Matt was taken so off guard that he was momentarily speechless. "My what?" he said, unable to believe he'd heard her correctly. Unwilling to believe it. No one had ever discovered his brief, misbegotten marriage to Meredith Bancroft eleven years ago.
"You've never married," she clarified, "and I was wondering if you have any plans to marry in the future."
Matt relaxed and uninformatively replied, "It's not out of the question."
Chapter 13
November 1989
Crowds of Chicagoans strolled along Michigan Avenue, their unhurried pace due partly to the unseasonably mild November day and partly to the jam of shoppers gathered at the windows of Bancroft & Company which were already spectacularly decked out for Christmas.
In the years since the store's opening in 1891, Bancroft's had evolved from a quaint two-story brick building with dome-shaped yellow awnings at its windows into a fourteen-story glass-and-marble structure that covered an entire city block. But regardless of the many alterations that Bancroft's had undergone, one thing had not changed: A pair of doormen attired in maroon and gold livery still stood formal sentinel at the store's main entrance. This small touch of stately elegance remained—a visible statement of Bancroft's continued insistence on dignity and graciousness.
The two elderly doormen, who were so fiercely competitive that they'd rarely spoken to each other in the thirty years they'd worked together, surreptitiously watched the arrival of a black BMW, and each doorman silently willed the driver to draw up on his side of the doors.
The car pulled up to the curb and Leon, on one side of the doors, held his breath, then expelled it in an irritated sigh as the car glided past him and halted directly in front of his adversary's territory. "Miserable old coot!" Leon muttered at his counterpart as Ernest hurried forward. "Good morning, Miss Bancroft," Ernest said as he opened Meredith's door with a flourish. Twenty-five years ago, he'd opened the door of her father's car, taken his first look at Meredith, and said exactly the same thing in exactly the same reverent tone.
"Good morning, Ernest," Meredith replied, smiling and handing him her keys as she got out of the car. "Will you ask Carl to park my car for me? I had a lot to carry this morning, and I didn't want to have to bring it all the way from the parking garage." Valet parking was another elegant convenience that Bancroft's offered to its customers.
"Certainly, Miss Bancroft."
"Tell Amelia I said hello," she added, referring to his wife. Meredith was on familiar terms with many of the store's long-time employees; they were like family to her now, and this store—the main store of a growing chain that today had seven stores in various cities—was as much a home to her as the mansion she'd grown up in or her own apartment.
Pausing on the sidewalk, she watched the crowds gathered in front of the store windows. A smile touched her lips and her heart swelled with pleasure. It was a feeling she experienced nearly every time she gazed up at Bancroft's elegant facade, a feeling of pride and enthusiasm and fierce protectiveness. Today, however, her happiness was boundless because last night Parker had taken her in his arms and said with tender solemnity, "I love you, Meredith. Will you marry me, darling?" Afterward he had slid an engagement ring on her finger.
"The windows are better than ever this year," she said to Ernest as the crowd shifted and she glimpsed the stunning result of Lisa's talent and skill. Lisa Pontini had already earned widespread industry acclaim for her work at Bancroft's. In another year, when her boss retired, Lisa was slated to take his place as director of visual presentation.
Eager to find Lisa and tell her the news about Parker, Meredith opened the passenger door of her car, gathered up two briefcases and several stacks of files, and headed for the main doors. As soon as she entered the store, a security agent spotted her and came forward. "May I help you with those, Miss Bancroft?"
Meredith started to decline, but her arms were already aching, and besides, she felt an irresistible urge to stroll around before she went to see Lisa, and to luxuriate in what looked to be another record sales day based on the crowds of shoppers already thronging the aisles and counters. "Thank you, Dan, I'd appreciate that," she said, shifting the load of heavy files into his arms and handing him both briefcases.
When he headed off toward the elevators, Meredith absently straightened the blue silk scarf she'd looped through the lapels of her white coat and, tucking her hands into her pockets, she strolled past the cosmetic aisles. Shoppers jostled her as they hurried toward the banks of escalators in the center of the store, but the bustle only added to her pleasure.
With her head tipped back, she gazed up at the thirty-foot-high white Christmas trees that soared above the aisles, their branches trimmed with twinkling red lights, huge red velvet bows, and enormous red glass ornaments. Festive wreaths decorated with sleighs and bells were hanging on the mirrored square pillars that dotted the store, and "Deck the Halls" was playing gaily on the speaker system. A woman who was looking at handbags saw Meredith and nudged her friend. "Isn't that Meredith Bancroft?" she exclaimed.
"That is definitely Meredith Bancroft!" one of the women pronounced. "And that writer who said she looks like a young Grace Kelly was right!"
Meredith heard them, but she scarcely registered what they said. In the last few years, she'd grown accustomed to people staring at her and talking about her. Women's Wear Daily had called her "the embodiment of cool elegance"; Cosmopolitan called her "total chic." The Wall Street Journal called her "Bancroft's reigning princess." Behind the doors of Bancroft's boardroom, the directors called her "a pain in the ass."
Only the last description mattered to Meredith; she didn't care what the newspapers and magazines wrote about her—except for whatever value their articles had for adding to the store's prestige. But the board of directors mattered to her immensely, for they had the power to thwart her, to block her dreams for Bancroft's continued expansion into other cities. The president of Bancroft's treated her with no more affection or enthusiasm than the directors did. And he was her father.
Today, however, not even her ongoing battle with her father and the board over expansion plans could dampen Meredith's spirits. She felt so completely happy that she had to restrain the urge to hum along with the Christmas carol. Instead, she indulged her high spirits by doing something she used to do as a little girl: She walked over to one of the mirrored pillars, leaned close to it, peering into the mirror and pretending to poke a strand of hair into place, then she grinned and winked at the security agent she knew would be sitting inside the pillar, watching for shoplifters.
