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They were almost closed when the rest of the convoy appeared. First, the Horch, with Enrico at the wheel, Doña Dorotea beside him, and Cletus Frade in the back with the nanny holding his sons. Then came Father Welner’s enormous Packard, with Alicia, her son, and the nanny in it, and finally her Packard, now carrying former sargentos of the Húsares de Pueyrredón Rodolfo Gómez and Manuel Lopez, bodyguards to Doña Dorotea and Alicia respectively.
The gates creaked back open and the cars went through them and disappeared down the ramp to the basement.
There they found Hans-Peter von Wachtstein and Elsa von Wachtstein standing beside Martín’s Mercedes.
Alicia got out of Welner’s Packard and trotted to her husband and Elsa.
“Frau von Wachtstein, say hello to Frau von Wachtstein,” Hansel tried to wisecrack, but his voice was broken.
Tears were now running down the cheeks of both women. They embraced.
“You’ll have to excuse Alicia, Elsa,” Hansel said. “She’s an Argentine, and they tend to get quite emotional.”
Doña Dorotea was by then out of the Horch and had walked up to them.
“Shut up, Hansel,” she snapped. “You’re as bad as Cletus not knowing when to keep quiet!” Then she turned to Elsa. “I’m the other big mouth’s wife. Do I get to give you a welcoming hug?”
Elsa and Alicia parted wide enough to admit Dorotea to their embrace.
That embrace lasted a full sixty seconds, and then the three women, Elsa in the center, walked first to the Horch, where they collected the children, and then toward the stairs leading from the basement.
Hans-Peter von Wachtstein met Martín’s eyes.
“Thank you,” von Wachtstein said.
Martín shrugged.
“And now shall we go find a telephone so we can get started on the libreta de enrolamiento?” Frade asked.
Martín nodded.
“And after that,” he said, “Father Kurt and I have to talk to you. Both of you.”
—
The men went to the library off the foyer. Enrico Rodríguez and the other bodyguards arranged themselves, without being told, in armchairs from which they could cover the front door, the stairs leading to the upper floors, and of course the library.
Once the men were inside the library, a distinguished-looking elderly man wearing a gray butler’s jacket appeared almost immediately. Antonio Lavalle had been el Coronel Jorge Frade’s butler. Now he was head of all of Dorotea’s crews of servants at all of the Frades’ homes, running everything for her everywhere.
“Welcome home, Don Cletus,” he said.
“Thank you, Antonio. What happened to the ladies?”
“They went upstairs, Don Cletus.”
Antonio looked at Martín, the priest, and von Wachtstein. “Gentlemen,” he said with a nod.
“Upstairs for what?” Frade asked.
“I would hazard the guess, Cletus, that they are going to get Frau von Wachtstein out of that uniform,” Father Welner said.
“You’re going to tell me about that uniform, right?” Martín asked. “It’s what your women soldiers wear, yes?”
“Our women officers,” Frade said.
“Women should not wear uniforms,” Martín proclaimed.
“You better get used to it, it’s the wave of the future,” Frade said. “Antonio, while General Martín uses the phone, those of us not on duty would like a little something to drink. Are you on duty, Your Eminence?”
