Paradise
Page 97
"In that case, maybe I ought to bring a gun instead," she joked, "and after we eat we could go out hunting for him."
"Don't tempt me!" Meredith replied, but she smiled a little at Lisa's quip.
Chapter 29
At 1:30 the following afternoon, Meredith left the advertising department and headed toward her own office. All day long, wherever she went, people were turning to stare at her, and she had no doubt about why they were doing it. She slapped the button for the elevator, thinking of Sally Mansfield's infuriating blurb in this morning's Tribune:
Friends of Meredith Bancroft who were stunned to see her snub Chicago's most eligible bachelor, Matthew Farrell, at the opera benefit two weeks ago, have another shock in store for them: The couple was lunching together at one of Landry's cozy back tables! Our newest bachelor is certainly a busy man—that same night he escorted gorgeous Alicia Avery to the opening of Taming of the Shrew at the Little Theater.
In her office, Meredith opened her desk drawer with an angry jerk, marveling anew at the petty vindictiveness of the columnist who was a close friend of Parker's ex-wife, That mention of her lunch with Matt was nothing but a ploy to make Parker look like a fool in imminent danger of being jilted.
"Meredith," Phyllis said, her voice tense. "Mr. Bancroft's secretary just called. She said he wants to see you in his office immediately."
Unscheduled, abrupt summonses from Meredith's father were extremely rare; he preferred to oversee the activities of his executives with regularly scheduled weekly meetings and to handle anything else by telephone. In the moment of silence that Meredith and her secretary looked at each other, they both assumed the reason might be related to the naming of an interim president.
That conclusion was borne out when Meredith reached the reception area outside her father's office and saw that all the other executive vice presidents had also been summoned, including Allen Stanley, who'd been on vacation for the past week.
"Miss Bancroft," her father's secretary said, motioning her forward, "Mr. Bancroft would like you to go right in." Meredith's heart soared as she walked toward his door—since she was the first to be advised of the board's choice, it was only logical that she was that choice. Like her father, and his father, and all the other Bancrofts before them, Meredith Bancroft was going to be granted her birthright. More correctly, she was going to be allowed to prove her worthiness for the next six months.
Foolishly close to sentimental tears, Meredith knocked on the door and walked into his office. No one but a Bancroft had ever occupied this office or sat behind that desk; how could she have imagined that such a grand tradition would be ignored by her father?
Her father was standing at the windows, his hands clasped behind him. "Good morning," she said brightly to his back.
"Good morning, Meredith," he said, turning around, his voice and expression unusually friendly. He sat down behind his desk, watching her as she came forward. Although there was a sofa and coffee table at the far end of his office, he never sat there or offered anyone else a seat there. Instead, it was his habit to sit in the high-backed swivel chair behind his desk and to speak to people formally, across the expansive barrier of a large, antique baronial desk. Meredith wasn't certain whether he did that unconsciously, or whether it was with the deliberate intention of intimidating people. Either way, it was subtly unnerving to everyone, including Meredith at times, to have to traipse across the wide expanse of carpet to reach his desk, while he sat there, watching and waiting.
Now, Meredith noted, he waited with an unusual degree of patience, although he did not stand up. While good breeding and custom caused him to stand up whenever a woman arrived anyplace else, if that woman worked for Bancroft's at the management level or above, he remained seated, even when every other man arose. It was Meredith knew, his way of silently criticizing their presence in the executive ranks. And yet, when she was with him away from the store, he observed all the formalities. In the years she'd worked at the store, Meredith had learned to accept his two distinct and very different personas, even though there were still times when it disconcerted her to kiss him good night and have him walk past her the next morning at work with barely a curt nod.
"I like that dress you're wearing," he said, looking at her beige cashmere dress.
"Thank you," Meredith replied with surprised sincerity.
"I hate seeing you in those business suits you wear most of the time. Women should wear dresses." Without giving her a chance to reply, he inclined his head toward one of the chairs in front of his desk, and Meredith sat down, desperately trying to hide her nervousness.
"I've sent for the entire executive staff because I have an announcement to make, but I wanted to speak with you first. The board of directors has decided upon an interim president." He paused, and Meredith leaned forward in her chair, tense with expectation. "They've chosen Allen Stanley."
"What?" she said in a gasp, reeling from a combination of shock, anger, and disbelief.
"I said, they've chosen Allen Stanley. I'm not going to lie to you—they did it on my recommendation."
"Allen Stanley," Meredith interrupted, coming to her feet and speaking in a stunned, furious voice, "has been on the verge of a nervous breakdown ever since his wife died! furthermore, he doesn't have the expertise or experience to run a retail operation—"
"He's been Bancroft's controller for twenty years," her father snapped, but Meredith wasn't intimidated and she wasn't finished. Outraged, not only because she'd been cheated of the opportunity she should have been given, but at the sheer stupidity of the choice of successor, she braced her hands on his desk. "Allen Stanley is a glorified accountant! You couldn't have made a worse choice, and you know it! Any one of the others, any of them, would have been a better choice...." It hit her then, a realization that nearly sent her to her knees. "That's why you recommended Stanley, isn't it? Because he can't possibly run Bancroft's as well or better than you have. You're deliberately jeopardizing this company because your ego—"
"I won't tolerate that sort of talk from you!"
"Don't you dare try to exert parental authority on me now!" Meredith warned furiously. "You've told me a thousand times that at this store our relationship doesn't exist. I am not a child, and I am not speaking as your daughter. I am a vice president and major shareholder of this company."
