Renaldo (19 page)

learn.

The team played under the name ‘Newton’s Prefects,’ a prefect being a

senior student that had the responsibility of directing the academy’s student

body in the proper ways of being a gentleman. Prefects enforced the code of

ethics and honor at the academy. They could act as disciplinarians among their

peers, and their authority ranked just below that of the faculty. They were the

most astute in the classroom and the most proficient on the playing fields. They

were the elite of the elite. To be a Newton’s Prefect was to be a deity among the

general population, a perception that their prowess with a football did nothing

to diminish.

The faculty, as well as the students at the university level, was also keenly

interested in the sport. It was decided by the board of governors that as a means

of promoting the academy, a senior team would join the newly formed football

association and also play at the professional level as ‘Newton’s Prefects.’

The popularity of the senior team was immediate and beyond anyone’s

imagination. The team had acquired so many enthusiastic supporters that the

board of governors immediately set about building their own stadium adjacent

to the campus. The infusion of some fine Porteño players allowed the team to

expand its base of support into the poorer barrios of the city, and even citizens

who had no knowledge of the academic institution became fanatical followers

of the football side. National championships became the norm, and the trophy

cases in the rotunda of the academy’s administration building were constantly

being enlarged to accommodate the spoils of victory.

A soccer pitch was constructed at Buenos Recuerdos to honor Lonfranco’s

British friends. Even the gauchos seemed to be taken by the game, and many a

lively contest was held between the foreign visitors and the local plainsmen. It

was all in good fun, and Lonfranco made sure that his staff did not insult the

guests by running up the score, as they were usually capable of doing.

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A fortunate visitor to the Pergamino estate would be treated to a thrilling

polo match featuring Lonfranco’s internationally acclaimed team. Named

to honor the memory of General Figueroa San Marco, this fine collection of

men and mounts had traveled the world displaying their talents. More often

than not, the team’s patron used his polo playing sojourns abroad to entice

an investor or to explore a new business scheme. Thus the costs of playing his

favorite sport were likely to be paid in full by his shrewd knowledge of how to

play the financial game as well as the game of polo.

One such trip to England in the spring of 1919 brought developments for

which Lonfranco was totally unprepared.

The prime reason for this trip abroad was to buy a prize bull to augment

to his stock of beef cattle. The breeder was a gregarious character by the name

of Liam Peters, and it took little more than a few pints of stout for the two men

to strike a deal on the animal’s monetary value. After that, it was a night of lies

and tall tales that concluded with Mr. Peters having to carry a very intoxicated

Señor De Seta to his lodgings.

Lonfranco was insistent that the Englishman turn out the next afternoon

to watch him make a fool of himself at a charity polo event. Peters at first

scoffed at the idea, saying he might be interested if the game were played on

more practical beasts of burden, such as his Holsteins. Finally, however, he

admitted some responsibility for his guest’s inebriated state and grudgingly

accepted the invitation.

The pounding inside Lonfranco’s head had not subsided by the time he

sat astride his mount for the opening chucker of the match. A large crowd had

gathered to witness the dashing Latin side, but the only thing Lonfranco felt

like was dashing to the W.C. He was having difficulty focusing his eyes and

was barely able to remain upright in the saddle. His mallet overshot several

perfect balls that he normally would have converted easily to goals.

The English team won the day, and at the conclusion of the match, just as

Lonfranco was about to collapse into an armchair some distance removed from

the festivities, who should appear but Liam Peters with a bottle of champagne

and two glasses.

“So, me boy, it looks like ya would have preferred to be ridin’ old bossy

today. She could have slowed things down fer ya a tad, until ya got yer sea legs

back. Here, have a snort o’ the hair o’ the dog that bit ya.”

Peters expelled the cork from the bottle of bubbly, poured two overflowing

glasses, and handed one to Lonfranco.

“Mr. Peters, this is hardly what I need to make me whole again. Perhaps

you might direct me to a chemist and then a dark, quiet room, a long distance

from any beverage hall.”

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JAMES McCREATH

As Peters began to chide the Argentine for his reluctance to drink a toast

to the victorious English polo side, he was interrupted in mid-sentence.

“There you are, Father. I’ve been at my wits’ end trying to find you. Doctor

Murphy, the vet, seems to be missing a bottle of his champagne. He says that

he was engaged in a conversation with you just before the end of the match, and

then both you and the bottle disappeared. So what is that object you are hiding

from me behind your back? Why, you shameless old billy goat! Don’t you know

that these society people don’t take kindly to . . .”

Lydia Peters left her scolding unfinished. Her father had tried to conceal

the open champagne bottle, and in doing so, had turned to face his twenty-

year-old daughter, blocking Lonfranco from her view.

As father and daughter engaged in a lively little jig over possession of the

libation, Lydia almost fell into the lap of the seated visitor from Argentina.

“Ohhh! My apologies. I did not see you sitting there. My father can be

a hand full after a night on the town, and I sometimes have to resort to stern

measures to keep him in line.”

Lydia pretended to be fully intent on her conversation with the stranger,

but as her father tried to take a fast swallow of his precious treasure, she swept

the bottle from his grasp and away from his lips.

An anguished cry of protest was all Liam Peters could muster as he

watched the liquid gold soak into the turf. When the bottle was empty, Lydia

again addressed her father.

“Now, we won’t say a word to Dr. Murphy about this little incident, will

we?” She slid the bottle quietly into a nearby refuse bin.

