A moment later Pearson began to speak, and what he said was so unexpected, so incongruous that Stuart’s brows drew together in wary surprise. “There is much to be considered here,” he said, addressing his remarks to Stuart—remarks that Stuart instantly realized were deliberately designed to have an emotional effect on Meredith. “We have here a couple who took vows eleven years ago, solemn vows. They both knew at the time that marriage is an estate not to be entered into lightly or—”
Caught somewhere between annoyance and amusement, Stuart said, “You can dispense with reciting the entire wedding ceremony, Bill. They already went through it eleven years ago. That’s why we’re here now.” He turned to Matt, who was idly rolling a gold pen between his fingers and said, “My client isn’t interested in your attorneys’ assessment of the situation. What do you want and what are you offering? Let’s get down to business.”
Instead of reacting to Stuart’s deliberate provocation, Matt glanced at Pearson and, with a slight inclination of his head, he instructed him to do exactly that.
“Very well,” Pearson said, dropping the role of kindly mediator. “Here’s where we stand. Our client has sufficient grounds for a very ugly and damaging lawsuit against your client’s father. As a result of Philip Bancroft’s unconscionable interference in our client’s marriage, our client was deprived of his right to attend the funeral of his child, he was deprived of his right to comfort his wife and be comforted by her after the death of that child, and he was misled into believing she wanted to divorce him. In short, he was deprived of eleven years of marriage. Mr. Bancroft has also interfered with Mr. Farrell’s business by illegally trying to influence the Southville zoning commission. These are matters that can, of course, be dealt with in a court of law. . . .”
Stuart glanced at Farrell, who was watching Meredith, who, in turn, was staring fixedly at Pearson, the color draining from her face. Angry that she was unexpectedly being subjected to this, Stuart looked at Pearson and said disdainfully, “If every married man with interfering in-laws could sue them for it, there’d be a fifty-year back-up on the dockets. They’ll laugh him out of court.”
Pearson regarded him with brows raised in challenge. “I doubt that. Bancroft’s interference was malicious and extreme; I think a jury would relish ruling against Bancroft for what were, in my opinion, indefensible actions of astonishing viciousness. And that’s before we start talking about Bancroft’s illegal attempt to influence the Southville zoning commission. However,” he said, holding up a hand to silence Stuart, “whether we won our case or not, the mere filing of those cases would create a storm of unpleasant publicity—publicity that would be damaging to Mr. Bancroft and very possibly Bancroft and Company as well. It’s common knowledge that Mr. Bancroft is seriously ill, and, of course, the effect of such publicity and a trial might further jeopardize his health.”
A knot of fear and panic was growing in Meredith’s stomach, but at that moment her strongest feeling was one of betrayal. She had driven to the farm to tell Matt the truth about the baby and her father’s telegram; now he was threatening to use it against her. Her spirits lifted, however, when Pearson said, “I’ve mentioned all that, Miss Bancroft, not to alarm or distress you, but merely to remind you of the facts and to acquaint you with our point of view. However, Mr. Farrell is willing to overlook all of those things I’ve been mentioning, and to waive his rights to all legal proceedings against your father for all time . . . for a few simple concessions from you. Stuart,” he said as he handed a two-page document to Stuart and an identical copy of it to Meredith, “the verbal offer I am about to make is detailed in this document, and to relieve any doubts you may have about Mr. Farrell’s sincerity, he has offered to sign it for you at the conclusion of this meeting. However, there is one stipulation, and that is that this offer must be accepted or rejected before your client leaves here today. If it is rejected, it is withdrawn forthwith and we will file legal proceedings against Philip Bancroft by the end of the week. Would you care to take a few minutes to look it over before I summarize it?”
Refusing to even glance at the document, Stuart tossed it on the table, leaned back in his chair, and regarded his adversary with a smile of acid disdain. “I’d much rather hear it from you, Bill. I never fully appreciated your flair for drama before this. The only reason I haven’t told you to go to hell and meet us in court before now is that I can’t bring myself to leave before I see the last act.” Despite his apparent lack of concern over their threats, Stuart was not only worried, he was furious at Pearson’s deliberate attempt to frighten and intimidate Meredith.
At a curt nod from Matt, Levinson suddenly stepped in, his voice conciliatory. “Perhaps it would be better if I summarize the offer contained in that document.”
“I don’t know about that,” Stuart drawled insolently. “Are you the understudy or the star?”
“The star,” the older man replied imperturbably. “I prepared the document.” Directing his attention to Meredith, Levinson smiled and said, “As my associate has just explained, Miss Bancroft, if you agree to what your husband asks, he is willing to forgo taking legal action against your father, but he is also offering much more than that in this document: He is also offering to give you a generous settlement—a lump sum alimony payment if you prefer to think of it that way—in the amount of five million dollars.”
That did it. The alarm Meredith had been feeling combined with shock; she looked at Stuart and said, “Agree to what? What is happening here?”
“It’s just a game,” Stuart reassured her. “First they threaten you with what they’ll take away from you if you refuse to play. Now they’re telling you what they’ll give you if you do.”
“A game?” she cried softly. “What game?”
