"You read the letter that day, and you said 'of course,'" Meredith finished, looking at him with proud disdain. "I kept my word; you never meant to keep yours. Other little girls played house, but not me," she added on a choked laugh. "I played department store!"
Lifting her chin, she added, "I used to think you loved me. I knew you wished I'd been a boy, but I never realized you didn't give a damn about me because I was merely a girl. All my life you've made me despise my mother for leaving us, but now I wonder if she left or you
drove
her away, exactly as you've just driven me away. My resignation will be on your desk tomorrow." She saw the look of knowing satisfaction on his face at her postponement, and she lifted her chin higher. "I have meetings scheduled, and I won't be able to get to it before then."
"If you aren't here when I make the announcement to the others," he warned her as she turned toward the side door of his office that led through the conference room and then out into the hall, "they'll all suspect you ran out of here crying because you weren't the choice."
Meredith paused long enough to give him a look of magnificent contempt. "Don't fool yourself, Father. Even though you treat me like an unwanted millstone, there isn't one of them who truly believes you are as heartless and indifferent to me as you actually are. They'll think you told your own daughter days ago who the choice was going to be."
"They'll know differently when you resign," he warned, and for a split second there was something like alarm in his voice.
"They'll be too busy helping poor Allen Stanley run this place to think about it."
"I'll
b
e running Allen Stanley."
She paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked at him over her shoulder, so numb inside that she actually managed to laugh. "I know that. Did you think I was arrogant enough to believe I could handle Bancroft's on my own, without guidance from you while you're on leave? Or were you afraid I'd try?" Without waiting for his reply, Meredith opened the door into the conference room and left him standing there.
Her disappointment at not having the chance to prove herself as Bancroft's temporary president was completely eclipsed by the pain of having just realized that she actually meant very little to him. For years she'd been telling herself he loved her, but he just didn't know how to show it. Now, as she waited for the elevator, Meredith felt as if someone had turned her world upside down and inside out. The doors opened and she stepped inside, then she stared at the double panel of lit numbers, not knowing which one to press because she didn't know where she was going. Or who she really was. All her life she'd been Philip Bancroft's daughter. That was her past. Her future had always been here, at the store. Now her past was a lie and her future was ... a void. Masculine voices were coming down the hall
and she reached out and pressed the button for the mezzanine, praying the doors would close before anyone saw her.
The mezzanine was actually a balcony that looked out across the first floor of the store, and not until Meredith walked over to the polished brass railing and looked down did she realize that she had automatically come here, to her favorite place. Her hands gripping the cool, smooth brass railing, she stood there looking down at the noisy bustle in the aisles below, feeling isolated and entirely alone in a crowded department store teeming with Christmas shoppers while "White Christmas" played over the speaker system. Off to her right, at the lingerie counters, women were pawing through slips and nightgowns, while Mrs. Hollings, the manager of the lingerie department and Meredith's former supervisor, presided over the main counter with the same stern, unflappable calm she'd exhibited for all twenty-five of her years at Bancroft's. She gave Meredith a brief smile, but Meredith turned away, pretending not to have seen the silent greeting. She turned away because she could not manage even a pretense of a smile in return.
Behind her, shoppers were searching through the racks of silk peignoirs. On the balcony across the store from where she stood, the men's lounge wear department was doing a brisk business in bathrobes. She heard the voices, and the music, and the constant hum of computerized cash registers churning out sales tickets, but she felt nothing. Overhead, the store's paging system began to chime—two short bells, a pause, then one more; it was her paging code, but she didn't react. Not until someone actually spoke directly to her did she manage to move. "Do you work here?" an impatient shopper demanded.
Did she work here? With an effort Meredith dragged her mind into focus. "I mean," the woman continued as she thrust a peignoir at Meredith, "since you aren't wearing a coat, I assume you do."
"Yes," Meredith replied. For today, she worked here.
"Then where will I find the sale peignoirs in your ad?
This one is $425.00 and the ad in Sunday's
Tribune
said you had them for $89.95."
"Those are on the fifth floor," Meredith explained.
Her paging code sounded again, and still she stood there—not certain whether she was saying good-bye to the store, her dreams, or merely tormenting herself.
The third time the page sounded, Meredith reluctantly walked over to the counter near the bathrobes and dialed the number for the store's main operator. "This is Meredith Bancroft," she said. "You paged me?"
"Yes, Miss Bancroft. Your secretary says it's urgent that you call your office."
When she hung up, Meredith glanced at her watch. She had two more meetings scheduled for that afternoon— assuming she could make it through them as if everything were normal. And even if she could, what was the point of putting herself to the trouble of doing it? Reluctantly Meredith called Phyllis's extension. "It's me," she said. "You had me paged?"
"Yes, I'm sorry to bother you, Meredith," Phyllis began and from her sad, uneasy tone Meredith assumed that the meeting her father had called to announce his temporary successor was over, and the news was already out. "It's Mr. Reynolds," Phyllis continued. "He's called twice in the last half hour. He says he has to talk to you. He sounds awfully upset."
Meredith realized Parker had apparently heard the news too. "If he calls again, please tell him I'll get back to him later." She couldn't bear his sympathy right now without breaking down. And if he tried to tell her this was somehow for the best. . . she couldn't bear that either.
"All right," Phyllis said. "You have a meeting with the director of advertising in a half hour. Do you want me to cancel it?"
