Paradise (68 page)

"I had to wait for a fresh pot of coffee to brew," Phyllis said, heading toward Meredith's desk with a steaming mug in one hand and a fistful of pink message slips in the other. "Here are your messages. Don't forget, you rescheduled the executive committee meeting for today at eleven."

Meredith managed not to look as harassed and miserable as she felt. "Okay, thanks. Will you get Stuart Whitmore on the phone for me? And will you see if you can reach Parker at his hotel in
Geneva? If he isn't in his suite, leave a message."

"Who do you want first?" Phyllis asked with her usual cheerful efficiency.

"Stuart Whitmore," Meredith said. First she would tell Stuart of her decision. Next she would talk to Parker, and try to explain. Explain? she thought miserably.

Trying to think of something less daunting, she picked up the phone messages and leafed disinterestedly through them. The fifth one brought her halfway to her feet, her heart beginning to hammer. The message said that Mr. Matthew Farrell had called at
9:10
a.m.

The harsh buzz of her intercom jerked Meredith's attention to the phone, and she saw that both her lines were lit up, their hold buttons flashing.

"I have Mr. Whitmore on line one," Phyllis said when Meredith answered the intercom, "and Matthew Farrell is on line two. He says it's urgent."

Meredith's pulse rate doubled. "Phyllis," she said shakily, "I don't want to speak to Matt Farrell. Would you tell him that I want us to communicate with each other through our attorneys from now on? And also tell him I'm going out of town for a week or two. Be polite to him," she added nervously, "but very firm."

"I understand."

Meredith put down the phone, her hand shaking, watching the flashing light on line two become constant. Phyllis was giving Matt the message. She started to reach for the phone; she should at least talk to him and find out what he wanted, she thought, then she jerked her hand back. No, she shouldn't! It didn't matter. As soon as Stuart told her where to go to get a quick, legal divorce, whatever Matt wanted would be irrelevant. She'd arrived at the obvious solution of a
Reno divorce—or something like it—in the small hours of the morning, and it made perfect sense. Now that there was no more enmity between them, she knew Matt wouldn't consider carrying out the threats he'd made in the car that day after lunch. All that was in the past.

The light on Matt's call went out, and she couldn't stand the suspense. She buzzed Phyllis and asked her to come in. "What did he say?" Meredith asked her.

Phyllis bit back a puzzled smile at Meredith's complete loss of serenity. "He said he understood perfectly."

"Was that all?"

"Then he asked if your trip was a sudden, unscheduled one, and I told him it was. Is that okay?"

"I don't know," Meredith said helplessly. "Did he say anything when you told him my trip was sudden?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean by
that?"

"What he did was laugh, but not loud. I guess you'd call it a chuckle—sort of low and deep. Then he thanked me and said good-bye."

For some reason, Matt's entire reaction made Meredith feel acutely uneasy. "Was there anything else?" she asked when Phyllis continued to hover in the doorway.

"I was just wondering," the secretary replied a little sheepishly. "I mean, do you think he has
really
dated Michelle Pfeiffer and Meg Ryan, or do you think the movie magazines just make that stuff up?"

"I'm sure he has," Meredith said, struggling to keep her voice and face completely blank.

Nodding, Phyllis glanced at the phone. "Did you forget Stuart Whitmore is still on your line?"

Horrified, Meredith snatched up the phone and asked Phyllis to close her door. "Stuart, I'm sorry for making you wait," she began, nervously raking her hair off her forehead. "I'm not having a very good morning."

Stuart's reply was amused. "I'm having
a fascinating
morning, thanks to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Farrell's attorneys suddenly want a parlay. David Levinson called me at nine-thirty this morning so filled with goodwill that you'd almost think the arrogant bastard had had a profound religious experience over the weekend."

"What exactly did he say?" Meredith asked, her trepidation mounting.

"Well, first Levinson treated me to a lecture on the sanctity of marriage, particularly among Catholics, which he delivered in his most pious voice. Meredith," Stuart pointed out on a suffocated laugh, "Levinson is an orthodox Jew on his fourth marriage and sixth mistress! Jesus, I couldn't believe his nerve!"

"What did you say?"

"I told him I couldn't believe his nerve," Stuart said, then he stopped trying to make her see the humor of it all because he sensed she couldn't. "All right, never mind all that. According to Levinson, his client is suddenly willing to let the divorce go through, which strikes me as odd, and odd always makes me nervous."

"It isn't that odd," Meredith said quietly, ignoring the painful and irrational thought that Matt was dumping her with embarrassing abruptness after she'd gone to bed with him. He was only doing the decent thing by calling an end to hostilities immediately. "I saw Matt this weekend, and we talked."

"About what?" When she hesitated, he said, "Don't keep secrets from your lawyer. Levinson's sudden eagerness for a meeting is setting off all kinds of alarm bells in my head. I smell an ambush."

Because Meredith knew it wasn't fair or wise to keep the events of the weekend from Stuart, she told him what had happened—from her discovery that Matt had purchased the
Houston land to her stormy confrontation with Matt's father. "Matt was too sick to listen to me when I first got to the farm," she continued, "but yesterday I told him the truth about what my father had done, and he believed me." She didn't tell Stuart she'd gone to bed with Matt; that was something no one had a right to know except, perhaps, Parker.

When she was done, Stuart was silent for such a long time that she was afraid he was guessing the truth, but when he spoke, all he said was "Farrell's got more control than I have. I'd be gunning for your father."

Meredith, who still had to deal with her father over his treachery when he returned from his cruise, let that remark pass. "In any case," she said, "that's obviously why Matt has decided to be cooperative."