"If any of the other vice presidents dared to speak to me as you are now, I'd fire them on the spot—"
"Don't tempt me!" Meredith replied, but she smiled a little at Lisa's quip.
Chapter 29
At 1:30 the following afternoon, Meredith left the advertising department and headed toward her own office. All day long, wherever she went, people were turning to stare at her, and she had no doubt about why they were doing it. She slapped the button for the elevator, thinking of Sally Mansfield's infuriating blurb in this morning's Tribune:
Friends of Meredith Bancroft who were stunned to see her snub Chicago's most eligible bachelor, Matthew Farrell, at the opera benefit two weeks ago, have another shock in store for them: The couple was lunching together at one of Landry's cozy back tables! Our newest bachelor is certainly a busy man—that same night he escorted gorgeous Alicia Avery to the opening of Taming of the Shrew at the Little Theater.
In her office, Meredith opened her desk drawer with an angry jerk, marveling anew at the petty vindictiveness of the columnist who was a close friend of Parker's ex-wife, That mention of her lunch with Matt was nothing but a ploy to make Parker look like a fool in imminent danger of being jilted.
"Meredith," Phyllis said, her voice tense. "Mr. Bancroft's secretary just called. She said he wants to see you in his office immediately."
Unscheduled, abrupt summonses from Meredith's father were extremely rare; he preferred to oversee the activities of his executives with regularly scheduled weekly meetings and to handle anything else by telephone. In the moment of silence that Meredith and her secretary looked at each other, they both assumed the reason might be related to the naming of an interim president.
That conclusion was borne out when Meredith reached the reception area outside her father's office and saw that all the other executive vice presidents had also been summoned, including Allen Stanley, who'd been on vacation for the past week.
"Miss Bancroft," her father's secretary said, motioning her forward, "Mr. Bancroft would like you to go right in." Meredith's heart soared as she walked toward his door—since she was the first to be advised of the board's choice, it was only logical that she was that choice. Like her father, and his father, and all the other Bancrofts before them, Meredith Bancroft was going to be granted her birthright. More correctly, she was going to be allowed to prove her worthiness for the next six months.
Foolishly close to sentimental tears, Meredith knocked on the door and walked into his office. No one but a Bancroft had ever occupied this office or sat behind that desk; how could she have imagined that such a grand tradition would be ignored by her father?
Her father was standing at the windows, his hands clasped behind him. "Good morning," she said brightly to his back.
"Good morning, Meredith," he said, turning around, his voice and expression unusually friendly. He sat down behind his desk, watching her as she came forward. Although there was a sofa and coffee table at the far end of his office, he never sat there or offered anyone else a seat there. Instead, it was his habit to sit in the high-backed swivel chair behind his desk and to speak to people formally, across the expansive barrier of a large, antique baronial desk. Meredith wasn't certain whether he did that unconsciously, or whether it was with the deliberate intention of intimidating people. Either way, it was subtly unnerving to everyone, including Meredith at times, to have to traipse across the wide expanse of carpet to reach his desk, while he sat there, watching and waiting.
Now, Meredith noted, he waited with an unusual degree of patience, although he did not stand up. While good breeding and custom caused him to stand up whenever a woman arrived anyplace else, if that woman worked for Bancroft's at the management level or above, he remained seated, even when every other man arose. It was Meredith knew, his way of silently criticizing their presence in the executive ranks. And yet, when she was with him away from the store, he observed all the formalities. In the years she'd worked at the store, Meredith had learned to accept his two distinct and very different personas, even though there were still times when it disconcerted her to kiss him good night and have him walk past her the next morning at work with barely a curt nod.
"I like that dress you're wearing," he said, looking at her beige cashmere dress.
"Thank you," Meredith replied with surprised sincerity.
"I hate seeing you in those business suits you wear most of the time. Women should wear dresses." Without giving her a chance to reply, he inclined his head toward one of the chairs in front of his desk, and Meredith sat down, desperately trying to hide her nervousness.
"I've sent for the entire executive staff because I have an announcement to make, but I wanted to speak with you first. The board of directors has decided upon an interim president." He paused, and Meredith leaned forward in her chair, tense with expectation. "They've chosen Allen Stanley."
"What?" she said in a gasp, reeling from a combination of shock, anger, and disbelief.
"I said, they've chosen Allen Stanley. I'm not going to lie to you—they did it on my recommendation."
"Allen Stanley," Meredith interrupted, coming to her feet and speaking in a stunned, furious voice, "has been on the verge of a nervous breakdown ever since his wife died! furthermore, he doesn't have the expertise or experience to run a retail operation—"
"He's been Bancroft's controller for twenty years," her father snapped, but Meredith wasn't intimidated and she wasn't finished. Outraged, not only because she'd been cheated of the opportunity she should have been given, but at the sheer stupidity of the choice of successor, she braced her hands on his desk. "Allen Stanley is a glorified accountant! You couldn't have made a worse choice, and you know it! Any one of the others, any of them, would have been a better choice...." It hit her then, a realization that nearly sent her to her knees. "That's why you recommended Stanley, isn't it? Because he can't possibly run Bancroft's as well or better than you have. You're deliberately jeopardizing this company because your ego—"
"I won't tolerate that sort of talk from you!"
"Don't you dare try to exert parental authority on me now!" Meredith warned furiously. "You've told me a thousand times that at this store our relationship doesn't exist. I am not a child, and I am not speaking as your daughter. I am a vice president and major shareholder of this company."
"If any of the other vice presidents dared to speak to me as you are now, I'd fire them on the spot—"
