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.