Paradise (53 page)

"He can stay down there all night for all I care," Meredith said, opening her apartment door for Parker.

Parker swung around. "For God's sake, I can't leave yet if he's down there. He'll expect me to let him up here."

"Don't do it," she told him, fighting to control her emotions.

"What the hell am I supposed to tell him when he asks me to hold the security door open for him?"

"Allow me to offer a suggestion, Parker," Lisa replied sweetly, tucking her hand through his arm and marching him toward the open door. "Why don't you just treat him like any poor sucker with a dozen kids to support who needs a loan from your bank—and tell him
no!"

Lisa, he said between his teeth, yanking her hand off his arm, "I could really learn to hate you." To Meredith, he added, "Be reasonable, the man is not only your father, we're also involved in business."

Plunking her hands on her hips, Lisa gave him a bright, daring smile. "Parker, where is your spine, your character, your courage?"

"Mind your own goddamned business. If you had any class, you'd realize this is a private matter and you'd go wait in the kitchen."

The rebuke had a surprising effect on Lisa; normally able to take as much as she gave, Parker's statement caused a humiliated flush to stain her cheeks. "Bastard," she said under her breath, and turning on her heel, she headed toward the kitchen. As she passed Meredith, she said, "I came here to console you, not upset you, Mer. I'll wait in the kitchen." In the kitchen, Lisa angrily brushed away the tears stinging her eyes as she snapped on the radio. "Go ahead and rant, Parker," she called, and gave the volume knob a hard twist, "I won't hear a word." From the radio came the sound of a screeching soprano weeping vociferously while performing an aria from
Madame Butterfly.

In the living room, another long, demanding blast from the lobby buzzer joined the shrieking din of the soprano's plaintive wailing, and Parker drew in a harsh breath, torn between the urge to break the radio and strangle Lisa
Pontini
. He looked at his
fiancee
, who was standing a few feet away, too immersed in misery to notice the deafening racket, and his heart softened. "Meredith," he said gently when the buzzer went silent, "is that really what you want me to do—refuse to let him up here?"

She glanced at him, swallowed, and nodded.

"Then that's what I'll do."

"Thank you," she whispered.

Her father's furious voice as he stalked into the room brought them both lurching around in surprise. "
Goddammit
! It's a hell of a note when I have to sneak

past the security door with another tenant! What is this, a party?" he demanded, raising his voice to be heard above the opera blasting from the radio. "I left two messages with your secretary this afternoon, Meredith, and four more on your answering machine!"

Anger at his intrusion banished her exhaustion. "We have nothing to say to each other."

He flung his hat onto the sofa and jerked a cigar out of his pocket. Meredith watched him light it and stoically refused to comment. "On the contrary," he snapped, clamping the cigar between his teeth and glowering at her, "
Stanley turned the presidency down. He said he didn't think he could handle it."

Too hurt by their earlier meeting to feel anything at this news, Meredith said matter-of-factly, "So you decided to offer it to me?"

"No, I did
not!
I offered it to my—the board's— second choice, Gordon Mitchell."

That piece of painful information hardly touched her. She shrugged. "Then why are you here?"

"Mitchell turned it down."

Parker reacted with the same surprise Meredith felt. "Mitchell's ambitious as hell. I'd have thought he'd be dying for a shot at it."

"So would I. However, he feels he can make a greater contribution to the store by remaining in merchandising. The well-being of Bancroft's is obviously more important to
him
than personal glory," he added with a pointed look at Meredith that silently accused her of self-aggrandizement. Brusquely, he finished, "You're the third choice. That's why I'm here."

"And I suppose you expect me to leap at the chance?" she retorted, still so hurt by what he'd said to her earlier that she couldn't feel elated over what he'd just told her.

"I expect you," he said, his face turning an angry, alarming red, "to behave like the executive you seem to think you are, which means putting our personal differences aside for the time being so that you can take advantage of the opportunity you're being offered!"

"There are
other opportunities elsewhere."

"Don't be a fool! You'll never have a better chance to show us what you can do."

"Is that what you're giving me—a chance to prove myself?"

"Yes!" he bit out.

"And if I do prove myself, then what?"

"Who knows?"

"Under those circumstances, I'm not interested. Get someone else."

"
Goddammit
! There
is
no one as qualified as you are to do it, and you know it!"

The words burst from him in an explosion of resentment, frustration, and desperation. To Meredith his reluctant admission was infinitely sweeter than any ordinary praise. The excitement she'd refused to feel before began to build inside her, but she struggled to sound nonchalant. "In that case, I accept."

"Fine, we'll discuss business at dinner tomorrow. We have five days to go over pending projects before I leave on my cruise." He started to reach for his hat, intending to go.

"Not so fast," she said, her mind snapping into sudden focus. "First, but not most important, there's the matter of an increase in salary."

"One hundred fifty thousand dollars a year, effective one month after you move into my office."

"One hundred seventy-five thousand dollars a year, effective
immediately,"
she argued.

"With the understanding," he angrily agreed, "that your salary returns to what it is now if—when—I come back from my leave of absence."

"Agreed."

"And," he added, "you're to make no—repeat, no— major changes in policy without consulting with me first."

"Agreed," she said again.

"Then it's settled."

"Not quite—there's one more thing I want from you. I intend to devote myself completely to my work, but I have two personal matters that I also have to take care of."

"What are they?"

"A divorce and a marriage. I can't have the latter without the former." When he remained rigid and silent, she walked forward. "I believe Matt will agree to a divorce if I can offer him an olive branch—the approval of his zoning request—and the further guarantee that there'll be no more interference in his private life from our end. In fact, I'm almost certain he will."