"You've never married," she clarified, "and I was wondering if you have any plans to marry in the future."
Matt relaxed and uninformatively replied, "It's not out of the question."
Chapter 13
November 1989
Crowds of Chicagoans strolled along Michigan Avenue, their unhurried pace due partly to the unseasonably mild November day and partly to the jam of shoppers gathered at the windows of Bancroft & Company which were already spectacularly decked out for Christmas.
In the years since the store's opening in 1891, Bancroft's had evolved from a quaint two-story brick building with dome-shaped yellow awnings at its windows into a fourteen-story glass-and-marble structure that covered an entire city block. But regardless of the many alterations that Bancroft's had undergone, one thing had not changed: A pair of doormen attired in maroon and gold livery still stood formal sentinel at the store's main entrance. This small touch of stately elegance remained—a visible statement of Bancroft's continued insistence on dignity and graciousness.
The two elderly doormen, who were so fiercely competitive that they'd rarely spoken to each other in the thirty years they'd worked together, surreptitiously watched the arrival of a black BMW, and each doorman silently willed the driver to draw up on his side of the doors.
The car pulled up to the curb and Leon, on one side of the doors, held his breath, then expelled it in an irritated sigh as the car glided past him and halted directly in front of his adversary's territory. "Miserable old coot!" Leon muttered at his counterpart as Ernest hurried forward. "Good morning, Miss Bancroft," Ernest said as he opened Meredith's door with a flourish. Twenty-five years ago, he'd opened the door of her father's car, taken his first look at Meredith, and said exactly the same thing in exactly the same reverent tone.
"Good morning, Ernest," Meredith replied, smiling and handing him her keys as she got out of the car. "Will you ask Carl to park my car for me? I had a lot to carry this morning, and I didn't want to have to bring it all the way from the parking garage." Valet parking was another elegant convenience that Bancroft's offered to its customers.
"Certainly, Miss Bancroft."
"Tell Amelia I said hello," she added, referring to his wife. Meredith was on familiar terms with many of the store's long-time employees; they were like family to her now, and this store—the main store of a growing chain that today had seven stores in various cities—was as much a home to her as the mansion she'd grown up in or her own apartment.
Pausing on the sidewalk, she watched the crowds gathered in front of the store windows. A smile touched her lips and her heart swelled with pleasure. It was a feeling she experienced nearly every time she gazed up at Bancroft's elegant facade, a feeling of pride and enthusiasm and fierce protectiveness. Today, however, her happiness was boundless because last night Parker had taken her in his arms and said with tender solemnity, "I love you, Meredith. Will you marry me, darling?" Afterward he had slid an engagement ring on her finger.
"The windows are better than ever this year," she said to Ernest as the crowd shifted and she glimpsed the stunning result of Lisa's talent and skill. Lisa Pontini had already earned widespread industry acclaim for her work at Bancroft's. In another year, when her boss retired, Lisa was slated to take his place as director of visual presentation.
Eager to find Lisa and tell her the news about Parker, Meredith opened the passenger door of her car, gathered up two briefcases and several stacks of files, and headed for the main doors. As soon as she entered the store, a security agent spotted her and came forward. "May I help you with those, Miss Bancroft?"
Meredith started to decline, but her arms were already aching, and besides, she felt an irresistible urge to stroll around before she went to see Lisa, and to luxuriate in what looked to be another record sales day based on the crowds of shoppers already thronging the aisles and counters. "Thank you, Dan, I'd appreciate that," she said, shifting the load of heavy files into his arms and handing him both briefcases.
When he headed off toward the elevators, Meredith absently straightened the blue silk scarf she'd looped through the lapels of her white coat and, tucking her hands into her pockets, she strolled past the cosmetic aisles. Shoppers jostled her as they hurried toward the banks of escalators in the center of the store, but the bustle only added to her pleasure.
With her head tipped back, she gazed up at the thirty-foot-high white Christmas trees that soared above the aisles, their branches trimmed with twinkling red lights, huge red velvet bows, and enormous red glass ornaments. Festive wreaths decorated with sleighs and bells were hanging on the mirrored square pillars that dotted the store, and "Deck the Halls" was playing gaily on the speaker system. A woman who was looking at handbags saw Meredith and nudged her friend. "Isn't that Meredith Bancroft?" she exclaimed.
"That is definitely Meredith Bancroft!" one of the women pronounced. "And that writer who said she looks like a young Grace Kelly was right!"
Meredith heard them, but she scarcely registered what they said. In the last few years, she'd grown accustomed to people staring at her and talking about her. Women's Wear Daily had called her "the embodiment of cool elegance"; Cosmopolitan called her "total chic." The Wall Street Journal called her "Bancroft's reigning princess." Behind the doors of Bancroft's boardroom, the directors called her "a pain in the ass."
Only the last description mattered to Meredith; she didn't care what the newspapers and magazines wrote about her—except for whatever value their articles had for adding to the store's prestige. But the board of directors mattered to her immensely, for they had the power to thwart her, to block her dreams for Bancroft's continued expansion into other cities. The president of Bancroft's treated her with no more affection or enthusiasm than the directors did. And he was her father.
Today, however, not even her ongoing battle with her father and the board over expansion plans could dampen Meredith's spirits. She felt so completely happy that she had to restrain the urge to hum along with the Christmas carol. Instead, she indulged her high spirits by doing something she used to do as a little girl: She walked over to one of the mirrored pillars, leaned close to it, peering into the mirror and pretending to poke a strand of hair into place, then she grinned and winked at the security agent she knew would be sitting inside the pillar, watching for shoplifters.
