Change of Heart (6 page)

“That’s astonishing,” he murmured and she grinned.

“Well, if I’m the belle of
your
ball, that’s all I care about.”

He smiled back a little absently, his thoughts elsewhere. “You are, baby,” he said in reply to her comment. He looked at the face on the pillow next to him and tried to comprehend what she had just told him. He reached out and gently touched one exquisite cheekbone. It was true, he thought, that her beauty wasn’t the vapid kind one found gracing magazine or television commercials. There was character in Cecelia’s face. And intelligence. Hers was not the sort of face that would be picked to sell California sunshine.

Hers was the sort of face that had launched a thousand ships on Troy. He supposed the boys her age were too young to see that. She was looking at him a little questioningly and he said, “How about a before-breakfast swim?”

Cecelia had rather hoped he might have other ideas but she smothered her disappointment and said agreeably, “Okay. Sounds like fun.”

Their bedroom windows were really sliding-glass doors that led out to a patio and then down a few steps to the beach. And it was to the beach and not to the pool they went a few minutes later, Gil clad in blue bathing trunks and Cecelia in a new hot-pink suit she had bought for her honeymoon. They dropped their towels down on the fine white sand and ran, laughing, into the clear green water.

They swam and splashed each other and swam again for about a half hour before they came out and retrieved their towels from the beach. “Let’s take a walk before we go in,” Gil suggested. “There’s a spot of beach I want to show you.”

She fell into step with him companionably, walking hand in hand along the edge of the water. They made a striking couple, the tall fair-haired man and the slender dark girl beside him. They rounded a curve of beach and came to what was a little cove. Palm trees grew nearly down to the water. “It’s lovely, Gil,” Cecelia said sincerely.

“Isn’t it? It belongs to Jim as well. And it’s completely private—we’ll be quite undisturbed.”

“What do you mean?” she faltered, watching him carefully spread out their towels on the sand.

He straightened from his task with the ease and grace of an eighteen-year-old. Coming over to her he slid the straps of her bathing suit off her shoulders. Her eyes widened in shock. “You can’t mean ... ?”

“Oh, but I do,” he murmured and bent to kiss the smoothness of her shoulders. The touch of his mouth sent shivers all along her spine. “This is a very nice bathing suit,” he was saying, “but I think we can dispense with it for the moment.” It was down now to her waist. “Kiss me, Cecelia,” he said softly, and as if in a trance, she raised her mouth to his. When his lips touched hers a flame of response ran all through her. His hands were moving slowly over her bared upper body, and an exquisite ache began to grow deep inside her. When he took his mouth away from hers and whispered, “Lie down for me, baby,” she made no sound of protest. Instead she finished taking off her suit and lay down on the spread towels, feeling the warmth of the morning sun on her bare flesh, stretching out to give him access to all of her lovely young body.

“Gil,” she whispered, as he shed his own suit and lay down beside her. “Ah, Gil.”

He took his time as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky and Cecelia’s passion rose higher and higher with it, until she was drowning in sensation, wanting him as she had not thought it possible for a woman ever to want. The explosion of pleasure, when it finally came, was shattering, and she clung to the man who was able to do this to her, her body totally delivered up to his own desire, the two of them hurtling together through the profound depths and heights of physical love.

* * * *

For Cecelia her honeymoon was the opening of a door onto another world. She had been remarkably insulated from the sexual fever that permeated so much of the modern world. Ricardo had kept her a child for much longer than was usual in the United States. In regard to his daughter he was very much a Latin male. Cecelia’s world had revolved for many years solely around her father, the horses, and school. She had dated occasionally once she reached the age of seventeen, but no boy had ever made much of an impression on her, nor had their kisses ever raised her pulse by even one extra beat.

And then Gil came into her life. She realized in retrospect that she had been physically attracted to him ever since she had first met him. She had been, she thought in rueful amusement, too dumb to recognize the signs. She knew now. She knew what it was to be part of a man, to hunger for him, to be made happy merely by his glance, his smile. Before her marriage she had thought him wonderful, a chevalier on a white horse who had rescued the maiden in distress. He had been above her, beyond her, unreachable. He was that no longer. He was her husband, wedded to her by an intimacy of intense passion she had not suspected could exist between two people.

