Free Change of Heart by Joan Wolf Page A

He’s been convalescing in Arizona, but he’ll be home on Tuesday.”
    “I’m glad to hear that.” She frowned. “I hope his hunting days aren’t over?” Maisie Winter was charter member of the Ridgeview Hunt—which was where Cecelia knew her from. Maisie’s husband—a fact Cecelia had not known—was president of a New York bank.
    “I hope not too,” Cecelia said fervently.
    “So tell me now,” Maisie said curiously, “however did you come to marry Gil Archer?”
    Cecelia grinned. “He asked me.”
    Maisie broke into laughter. “I see.” She spotted someone across the room and raised the voice that could be heard across half a mile on the hunting field. “George! Here’s Cecelia!”
    “My heavens.” A burly man with thinning red hair arrived to beam at her. “Cecelia, my dear, how lovely to see you. And how is Ricardo?” George was another member of Cecelia’s hunt. She had known him since she was nine.
    The three of them were talking and laughing comfortably when they were joined by a tall, distinguished-looking man of about fifty-five. He was, Cecelia learned afterward, president of the largest brokerage house on Wall Street. He came over and took her hand, saying, “I know you, young lady, although you don’t know me. My daughter Nancy rode in the Maclay Cup finals in nineteen seventy-five, seventy-six, and seventy-seven. She was third once and second twice. A certain Cecelia Vargas was first all those times— unfortunately.”
    Cecelia’s large eyes widened. “Are you Nancy Clark’s father?”
    “I am,” he said.
    Cecelia smiled. “How do you do?” she said. “How is Nancy? I thought she was going to ride for the USET?”
    When Gil emerged almost an hour later from a very interesting conversation with the ex-secretary of state, he looked immediately for his wife. He located her after a minute in the middle of a large, animated group that included two bank presidents and their wives, two princes of Wall Street, and the Irish ambassador to the United States.
    Liz Lewis was not enjoying herself. She had had no idea that several of her most distinguished guests had evidently known Cecelia from her childhood. Liz’s clever plan was going most sadly awry.
    Gil was surprised to find his wife so evidently known as well, but for him the surprise was a pleasant one. He had always regarded Cecelia’s riding as essentially frivolous and occasionally a nuisance; he was consequently amazed to find her something of a celebrity among many of his peers. “This little gal took the Maclay Cup three years in a row,” Glen Clark said to him as Gil joined the group, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “Robbed my poor Nancy, she did.”
    “What,” asked Gil simply, “is the Maclay Cup?”
    A whole circle of shocked eyes stared at him. “It’s awarded at the National Horse Show to the best junior rider,” Cecelia said, her eyes dancing.
    “Oh.” He looked at her. “And you won it three times?”
    “Yes.” She evidently found his ignorance very funny.
    “All the junior riders of America heaved a sigh of relief when Cecelia turned eighteen,” said Glen Clark. “Too bad Nancy wasn’t a year younger.”
    “Too bad Cecelia couldn’t ride for the USET,” said Mark Evans. He was president of the United States Equestrian Team. “I understand from Roderick that Czar is marvelous,” he went on. “Are you going to be at Harrisburg this fall?”
    Cecelia glanced at Gil. “I’m not sure,” she said. “But Roderick’s right, Czar is marvelous. He took two blues today.”
    “Oh, were you at Ridge Haven today?” asked Mark. “How was ...” The conversation went enthusiastically on, with Gil listening in growing amazement. He had always thought of himself as a well-rounded person, but this was an area he did not know at all.
    Gil and Cecelia were among the first guests to leave the party. At about one o’clock Cecelia began to feel very tired, although she gallantly tried not to show it.