Her father studied her with a grim smile. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes, but you evidently don't. Why?"

"Why?" he said, sounding amused. "I'll tell you why. You said he reminded you of me, and
I
wouldn't settle for such a puny offering. Not now. Not anymore. I'd make him regret the day he ever tried to thwart me, and when I'd accomplished that, I'd drive a bargain on
my
terms—a bargain he'd choke on!"

The words sent a chill of apprehension up her spine. "Nevertheless," she persisted, "before I agree to take over, I want your word that he'll have his zoning request approved as soon as he petitions again for it."

He hesitated, then he nodded. "I'll attend to it."

"And you'll also give your word not to interfere in anything else he does if he'll agree to a swift, quiet divorce?"

"You have my word. Parker," he said, bending down to retrieve his hat from the sofa, "have a good trip."

When he left, Meredith looked at Parker. He grinned at her as she said softly, "My father couldn't say he was sorry or that he was wrong, but conceding to everything I asked for was his way of making amends. Don't you agree?"

"It probably was," Parker said without complete conviction.

Meredith didn't notice; she threw her arms around him in sudden, exuberant glee. "I'll manage everything —the presidency, the divorce, and our wedding plans," she promised gaily. "You'll see!"

"I know you will," he said, smiling and linking his hands behind her back, drawing her close.

Seated at the kitchen table with her feet propped up on the seat of a chair, Lisa had decided Puccini's opera wasn't just boring, it was intolerable, when she looked up and saw Meredith standing in the doorway. "Are Parker and your father gone?" she asked, switching off the radio. "God, what a night," she added when Meredith nodded.

"It happens to be a wonderful, marvelous, fantastic night!" Meredith declared with a dazzling smile.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have alarming mood swings?" Lisa demanded, eyeing her in amazement. She'd heard Philip's raised voice in the living room a few minutes ago.

"Kindly address me with a little more respect."

"How do you wish to be addressed?" Lisa asked, studying Meredith's face.

"How about Madam President?"

"You're joking!" Lisa cried with delight.

"Only about the way you should address me. Let's open a bottle of champagne. I feel like celebrating!"

"Champagne it is," Lisa agreed after giving her a hug. "And afterward you can tell me what happened with you and Farrell yesterday."

"It was awful!" Meredith cheerfully declared, taking a champagne bottle from the refrigerator and stripping off the foil.

In the week that followed, Meredith threw herself into her role as interim president; she made decisions with caution and skill, she met with the executive committee, listening to their opinions, suggesting new ideas, and within a few days they began to respond to her with confidence and enthusiasm. At the same time, she managed to keep up with much of the work she'd handled as operations vice president—something that was made far easier by Phyllis's competence, her unflagging loyalty, and her willingness to work long hours beside Meredith.

After several days of successfully fulfilling her dual role, Meredith had learned to pace herself, and her earlier exhaustion gave way to euphoria. She even managed to devote some time to her wedding plans; she ordered invitations from Bancroft's stationery department, and when the bridal salon called to say they had some new designs, she went down to see them. One of the designs, a glorious sheath of pearl-encrusted ice-blue silk with a deep, wide V carved out of the back was exactly what she'd been looking for and hadn't been able to find. "It's perfect!" she exclaimed, laughing and hugging the sketch while the staff in the bridal salon, caught up in her unaffected, contagious delight, beamed at her.

With the sketch in one hand and a sample of the wedding invitation in the other, she sat at the ornate desk that had belonged to her father and grandfather. Sales at all of Bancroft's stores were at a record high, she was dealing well with every matter that crossed her desk, no matter how complicated, and she was marrying the finest, the best of men—the man she had loved since she was a child.

Leaning back in the swivel chair, she grinned at the portrait of Bancroft's founder that hung in a wide, heavily carved frame on the opposite wall. Suddenly bursting with sentimentality and happiness, she looked at the bearded man with the twinkling blue eyes, and fondly whispered, "What do you think of me, Great-grandfather? Am I doing all right?"

As the week spun out, she continued to feel challenged and happy and absorbed. Success smiled upon every task she took on ... except one: Before her father left on his cruise, he'd kept his promise about Matt's rezoning request, but she could not get through to Matt to tell him that.

No matter when she
called
his office, his secretary curtly informed her that he was either out of the office or out of town. On Thursday afternoon, when he still hadn't returned her phone calls, Meredith tried again. This time his secretary relayed a message from Matt: "Mr. Farrell," she announced in a clipped frosty voice, "instructed me to tell you that you are to deal with his attorneys, Pearson and Levinson, not with him. He will not take your phone calls now or in the future, Miss Bancroft. He also told me to say that if you persist in calling him here, he will take legal action for harassment." And then the woman hung up!

Meredith held the phone away from her ear, glaring at it. She considered going to Matt's office and
insisting
on seeing him, but there was every possibility that in his present mood he'd simply have her forcibly escorted out of the building by his security people. Realizing that it was imperative for her to remain unemotional and objective, she calmly reviewed her alternatives—exactly as she would have were this a business problem. She knew it would be futile to call Matt's attorneys. They represented the opposition, and they'd try to intimidate her for the sheer fun of it. Furthermore, she'd known from the beginning that she was ultimately going to need an attorney to draw up the legal papers once Matt had agreed to proceed with an amicable divorce. Obviously, she needed one sooner than she'd anticipated—one who would go through the irritating formality of relaying her peace offering to Pearson & Levinson so
they
could relay it to their client.