Change of Heart (7 page)

Married
Gilbert Archer, 35, owner and editor
of News Report
and Cecelia Vargas, 22, daughter of Argentine equestrian and Olympic gold medalist, Ricardo Vargas; he for the second time, she for the first; in Fairridge, Connecticut.

Liz threw the magazine down, lit a cigarette, and stalked impatiently around her earth-toned living room. After a few minutes she went over to a delicate cherry desk and dialed a number on the telephone. After the conversation had been concluded to her satisfaction she sat down at the desk and, taking out pen and paper, began to compile a list of names. At the top of the list were Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert Archer.

“Whatever can Liz be thinking of?” Pat Carruthers said to her husband as she sat looking at the invitation in her hand. “A party in New York? In the summer?”

“Where is it?” Ben Carruthers reached out and took the invitation from his wife. “The Plaza. And for the Earl of Ashbrook.” He raised an impressed eyebrow. “Liz
has
been busy. He’s Britain’s new UN representative. How ever does she know him?”

“His wife went to school with us,” Pat replied simply. “She was Anne Netherfield.”

“Ah.” He handed her back the card. “Well, I’ll bet you anything that Liz gets all acceptances. You know how Americans love a lord.”

“I know,” replied Pat. “But why, I wonder, didn’t Liz wait until September?”

* * * *

Gilbert Archer was as surprised as the Carruthers when Liz’s invitation arrived at The Birches. He did not comment, however, but passed it on to Cecelia with the remark, “We’ll have to go. Better put it down on your calendar.”

They were having a drink together this Friday evening, one of the rare evenings Gil was home for dinner. Jennifer was upstairs doing her homework and the two of them were alone together in the living room. Cecelia looked up from the invitation and said, “I know Lord Ashbrook is England’s new UN representative—I read that in the paper. But who is Liz Lewis?”

He regarded his martini with interest and answered, “A friend of mine. Both our marriages broke up at the same time and we went around together for a bit. She’s rather a hotshot hostess type.”

“I see,” replied Cecelia slowly. And indeed, with her newfound maturity, she did see. Gil was not the sort of man who had platonic friendships with the opposite sex. She felt a sharp pang of jealousy and forced herself to say calmly, “Do you know, I’ve never met any of your friends?”

At that he turned to look at her. “Well, you’ll meet a lot of them at this party, baby.” He grinned. “And believe me, they’ll be anxious to meet you.”

“Oh dear,” said Cecelia, half comically, half nervously. Then, “What shall I wear?”

“A gown,” he replied positively. He looked at her, head a little to one side. “Why don’t you come into New York on Monday and I’ll take you shopping.”

“That would be lovely,” she replied fervently. “You’ll know much better than I what’s appropriate.”

“You have excellent taste in clothes,” he said, surveying her with approval. She wore a soft jacquard shirt-dress in a pale garden-flower print and apple-green strappy sandals. Her long dark hair was held off her temples by two tortoise-shell combs and fell, sheer and shining, past her shoulders.

Cecelia smoothed the full skirt over her knee. “Thank you,” she said softly, “but I’m sure we dress more casually in Connecticut than is customary in New York.”

He smiled at her and held out his hand. “I like the casual look,” he told her. “I’d like a more casual life, too. It seems as if I’ve hardly seen you these past weeks.”

It was true. The crisis in the Mid-East had blown up as predicted, and Gil had spent most of his waking hours in the office, topped off by a quick trip to Cairo to talk to a source who had proved valuable in the past. Cecelia had missed him terribly. She put her hand in his now and smiled up into his eyes. Those eyes narrowed at her response and took on a heavy-lidded look that she recognized. Her heartbeat accelerated and he made as if to raise her hand to his lips.

Nora appeared in the living room doorway and announced, “Dinner is ready.” Gil dropped Cecelia’s hand and the two of them walked sedately into the breakfast room where Nora’s famous beef burgundy awaited them.

* * * *

Later that evening, as Cecelia, dressed in a champagne-colored nightgown, was sitting before the lovely antique dressing table that Gil had provided for her, her thoughts went once again to the upcoming party. She regarded her reflection in the mirror critically, frowned, and said over her shoulder to Gil, “Maybe I should get my hair cut. This style isn’t very sophisticated.” She was still staring at her reflection when he appeared in the mirror behind her; he had taken his shirt off and was wearing only his light blue seersucker trousers. He was still very tanned—he had returned from Egypt only two days ago.

