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Berezovsky handed her the puppy.
"Why?" he asked simply.
"I guess Mr. Delchamps thought she should have it," Castillo said. "This has to be tough on her, Colonel."
Berezovsky nodded. Castillo couldn't read it.
"Are the women about ready?" Castillo said. "The food is."
He picked up another bife de chorizo to illustrate his point.
"Sof'ya, go tell your mother that supper is ready. And Auntie Svetlana, too."
The girl ran off with her puppy.
"The beef here is the best in the world," Castillo said.
"So I have been told," Berezovsky said.
"It goes down very well with wine," Castillo said, pointing to an uncorked bottle of Saint Felicien Cabernet Sauvignon and some long-stemmed wineglasses sitting beside an open cardboard case of the wine. "You're welcome to help yourself, but you might want to keep in mind that right after we have our supper, we're going to have the first of our conversations."
Berezovsky met his eyes, considered what he had said, then said, "Thank you," and headed for the wine.
I wonder if the "thank you" was for the warning or the wine?
Berezovsky poured wine--a lot of it--into two of the large wineglasses, half filling them and half emptying the bottle, then walked to Castillo at the parrilla and offered him one.
"I started early," Castillo said. He pointed to his now nearly empty glass at the end of the grill.
Berezovsky thrust the glass he held at Castillo again and smiled.
Okay. I get it. You think I have grape juice in my glass.
Then you will drink the real stuff, get plastered and loose-lipped, and I will be absolutely sober and able to take advantage of your naive trust.
Castillo took the glass Berezovsky held out to him.
"Chug-a-lug?" Castillo asked.
"'Chug-a-lug'?" Berezovsky parroted.
I don't think, Tom Barlow, ol' buddy, that you have a clue what that means.
Castillo raised the glass to his lips and drained it.
Berezovsky's eyes showed his surprise, but he rose to the challenge and also drained his glass.
Castillo immediately refilled the glasses, but set his down and began to flip the steaks on the grill.
If I chug-a-lug again, I'll probably fall down and begin to sing bawdy songs, or in some other manner manifest behavior unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, such as myself.
Why the hell did I do that?
One of the maids appeared with several large serving platters.
"The bife de chorizo is done," Castillo announced. "Please put it on the table." He turned to Berezovsky. "It's hot, grilling the steaks. I'm going to cool off until the women get here."
He walked to the deep end of the pool, dove in, swam underwater to the shallow end, turned, and swam back. Then he turned to repeat the process. When he came up for air at the shallow end of the pool, he saw the women--Sandra Britton, Lora and Sof'ya Berezovsky, and Svetlana Alekseeva--walking together from the house toward the quincho.
