Paradise by Judith McNaught
“The care with which you pick the locations,” her father corrected her, and he looked so cold and stern that it took a moment before Meredith realized he had just paid her a compliment. It was not the first time he’d paid her a grudging compliment, but coming now, with the board present, Meredith took it as a highly encouraging sign that he was not only going to support the Houston project, but that he meant to ask the board to approve her as interim president during his leave of absence. “Thank you,” she said with quiet simplicity, and sat down.
As if he hardly knew what she was thanking him for, he turned to Parker. “I gather your bank is still willing to commit the funds for a loan to finance the Houston project if the board so approves it?”
“We intend to, Philip, but only under the terms we discussed at the last meeting.”
Meredith had known about those terms for weeks, but even so, she had to bite her lip to hide her moment of panic at his mention of them. Parker’s bank—more accurately his own board of directors—had reviewed the enormous sums of money they’d loaned to Bancroft’s in the last few years, and they’d grown nervous about the astronomical figures. In order to make the loans for the Phoenix and now the Houston store, his board had insisted on some new terms. Specifically, they were requiring she and her father to personally guarantee the loans as well as to put up additional collateral, including their personal stock in Bancroft’s, to secure the loans. Meredith was gambling with her own money, and she found it slightly terrifying. Beyond her stock in Bancroft’s and her salary, the only money she had was her inheritance from her grandfather, and it was that which she was going to put up as additional collateral for the Houston store.
As her father spoke, however, it was obvious he was still angry at what he regarded as outrageous demands from his banker. “You know how I feel about your special terms, Parker. Given the fact that Reynolds Mercantile has been Bancroft’s only bank for more than eighty years, this sudden demand for personal guarantees and additional collateral is not only uncalled for, it’s insulting.”
“I understand your feelings,” Parker said calmly. “I even agree with you, and you know that. This morning I met again with my board and tried to persuade them to either relinquish their insistence on these tighter terms or at least to lessen their demands, but without success. However,” he continued, looking at the men assembled around the table in order to include them in his remarks, “their insistence on added collateral and personal guarantees is no reflection on their opinion of Bancroft & Company’s worthiness as a borrower.”
“Sounds to me like it is,” old Cyrus announced.
“Sounds to me like your bank thinks Bancroft’s is a potential deadbeat!”
“They think nothing of the sort. The fact is that in the last year the economic climate for department store chains has been less than healthy. Two of them have filed Chapter 11 to escape being shut down by their creditors while they try to reorganize. That’s one factor that influenced our decision, but of equal importance is the fact that banks have been failing in numbers unequaled since the Great Depression. As a result of that, most banks are becoming increasingly cautious about lending too much to any one borrower. Then, too, we have to satisfy the bank examiners who are now scrutinizing all our loans more closely than ever before. Lending requirements are stricter now.”
“Sounds to me like we ought to go to another bank,” Cyrus suggested with a bright, eager look at the faces around the table. “That’s what I’d do! Tell Parker here to go to Hades and we’ll find our money elsewhere!”
“We could try to find other financing,” Meredith told Cyrus, struggling to separate her personal feelings for Parker from this discussion. “However, Parker’s bank is giving us a very advantageous interest rate that we’d have difficulty getting from any other bank. He’s naturally—”
“There’s nothing natural about it,” Cyrus interrupted, passing an appreciative glance over her that verged on lecherous before he turned accusingly on Parker. “If I were going to marry this gorgeous young woman, the natural thing would be to give her any little thing she wants instead of tying up her assets!”
“Cyrus,” Meredith warned, wondering why some old men, like Cyrus, abandoned dignity in favor of acting and speaking like pubescent teenagers, “this is business.”
“Women shouldn’t be involved in business—unless they’re ugly and can’t get a man to look after them. In my day, a beautiful girl like yourself would be at home, doing natural things like having babies and—”
“This isn’t your day, Cyrus!” Parker snapped. “Go ahead, Meredith—what were you about to say?”
“I was about to say,” Meredith replied, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment as the other men at the table exchanged smirking glances, “that your bank’s special conditions are of little serious concern, since Bancroft & Company is going to make all loan payments on a timely basis.”
“That’s quite true,” her father averred, his attitude becoming resigned and impatient. “Unless anyone has anything to add to this discussion, I believe we can close the Houston topic and vote on it at the end of this meeting.”
Picking up her file, Meredith formally thanked the board for their consideration of the Houston project and left the boardroom.
“Well?” Phyllis asked, following Meredith into her office. “How did it go? Is there going to be a Houston branch of Bancroft’s or not?”
“They’re voting on it right now,” Meredith said, leafing through the morning mail Phyllis had laid on her desk.
“I have my fingers crossed.”
