Change of Heart (4 page)

“Damn,” said Liz. She ate a little of her salmon. “But then, he may only be amusing himself. Gil is hardly a Sir Galahad when it comes to women.”

“That’s certainly true,” replied Pat. She felt a sudden pang for having enjoyed herself so much at her friend’s expense. “Gil is far too sophisticated to be interested for long in a mere
jeune fille,”
she comforted. “She’s probably a novelty. I doubt if he’ll even see her again.”

* * * *

Both Pat and Liz would have been extremely surprised to see the urbane and sophisticated Gilbert Archer the following Saturday. He went to a horse show. Not the socially glamorous New York National, but a local show in the hills of Connecticut which was attended primarily by little girls on ponies. He was rather surprised to be there himself.

Hilltop Farm had quite a few riders entered and Jennifer was dying to go—that was his excuse. The real reason, he admitted a little ruefully to himself as he stepped gingerly over a steaming pile in the roadway, was that he wanted to see Cecelia again.

He was a little astonished by his own behavior.

If she had been any other woman he would simply have asked her out to dinner again, but he had an uneasy feeling that if he did that she would say no. He was extremely conscious of the fact that she was twenty-two years old, thirteen years younger than he. She went out with boys whom she knew from college. And she had an extremely protective father whom he suspected would not allow her to go on seeing a man as worldly and experienced as Gil undoubtedly was.

His uncertainty about Cecelia was one experience Gil was unfamiliar with. Usually women found him all too desirable. It was that very desirability that had done in his marriage. After the first fiery sexual passion between Barbara and him had been satisfied, the trouble started. Jennifer had been an attempt on both their parts to shore up their dissolving union, but having the child had not turned an increasingly disastrous marriage into a success.

The problem had been, quite simply, Barbara’s possessiveness. She smothered him, resented even his hobbies, hated his magazine plans, and accused him repeatedly of infidelity. It wasn’t long before he
had
been unfaithful. When they finally parted she had been bitter and hostile; he had merely been very, very weary.

He had never married again, had never wanted to give another woman the chance to exercise such possessiveness again. But he had known many women over the years. And he knew his own attractiveness to women very well.

Cecelia was different. She was so young, so obviously unawakened. He had always had a connoisseur’s eye for beauty and quality. In Cecelia he saw something very lovely and very rare. She drove back with him and Jennifer after the horse show was over, and as he drove home with his daughter after dropping Cecelia at Hilltop Farm, he made the decision that he wanted her.

On the Wednesday following the horse show Gil had attended, Ricardo Vargas was hospitalized. He had had a persistent cough for over two months but he steadfastly refused to go to the doctor. On Wednesday he experienced difficulty in breathing and finally he allowed Cecelia to drive him to see their family physician. Dr. Harris immediately put him in the hospital.

They put him on oxygen, and as the day progressed his condition seemed to worsen. He was in the town hospital, which was by no means a large medical center, and Dr. Harris wanted him moved, He also wanted a chest specialist to look at him. But there was one problem. Ricardo had no medical coverage. His Blue Cross policy had run out in December and he had not renewed it.

Cecelia was frantic. The personnel at the hospital were firm. They would give Ricardo the best care they could, but under the circumstances, what she was asking for was impossible.

He had been admitted at ten in the morning. At four o’clock Jennifer Archer and Frank Ross arrived. Cecelia was with her father and did not see them; Dr. Harris did.

As she sat and watched her father’s face through the oxygen tent Cecelia realized she had never felt more alone in her life. He was all the family she had; there was no one else to turn to. Her mother had been an only child; her father’s family were all in Argentina. He was all she had. And she was all
he
had. She had to do something to help him.

A nurse came into the room and said softly, “You have a telephone call, Miss Vargas. It’s important.”

Numbly Cecelia followed her out to the desk. “Hello?” she said into the receiver.

“Cecelia? It’s Gil.”

“Gil,” she repeated, and some of the numbness lifted.

“Jen called and told me about your father,” came the deeply beautiful voice over the wire. “Listen, baby, I’ve got it all arranged. An ambulance is going to take him into New York—to Mount Sinai. Dr. Stein, one of the best chest specialists in the world, is waiting to look at him. I’ve talked to him. I’ve talked to both hospitals. Okay?”

