The Casanova Embrace by Warren Adler Page A

creating them. How impolitic, she
admonished herself, looking at Claude at the other table, pursuing a
conversation with his usual intensity. She knew she had made most of the others
at her table uncomfortable. But it was too late. The idea of it was in the open
and she could see the flush on the ambassador's skin expand upward under his
chin.
    "Banishment is an old South American tradition,"
the ambassador began, with an effort at good humor. "That is punishment
enough. There is nothing worse for a Chilean, for example, than to lose his
country. Nothing worse." He paused, seemed to lapse into introspection. He
seemed genuinely sad, helpless in the face of events. It was a familiar
diplomatic affliction. In that role, one did not have the luxury to follow
one's instincts. "It is all so strange," he continued, clearing his
throat. "We are such a small country." How is it possible to hate
these people, she thought? Did he know Eduardo? The idea titillated her.
Perhaps she would subtly bring out his name after dinner, privately. She
lowered her head and played with the food on her plate, noting that he had
ignored the question about prisons.
    Later, during the after-dinner drinks and coffee in the
terrace room off the swimming pool, she insinuated herself near the ambassador,
waiting politely for him to finish talking with a plump man who had been at the
other table with her husband.
    "I hope you didn't think I was being rude," she
began when she had caught his eye. The plump man's presence distressed her and
she tried to be deliberately vague, hoping that the ambassador would
understand.
    "Not at all," he said, but she sensed a coolness
beneath the surface.
    "You see, I am extremely interested in Chile."
    "Oh?"
    She observed his sudden interest.
    "I would like someday to visit Punta Arenas."
    "Punta Arenas!" The ambassador laughed. "It
is the equivalent of your 'Wild West.'"
    "The city on the bottom of the world." She
marveled again at her cunning, knowing that she was deliberately ingratiating
herself with the ambassador, establishing her credibility. How many people knew
that Punta Arenas was the most southern city in the Western Hemisphere?
    "It is the political situation that confuses me
most," she said, with an air of confession. "Allende was, admittedly,
a Marxist. But he was duly elected by the people. All right, he was overthrown
by other forces. Why then must there be so much brutality...?" She found
herself groping for words.
    "You see," the ambassador began, "what
Allende tried to do was make a bloodless communist revolution. There is no such
thing. Those who have achieved success or are descendants of those who achieved
success before them are not ready to give up the fruits of their achievements.
Democracy then becomes unworkable. It is our hope that the Junta can keep peace
long enough to find new alternatives to give people greater opportunity without
wiping out the achievers."
    "You make it sound so simple." She paused, aimed
her dart, then threw it. "I recently met a gentleman at the Roumanian
Embassy. He held a different view."
    She could feel his alertness. The plump man had drifted
away.
    "I can't quite recall his name. It began with a
'p'."
    "Ah, yes. Palmero. Eduardo."
    "You know him?"
    "Of course. We are a small country. He is, of course,
a political enemy of the regime." A note of sadness crept into his voice.
"We were at the University together. Once we were friends. Now he barely
talks to me."
    "You see him?"
    "I know all about him." She could see he was
becoming uncomfortable. Perhaps they really are watching him. Eduardo will be
proud of me, she thought, anticipating their future meeting, at which she could
tell him what she had learned. Perhaps I qualify as a spy, she told herself
with some amusement.
    By the time Eduardo called on Monday, she was in a terrible
state of irritability. At breakfast she snapped at her children, bringing both
of them near tears. Claude, thankfully, was distant as he read