Touched by Phyllis’s dedication to her and to Bancroft’s, Meredith smiled reassuringly. “They’ll approve the Houston store,” she predicted. Her father was reluctantly in favor of that, so she had little doubt on that score. What she couldn’t ascertain from his remarks during the past weeks was whether or not he was in favor of building the complete mall at the outset. “All that’s really in doubt is whether they’ll approve the building of the entire mall or only our store. Will you call Sam Green and ask him to bring the Thorp contracts?”
When she hung up the phone a few minutes later, Sam Green was standing in her doorway. Sam was only five feet five with hair the color and texture of steel wool, but there was an aura of competence and authority about him that was immediately recognizable—particularly to anyone who found themselves on the opposite side of any legal issue he was handling. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his green eyes were sharp with intelligence. At the moment, however, they were peering expectantly at Meredith. “Phyllis said you’re ready to start finalizing a contract for the Houston land,” he said, walking into her office. “Does this mean we have the board’s approval?”
“I’m assuming we’ll have it in a few minutes. How much do you think our opening offer to Thorp should be?”
“They’re asking thirty million,” he replied, thinking aloud as he sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “How about an opening offer of eighteen million, and we settle at, say, twenty? They’ve got a mortgage on that land and they need cash badly. They might sell it for twenty.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Probably not,” he said with a chuckle.
“If we have to, we’ll go to twenty-five. It’s worth a maximum of thirty, but they haven’t been able to sell it for that—” The phone rang on her desk and Meredith answered it instead of finishing her sentence. Her father’s voice was curt and final: “We will proceed with the Houston project, Meredith, but we will postpone building the entire mall until we have some profits out of our store there.”
“I think you’re making a mistake,” she told him, hiding her disappointment behind a brisk, businesslike tone.
“It was the board’s decision.”
“You could have swayed them,” Meredith said baldly.
“Very well, then, that was my decision.”
“And it’s a mistake.”
“When you are running this company, yo
Meredith’s heart gave a funny little lurch at his words. “And am I going to be doing that?”
“Until then I will make them,” he said, avoiding her question. “For now, I’m going home. I’m not feeling well. In fact, I’d have postponed the meeting this morning if you hadn’t been so adamant about needing to get going on the land deal.”
Uncertain whether he was really ill or simply using that as a ploy to avoid a discussion with her, Meredith sighed. “Take care of yourself. I’ll see you at dinner Thursday night.” When she hung up the phone, she allowed herself a silent moment of regret that the entire mall couldn’t be built, and then she did what she’d learned to do years before, after her disastrous marriage: She faced reality and found something in it to look forward to and work toward. Smiling at Sam Green, she injected a note of pleasure and triumph into her voice. “We have approval to proceed on the Houston project.”
“The entire mall, or just the store?”
“Just the store.”
“I think it’s a mistake.”
He’d obviously heard her say as much to her father, but Meredith didn’t comment on his remark. She’d made it a policy to keep her comments and thoughts about her father’s policies to herself whenever possible. Instead, she said, “How soon can you get a contract ready and take it to Thorp?”
“I can have the contracts ready by tomorrow night. But if you want me to negotiate the deal personally, I won’t be able to go down to Houston until the week after next. We’re still preparing that lawsuit against Wilson Toys.”
“I’d rather you handle it,” she said, knowing that he’d be able to negotiate a better deal than anyone else, but wishing he could do it sooner. “I suppose the week after next will be all right. By then we may have a written commitment from Reynolds Mercantile, and we won’t need to make the contract contingent on financing.”
“That land has been for sale for years,” he said with a smile. “It will still be available in two weeks. Besides, the longer we wait, the more likely Thorp will be to take our low-ball-park offer.” When she still looked concerned, he added, “I’ll try to get my people moving quicker on the Wilson lawsuit. As soon as we wrap it up, I’ll head to Houston.”
It was after six when Meredith looked up from the contracts she’d been reading and saw Phyllis heading toward her with her coat on and Meredith’s evening newspaper in her hand. “I’m sorry about the Houston deal,” Phyllis said, “sorry that they wouldn’t approve the entire mall, I mean.”
Meredith leaned back in her chair and smiled wearily. “Thank you.”
“For being sorry?”
“No,” Meredith replied, reaching for the newspaper, “for caring. Basically, though, I’d say it’s been a pretty good day.”
Phyllis nodded toward the newspaper which she’d already opened to the second page. “I hope that this doesn’t make you change your mind.”
Puzzled, Meredith unfolded it and saw Matthew Farrell looking back at her beside some starlet who’d evidently flown to Chicago in his private jet to accompany him to the party of a friend last night. Snatches of newspaper copy imprinted itself on Meredith’s mind as she glanced at the glowing article about Chicago’s newest entrepreneur and most eligible bachelor, but when she looked up at Phyllis, her face was perfectly composed. “Is this supposed to bother me?”
“Check the business section before you decide,” Phyllis advised.
It occurred to Meredith to tell Phyllis that she was out of line, and, just as quickly, she dismissed the notion. Phyllis had been her first secretary, and Meredith had been her first boss. In the past six years they’d worked hundreds of nights together as well as dozens of weekends; they’d eaten cold sandwiches at Meredith’s desk while they worked to meet project deadlines. They were a dedicated team, they liked and respected each other.