She watched him one afternoon, unnoticed, from the shadow of the pool chaise longue. He had gone into Nassau to see someone in the government and had been gone all morning. She had heard the car door slam and turned to watch him as he came around the side of the house, his head bent a little in thought. The bright tropical sun struck sparks of silver from his thick smooth hair. She thought suddenly, with an ache in her heart, how much he meant to her. All her life was there, walking toward her in the hot sun. She swallowed, waited a minute, and then called, “How did it go?”

He crossed the patio to the pool and sat down on the edge of her chaise. “Nothing much new. I thought I’d better go, though, since he wanted to see me. It’s always a good idea to keep ministers well disposed toward one.”

“Yes,” she said. “Someday there
might
be something new.”

He grinned. “Exactly.” He reached up and loosened his tie. “God, but it’s hot.” He was wearing his navy blazer and green sailcloth pants.

“Go get your trunks on and come for a swim,” Cecelia suggested. “That’ll cool you off.”

“Mmm.” He didn’t rise right away, however, but looked instead at the book that was resting on her bare brown thigh. “What’s that you’re reading?” he asked. The book was in Spanish.

“It’s a new novel by a Peruvian author I particularly like,” she answered, holding it up for him to see.

“Do you like Latin American writing?” His expression was hidden behind his sunglasses.

“Most of it,” she replied. “I especially like Llosa. He can be very funny.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve never read him. I’ll have to give him a try. In English, I hasten to add.” He rose. “I think I’ll take your advice about a swim.” She smiled up at him without replying and he bent to lightly kiss her mouth. “You look good enough to eat,” he murmured. “I think that later I’ll do just that.”

She watched him as he walked back toward the house, her mouth very soft and tender. She loved him so much. She hated the thought of having to go home.

They flew home first-class on a regularly scheduled flight, only to find a collection of photographers and newsmen waiting for them In New York. Cecelia was utterly astonished to find that her marriage was a news item.

Gil paused for a few minutes to answer questions and Cecelia stood as close to him as she could. “Look this way, Mrs. Archer!” someone called. She looked and a flash went off. She jumped a little in surprise and Gil glanced down at her and then put a hand on her arm.

“That’s all for now, ladies and gentlemen,” he said pleasantly, and with a firm hand he began to steer her across the lounge. Frank was waiting with the car and Cecelia gratefully got in and sank back against the cushions.

“Sorry about that,” Gil said as the car started up and moved away. “I’ll get a press release out tomorrow and that should satisfy the gossip mongers.”

“I hope so,” said Cecelia doubtfully. It had just occurred to her that she knew nothing whatever of Gil’s world. She had never seen him in his own milieu, only in hers. She had never met his friends, his business associates, his professional and social acquaintances. It was an aspect of marriage to him that she had not yet had a chance to consider, the fact that he belonged to a world vastly different from the world she was accustomed to. All during her father’s illness, and then on their honeymoon, there had been just the two of them. She realized now that, childishly, she had somehow thought that that’s what it would continue to be, with only the added—and welcome—addition of Jennifer. She had a sinking feeling, as she listened to him question Frank closely about people she did not know, that her honeymoon was over.

As they turned into the driveway of Gil’s home the uneasiness that had been building inside Cecelia during the ride intensified. She had been to The Birches before, but it seemed now that she was seeing it with new eyes. What would it mean, she thought, to be mistress of such a house?

Her new home was a beautiful stone Georgian manor house set well back from the road and surrounded by manicured lawns and old trees. Gil had shown her the entire house before they were married and introduced her to the small army of daily servants who saw to the upkeep of the grounds and the house. The inside of the house was as graciously lovely as the exterior. On the first floor there were a large living room, a banquet-sized dining room, a breakfast room that served as the family dining room, a morning room with French doors opening to a flagstone patio, and an oak-paneled library. Upstairs were seven enormous bedrooms and baths. There was a separate servants wing, where the Rosses lived. And on the grounds there were a beautifully landscaped pool and a Hartru tennis court.

