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.
----
Chapter 7
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
“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.
----
Chapter 7
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
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