The first page of the business section contained another picture of Matt and a glowing article about his leadership of Intercorp, his reasons for relocating to Chicago, the fabulous manufacturing facility he intended to build at Southville, and yet another mention of the lavish penthouse apartment he’d bought and furnished in the Berkeley Towers. Beside his picture and slightly below it was a picture of Meredith, accompanied by an article that quoted her remarks about Bancroft’s successful expansion into the national retailing market.
“They gave him top billing,” Phyllis noted, perching her hip on the edge of Meredith’s desk, watching her read the article. “He’s been here for less than two weeks and the newspapers are full of stories about him.”
“Newspapers are also full of stories about muggers and rapists,” Meredith reminded her, disgusted by the lavish praise the article heaped on his leadership, and furious with herself because for some reason, seeing his picture was making her hands tremble. No doubt her reaction was the result of knowing he was in Chicago now instead of thousands of miles away.
“Is he really as handsome as he looks in his pictures?”
“Handsome?” Meredith said with careful indifference as she got up and headed to the closet for her coat. “Not to me.”
“He’s a jerk, right?” Phyllis said with an irrepressible grin.
Meredith smiled back at her and walked over to lock her desk. “How’d you guess?”
“I read Sally Mansfield’s column,” Phyllis replied. “And when she wrote that you gave him the ‘cut direct’ in front of everyone, I figured he must be a world-class jerk. I mean, I’ve seen you deal with men you couldn’t stand and you managed to smile at them and be polite.”
“Actually Sally Mansfield misunderstood the whole episode. I hardly know the man.” Deliberately changing the subject, Meredith said, “If your car’s still in the shop, I can give you a ride home.”
“No thanks. I’m going to my sister’s for dinner, and she lives in the other direction.”
“I’d give you a ride to her place, but it’s late and this is Wednesday—”
“And your fiancé always has dinner at your apartment on Wednesday, right?”
“Right.”
“It’s a lucky thing you like routine, Meredith, because it would drive me crazy knowing the man in my life always did particular things on particular days, day after day . . . year after year . . . decade after—”
Meredith burst out laughing. “Stop it. You’re depressing me. Besides, I like routine and order and dependability.”
“Not me. I like spontaneity.”
“Which is why your dates rarely show up on the right night, let alone on time,” Meredith teased.
“True.”
22
Meredith would have liked to forget about Matthew Farrell entirely, but Parker arrived at her apartment with the newspaper in his hand. “Did you see the article about Farrell?” he asked after kissing her.
“Yes. Would you like a drink?”
“Please.”
“What would you like?” she asked, walking over to the nineteenth-century armoire she’d had converted to a liquor cabinet and opening its doors.
“The usual.”
Her hand stilled in the act of reaching for a glass, while Lisa’s remark ran through her mind, followed by Phyllis’s comment today. You need someone who’ll make you do something really adventurous, like voting for a Democrat. . . . It would drive me crazy knowing the man in my life always did a particular thing on a particular day. . . . “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something different?” Meredith said hesitantly, looking at him over her shoulder. “How about a gin and tonic?”
“Don’t be silly. I always drink bourbon and water, honey, and you always have white wine. It’s practically a custom.”
“Parker,” Meredith said hesitantly, “Phyllis said something today, and Lisa had made a remark a week ago, that make me wonder if we’re . . .” She trailed off, feeling silly, but she nevertheless took out the gin and tonic for herself.
“Made you wonder if we’re what?” he asked, sensing her dismay and coming
“Well, in a rut.”
His arms slid around her. “I like ruts,” he said, kissing her temple. “I like routines and predictability, and so do you.”
“I know I do, but don’t you think that—in years to come—too much of that might make us bored, and boring, people. I mean, don’t you think excitement can be nice too?”
“Not particularly,” he said, then he turned her in his arms and said with gentle firmness, “Meredith, if you’re angry with me for asking you and your father to put up personal collateral for the Houston loan, then say so. If you’re disappointed in me because of it, say so, but don’t go blaming it on other reasons.”
“I’m not,” Meredith promised sincerely. “In fact, I got my stock certificates out of the safe to give to you. They’re over there in that big folder on my desk.” Ignoring the folder for the moment, he studied her face, and Meredith added reluctantly, “I’ll admit it’s frightening to hand over everything I have, but I believe you when you say you couldn’t convince your board to forgo the extra collateral.”
“You’re sure?” he asked, looking handsome and worried.
“I’m positive,” she averred with a bright smile, and turned to finish fixing his drink. “Why don’t you look over the certificates and make certain they’re in order while I set the table and see what Mrs. Ellis left us for dinner.” Mrs. Ellis no longer worked for her father, but she came to Meredith’s apartment on Wednesdays to clean and do the marketing, and she always left a meal ready for them to eat.