Change of Heart Read Free Page A

living room that had a roaring fire going in the huge brick fireplace. Ricardo Vargas rose from his armchair by the fire and came across the room to shake hands.
    “Daddy, this is Gilbert Archer, Jennifer’s father,” said Cecelia. “My father, Ricardo Vargas.”
    “How do you do, Mr. Archer,” said Ricardo gravely and looked assessingly at the other man out of eyes as dark as Cecelia’s.
    Gil realized with a flash of amusement that he was being sized up as to his suitability as an escort. With sudden insight he realized that all Cecelia’s dates must first have to “meet Daddy.” And if Ricardo Vargas didn’t approve, he had a suspicion that that was the end of that particular date. “How do you do, Señor Vargas,” he said. “Jennifer and I are delighted that Cecelia consented to have dinner with us this evening. She has been so good for my daughter. I am very grateful.”
    Ricardo Vargas’s rather hard aquiline features softened, “She has a tenderness for children, Cecelia,” he said. “I am glad she has helped your daughter.”
    “Well, we’d better get going, Daddy,” Cecelia said cheerfully, not at all discomposed at being spoken about as if she were not present. “Jenny is in the car.”
    “Of course. You must not keep the child waiting.” He took Cecelia’s coat, helped her on with it, and then accompanied them to the door. “Enjoy your dinner,” he said.
    “Thank you, Señor Vargas,” replied Gil.
    “We will, Daddy,” said Cecelia.
    They both walked down the steps to the waiting car and Jennifer.
    * * * *
    Cecelia did enjoy her dinner. It was fun being part of a family group, gratifying to see Jenny’s blue eyes sparkle with happiness, and extremely pleasant to find herself the object of Gilbert Archer’s attention. The two adults had steak; Jenny had a specialty hamburger and mountains of popcorn. Over the hamburger she conducted an inquisition of Cecelia.
    “Did you go to Central Grammar too when you were a little girl, Cecelia?” she asked with unabashed curiosity.
    Cecelia slowly cut herself another piece of steak. “Yes, Jenny, I did.”
    “Where did you go after that? My mother always said I would go away to school. Did you go away?”
    “No. I went to Notre Dame High School in the next town. I took a bus there and back each day.”
    “I don’t want to go away to school either,” Jenny said defiantly and stared at her father. “I like living at home.”
    “Well, we have a few years before we have to worry about your next school,” Gil said diplomatically. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
    “Everybody has to leave home at some point, Jenny,” Cecelia said gently.
    “You haven’t,” Jenny pointed out.
    Cecelia laughed. “That’s true. But I’m an unusual case. And I did spend a year in Colombia when I was in college.”
    “That must have been interesting,” murmured Gil.
    “It was. Very. It was part of an exchange program run by the Spanish Department of my college. The nuns who run Mount St. Mary’s also have a college in Bogota. I spent my junior year there.”
    “You were a Spanish major in college?”
    “Yes. It was easy. I grew up speaking both Spanish and English—Daddy saw to that. So I was able to skip most of the language classes and concentrate on literature and history.”
    “Is your father from Colombia?”
    “No. Argentina.”
    “How come he came to America?” asked Jennifer.
    “He came to America when he married my mother,” Cecelia explained. “Mother was on one of the first civilian United States Equestrian Teams and Daddy rode for Argentina. They met on the European circuit in 1957 and were married shortly after that.”
    “Your father was in the Argentine army?” asked Gil.
    “Yes. He wanted to ride internationally, you see.”
    “Has he been back to Argentina?”
    Cecelia’s lovely face looked very somber. “He can’t go back. Not while this government is in power.”
    “The army is in power. Surely if