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed. Then, more strongly, “Yes, yes, Gil. Okay.”

“I’m in Washington but I’m leaving now to fly up to New York. I’ll see you at the hospital. Go in with your father in the ambulance.”

“Yes, yes I will.”

“I’ll see you in a few hours then. Chin up, baby.” And the line clicked before she even had the chance to say thank you.

* * * *

The ride into the hospital, with the sirens going all the way, was like a nightmare. Dr. Stein, a big man with a hearty-looking face, was indeed waiting for them. Ricardo was rolled briskly away down a long, long corridor and a nurse put her arm around Cecelia and led her to a book-lined study rich with leather and polished wood where she was settled in a large armchair. “Dr. Stein will see you after he has examined your father, Miss Vargas,” the nurse said kindly. “Would you like something to eat? A cup of coffee?”

“Coffee would be fine, if you don’t mind,” replied Cecelia.

“It will be no trouble,” the nurse assured her. “I’ll be right back.”

After the nurse had left, Cecelia slumped down in the chair and stretched her legs in front of her. She was wearing the same clothes she had put on this morning when she had taken her father directly from the barn to the doctor. She was, however, completely unconscious of the incongruity between her old jeans, sweater, and rubber moccasins and her present expensive surroundings.

The nurse returned with coffee. Cecelia sipped it and waited. It was well over an hour before Dr. Stein appeared. By that time Cecelia was pacing the floor.

“He’s all right for the moment,” the doctor said immediately. “We have him on oxygen and he’s being closely monitored. Please sit down, Miss Vargas.”

She perched on the edge of a leather armchair. “But what is it, doctor? What is wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he replied gravely. “His lungs are functioning at way below their normal level. I’m going to have to go in to see what is causing the problem.”

“Do you mean—operate?” Cecelia’s words were a mere breath, scarcely a whisper.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Dr. Stein was saying when the door opened and a tall blond man appeared on the threshold.

“Gil!” cried Cecelia and, operating purely on instinct, leaped out of her chair and ran to him. His arms opened to enfold her.

“How are you, Gil?” asked Dr. Stein, and Gil, still keeping one arm around Cecelia, walked over to where the doctor was standing. He held out his hand.

“Fine. How are you, Andy? And—more importantly—how is Cecelia’s father?”

The two men exchanged a firm handshake and Dr. Stein replied, “We have him stabilized at the moment, but I don’t know what is causing the lungs to fail. I have him scheduled for the operating room at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“He’ll be all right?” put in Cecelia’s fearful voice.

“At the moment he’s in our pulmonary intensive care unit,” said Dr. Stein reassuringly. “All the staff there are specially trained. But as to what the prognosis is—I can’t tell you, Miss Vargas. I’ll have to see the lungs first.”

“I take it there’s nothing we can do around here tonight, then?” asked Gil.

“No. Mr. Vargas is sleeping at the moment.” Dr. Stein looked at Cecelia. “You need some rest yourself, young lady. You look exhausted.”

“I’ll see to it she gets some,” said Gil flatly. “We’ll be back tomorrow morning, then.”

“Right. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.”

Once more Gil held out his hand. “Andy, thank you.”

“Don’t be silly,” the big doctor replied.

After he had left the room, Gil turned to Cecelia. “You heard what the doctor said. You need to get some rest.” He looked closely into her face. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“No,” she replied faintly. “But I’m not hungry.”

“Nevertheless, you are going to eat.” His tone was peremptory and proprietary and he began to guide her out of the room. “You can spend the night at my apartment on East Seventieth Street,” he went on. “It will make getting to the hospital in the morning much easier.”

At that she raised her head to look at him. “Gil, how can I ever thank you for all you’re doing?”

“To quote Andy,” he replied briskly, “ ‘don’t be silly.’ Now come on. How about a hamburger?”

* * * *

They had hamburgers in a small bar near his apartment, and Cecelia found she was hungry after all. At his apartment he showed her into the spare bedroom, handed her a shirt of his own to wear as a nightgown, provided her further with a toothbrush and comb, and wished her good night.

