"I should have killed Farrell the day Meredith brought him back here!"
"Stop it!" Meredith cried. "Don't give yourself another coronary over this. We'll simply have an attorney contact
his
attorney—"
"I hardly think so," Parker interrupted. "If you want the man to cooperate and keep this mess
quiet
—which, I think, is a primary goal for all of us—then you'd better start by smoothing things over with him."
"What things?" Meredith demanded hotly.
"I would suggest you begin," Parker stated, "with a personal apology for that remark of yours that appeared in Sally Mansfield's column—"
The recollection of the benefit ball hit her then, and Meredith sank onto the chair in front of the fire, staring into the flames. "I can't believe this," she whispered, but her father's voice was a near shout as he glared at Parker.
"I'm starting to wonder about you, Parker. What sort of man are you to suggest she apologize to that bastard!
I'll
deal with him."
"I'm a practical,
civilized
man, that's what I am," he replied, walking over and laying a consoling hand on Meredith's shoulder. "And you're a volatile man, which is why you're the last person in the world who ought to try to deal with him. Furthermore, I have faith in Meredith. Look, Meredith has told me the whole story about what happened between Farrell and her. He married her because she was pregnant. What he did when she lost the baby was cruel, but it was also practical and possibly kinder than dragging out a marriage that was doomed from the start—"
"Kind!" Philip spat out. "He was a twenty-six-year-old fortune hunter who seduced an eighteen-year-old heiress, got her pregnant, and then 'kindly' condescended to marry her—"
"Stop it!" Meredith said again with more force. "Parker is right. And you know perfectly well he didn't 'seduce' me. I told you what happened and why." With an effort, she got herself under control. "This is all beside the point. I'll deal with Matt once I decide how best to do it."
"That's my girl," Parker said. He glanced at Philip, ignoring his thunderous expression. "All Meredith has to do is meet with him in a civilized way, explain the problem, and suggest that they obtain a divorce with no financial claims against one another." With a wry smile he studied her pale, drawn face. "You've handled tougher adversaries and tougher assignments than that, haven't you, honey?"
Meredith saw the encouragement and pride in his face, and she looked at him in helpless consternation. "No."
"Of course you have!" he argued. "You can put most of this behind you by tomorrow night if you can get him to agree to see you tomorrow—"
"See me!" she burst out. "Why can't I just talk to him on the phone?"
"Is that how you'd handle it if it were a messy business situation of vital importance to you?"
"No, of course not," she sighed.
For several minutes after Parker left, Meredith and her father remained in the library, both of them staring into space in a kind of angry stupor. "I suppose you blame me for this," her father stated finally.
Rousing herself from her self-pity, Meredith turned her head and looked at him. He looked defeated and pale
.
"Of course not," she said quietly. "You only tried to protect me by hiring a lawyer who didn't know us."
"I'll call Farrell myself in the morning!"
"No, you can't," she said quietly. "Parker was right about that. You become irrationally angry and defensive at the mention of Matt's name. If you tried to talk to him, you'd lose your temper in ten seconds and end up giving yourself another heart attack in the process. Why don't you go to bed now and get some sleep," she added, standing up. "I'll see you at work tomorrow. This will all seem less—well—threatening in the morning. Besides," she added, somehow managing to give him a reassuring smile as they walked toward the front door, "I'm not an eighteen-year-old girl anymore, and I'm not afraid of confronting Matthew Farrell. Actually," she lied, "I'm rather looking forward to outwitting him!" He looked as if he was desperately trying to think of an alternative, and he was growing paler because he couldn't.
With a cheery wave she left and hurried down the front steps. Her car was parked in the driveway, and she opened the front door, slid into its freezing interior, and closed her door. Then she put her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. "Oh, my
God!"
she whispered, terrified at the prospect of confronting the dark-haired demon from her past.
"Good morning," Phyllis said brightly, following Meredith into her office.
"I might call this morning a lot of things," Meredith replied as she walked over to the closet to hang up her coat, "but
good
isn't one of them." Trying to delay calling Matt, she said, "Do I have any phone messages?"
Phyllis nodded. "Mr. Sanborn in personnel phoned because you haven't returned your updated insurance application form. He says he needs it right away." She handed it to Meredith and stood waiting.
Sighing, Meredith sat down at her desk, picked up her pen, and filled out her name and address, then she stared in revolted confusion at the next question: "Marital Status" it said. "Circle one: Single Married Widowed." A hysterical laugh welled up within her as she looked at the middle choice. She was
married.
For eleven years she had been
married
to Matt Farrell.
"Are you feeling all right?" Phyllis asked anxiously when Meredith put her forehead in her hand and gazed at the form, paralyzed.
Lifting her eyes to Phyllis, she said, "What can they do to you for lying on an insurance form?"
"I guess they could refuse to pay off your legal heir if you die."
"Fair enough," Meredith replied with bitter humor, and with an angry flourish, she circled Single. Oblivious to Phyllis's worried frown, she handed her the completed form and said, "Will you close my door when you leave, and hold my calls for a few minutes?"
When Phyllis left, Meredith removed the phone book from the credenza behind her, looked up Haskell Electronics' phone number, and jotted it down. Then she put away the phone book and sat there, staring at the telephone as if it had fangs, knowing the moment she'd dreaded all night had arrived. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to put herself in the right frame of mind by rehearsing her plan again: If Matt was angry about what she'd said at the opera—which he would surely be—she would apologize with simple dignity. An apology, with no excuses, followed by a polite, impersonal request to meet with him about an urgent matter. That was her plan. In slow motion she lifted her shaking hand and reached for the telephone....