“Cut it and I’ll beat you,” he said. Her eyes widened in surprise. He slid his hand into the shining thickness of the hair under question and tilted her head back until she was looking up at him. “Your hair is beautiful,” he murmured and kissed her upturned mouth. When he raised his head he said softly, “Don’t cut it.”

“All right,” she whispered back, feeling herself melting under the power of his kiss, his voice. His hand moved from her hair down to her bare shoulder and then, bending, he began to kiss the side of her throat.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured.

“All right,” Cecelia whispered once again.

* * * *

On Monday Cecelia went into New York and Gil took her shopping. It was at Saks Fifth Avenue that they bought the gown that she would wear to the upcoming party. It was a white sheath dress by Halston, simple and uncluttered and wickedly sophisticated. It was also outrageously expensive, but Gil didn’t seem to mind at all. He took Cecelia out for a delicious lunch and then to Tiffany’s, where he bought her a diamond necklace to wear with the gown. Cecelia protested about the money he was spending but he didn’t listen. “I like to spend money on you, baby,” he said simply.

Gil was as busy as ever during the following week, and Cecelia, even though she was frantically busy as well, felt within herself a growing dissatisfaction with the way their life together was shaping up. It seemed to her as if he had his life and she had hers and the only time the two of them met was in bed.

When her father came home, she thought, then perhaps things would change. Gil knew she was completely tied down at present by the horses and the riding school. When she was freer, then he might find more ways to include her in his own life. Or perhaps, she found herself thinking a little uncomfortably, perhaps he didn’t think she would fit in with his life. Perhaps he didn’t think she would fit in with his friends. Perhaps he thought she was too young. It suddenly became very important to her that she handle successfully the upcoming party for Lord and Lady Ashbrook. In her mind it began to take on the aura of a test.

* * * *

Cecelia was not the only person who was regarding the upcoming party in the light of a test. Liz Lewis was a very clever woman as well as a very lovely one. It had come as a nasty shock to discover that Gil had married another woman. It had been equally nasty to discover the age of that other woman. However, upon reflection, it had begun to appear to Liz as if Cecelia’s age might work against her in some respects as effectively as it had obviously worked for her in others.

Gil, she decided, had fallen for a pretty face and a supple young body. It surprised her—but then he certainly was not the first man who had been so ensnared. He was not a man, however, who would have much patience with a wife who was socially awkward or who did not fit in with the intelligent, sophisticated, and cultured circle he himself belonged to by reason of birth, ability, and natural charm. A twenty-two-year-old girl who had done nothing all her life but ride horses would not fit in. Of that Liz was positive.

The party at the Plaza, by very reason of its unexpectedness, its novelty, its guest of honor, and its hostess, was rapidly becoming one of the “in” social events of the year. The most brilliant and charming men and women in New York society were coming; the whole affair was to be done in the height of magnificent style. Gilbert Archer’s young wife, Liz Lewis thought with complacency, should feel very much out of place.

Cecelia spent the morning and afternoon of the day of the party at a horse show. Gil had been annoyed when she said she had to go, but it was an important show and she felt it her responsibility to take the Hilltop Farm Show Team. She also took Czar and collected two blue ribbons herself in the Open Jumper classes.

She got home at five o’clock, in time to eat something, bathe, pack a suitcase—they were staying overnight in the New York apartment—and change into her gown. Gil and Jennifer had spent the day at home, lazing around the pool, and Gil had given Jennifer a tennis lesson. The little girl told Cecelia all about it as she sat on Cecelia’s bed and watched her dress. They appeared to have had a very pleasant day together and Cecelia felt badly that she had not been at home. They needed time together as a family, and they seemed to get it so seldom. Whenever Gil managed to be home, she was out.

“You look super, Cecelia,” Jenny said, staring in awe at her young stepmother.

Cecelia regarded her own reflection with some satisfaction. The simple halter-top white gown looked very dramatic against the golden tan of her bare arms and shoulders. She had swept her hair back into a style she had seen and admired in a magazine in the dentist’s office the previous week when she had taken Jennifer for a checkup. She thought it looked elegant and sophisticated. The diamonds that circled her long slender neck helped immeasurably, she thought. “Thanks,” she answered Jenny now. “It’s a pretty dress, isn’t it?”

“You’ll be the prettiest lady there,” Jenny assured her, and Cecelia laughed and kissed her good-bye.