She didn’t think she would sleep a wink, but in fact she slept deeply and dreamlessly and woke to Gil’s hand on her shoulder. The sun was coming in through the slatted blinds and she blinked sleep out of her eyes as she looked up at him. Memory returned and she sat up abruptly. “What time is it?” she demanded.

“It’s eight,” he replied calmly. “There’s no great rush, Cecelia. The operation is going to take some time. Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll have some breakfast and then go over to the hospital.”

He was dressed already she saw, in twill pants and a navy V-neck sweater. Her hair was streaming across her face and she pushed it away and managed a smile. “Okay.”

The operation was long. It was almost noon when Dr. Stein appeared in the study—which, Cecelia had discovered, belonged to the director of the hospital. The name “Gilbert Archer” had clout.

“The lungs were covered with scar tissue—it was blocking proper respiration,” Dr. Stein said immediately. “I cleared them up as best I could, but there has been some permanent damage done. How much remains to be seen.”

“Scar tissue?” said Cecelia blankly.

“Yes. Evidently he has been walking around with some disease that has been systematically eating away at his lungs. I’ve sent tissue samples to the lab but if I had to make a guess I’d say he’s had pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia? But how could he have pneumonia and not know it?” asked Cecelia.

“It happens all the time. That’s why it can be so dangerous.” Dr. Stein looked with disapproval at the full ashtray next to Gil’s chair. “I might add, Miss Vargas,” he went on coolly, “that if your father had been a smoker he would most probably be dead by now.”

Gil quirked an ironic eyebrow but didn’t respond to the implied criticism. Instead he said, “But he will be all right?”

“Yes. As I said, he is going to have some kind of disability, but it shouldn’t be life threatening.”

“Thank God,” said Cecelia fervently.

“Yes,” replied Dr. Stein gravely. “He should have seen a doctor much sooner.”

“I know. I tried. When can I see him, doctor?”

“He’s still in the recovery room. Why don’t you come back this evening? He should be back in the intensive care unit by then.”

“All right.” Cecelia repeated Gil’s question. “He’s going to be all right?”

“Barring any unforeseen complications—yes.”

Cecelia heaved a huge sigh. “I feel like a weight has fallen off my own chest,” she confided to the two men. “I don’t think I could bear it if I lost Daddy.”

“You won’t lose him,” Gil said. “He couldn’t be in better hands.”

Cecelia smiled at the lung specialist. “I don’t know how to thank you, Dr. Stein. He was dying when we brought him in here—I know he was. You saved his life.”

“His own excellent physical condition was his savior, not I,” the doctor replied after an almost imperceptible pause. He looked from Cecelia’s upturned face to Gil’s. “I’m always happy to be of service to a friend of Gil’s,” he added in a carefully expressionless voice. Gil gave him a pleasant smile in return, but said nothing.

* * * *

Gil drove her back to Connecticut, where she packed a suitcase and made arrangements for the horses to be cared for. He then drove her back to New York, fed her, and took her to see her father. They went home to his apartment to sleep.

Cecelia stayed with him for four days, until her father was actually up and walking. He was still in the intensive care unit, but it was clear he was making excellent progress. During the whole time she never once asked herself why Gil was acting as he was, never once questioned the strangeness of his behavior. She knew him scarcely at all and yet she felt she had known him forever. He was there, a rock of strength for her to lean on, and she was grateful. She needed him.

The financial aspects of Gil’s assistance would have begun to worry her before long, but Ricardo was before her in the matter. Four days after his operation he asked to see Gil alone. It was evening and Gil had accompanied Cecelia to the hospital. “Go outside for a little,
niña,”
Ricardo said gently. “I wish to speak to Mr. Archer.”

Cecelia smiled at him. She thought he wanted to thank Gil in private. “All right, Daddy,” she agreed, and Ricardo watched her slim figure move gracefully out the door. Gil watched the man in the bed a little warily. Ricardo had lost weight and his normally olive skin had a sallow cast to it, but the dark eyes that looked up at Gil were hard and assessing. In a hospital bed, hooked up to a machine, he still managed to look formidable.

“I wish first of all to thank you for your assistance during my illness,” he began formally. “Cecelia tells me it is through your efforts that I was brought to this hospital and Dr. Stein was called in.”