“That’s the part they’re saving for the very end.”
Her eyes clinging to his, Meredith nodded, gathered her wits, and looked at Levinson, studiously avoiding looking at Matt. “Go on, Mr. Levinson,” she said, lifting her chin in a show of dignity and courage.
“In addition to the five-million-dollar settlement,” Levinson said, “Your husband will sell to Bancroft and Company a certain piece of property in Houston for the sum of twenty million dollars.”
Meredith felt the room reel, and she turned her head then, looking at Matt, her face filled with confusion, gratitude, and misgivings. He held her gaze without flinching while Levinson added, “Last, if you agree to what your husband is proposing, he will sign a waiver on the usual two-year separation required by this state in order to obtain a divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. That will reduce the waiting period to six months.”
Stuart dismissed that concession with a shrug. “We don’t need a waiver from Farrell in order for the court to agree to reduce the waiting period. The law clearly states that if the couple has not cohabited for a period of two years, and irreconcilable differences exist, then the waiting period can be shortened to six months. These two people haven’t cohabited in eleven years!”
Levinson leaned back in his chair, and Meredith had a sickening premonition of what he might be angling toward when he quietly said, “They spent last weekend together.”
“So what?” Stuart said. He was no longer angry, he was stunned by Farrell’s $5 million offer and completely preoccupied with discovering what concession Farrell wanted in return for it. “They did not cohabit in the marital sense of the word. They merely slept in the same house. No judge alive would think their marriage might be preserved, and insist on a two-year waiting period, merely because they managed to stay under the same roof for two days. What they did was certainly not cohabiting.”
Deafening silence ensued.
Levinson lifted his brows and looked steadily at Stuart. Stuart, who was growing angry again, glared at Farrell. “You shared a roof, not a bed.” But Farrell said nothing. Instead, he shifted his gaze and looked quietly and pointedly at Meredith.
Stuart knew then. He knew, even before he turne
d his head and saw the look of betrayal shimmering in Meredith’s eyes and the angry, embarrassed flush on her pale cheeks as she yanked her gaze from her husband’s and stared at her hands. Despite the disjointed thoughts whirling through his mind, he lifted his shoulders and said with convincing unconcern, “So they slept together. Big damned deal. I still repeat—why would your client consider refusing to sign a waiver on the two years? Why prolong the inevitable divorce?”
“Because,” Levinson said calmly, “Mr. Farrell is not convinced a divorce is inevitable.”
Stuart’s laugh was genuine. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Mr. Farrell doesn’t think so. In fact, he’s willing to offer all the concessions we’ve discussed here—a five-million-dollar alimony settlement, the property in Houston, the dismissal of all legal action against Philip Bancroft, and a waiver on the two-year waiting period—all of that in return for only one concession for himself.”
“What concession?”
“He wants one week for every year of marriage he was denied. Eleven weeks. Eleven weeks with his wife, so that they can get to know each other better . . .”
Meredith half rose out of her chair, her eyes shooting sparks at Matt. “You want whaat!”
“Define how he intends to get to know her,” Stuart snapped, convinced that the phrase carried blatant sexual overtones.
“I think we can leave it to them to work that out,” Levinson began, but Meredith’s furious voice interrupted him.
“Oh, no, you can’t!” She stood up, her eyes alive with fury as she said to Matt, “You’ve subjected me to everything in this meeting from terrorism to humiliation. Don’t stop now. Let’s be specific, so they can write it all down with the rest of your offer. Tell them exactly how you intend to get to know me. This is nothing but blackmail, so stipulate your terms, you—you bastard!”
Matt looked at the attorneys. “Leave the two of us alone now.”
Meredith, however, was past the point of caring who heard anything anymore. “Sit down!” she warned the attorneys. Nothing mattered. She was trapped; she’d understood the terms; she just hadn’t anticipated the Grotesque payment Matt was going to exact. Either she slept with him for the next eleven weeks, or he was going to drag her father through the courts, and very likely kill him with the stress. She saw something else then—the gray-haired secretary who’d slipped in and seated herself on a sofa and was busily taking down what everyone said. Like an animal who is cornered, Meredith struck out, mentally circling as she leaned her palms on the table, glaring at Matt, her eyes filled with contempt and hatred. “Everyone stays while you list your obscene terms. Either you kill my father with your lawsuits or you get your pound of flesh from me—that’s it, isn’t it? Now, start telling these lawyers of yours how you intend to take it! Tell them how often and which way, damn you! But you draw up receipts, you bastard, because I’ll make you sign them.”
Her gaze shot to the secretary. “Are you having a stimulating time over there? Are you getting this all down? This monster you work for is going to dictate how he wants his kicks, how often—”
Suddenly everyone was in motion. Matt jumped out of his chair and headed around the table, Levinson grabbed for his sleeve and missed, Stuart shoved his chair back and tried to thrust Meredith behind him, but Meredith flung him off. “Stay away from me!” she warned Stuart before whirling on Matt, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Bastard!” she hissed. “Stuart dictating your terms. How often do you want it—how—” Matt reached for her at the same moment Meredith swung, her palm crashing against his face with a force that snapped his head sideways.
