Paradise Read online

  Parker walked over to her desk while Meredith spread pale pink linen place mats on the dining room table.

  “Are they in here?” he asked, holding up a manila envelope.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the envelope. “No. That’s my passport, birth certificate, and some other papers. The stock certificates are in a larger envelope.”

  He held one up, looking at the return address on the outside, and frowning with confusion. “In this one?”

  “No,” she said with another glance over her shoulder. “That’s my divorce papers.”

  “This envelope has never been opened. Haven’t you ever read them?”

  She shrugged as she took out linen napkins from the side table. “Not since I signed them. I remember what they say, though. They say that in return for a ten-thousand-dollar payoff from my father, Matthew Farrell grants me a divorce and relinquishes all right to any claims on me or anything I ever have.”

  “I’m certain they aren’t worded exactly like that,” Parker said with a grim chuckle, turning the envelope over in his hand. “Do you mind if I have a look?”

  “No, but why would you want to?”

  He grinned. “Professional curiosity—I am an attorney, you know. I’m not entirely the boring, fastidious banker your friend Lisa likes to think I am. She needles me about that all the time, you know.”

  It was not the first time Parker had made a remark that indicated Lisa’s joking jibes got under his skin, and Meredith made a mental note to tell Lisa, very firmly this time, that it had to stop. Parker had much to be proud of. Taking all that into consideration, she decided it was unwise and unnecessary to add to his pique by reminding him that he had specialized in tax law, not domestic law. “Look all you like,” she replied, and leaning forward, she pressed a kiss on his temple. “I wish you didn’t have to go to Switzerland. I’m going to miss you every day.”

  “It’s only for two weeks. You could go with me.”

  He was scheduled to address the World Banking Conference there, and she would have loved to watch him do it, but it wasn’t possible. “You know I’d love to. But this season is—”

  “Your busiest time of the year,” he finished without resentment. “I know.”

  In the refrigerator Meredith found a beautifully arranged platter of cold, marinated chicken and a salad of hearts of palm. As usual, there was little for her to do except open a bottle of wine and put the platter in the center of the dining room table—which was about the extent of her culinary abilities anyway. Cooking was something she’d tried to do a few times and failed, and since she didn’t enjoy it anyway, she was content to spend her time working and leave domestic chores to Mrs. Ellis. If food couldn’t go directly to the table via the microwave or oven, Meredith had no desire whatsoever to bother with it.

  Rain was spattering against the windows, and she lit the candles in the antique candelabra, then she carried out the chicken and salad and chilled white wine and put them on the table. Standing back, she surveyed the effect of the table setting. Fresh pink roses reposed in an ornate bowl in the center of the table, and the antique silver flatware looked lovely against the pink linen place mats. Thinking she ought to contribute something more to the meal than merely setting the table and putting the platters and wine there, she reached out and poked gently at two of the fresh pink roses in the centerpiece.

  “Dinner is ready,” she said, walking over to Parker. For a moment he seemed not to hear her, then he pulled his gaze from the documents he was reading and looked at her, frowning. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m not certain,” he said, but he sounded as if something was very wrong. “Who handled your divorce?”

  Unconcerned, she perched on the arm of his wing chair and glanced distastefully at the papers that were headed Decree of Divorce: Meredith Alexandra Bancroft vs. Matthew Allan Farrell. “My father took care of everything. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I find these documents very irregular from a legal standpoint.”

  “In what way?” Meredith asked, noticing that her father’s lawyer had misspelled Matt’s middle name as Allan instead of Allen.

  “In every way,” Parker said, flipping back and forth through the pages, truly agitated.

  The tension in his voice communicated itself to Meredith, and because she hated thinking of Matt and the divorce, she immediately tried to reassure Parker and herself that whatever Parker was concerned about was meaningless, even though she hadn’t the vaguest idea what he was concerned about. “I’m certain everything was done legally and correctly. My father handled everything, and you know what a stickler for detail he is, Parker.”

  “Well, he might be, but this lawyer—Stanislaus Spyzhalski, whoever that is—wasn’t concerned with details. Look here,” he said, flipping back to the cover letter that had been addressed to her father. “This letter says he’s enclosed the entire file, and that the court has sealed the records, as your father asked.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “What’s wrong is that this ‘entire file’ does not contain a notice that Farrell was ever served with the petition for divorce, or that he ever appeared in court, or that he ever waived his right to appear—and that’s only a small part of what bothers me.”

  Meredith felt the first twinges of genuine alarm, but she firmly ignored them. “What difference does all this make now? We’re divorced, that’s all that matters.”

  Instead of replying, Parker flipped back to the first page of the divorce petition and began reading it slowly, his scowl deepening with every paragraph. When Meredith couldn’t stand the suspense anymore, she stood up. “What,” she demanded in a calm, no-nonsense tone, “is bothering you now?”

  “This entire document is bothering me,” he replied with unintended curtness. “Divorce decrees are drawn up by lawyers and signed by the judge, but this decree reads like none I’ve ever seen written by any reasonably competent attorney. Look at the wording of this!” he said, jabbing his index finger at the last paragraph on the last page as he read.

  “In return for $10,000 and other good and valuable consideration paid to Matthew A. Farrell, Matthew Farrell relinquishes all claim to any property or possessions owned now or in the future by Meredith Bancroft Farrell. Furthermore, this court herewith grants a decree of divorce to Meredith Bancroft Farrell.”

  Even now the memory of the way she’d felt eleven years ago when she learned that Matt had accepted money from her father made Meredith wince. He’d been such a liar, such a rotten hypocrite when they were married and he’d protested that he’d never touch a cent of her money.

  “I cannot believe the wording of this!” Parker’s low, angry voice pulled her from her brief reflections. “It reads like a damned real estate contract: ‘In return for $10,000 and other good and valuable consideration,’ ” he said again. “Who in the hell is this guy?” he demanded of Meredith. “Look at his address! Why would your father hire an attorney whose practice was on the South Side, practically in the slums?”

  “Secrecy,” Meredith said, glad at least to have an answer for something. “He told me at the time that he’d deliberately hired ‘a nobody lawyer’ on the South Side—someone who wouldn’t guess who I am or who Father is either. He was very upset about everything, as I told you before. What are you doing?” she asked as he reached for the phone on her desk.

  “I’m going to call your father,” he said, and then with a brief grim smile to silence her protest, he added, “I’m not going to alarm him. I’m not sure there’s anything to be alarmed about.” True to his word, when her father answered his phone, Parker indulged in small talk with him for a few moments, and then he casually remarked that he’d been looking over Meredith’s divorce decree. As if teasing her father about his choosing a lawyer on the fringe of the slums, he asked him who had recommended Mr. Stanislaus Spyzhalski, Esquire. He laughed at whatever Philip replied, but when he hung up the phone, Parker’s smile vanished.

  “What