"This isn't about that," he said angrily, but his shoulders were sagging and there was desperation in his voice. "He's guilty, but you won't see it. You'd rather believe I'm guilty of jealousy and manipulation and vengeance—"

"Because," Meredith interrupted, knowing she couldn't bear any more, "it's true. You are. You don't love me, not enough to want me to be happy. And anything less than that isn't love, it's nothing but selfish ownership of another human being." Snapping the locks closed on her briefcase, Meredith picked up her purse and coat and headed for the door.

"Meredith, don't!" he warned as she started past him.

She stopped and turned, looking at his haggard face through eyes swimming with tears. "Good-bye," she said aloud. "Daddy," she whispered in her heart.

She was partway across the reception area when Mark Braden called out to her, his face lit with a triumphant grin as he drew her off to the side. "I need you in my office right away. Gordon Mitchell's secretary is down there, crying her little heart out. I've got Mitchell cold! We were right—the bastard's on the take."

"That's confidential company business," she said quietly, "and I no longer work here."

His face fell and his angry dismay was so genuine, and so touching, that Meredith had to fight even harder for composure. But all he said was an embittered, "I see."

She tried to smile. "I'm sure you do." When she turned to go, he put his hand on her arm and drew her back. For the first time in fifteen rigid years of safeguarding Bancroft's interests, Mark Braden broke his own rule; he divulged company information to someone other than the appropriate manager in charge. He did it because he felt she had a right to know. "Mitchell's been taking big kickbacks from several suppliers. One of them blackmailed him into refusing the presidency."

"And his secretary found out and turned him in?"

"Not exactly," Mark said sarcastically. "She's known for weeks. They've been having an affair and he's been reneging on his promise to marry her."

"And that's why she turned him in," Meredith concluded.

"No, she turned him in because he gave her an annual performance review this morning, and rated her adequate. Can you believe it!" Mark snorted. "The stupid ass rated her adequate and then he reneged on his promise to promote her to an assistant buyer. That's why she turned him in. She'd already figured he was lying about wanting to marry her, but she was damned determined to become an assistant buyer."

"Thanks for telling me," she said, pressing an affectionate kiss on his cheek. "I would always have wondered."

"Meredith, I'd like you to know how sorry—"

"Don't," she said, snaking her head, afraid her control would shatter if someone was kind right now. Glancing at her watch, she reached out and pressed the elevator button, then she looked at Mark. With a winsome smile she explained, "I have a very important party to attend, and I'm going to be late. Actually, I'm going to be an uninvited, unwelcome guest—" The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside. "Wish me luck," she added as the doors slid closed.

"I do," he said somberly.

Chapter 56

Looking in the mirror, Matt tied his black tuxedo tie with the same cold efficiency with which he'd done everything else the past two days. Not long ago he'd dreamed of Meredith standing at his side tonight, greeting their guests, but no more. Not now. He wouldn't allow himself to think about her, or to remember her, or to feel anything. He'd torn her out of his mind and heart, permanently this time, and he wanted to keep her out. Instructing Pearson to notify her to proceed with the divorce had been the first, hardest step. After that the rest had been so much easier.

"Matt—" his father said, walking into the master suite, his forehead furrowed into an uneasy frown, "there's someone here to see you. I told the security guard to let her up. She says she's Caroline Bancroft— Meredith's mother—and she needs to talk to you."

"Get rid of her. I have nothing to say to anyone whose name is Bancroft."

"The reason I let her come up," Patrick continued, braving his son's frigid displeasure, "is that she wants to talk to you about the bomb scares in the department stores. She says she knows who's behind them."

Matt froze momentarily, then he shrugged and reached for his black tuxedo jacket. "Tell her to take her information to the police."

"It's too late, I already let her in. She's here."

Swearing under his breath, Matt swung around and realized his father had actually brought the woman to the doorway of his bedroom. For a split second the resemblance she bore to Meredith tore at him as he looked at the slender blond woman who was hiding her uncertainty behind a facade of cool determination. She had Meredith's eyes and her hair, but not the elegant perfection of Meredith's bones and features. What resemblance there was was enough to make him long to throw her out bodily, just to get her out of his sight.

"I realize you're having a party and I'm intruding," she said cautiously, starting forward and passing Patrick, who was already retreating, "but my plane just got in from Rome, and I didn't have any choice except to come straight here. You see, I realized after I was on the plane that once I got here, Philip would probably refuse to see me, let alone believe me, and even if Meredith would do either one, which I doubt, I don't know where she lives."

"How the hell did you know where I live?" he demanded.

"You are Meredith's husband, aren't you?"

"I'm about to be her ex-husband," he stated implacably.

"Oh," Caroline said, studying the coldly unapproachable man her daughter had married. "I think I'm sorry to hear that. But to answer your question, I get the Chicago newspapers in Italy, and there was a big layout a while back about this apartment and the building it's in."

"Fine," Matt snapped impatiently. "Now that you've found me and gotten in here, what did you want to tell me?"

She bristled a little at his tone, and then smiled suddenly. "I can tell you've been involved with Philip. He makes a lot of people react negatively to anyone who has his name."

That was close enough to bring a brief, grim smile to Matt's lips. "What did you come here to tell me?" he asked, but with an effort at courtesy.

"Philip was in Italy last week," she began as she unbuttoned her red wool coat and loosened the scarf at her neck. "I know from what he said there that he thinks you're behind the bombs that have been put in Bancroft's stores, and that he also thinks you're the one who plans to take over Bancroft and Company. But he's wrong."