Again Meredith hesitated, her gaze roving almost lovingly over the frenetic activity all around her. She couldn't bear to just walk out—not with the
Houston deal still up in the air and several other projects still needing her attention. If she worked hard for the next two weeks, she could complete much of her work and get the rest of it ready to be turned over to her successor. To leave things in a mess—to leave without taking care of some of her projects—was not in the best interest of her store. Her store. Hurting Bancroft's was like hurting herself. No matter where she went or what she did, this place would always be a part of her and she of it. "No, don't cancel anything. I'll be up there in a little while."
"Meredith?" Phyllis said hesitantly. "If it's any consolation, as far as most of us are concerned, you should have been given the president's job."
Meredith's laugh was short and choked. "Thanks," she said, and hung up the phone. Phyllis's words of support were sweet, but just now they didn't do much to lift her heavy spirits.
Parker glanced at the ringing telephone in Meredith's living room, and then at her. She was standing at the window, looking pale and withdrawn. "That's probably your father again."
"Let the answering machine take it," Meredith replied with a shrug. She'd left the office at
five o'clock
, and by then she'd already refused to take two calls from her father and several more from reporters who were eager to ask how she felt about being passed over for the presidency today.
Her father's voice crackled with fury as soon as her recorded message was finished: "Meredith, I know you're there,
dammit
. Answer this phone! I want to talk to you."
Sliding his arm around her waist from behind, Parker drew her against him. "I know you don't want to talk to him," he said with sympathetic logic, "but he's already called four times in the past hour. Why not talk to him and get it over with?"
Parker had insisted on seeing Meredith to lend her moral support, but all she wanted was to be alone. "I don't want to talk to anyone right now, especially him. Please try to understand. I'd really like to be ... by myself."
"I know," he said with a sigh, but he remained where he was, offering silent sympathy while Meredith stared listlessly out the window into the darkness. "Come over to the sofa," he whispered, his lips brushing her temple. "I'll fix you a drink." She shook her head, declining the drink, but she walked over to the sofa and sat in the circle of his arms. "Are you certain you'll be all right if I leave?" he asked an hour later. "I have some things I have to do if I'm going to leave tomorrow, but I hate to go when you're in a mood like this. Tomorrow's Thanksgiving and you're not going to want to spend it with your father as you'd planned. Look," he said abruptly, coming to a decision, "I'll cancel my flight to
Geneva. Someone else can give the address to the banking conference. Hell, they won't notice—"
"No!" Meredith burst out, forcing herself to display an energy she didn't feel as she stood up. In all the pathos of the moment, she'd forgotten Parker was supposed to leave tomorrow for three weeks of meetings with his European counterparts and to give the keynote address at the World Banking Conference. "I'm not going to throw myself out of a window," she promised with a wry smile, sliding her hand around his neck and giving him a gentle kiss good-bye. "I'll have Thanksgiving dinner with Lisa's family instead. By the time you come back, I'll have made new career plans, and I'll have my life back in order. I'll finalize the arrangements for our wedding."
"What do you intend to do about Farrell?"
Closing her eyes, Meredith wondered briefly how anyone was supposed to deal with so many complications, setbacks, and disappointments. In the face of today's crushing revelations, she'd actually
forgotten
that she was still married to that loathsome, impossible— "My father will have to agree to stop blocking Matt's rezoning request. He
owes
me that much," she added bitterly. "When he does, I'll have a lawyer contact Matt and offer him that as a peace offering."
"Do you think you can handle the wedding arrangements when you're feeling like this?" he asked gently.
"I can and I will," she promised, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. "We'll be married in February—on schedule!"
"There's one more thing—" he added, cupping her cheek in his palm. "Promise me you won't commit yourself to a new job until I get back."
"Why not?"
Drawing a long breath, he said very carefully, "I've always understood why you've insisted on working at Bancroft's, but since you can't anymore, I'd like you to at least give some thought to making a career out of being my wife. You'd have plenty to do. In addition to running our home and entertaining, there's civic and charitable work—"
Overwhelmed by a despair beyond anything she'd known in years, Meredith started to protest, and then gave up. "Have a safe trip," she whispered as she pressed a kiss on his cheek.
They were partway to the door when someone began determinedly pressing the buzzer from the lobby in a jaunty, familiar rhythm. "That's Lisa," Meredith said, filled with guilt at having forgotten their dinner date and frustration because she wasn't going to be permitted the solitude she desperately needed. She pressed the button that unlocked the security door on the bottom floor, and a minute later Lisa marched into the apartment wearing a determinedly cheerful smile and carrying containers of Chinese food. "I heard what happened today," she announced, giving Meredith a brief, hard hug. "I figured you'd forget our dinner plans, and I figured you wouldn't be hungry," she added, putting the cartons on the polished surface of the dining room table and shrugging out of her coat, "but I couldn't stand the thought of you spending the evening alone, so here I am—want me or lot." Pausing to glance over her shoulder, she added, 'Sorry, Parker, I didn't know you'd be here. I guess the food will stretch."
"Parker's just going," Meredith told her, hoping the two of them would forgo their usual verbal sparring. 'He's leaving tomorrow to attend the World Banking Conference."
"How fun!" Lisa said dramatically, turning a dazzling smile on Parker. "You can compare techniques for foreclosing on widows with bankers from all over the world."
Meredith saw his face freeze, saw his eyes narrow with fury, and she was dimly aware of feeling surprised again that Lisa's jibes dug that deep, but at the moment her awn problems outweighed all else. "Please, you two!" she warned, looking at the two people she loved and who struck sparks off each other. "Don't bicker. Not tonight. Lisa, I can't eat a mouthful of food—"
"You have to eat to keep your strength up."
"And," Meredith continued determinedly, "I'd rather be alone—honest."
"Not a chance. Your father was pulling up across the street just as I came up." As if to confirm that, the buzzer began to sound.