“Stop it!” he ordered, grabbing her upper arms, but his gaze was on Stuart, who was heading forward, reaching for him.
“Bastard!” she sobbed, glaring at Matt. “You bastard, I trusted you!”
Matt yanked her against his chest, shrugging Stuart off. “Listen to me!” he said tautly, turning Meredith aside. “I am not asking you to sleep with me! Do you understand me? I’m asking for a chance, dammit! Just a chance for eleven weeks!”
Everyone was standing; everyone froze, even Meredith stopped struggling, but her whole body was trembling and she covered her face with her hands. Glancing at their spectators, Matt ordered sharply, “Get the hell out of here.”
Levinson and Pearson gathered up their papers to leave, but Stuart stayed where he was, watching Meredith, who was neither returning nor resisting Matt’s embrace. “I’m not going anywhere until you take your hands off her and she tells me she wants me to leave.”
Matt knew he meant it, and since Meredith had stopped resisting, he dropped his arms, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief to give her.
“Meredith?” Stuart said uncertainly to the back of her head. “Do you want me to wait outside or stay here? Tell me what you want me to do.”
Humiliated past all endurance at the realization she’d jumped to erroneous conclusions and made such a scene, and furious because she’d been prodded into doing both, Meredith ungraciously snatched Matt’s handkerchief.
“What she wants to do right now,” Matt told Stuart with a grim effort at humor, “is throw another punch at me—”
“I can speak for myself!” Meredith gritted out, dabbing at her eyes and nose and stepping back a pace. “Stay here, Stuart.” She raised liquid, angry, mistrustful eyes to Matt, and said, “You wanted this all legal and formal. Tell my attorney what you mean by wanting a chance, because I obviously don’t understand.”
“I’d rather do it in private.”
“Well,” she said with a haughty glance that was spoiled by the tears still sparkling on her lashes, “that’s just too bad! You’re the one who insisted on doing this today, and in front of your lawyers! You couldn’t possibly have spared me this and discussed it with me in private some other time—”
“I called you yesterday to try to do exactly that,” he told her. “You instructed your secretary to tell me to deal with you only through your attorney.”
“Well, you could have tried again!”
“When? After you flew to Mexico or Reno or wherever you intended to go on your sudden trip this week to divorce me?”
“And I was right to try,” she said ferociously, and Matt bit back a smile of pride. She was splendid—already recovering her composure, her chin up, her shoulders square. She wasn’t able to look the lawyers in the face yet, though, so he glanced over her shoulder at them. His own lawyers were heading out with their coats and briefcases, but Meredith’s lawyer stubbornly remained where he stood, arms crossed over his chest, watching Matt with a mixture of antagonism, suspicion, and blunt curiosity. “Meredith,” Matt said. “Would you at least ask your attorney to wait in my office. He can see everything from there, but he doesn’t need to hear any more than he has.”
“I have nothing else to hide,” she said wrathfully. “Now, let’s get this over with. What exactly do you want from me?”
“Fine,” Matt said, deciding he didn’t give a damn what Whitmore heard. Sitting down on the edge of the conference table, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I want a chance for us to get to know each other for the next eleven weeks.”
“And just how do you intend for us to do that?” she demanded.
“The usual ways—we’ll have dinner together, go to plays—”
“How often?” she interrupted, looking angrier than ever.
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“I’m sure you were too busy refining your blackmail and thinking up ways to ruin my life!”
“Four times a week!” Matt snapped out the answer to her question about how often. “And I am not trying to ruin your life!”
“What days of the week?” she fired back.
His anger died, and he fought back another smile. “Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and—Wednesday,” he said after a moment’s thought.
“Has it occurred to you that I have a career and a fiancé?”
“I don’t want to interfe
re with your career. Your fiancé will have to back off for eleven weeks.”
“This isn’t fair to him—” Meredith cried.
“Tough!”
The harsh word, his cold tone and implacable features, were so eloquent of his entire ruthless personality, Meredith finally realized nothing she said or did would dissuade him from accomplishing his goal. She was his latest target for a hostile takeover. “Every rotten thing they say about you—it’s all true, isn’t it?”
“Most of it,” he bit out, looking like she’d slapped him again.
“It doesn’t matter who you hurt or what you have to do to get what you want, does it?”
His face tightened. “Not in this case.”
Her shoulders sagged, her bravado fleeing. “Why are you doing this to me? What have I done to you—deliberately, I mean—to make you try to tear my life to pieces like this?”
Matt couldn’t think of an answer he could give her now that she’d accept without either laughing in his face or getting furious. “Let’s just say that I think there’s something between us—an attraction—and I want to see how deep it goes.”
“God, I cannot believe this!” she cried, wrapping her arms around her stomach. “There is nothing between us! Nothing but a horrible past.”
“And last weekend,” he pointed out bluntly.
Meredith hid her chagrin in anger. “That was—that was sex!”
“Was it?”
“You ought to know!” she shot back, remembering something she’d overlooked of late. “If half of what I’ve read about you is true, you hold the world’s record for cheap affairs and meaningless flings. God, how could you sleep with that rock star with the pink hair?”