“You’re prejudiced,” she said, “but I appreciate the compliment.”

Frank was driving them to the Plaza. He was then going to drop off their suitcases and some groceries at the apartment and return to Connecticut. Gil had said they would get a cab after the party.

Gil didn’t say anything when she appeared downstairs; he just escorted her out to the waiting car and held the door for her to get in. Then he got in next to her, Frank slid into the driver’s seat, and they were off.

They drove in silence for a little way and then Cecelia said, “Daddy gets home on Tuesday. He’s feeling very well, he says. And the doctors say he can take up his teaching schedule again, as long as he doesn’t overdo it.” It was the only way she could think of to apologize for being away all during the day.

“That’s good news,” he replied easily.

“Yes.” She glanced at him slantwise, thinking how very handsome he looked in his formal evening clothes and wondering whether or not to mention a problem that was bothering her.

“You’re going to have to get a woman to come in to cook and clean for him,” Gil said, bringing up the subject that had been weighing on her for a week or so. He turned to look at her directly. “I didn’t mind your helping out this last month while he’s been sick, but I don’t want you over there cleaning the house and making his dinner. Find someone reliable to come in and I’ll pay her.”

She bit her lip. It was the solution she had thought of as well, but somehow, the way he had put it ... “All right,” she said in a low voice. “I’ll see if I can find someone.”

“No ifs,” he said firmly. “Find someone. And find someone as well to help out in the barn. This business of your getting up every morning before six to go feed the horses can’t continue. You’re gone before I even get up. Before
Jennifer
gets up,” he added forcefully. “I don’t like it.”

“It isn’t easy to get someone reliable to come in every morning,” she said in a low voice.

“Someone did while you were away in Nassau,” he pointed out reasonably.

“Yes, that was Marie Rice. But she’s a teacher—she only did that as a favor. And the kids all have to be in school. And Daddy definitely should not be forking hay.”

“Cecelia,” he said very quietly, very pleasantly, “either you find someone to feed those horses or I will.”

He had never spoken to her like that before.

She straightened her slim shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’ll find someone,” she said evenly.

“Good.” He smiled at her and changed the subject. “You look terrific. You’re going to knock them all dead tonight.”

He had gotten her hackles up with his peremptory attitude and now he disarmed her completely with his smile, his look of admiration. “I don’t want to knock them dead,” she said after a brief pause, “I just want to have a good time.”

“You’ll do both,” he said confidently. As they got out of the car in front of the Plaza, however, Gil found himself suddenly not so sure of how much Cecelia would enjoy the evening. For the first time he realized how awkward she might feel, faced with a large party where she wouldn’t know a soul. A large party of people all of whom were not only strangers but also older than she. Liz Lewis’s party at the Plaza was a long way from the casual beer and pizza gatherings his young wife was undoubtedly accustomed to. He took her arm as they entered the reception room of the suite, determined to stick with her for the evening.

Liz Lewis and Lord and Lady Ashbrook were receiving their guests. When Liz caught sight of Gil’s tall figure in the doorway she felt her heartbeat begin to accelerate. Her eyes went from his silver-blond head to the girl who was beside him.

She had thought Gil’s new wife would be smashing. But as Cecelia smiled at her and murmured a pleasantry the thought flashed through Liz’s brain that she hadn’t been prepared for this. Cecelia Archer was not smashing. She was, quite simply, beautiful. And her beauty had nothing to do with her youth. She would be beautiful when she was eighty. Gil was holding Liz’s hand now and she forced a smile. She heard him say something humorous to the Ashbrooks, whom he knew, and then he and his wife moved into the other room.

Twenty minutes later Liz left her post on the reception line and came into the large room where most of her guests were drinking champagne and cocktails. Her searching eye picked out the Archers almost immediately. They were standing together by one of the velvet-draped windows. Cecelia’s head was tipped back as she looked up at, her husband. He was talking. Suddenly she broke into laughter and Liz saw the instant response on Gil’s face. Her lips tightened. Then a man appeared next to Gil and murmured a few words. Gil hesitated, casting a worried look at Cecelia. She smiled at him and said something that must have reassured him for he went off across the room with the man whom Liz recognized, and Cecelia was left standing by herself in front of the window. Liz regarded her isolation with satisfaction. She had no intention of lifting a finger to help the beautiful child-bride out of her obvious predicament.