For years Matt had pushed those memories, along with the anguish he'd felt over the baby, into some dark, safe recess of his mind, because he couldn't stand to think of it. Putting Meredith out of his mind had become an art he'd practiced and perfected. At first he did it out of self-preservation. Later, out of habit.
Now, as he gazed at the tinkling headlights far below on Lake Shore Drive, he realized he didn't need to do that anymore. She had ceased to exist for him.
He'd known when he made the decision to spend the next year in Chicago that Meredith and he would be bound to encounter each other, but he'd refused to let it affect his plans. Now he realized he needn't have bothered to consider it, because it didn't matter. They were both adults; the past was over. Meredith was nothing if not well-bred. They'd both be able to carry off their meeting with the polite courtesy that was expected of adults in these situations.
Matt climbed into Stanton's stretch Mercedes and shook his friend's hand, then his gaze shifted to Alicia, who was swathed in an ankle-length sable coat the same color as her dark glossy hair. She reached out and put her hand in his, smiling into bis eyes—seductive, direct, and appealing. "It's been a long time," she said in that rich, soft voice of hers.
"Too long," he replied, and he meant that.
"Five months," she reminded him. "Do you intend to shake my hand or are you going to kiss me properly?"
Matt tossed a helpless, amused glance at her father— an explanation of intent. Stanton answered with an indulgent, paternal smile of permission, and Matt tugged Alicia's hand, pulling her unceremoniously onto his lap. "How properly did you have in mind?" he asked.
She smiled and said, "I'll show you."
Only Alicia would have dared to kiss a man the way she did in front of her father. But then, not many fathers would have smiled and politely diverted their gaze to the side window while their daughters kissed a man with a lingering sensuality designed to be sexually arousing. Alicia did and Matt was. They both knew it. "I think you've really missed me," she said.
"And I think," he told her, "one of us should have the grace to blush."
"That's very provincial of you, darling," she informed him, laughing as she reluctantly took her hands from his shoulders. "Very middle class."
"There was a time," he reminded her pointedly, "when being middle class would have been an improvement."
"You're proud of that, aren't you?" she teased.
"I suppose I am."
She slid off his lap, crossed her long legs, and her coat parted to reveal a thigh-high slash in the side of her black sheath gown. "What do you think?" she asked.
"You can find out later what he thinks," Stanton said, suddenly impatient with his daughter's monopoly of his friend. "Matt, what do you know about the rumors that Edmund Mining is going to merge with Ryerson Consolidated? Before you answer that," he said, "how is your father? Does he still insist on staying at the farm?"
"He's fine," Matt said, and it was true. Patrick Farrell had been sober for eleven years. "I finally convinced him to sell the farm and move to the city. He'll be staying with me for a few weeks, then he's going to visit my sister. I have to go out to the farm later this month and pack up family mementos. He doesn't have the heart to do it."
The vast ballroom of the hotel with its soaring marble columns, glittering crystal chandeliers, and magnificent vaulted ceiling was always splendid, but tonight Meredith thought it was especially wonderful. The decorations committee had turned it into a gorgeous winter fairyland, with white gazebos blanketed in artificial snow and filled with red roses and holly. Near the center of the room, a larger gazebo with roses trailing up its columns and "snowbanks" at its sides was occupied by an orchestra playing a salute to Rodgers and Hart. Fountains bearded with glittering artificial icicles spouted geysers of sparkling champagne while waiters circulated among the guests, offering hors d'oeuvres to those who didn't wish to help themselves from the giant silver-plated tiers laden with food.
Tonight, the lavishness of the decorations were enhanced by the glitter of jeweled silks and brocaded velvets, as the patrons of the opera, who'd turned out en masse, paused in their laughing conversations to pose for photographers from the media or strolled about, greeting friends. Near the center of the room, Meredith stood beside Parker, his hand possessively at her waist, accepting good wishes from friends and acquaintances who'd read about their engagement. When the last group drifted away, Meredith looked at Parker, her face lit up with sudden laughter.
"What's so funny?" he asked with a tender smile.
"The song the orchestra is playing," she explained. "It's the same one we danced to when I was thirteen." When he looked puzzled, she added, "At Miss Eppingham's party at the Drake Hotel."
Parker's expression cleared and he grinned at the memory. "Ah, yes—Miss Eppingham's mandatory night of misery."
"It was miserable," Meredith agreed. "I dropped my purse, and bumped your head, and stepped all over your feet while we danced."
"You dropped your purse, and we bumped heads," he said with the same gentle sensitivity to her feelings that she'd come to love, "but you did not step on my feet. You were adorable that night. In fact, that was the first night I actually noticed what amazing eyes you have," he continued with a reminiscent smile. "You looked up at me with the oddest, most intent expression—"
Meredith burst out laughing. "I was probably considering the best way to propose to you!"
He grinned, his arm tightening around her. "Really?"
"Absolutely." Her smile wavered when she noticed a gossip columnist bearing down on them. "Parker," she said quickly, "I'm going up to the lounge for a few minutes. Sally Mansfield is headed this way, and I don't want to talk to her until I find out on Monday who at Bancroft's told her that nonsense about Bancroft's celebrating our wedding with a national sale.
"The person who did it will have to ask her to print a retraction," Meredith said with finality as she reluctantly pulled away from his encompassing arm, "because there isn't going to be any such sale. Please watch for Lisa," she added as she started toward the grand staircase that led up to the mezzanine. "She should have been here long ago."
"We timed it perfectly, Matt," Stanton said as Matt lifted the fur coat off Alicia's shoulders and handed it to the coat-check girl stationed off the ballroom. Matt heard him, but his attention was momentarily diverted by the daring expanse of creamy flesh exposed by the wide, plunging neckline of Alicia's black velvet sheath. "That's quite a gown," he told her, his expression warm with amusement and frank desire.
