón, who was wearing a well-tailored suit and a fresh bandage on his cheek. Father Welner came out a moment later, and finally General Bernardo Martín, on crutches.
Perón marched up to the Horch as everyone got out of it.
“My dear Dorotea,” Perón said. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. Thank you so very much for coming. Evita will be so pleased.”
“Juan Domingo,” Dorotea said—and nothing else.
“I don’t have the privilege of this beautiful lady’s acquaintance,” Perón then said.
“This is my sister, Marjorie Howell,” Clete said. “Marj, this is the vice president of the Argentine Republic, my godfather, Colonel Juan Domingo Perón.”
“How can she be your sister?” Perón challenged.
“Actually, she’s my cousin. But we were raised together, and I think of her as my sister.”
“Of course,” Perón said, and then announced, “Why don’t we all go inside?”
“What happens when we do?” Clete asked.
“The ceremony, I’m told, will take about fifteen minutes,” Perón said. “And afterward we’ll have a small celebration.”
“Of what?” Dorotea asked.
“The wedding, of course. Evita and I are to be married!”
He turned his smile on Marjorie.
“In Argentina, my dear young woman, the system is that there are two ceremonies. A civil ceremony, which takes care of all the administrative details, and then, later, a church ceremony. Today, this will be the civil ceremony.”
Señorita Evita Duarte came out of the city hall and advanced on the crowd at the Horch with a smile. She had a bouquet of roses pinned to a tight-fitting silver lamé dress.
“My darling,” Perón said, “Cletus brought Señora de Frade with him. And his cousin, from the United States, Señorita Marjorie Howell.”
“Oh, Cletus,” Evita gushed. “More family! How wonderful of you! I can’t thank you enough!”
