Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [104]
“Thanks,” Judith said, dutifully walking to and fro around the boudoir. “By the way, I couldn’t help but admire those wonderful horse and racing pictures upstairs. Are the oil paintings of horses that Connie’s father trained?”
“Trained and owned,” Paul replied. “After many years, he was able to buy some Thoroughbreds of his own.”
“I understood Connie’s grandfather was wealthy,” Judith remarked, still walking.
“He was.” Paul, who was usually unflappable, seemed edgy. He centered a tissue box on the nightstand and moved the bedside lamp an inch to the right. “Over the years, Argentina has had so many political shifts. Connie’s grandfather lost his estancia—ranch, I should say—during one of the coups.”
“So Connie’s father managed to—excuse the expression—recoup his losses?”
“He managed to cut them,” Paul explained, “because Guillermo de Fuentes—Connie’s dad—was so successful training racehorses. His first Thoroughbred was a gift from a grateful emir in Dubai.”
“Is that one of the horses in the paintings?” Judith asked, beginning to get tired of her promenade.
“No. The gift horse was put out to stud. He sired Belgrano, Guillermo’s first champion.” Paul paused. “Are you better now?”
“Yes,” Judith said. “Going upstairs isn’t as scary as coming down.”
Paul stayed directly behind Judith so that he could catch her if she made a misstep. Moments later they’d rejoined Renie and Connie in the living room.
“I thought you’d fallen asleep,” Connie said with a little laugh. “Is your hip less painful?”
“Yes,” Judith replied. “It’s just something I’ve learned to live with. Speaking of ailments, how is your father, Connie? Paul and I were just talking about him.”
“You were?” She shot Paul a sharp look. “My father is not well. He hasn’t been for some time. I was telling Serena that I may visit him in Argentina next month. Easter would be a good time to be in Buenos Aires.”
“Is he confined to his home?” Judith inquired, wearing a sympathetic expression.
“Yes,” Connie replied, indicating to Paul that he should open the second wine bottle. “It’s very sad.”
“He must miss the racetrack,” Judith said, pretending she didn’t notice the sudden frozen expression on Connie’s face. “Our Uncle Al is a serious horseplayer. During the season, he goes to the races almost every day. He loves to hang out around the barns and the paddock. Of course he knows everybody.”
“He insists he gets great tips from his old pals,” Renie put in, picking up on Judith’s train of thought. “He certainly seems to win pretty often.”
Paul offered the cousins a refill. Renie declined, but Judith accepted just enough to be sociable. “How long has he been retired?” she asked.
“A few years,” Connie said, her tone distant. She tasted the wine Paul had poured for her. “Do you think this is as good as the first bottle? It seems a little off.”
Paul took a sip. “No, I believe they’re comparable.”
Connie shrugged. “It must be me. Goodness knows,” she went on, speaking more rapidly, “I find the Beringer label generally very good. Have you considered taking a vineyard tour while you’re in the area?”
“I did that many years ago,” Renie said, “when I was in the city for a graphic-design conference. Everybody ended up drunk as skunks with grape leaves in their hair.”
“I understand that some of the vintages from your own state have gained in reputation,” Paul put in. “I believe Mags recently purchased some very nice whites from up your way.”
It occurred to Judith that like the cousins, Paul and Connie seemed able to keep on the same wavelength. Apparently, the Thoroughbred-racing discussion had come to an abrupt halt, like a horse going lame in the backstretch.
Judith finally guided the conversation back to the matters that were uppermost in her mind. “Some of our wineries are popular places for young couples to get married. I don’t suppose that Anemone and Jim have made any concrete plans since their date is so far off in the future.”
“Very far,” Connie said drily, with a quick glance at Paul.
Paul smirked, but didn