Now, as he gazed at the tinkling headlights far below on Lake Shore Drive, he realized he didn't need to do that anymore. She had ceased to exist for him.
He'd known when he made the decision to spend the next year in Chicago that Meredith and he would be bound to encounter each other, but he'd refused to let it affect his plans. Now he realized he needn't have bothered to consider it, because it didn't matter. They were both adults; the past was over. Meredith was nothing if not well-bred. They'd both be able to carry off their meeting with the polite courtesy that was expected of adults in these situations.
Matt climbed into Stanton's stretch Mercedes and shook his friend's hand, then his gaze shifted to Alicia, who was swathed in an ankle-length sable coat the same color as her dark glossy hair. She reached out and put her hand in his, smiling into bis eyes—seductive, direct, and appealing. "It's been a long time," she said in that rich, soft voice of hers.
"Too long," he replied, and he meant that.
"Five months," she reminded him. "Do you intend to shake my hand or are you going to kiss me properly?"
Matt tossed a helpless, amused glance at her father— an explanation of intent. Stanton answered with an indulgent, paternal smile of permission, and Matt tugged Alicia's hand, pulling her unceremoniously onto his lap. "How properly did you have in mind?" he asked.
She smiled and said, "I'll show you."
Only Alicia would have dared to kiss a man the way she did in front of her father. But then, not many fathers would have smiled and politely diverted their gaze to the side window while their daughters kissed a man with a lingering sensuality designed to be sexually arousing. Alicia did and Matt was. They both knew it. "I think you've really missed me," she said.
"And I think," he told her, "one of us should have the grace to blush."
"That's very provincial of you, darling," she informed him, laughing as she reluctantly took her hands from his shoulders. "Very middle class."
"There was a time," he reminded her pointedly, "when being middle class would have been an improvement."
"You're proud of that, aren't you?" she teased.
"I suppose I am."
She slid off his lap, crossed her long legs, and her coat parted to reveal a thigh-high slash in the side of her black sheath gown. "What do you think?" she asked.
"You can find out later what he thinks," Stanton said, suddenly impatient with his daughter's monopoly of his friend. "Matt, what do you know about the rumors that Edmund Mining is going to merge with Ryerson Consolidated? Before you answer that," he said, "how is your father? Does he still insist on staying at the farm?"
"He's fine," Matt said, and it was true. Patrick Farrell had been sober for eleven years. "I finally convinced him to sell the farm and move to the city. He'll be staying with me for a few weeks, then he's going to visit my sister. I have to go out to the farm later this month and pack up family mementos. He doesn't have the heart to do it."
The vast ballroom of the hotel with its soaring marble columns, glittering crystal chandeliers, and magnificent vaulted ceiling was always splendid, but tonight Meredith thought it was especially wonderful. The decorations committee had turned it into a gorgeous winter fairyland, with white gazebos blanketed in artificial snow and filled with red roses and holly. Near the center of the room, a larger gazebo with roses trailing up its columns and "snowbanks" at its sides was occupied by an orchestra playing a salute to Rodgers and Hart. Fountains bearded with glittering artificial icicles spouted geysers of sparkling champagne while waiters circulated among the guests, offering hors d'oeuvres to those who didn't wish to help themselves from the giant silver-plated tiers laden with food.
Tonight, the lavishness of the decorations were enhanced by the glitter of jeweled silks and brocaded velvets, as the patrons of the opera, who'd turned out en masse, paused in their laughing conversations to pose for photographers from the media or strolled about, greeting friends. Near the center of the room, Meredith stood beside Parker, his hand possessively at her waist, accepting good wishes from friends and acquaintances who'd read about their engagement. When the last group drifted away, Meredith looked at Parker, her face lit up with sudden laughter.
"What's so funny?" he asked with a tender smile.
"The song the orchestra is playing," she explained. "It's the same one we danced to when I was thirteen." When he looked puzzled, she added, "At Miss Eppingham's party at the Drake Hotel."
Parker's expression cleared and he grinned at the memory. "Ah, yes—Miss Eppingham's mandatory night of misery."
"It was miserable," Meredith agreed. "I dropped my purse, and bumped your head, and stepped all over your feet while we danced."
"You dropped your purse, and we bumped heads," he said with the same gentle sensitivity to her feelings that she'd come to love, "but you did not step on my feet. You were adorable that night. In fact, that was the first night I actually noticed what amazing eyes you have," he continued with a reminiscent smile. "You looked up at me with the oddest, most intent expression—"
Meredith burst out laughing. "I was probably considering the best way to propose to you!"
He grinned, his arm tightening around her. "Really?"
"Absolutely." Her smile wavered when she noticed a gossip columnist bearing down on them. "Parker," she said quickly, "I'm going up to the lounge for a few minutes. Sally Mansfield is headed this way, and I don't want to talk to her until I find out on Monday who at Bancroft's told her that nonsense about Bancroft's celebrating our wedding with a national sale.
"The person who did it will have to ask her to print a retraction," Meredith said with finality as she reluctantly pulled away from his encompassing arm, "because there isn't going to be any such sale. Please watch for Lisa," she added as she started toward the grand staircase that led up to the mezzanine. "She should have been here long ago."
"We timed it perfectly, Matt," Stanton said as Matt lifted the fur coat off Alicia's shoulders and handed it to the coat-check girl stationed off the ballroom. Matt heard him, but his attention was momentarily diverted by the daring expanse of creamy flesh exposed by the wide, plunging neckline of Alicia's black velvet sheath. "That's quite a gown," he told her, his expression warm with amusement and frank desire.
