"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.

Chapter 25

"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!"