"Thank you," he said.
It hit her that she had said exactly that to him. Amazed that this moment at the farm had obviously seemed poignant to him, too, she tried to smile back at him as she echoed his former words: "You're welcome."
Fully aware of the ploy that Farrell had used to draw Meredith away, Stuart permitted the two attorneys to carry on their barrage of diversionary conversation while he mentally ticked off the amount of time necessary to fix five drinks. When that time had elapsed, he swiveled around his chair, rudely turned his back on Levinson and Pearson and, without bothering to hide what he was doing, he craned his neck to see the occupants of the bar. He half expected to see Farrell trying to badger Meredith; what he saw was a couple in profile, captured in a pose so thoroughly startling that Stuart felt momentarily disoriented. Far from trying to badger her, Farrell was holding his hand out to her, looking at her with a somber smile that struck Stuart as decidedly ... tender. And Meredith, who was almost
always
completely composed, was putting her hand in his and looking up at him with an expression that Stuart had never seen on her face before: a vulnerable expression of naked caring.
Abruptly, he pulled his gaze from the couple and turned to the attorneys, but he still hadn't come up with a suitable explanation for Meredith's expression a minute later, when she and Farrell brought the drinks to the conference table.
When Farrell had seated Meredith, Pearson said, "Matt, shall we begin?" The seating arrangement had struck Stuart as odd from the minute he'd walked into the room: Pearson was deliberately positioned at the head of the conference table, where Farrell would normally have been. Meredith had been seated on Pearson's left, with Stuart next to her. Levinson was on Pearson's right, directly across from her, and now Farrell walked around the table, sitting down next to Levinson. Ever aware of subtleties, Stuart wondered if Farrell had deliberately put Pearson in the hot seat to make Meredith think that Pearson rather than himself was responsible for whatever she was about to hear. Either that, Stuart decided, watching Farrell angle his chair back and prop his ankle atop his knee, or else Farrell wanted to be able to observe Meredith throughout the proceedings without having to make it obvious, which it would have been if he'd been at the head of the table.
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 cases 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 turned 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—"