"He's being more than cooperative," Stuart said dryly. "According to Levinson, Farrell is deeply concerned about your well-being. He wants to make a financial settlement for you. He also volunteered to sell you the
Houston land for very agreeable terms—though at the time I didn't know what land Levinson was talking about."

"I don't want, nor am I entitled to, a financial settlement from him," Meredith said emphatically. "If Matt's willing to sell us the
Houston land, that's wonderful, but there's no need for a meeting with Matt's attorneys. I've decided to fly to
Reno or somewhere and get a divorce right away. That's why I was calling you—I wanted to ask where I could go to that would be fast and legal."

"No dice," Stuart said flatly. "If you attempt to do that, Farrell's offer is withdrawn."

"What makes you say that?" Meredith cried, feeling as if an invisible trap were closing around her.

"Because Levinson made that very clear. It seems his client wants to do this thing properly and completely or not at all. If you refuse to meet with him tomorrow, or try to get a quickie divorce, Farrell's offer to sell you the Houston land will be permanently withdrawn. Levinson implied that either of those actions would be construed by his client as a personal rejection of his goodwill. It boggles the mind," Stuart concluded with heavy irony, "to discover that Farrell's reputation for cold ruthlessness is only a cover to hide his sensitive heart, doesn't it?"

Meredith sank back into her chair, her attention momentarily diverted by several members of the executive committee who were walking past her office and into the adjoining conference room. "I don't know what to for so long, I don't know who he really is."

"Well," Stuart cheerfully informed her, "we're going to find out tomorrow at
four o'clock
. Farrell wants the meeting at his office, with his attorneys, myself, and you in attendance. I can cancel an appointment. Shall I meet you there, or would you rather I pick you up?"

"No! I don't want to go. You can represent me."

"Nope. You have to be there. Levinson said his client is not flexible on the date, place, or attendees. Inflexibility," Stuart remarked with a return of irony, "is an odd trait for a man of such extraordinary benevolence and generosity as we're being led to believe that Farrell is by his attorneys."

Harassed, Meredith glanced at her watch. The meeting was scheduled to begin now. She was loath to relinquish the
Houston land if Matt was willing to sell it back to her, and almost as reluctant to endure the emotional strain of having to deal with him face-to-face.

"Even if you got your
Reno divorce," Stuart reminded her when she didn't say anything, "you'd still have to deal with the property issue when you came back. There's an eleven-year snarl of property rights here that can be easily unraveled if Farrell is willing—or that he can drag out in court for years if he isn't."

"God, what a mess," she said weakly. "All right, I'll meet you in the lobby at
Intercorp
at
four o'clock
. I'd rather not go up there alone."

"I understand," Stuart said kindly. "See you tomorrow. Don't think about all
this until then."

Meredith tried, very hard, to follow his advice as she sat down at the head of the conference table. "Good morning," she said with a bright, artificial smile. "Mark, do you want to begin? Any problems to report from the security division?"

"One nice big fat one," he said. "Five minutes ago the
New Orleans store had a bomb threat. They're clearing the store, and the bomb squad is on its way."

Everyone at the table jerked to attention.

"Why wasn't I notified?" Meredith demanded.

"Both your phone lines were busy, so the store manager followed procedure and called me."

"I have a private direct line too."

"I know and so does
Michaelson
. Unfortunately, he panicked and couldn't find the phone number."

At
5:30
that night, after a day of raw tension and helpless waiting, Meredith finally received the phone call she'd been praying for. The New Orleans Bomb and Arson Squad had found no trace of explosives and were going to remove the barriers around the store. That was the good news. The bad news was that the store had lost an entire day's sales in the most important season of the year.

Limp with relief and exhaustion, Meredith notified Mark Braden of the news, then she packed a briefcase full of work and went home. Parker hadn't returned her call yet, but she knew he'd call her as soon as he received her message.

In her apartment she dumped her coat, gloves, and briefcase onto the chair, and walked over to the answering machine to check her messages, thinking Parker might have called, but the red light was not on. Mrs. Ellis had been there, though, and left a note beside the phone saying she'd done the marketing today instead of Wednesday because she had a doctor's appointment Wednesday morning.

The continued silence from Parker was making Meredith increasingly uneasy, and as she walked into the bedroom, she began to imagine him in a Swiss hospital, or, worse, soothing his wounded feelings with some other woman, dancing in some
Geneva nightclub.... Stop it, just stop it! she warned herself. The mere proximity of Matthew Farrell was causing her to start expecting disaster to befall her at every turn. It was foolish, she knew, but given her past experiences with
Matt, not entirely incomprehensible.

She'd taken her shower and was tucking a silk shirt into her slacks when the hard knocking on her door made her turn in surprise. Whoever it was had a pass key to get through the downstairs security door, which meant it had to be Mrs. Ellis, since Parker was in
Switzerland. "Did you forget something, Mrs.—" she began as she opened her door, then she froze in surprise at the sight of Parker's grim face.

"I was wondering if
you
forgot something," he said curtly, "like the fact that you have a
fiance
?"

Overwhelmed with remorse that he'd actually flown home, Meredith flung herself into his arms, noting the way he hesitated before putting them around her. "I didn't forget," she said, kissing his rigid cheek. "I'm so sorry!" she said, pulling him into the apartment. She expected him to take off his coat, but all he did was study her with a cool, hesitant look. "What is it you're sorry about, Meredith?" he finally asked.

"For worrying you so much that you thought you needed to leave the conference and fly home! Didn't you get my message at your hotel this morning? I left word for you at ten-thirty our time
"

At her answer, the rigidity left his face, but there was a haggard, drawn look about him that she'd never seen before. "No, I didn't. I'd like a drink," he said, shrugging out of his coat. "Anything you have is fine, just make it a stiff one."