Lonfranco had sat watching this whole scene as if being entertained by a

theater troupe. But even with his senses dulled by the alcohol consumed the

night before, there was no mistaking the breathtaking beauty of this young

woman. He was unable to move, mesmerized by the lilt of her accent, so soft

and melodic, even when chiding her recalcitrant father.

Her sparkling blue eyes contained the same mischievous twinkle as her

father’s. Combined with her flaxen hair, she stood before Lonfranco as an image

of feminine pulchritude unlike anything he had ever seen in South America.

He shook his head to clear the cobwebs away.

“Ooooooohh laaaa.” The pain shot across his forehead.

“Are you alright? Can I be of any assistance? You look quite peeked.”

Lydia’s voice was the first soothing sound Lonfranco had heard all day.

“The lad’s a wee bit under the weather this mornin’, Lydia, as I expected.

He’s the one I told ya that might need some carin’ for. Señor Lonfranco De

Seta of Buenos Aires, Argentina, allow me to introduce my daughter, Lydia

Anne Peters, R.N. That’s registered nurse, if you don’t know, my friend. I asked

Lydia to come along today in case you fell off one of those hay burners and did

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yourself in. You weren’t movin’ too well when we said our good-byes last night.

Matter o’ fact, you weren’t movin’ at all.”

The words that Peters spoke were not registering in Lonfranco’s brain as

he struggled to rise from his seat to take the lady’s hand.

“It is my pleasure, Señorita, to make your acquaintance. I apologize for my

lack of manners. I am not at my best at this moment.”

“Father, were you out drinking with this poor man last night? A visitor to

our country and this is how you welcome him? Sir, it is I who must apologize

to you for my father’s lack of consideration and contemptible behavior.”

“On the contrary, Señorita, your father was most hospitable . . . from what

I can recall. We had the pleasure of doing business yesterday afternoon, where,

in fact, your father and I concluded a transaction involving one of his prize bulls.

As gentlemen are wont to do, we then retired to the nearest establishment of

good tidings to cement the deal. It would seem that I consumed a bit too much

‘cement.’ Believe me, no harm was done. I am the proud owner of a pedigreed

steer, an acute hangover, and an embarrassed polo team. What more could a

visitor to your country ask for, except maybe some buffer salts?”

He noticed how delicate her hand felt as he raised it to his lips for the

traditional Latin greeting. His words brought a sweet smile to her lips.

Sweet Mother of Jesus, she is a beauty
, he thought to himself. His heart was

pounding in time with his aching head, and he was unsure if the lightheadedness

that he felt was due to his current situation or his former intoxications.

“Well, if it’s salts ya be needin’, Lydia’s the one to find them fer ya. As I

said, she’s a registered nurse. Served in the army field corps in France during

The Big One. You’ll be an easy job to patch up after what she’s seen! Why

don’t you take Señor De Seta past the apothecary and then on to his inn to

recuperate. I’m sure that Mrs. Peters and I would be honored to have you at our

table for dinner tomorrow night, if you have the strength for it.”

Lonfranco knew that such an invitation would be difficult to refuse, but

he surprised himself at the speed of his acceptance. His business in England

was all but concluded, his last polo match played, and he had a week to kill

before his departure for South America. He had planned to travel on his own,

perhaps to France for a few days, but nothing had been etched in stone.

How strange he felt climbing aboard Liam’s small carriage, forced by

circumstance to sit scandalously close to Lydia. A brief word with one of his

fellow teammates as to his plans for the next forty-eight hours, and he and

Lydia were off to Hillingdon Inn.

Liam preferred to remain behind and partake of the buffet that the

Hillingdon Polo and Hunt Club had organized in honor of their Argentine

guests. He would pass along Lonfranco’s humble apologies and regrets due to

a sudden illness and offer to assume the place of his old and intimate friend at

8

JAMES McCREATH

their sumptuously set table. He instructed Lydia to return for him once Señor

De Seta was feeling more comfortable and to remind him of his commitment

the following night. With that, Liam Peters was off to join the revelry.

A crack of the whip sent the carriage on its way. Lonfranco’s whole being

was swept up in a rainbow of the senses. The sights, the sounds, the smells, and

the feel of his thigh against the soft material of Lydia’s dress all assaulted his

clouded mind. He wanted to capture this moment and stop it in time so that

he could analyze what on earth was happening to him when he had his full

faculties back intact.

Since Maria’s death, there had been no feeling in his heart except emptiness

and resignation to a life alone. He had rationalized against another marriage

as a means of protecting himself from further emotional disappointment. His

work became his first and only love, and after his persistent refusal to socialize

in a romantic context with members of the fairer sex, the Porteño society

matchmakers grudgingly gave up and left him alone.

He had thought himself incapable of the feelings that he was experiencing

at this moment, the giddy infatuation that this wisp of a girl was causing him.

And he had known her less than an hour!

Her voice was like a lullaby as she made small talk. The early afternoon

sun fell flush on his face as they traveled, and he closed his eyes and basked in

its warmth.

Lydia asked if he preferred to ride in silence and apologized for “cackling

on like a magpie.” Now it was his turn to apologize for being such bad company

and encouraged her to continue to soothe him with “the voice of an angel.”

Lydia laughed and sang a lilting Irish tune that had often been useful to

hearten the wounded soldiers in her care, or so she sadly imparted. Lonfranco

could not fathom such a delicate creature in the midst of the slaughter that had

become known as ‘The Great War.’ He had been an ocean and a world away

from it in Argentina.

Images and impressions of Liam Peters kept popping into his mind. The

old man had told him during their liquid shenanigans together that he had “a

bit o’ the Irish in him, a bit o’ the English in him, and a lot o’ the Scotch in