He had lost her, he thought. But at that moment the customers in the restaurant all got to their feet and began to applaud. Romance was alive and well in Argentina.
Carter smiled and bowed gallantly, and Roberta, awed by the entire scene, sat dumbly in the chair he was holding.
When the room had finally quieted and the other patrons had returned to their meals, she leaned across the table and whispered hoarsely, "You're crazy."
"Absolutely," Carter said, laughing. "That's how I got where I am today."
"And where is that?"
Carter told her about Techtelco of Beaumont, Texas, making it up as he went along, and surprising himself by coming up with a very credible cover under such short notice. Meanwhile, the waiter served the first course, a shrimp scampi in wine sauce, and they began to eat. This was the major meal of the day for many Argentinians.
He began slowly drawing her out. Her last name, Redgrave, was after her English mother, she explained. Her father had been German, a real bastard. When her parents got divorced, she legally changed her name to her mother's maiden name.
She was charming and very bright. She had gone to the university here in Buenos Aires but had spent some time with an aunt in England.
Several times he tried to gently steer the conversation toward Ziegler, but each time she resisted, saying she was not allowed to talk about business outside the office.
They talked about other things during the rest of the meal. After dessert, when they were having coffee and brandy. Carter tried once more.
"I saw his portrait in the office," Carter said. "Ziegler looks too stem. Old school. Too much work."
"He is a difficult man. A workhorse. Day and night, I sometimes think. Always meeting someone. Always flitting here or there."
Carter sipped his brandy.
She looked at her watch. "I must get back," she said, suddenly getting up.
"I'll drive you back," Carter said.
"No, you stay. I have my own car outside." She looked at all the flowers. "Crazy," she said, looking at him. "But lovely."
"Will I see you again?" Carter asked. "Dinner?" He didn't want to lose her now, but he did not want to push.
She took a card out of her purse and laid it on the table. "Tonight," she said. "Ten o'clock. I'll fix a special dinner."
She started to go but then turned back. "By the way, Nick, I've had that bag from Armando's for two months now… since the last time I shopped there."
Six
The address on the card turned out to be a highrise in the center of town off Avenida Callao, overlooking the Plaza del Congresso. Roberta Redgrave's apartment was on the seventh floor.
She answered his knock wearing a peasant blouse richly embroidered around the neckline and a simple skirt that flared out away from her lovely legs. Her cheeks were flushed.
"Fix yourself a drink, and make yourself comfortable," she said. "I'm just about finished in the kitchen."
It was a small apartment. A table for two was set in one corner. A slender candle burned in its center. He threw off his jacket, poured himself a small cognac from a sideboard, and sat down in an easy chair. "Need any help in there, darlin'?" he asked.
"No, thank you," she called from the other room.
In a few minutes she appeared bearing a casserole dish with pot holders. He jumped up and helped her straighten the trivet to put it on, then, when they were seated, he poured two glasses of a very pale red wine.
"Considering the meal we had at lunch, I did not think you would be terribly hungry," she said, serving him. "This is just something light."
It was pesce d'ananasso, a mixture of broiled fish, noodles, and fresh pineapple. He had had it before at a fine restaurant in Rome. The dish before him was more than equal to it. And he told her so.
"Thank you," she said. "You worked hard chasing me; I thought I might try the same."
Roberta seemed even more enchanting by candlelight. Carter was finding it suddenly very difficult to keep lying to her, to remain in his Texan role. Gradually, he allowed his drawl to slip away.
You never did explain why you picked me. You didn't see me at Armando's. You've never been there. I'm sure you don't even know where it is. So why me? I can't be that special."
He held his wineglass up so that the candle flame sparkled in it. Next to her face the crimson points of light made a beautiful contrast with the delicate smoothness of her complexion. "You're wrong there, Roberta," he said. "Very wrong." And as soon as he'd said it, he knew he'd spoken the truth.
They finished dinner, and after another glass of wine and some light conversation, mostly about life in the States, they moved to the couch. She put on some soft music, then came back to him.
They lay back, arm in arm, her eyes half-closed, her breasts rising and falling with her breathing. For a long time they listened to the music, luxuriating in the comfort of the moment.
She finally broke the silence.
"Why did you really come up to the office, Nick?"
"You don't believe me?"
"Not really," she said. "You came up there for something, saw me, and decided I was the means to your end. What was it you were looking for?"
There is no such thing as the perfect job. Every endeavor has its not-so-pleasant aspects. This was one of the worst. He hated lying to an innocent.
"What if I told you the truth — and it would make your position difficult?"
"Try me," she said languidly.
"What if it could make your life here… untenable?"
She opened her eyes and looked up into his. She reached up and drew him down to her. They kissed, deeply.
When they parted, there was a lot of color in her cheeks. "Try me," she said.
"I didn't follow you up to your office. You know that. In fact you came as a complete surprise to me…a pleasant surprise."
"You came up to see Mr. Ziegler?"
"I came up to find out whatever I could about him, and to… to make him nervous."
"I don't understand, Nick. Has Mr. Ziegler done something to you?"
"Someone tried to kill me several days ago in Iceland. Another tried up in Salto the day before yesterday. Both of them worked for your boss."
"But why?"
"Because I'm getting very close to uncovering something he's doing in Iceland. Something he wants to keep secret because it is illegal." Carter hesitated a moment, then smiled at her. "I thought I could charm the information out of you, but the reverse has happened."
She smiled and drew him down again. They kissed for a very long time. She combed back a lock of his dark hair with her fingertips. "You really mean that?" she asked, her voice very husky.
"Yes," he whispered, and he untied the drawstring at the neckline of her blouse. She wore no bra. Her breasts were small and firm, the nipples hard. He kissed them lightly, and a moan escaped from her lips.
Her hands and lips were all over him, and soon they slid slowly to the thick pile carpeting. They were nude, in each other's arms, making love with a barely restrained violence.
Afterward she lay in his arms, her eyes closed, a gentle smile on her lips. He sat above her, watching the candlelight dance on the perfect smoothness of her back, tracing its outline with his finger.
"What is it you're trying to find out, Nick?" she asked.
"What?"
"About Mr. Ziegler. What are you looking for?"
Carter had to bring his mind back to the present. "You said he's always busy. Doing what?" he asked lamely.
Meetings. Telephone calls. Traveling. That sort of thing. There's always a lot of work in the mornings when i come in. Work that had to have been generated the previous evenings."
"Such as?"
"Inventory a lot of the time. Bills of lading, bills of transport, new numbers to put in the materials file."