Farrell's eyes narrowed, but just as Stuart opened his mouth to argue for Meredith's terms, Farrell looked down and quickly initialed all three stipulations, then he signed the document and tossed it across the table to Stuart. "Was secrecy your advice," he asked, "or Meredith's idea?"
"Hers," Stuart replied, and then because he was itching to see Farrell's reaction, he added smoothly, "If she'd have taken my advice, she would have thrown that agreement in the trash."
Farrell leaned back, studying Stuart with unnerving intensity and something that might have been a glimmer of respect. "If she'd done that," he countered, "she'd have risked her father's health and his good name."
"She wouldn't have risked anything," Stuart contradicted flatly. "You were bluffing." The other man lifted his brows and said nothing, so Stuart pressed harder. "What you're doing is unethical and extreme. Either you're a world-class bastard, or you're insane, or you're in love with her. Which is it?"
"Definitely the first," Farrell replied. "Possibly the second. Possibly all three. You decide."
"I already have."
"Which is it?"
"The first and the third," Stuart replied, suddenly enjoying himself, noting Farrell's slight, reluctant smile at Stuart's unflattering conclusion. "What do you know about Meredith?" Stuart asked after another swallow of his drink, determined to reaffirm his conclusion that Farrell was in love with her.
"Only what I've read in the magazines and newspapers in the last eleven years. I'd rather find out the rest by myself."
For a man who checked out an attorney right down to the size of his shoe, Stuart thought it was meaningful that Farrell, who was supposedly interested only in revenge, hadn't done an equally impersonal background check on Meredith. "Then you don't know the little things about her," Stuart said as he continued watching him over the rim of his glass, "like the fact that in the summer after her freshman year of college there was a rumor going around that she'd had some sort of tragic love affair, and that's why she wouldn't go out with anyone. You, of course, were probably inadvertently the cause of that." He paused, watching the flare of intense interest and emotion that Farrell belatedly tried to conceal by lifting his glass and taking a swallow of his drink. "And of course," he continued, "you wouldn't know that in her junior year a rejected fraternity boy started the rumor that she was either a lesbian or frigid. The only thing that stopped the lesbian thing from sticking to her was her friendship with Lisa Pontini, who was dating the president of the kid's fraternity. Lisa was so far from being a lesbian, and so loyal to Meredith, that she made the kid a laughingstock with the help of her current boyfriend. The part about being frigid stuck though. They nicknamed her the 'ice queen' at school. When she finished grad school, and came back here, the nickname got whispered, but she was so damned beautiful that it added to her allure because it made her a challenge. Besides, showing up with Meredith Bancroft on your arm, looking at that face of hers across a restaurant table, was such an ego boost that you didn't much care that she wouldn't sleep with you."
Stuart waited, hoping Farrell would finally take the bait and start asking questions, which would have been a tip-off about his true feelings, but Farrell either had no feelings for her—or else he was too smart to risk giving any hints that might cause her attorney to tell her that her husband was definitely in love with her and that she could tear up that document without risk of having him carry out his threats. Irrationally convinced the latter was still the case, Stuart said idly, "Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask," Farrell emphasized.
"What made you decide to double-team her today with two attorneys, particularly two attorneys whose methods are notoriously heavy-handed?"
For a second Stuart thought he wasn't going to answer, but then Farrell admitted with an ironic smile, "That was a tactical error on my part. In my haste to get the agreement drawn up in time for this meeting, I failed to make Levinson and Pearson understand that I wanted her convinced to sign, not bludgeoned to death." Putting his half-empty glass down on the table, he stood up, making it obvious that their little tete-a-tete was over.
Left with no choice, Stuart did likewise, but as he bent to pick up the papers, he added, "That was more than a mistake, it was the kiss of death. Besides bullying and coercing her, you betrayed and humiliated her by letting Levinson tell us all that she'd slept with you last weekend. She's going to hate you for that for a lot longer than eleven weeks. If you knew her better than you do, you'd realize that."
"Meredith is incapable of lasting hatred," Farrell informed him in an implacable voice that was tinged with pride, and Stuart had to hide his shock because every word Farrell was saying now was inadvertently confirming his own suspicion. "If she weren't incapable of it, she'd hate her father for spoiling her childhood and for belittling her success at work. She'd be hating him now for what she's just discovered he did to us eleven years ago. Instead, she's trying to protect him from me. Rather than hating, Meredith looks for ways to excuse the inexcusable in people she loves—including me, by telling herself I was justified in leaving her because I'd been forced to marry her in the first place." Oblivious to Stuart's stunned fascination, Farrell eyed him across the cocktail table and added, "Meredith can't stand to see people hurt. She sends flowers to dead babies with notes to tell them they were loved; she cries in an old man's arms because he's believed for eleven years that she aborted his grandchild, and then she drives four hours in a storm because she has to tell me the truth right away. She's softhearted, and she's overly cautious. She's also smart, astute, and intuitive, and those things have enabled her to excel at the department store without being devoured by back-biting executives or turning into one herself." Leaning down, he picked up his fountain pen and shot a cool, challenging look at Stuart. "What else could I possibly need to know about her?"
Stuart returned the look with one of his own— satisfied triumph. "I'll be damned," he said softly, laughing. "I was right—you are in love with her. And because you are, you wouldn't do a damned thing to hurt her by prosecuting her father."
Brushing the sides of his jacket back, Farrell shoved his hands into his pockets, spoiling some of Stuart's triumph by showing no concern over his conclusion. He spoiled the rest of it by saying blandly, "You think that, but you aren't sure enough to risk having Meredith put me to the test. You aren't even sure enough to broach the subject with her again, and if you were sure, you'd still hesitate to do it."