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:
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
“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:
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
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