For the third time in an hour, Matt's intercom buzzed on his desk, interrupting a loud and heated debate among his executives. Angry at the continued interruptions, he glanced apologetically at the men and reached for the intercom button as he explained, "Miss Stern's sister is ill, and she's on the Coast. Go on with your conversation," he added as he pressed the button and snapped at the secretary who was filling in for Miss Stern, "I told you to hold my calls!"
Yes, sir, I—I know —Joanna
Simons's
voice came over the speaker phone—"but Miss Bancroft said it's extremely important, and she insisted I interrupt you."
"Take a message," Matt snapped. He started to release the button, then he stopped. "Who did you say was calling?"
"Meredith Bancroft," the secretary emphasized meaningfully, her tone telling him that she, too, had read of his confrontation with Meredith in Sally Mansfield's column. So, obviously, had the men seated in a semicircle around his desk, for the announcement of Meredith's name caused a pulse beat of stunned silence followed instantly by an explosion of nervous, heightened conversation meant to cover the previous silence.
"I'm in the middle of a meeting," Matt said curtly. "Tell her to call me back in fifteen minutes." He put the phone down, knowing that courtesy dictated that he should have volunteered to call Meredith
back. He didn't really give a damn; they had nothing left to say to each other. Forcing himself to concentrate on business, he looked at Tom Anderson, and continued the conversation that Meredith's call
had interrupted. "There won't be any zoning problem in
Southville
. We have a contact on the zoning commission who's assured us that the county and the city of
Southville
are
both eager to have us build the factory there. We'll have approval from them on Wednesday, when they meet to vote...."
Ten minutes later he ushered the men out of his office, closed the door, and sat down behind his desk again. When Meredith hadn't called after thirty minutes, he leaned back in his leather chair and glowered at the silent telephone, his hostility growing with every passing moment. How like Meredith, he thought, to call him for the first time in more than a decade, then insist that his secretary interrupt him in the middle of a meeting, and when he didn't take the call, to then make him sit and wait. She had always behaved as if she were royalty. She had been born with an inflated sense of her own worth and brought up to believe that she was better than everyone else... .
Drumming her fingernails on her desk, Meredith leaned back in her chair, angrily watching the clock, deliberately waiting forty-five minutes before calling him again. How like that arrogant, swaggering braggart to make
her
call
him
back! she thought wrathfully. Obviously he hadn't acquired any manners along with his wealth, or he'd know that since she had courteously taken the first step in contacting him, it was his duty to take the next step. Of course, good manners would never mean anything to Matthew Farrell. Beneath his newly acquired veneer of urbanity, he was still nothing but a crude, ambitious— Meredith abruptly checked her bitter thoughts; bitterness would only make what lay ahead of her more difficult. Besides, she reminded herself yet again, it was unfair to blame Matt for everything that had happened years before. She had willingly participated in their lovemaking the night they met, and she had disregarded her responsibility to protect herself against pregnancy. When she got pregnant, Matt had decently volunteered to marry her. Later, she had convinced herself that he loved her, but he had never said so. He had never actually deceived her, and it was stupid and childish to blame him for not having lived up to her naive expectations. It was as foolish and pointless as the way she'd spoken to him at the opera. Feeling far more calm and reasonable now, Meredith put aside her hurt pride and promised herself to maintain her philosophical composure. The hands on the clock lurched into position at
10:45
, and she reached for the telephone.
Matt jumped at the buzz of his intercom. "Miss Bancroft is on the line," Joanna said.
He picked up the phone. "Meredith?" he said, his voice cupped, impatient, "this is an unexpected surprise."
Distractedly, Meredith noted that he had not said an "unexpected pleasure," as was customary, and that his voice was deeper and more resonant than she remembered.
"Meredith!" His irritation vibrated across the distance separating them and snapped her out of her nervous
preoccupation. "If you've called me to breathe in my ear, I'm flattered but a little confused. What do you expect me to do now?"
"I see you're still as conceited and ill-mannered as—"
"Ah—you've called me to criticize my manners," Matt concluded.
Meredith sternly reminded herself that her goal was to soothe him, not antagonize him. Carefully reining in her temper, she said with sincerity, "Actually, I'm calling because I'd like to—to bury the hatchet."
"In what part of my body?"
It was close enough to the truth to wrench a helpless laugh from her, and when Matt heard it, he suddenly remembered how enchanted he'd once been by her infectious laugh and sense of humor. His jaw tightened and his tone hardened. "What do you want, Meredith?"
"I want, that is, I need to talk to you—in person."
"Last week you turned your back on me in front of five hundred people," he reminded her icily. "Why this sudden change of heart?"
"Something has happened, and we have to discuss it in a mature, calm fashion," she said, desperately trying to avoid being specific until she could deal with him face-to-face. "It's about, well, us—"
"There is no us," he said implacably, "and it's obvious from what happened at the opera that calm maturity is beyond your capability."
An angry retort sprang to Meredith's lips, but she stifled it. She didn't want a battle, she wanted a treaty. She was a businesswoman and she had learned to deal successfully with stubborn men—Matt was bent on being difficult; therefore, she needed to maneuver him into a more reasonable frame of mind. Arguing with him would not accomplish that. "I had no idea Sally Mansfield was nearby when I behaved that way to you," she explained tactfully. "I apologize for what I said, and particularly for saying it in front of her."
"I'm impressed," he said in a mocking tone. "You've obviously studied diplomacy."
Meredith grimaced at the phone, but she kept her voice soft. "Matt, I'm trying to call a truce, can't you cooperate with me just a little?"
The sound of her saying his name jolted him, and he hesitated a full five seconds, then he said abruptly, "I'm leaving for
New York
in an hour. I won't be back until late Monday night."