They came into the large central hall, both Gil and Frank carrying suitcases. There was the sound of hurried steps on the stairs and then Jennifer appeared. “Daddy!” she cried and ran across the hall to throw herself into his arms. Gil dropped the suitcase he was holding to swing her up off the floor for a minute.

“What are you doing home from school?” he asked with mock severity.

She glowed up at him. “Nora said I could stay home today to be your welcoming party.” She turned to Cecelia and hesitated, looking a little shy. Cecelia held out her arms and the little girl hugged her fiercely. Over her silvery curls Cecelia’s eyes met Gil’s; there was a faint smile on his lips and tenderness in his light gray eyes.

When Jennifer stepped back Cecelia said to her, “I’m dying to hear about my horses. What’s been going on? Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Miss Rice has been terrific,” Jennifer responded. “Gucci has a swollen nose, though, and Lady is still sore....” Jennifer was a mine of information and chattered all the way upstairs and then back down again as they went into the breakfast room to have lunch. Gil’s eyes glinted with amusement as he listened to his wife and daughter but he made no move to interrupt a conversation they both apparently found fascinating.

Cecelia’s honeymoon ended abruptly at two o’clock that afternoon with a telephone call. Gil came back from the library where he had taken it, his fair brows knitted together. “That was Hank at the office,” he told Cecelia. “Trouble is brewing in the Middle East. I’m going into the office for a while.”

“All right,” Cecelia answered composedly. “Will we see you for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. His frown had lifted and he looked very alert. “I’ll call you.”

“All right,” she answered again and raised her face for his kiss.

He tousled Jennifer’s curls absently, said, “I’m taking Frank. If you want to go over to the farm use the wagon,” and was on his way. He looked, Cecelia thought a little sadly, extremely happy to be back in harness once again.

She and Jennifer went over to Hilltop Farm that afternoon and Cecelia soon was as absorbed in her job as Gil in his. The riding school had been in suspension for over a month, ever since Ricardo had been hospitalized, and Cecelia plunged into plans to start it up again. She would have to do all the teaching until her father was home.

Cecelia and Jennifer returned to The Birches for dinner and Nora told Cecelia that Gil had called to say he wouldn’t be home. “Daddy’s hardly ever home for dinner,” Jennifer confided.

“Oh?” Cecelia hoped her voice did not betray her feelings. “Well, I expect he’s very busy at the magazine,” she added carefully.

“Yes, he is,” replied Jennifer vigorously. “That’s why I’m so glad he married you. It won’t be so lonely, now that you’re here, Cecelia.”

“No,” said Cecelia a little forlornly. “It won’t be lonely.”

* * * *

She spent the evening on the telephone, calling her students and her father’s students and setting up a new teaching schedule. She had a lot of hard work ahead of her, she realized as she looked at her red appointment book. Not only did she have lessons all week but she had to organize all the weekend trips to shows as well. Ricardo had several junior riders who were collecting an impressive number of points, and one of the girls was a sure Maclay finalist. Filling in for her father was going to be one big job.

She was in bed and almost asleep when Gil finally came home. “How did it go?” she asked foggily when she heard him come into the bedroom.

“All right,” he answered. He bent to kiss her cheek; it was warm with sleep. “I didn’t mean to wake you, baby,” he said softly.

“That’s all right,” she answered. “I wasn’t asleep.” He went into the bathroom and by the time he came back, she was.

The alarm rang the next morning at 5:45. Gil rolled over and turned it off. “A quarter to six?” he said, peering sleepily at the dial.

“I’m afraid so.” Cecelia swung her legs out of bed, already alert, as she usually was in the morning. “Horses breakfast early,” she told her husband. “I’ll reset the clock for you. What time do you get up?”

“Seven,” he answered definitely. She reset the clock and bent down to kiss his ruffled hair. She dressed quietly in dungarees and a pink Izod shirt. He was sleeping again as she left the bedroom and went downstairs to breakfast. They had been home only one day, she thought with dismay, and already they were passing like ships in the night.

* * * *

Liz Lewis sat in her elegant Manhattan apartment and looked with narrowed eyes at the entry that appeared in the “Notices” section of
News Report: