raffic was backed up for blocks near Bancroft's corner. Crowds of shoppers huddled tightly in their coats rushed across the intersection, ignoring the DON'T WALK signal, their heads bent against the bitter wind that blasted across Lake Michigan and whirled through the downtown streets. Car horns blared and drivers cursed the pedestrians, who were causing them to miss their green light. In her black BMW, Meredith watched as droves of shoppers paused at Bancroft's windows and then went into the store. The weather had turned cold, and that always brought out the early shoppers who preferred to beat the Christmas rush. Today, however, her mind wasn't on the numbers of shoppers entering the store.

In twenty minutes she had to make a formal presentation to the board of directors on the Houston store, and although they'd already given a tentative nod to the project, she couldn't proceed any further and finalize arrangements without their formal approval this morning.

Four other women were gathered around Meredith's secretary's desk when Meredith got off the elevator on the fourteenth floor. Stopping at Phyllis's desk, she peered over their shoulders, half expecting to see another issue of Playgirl magazine like the one they'd huddled over last month. "What's up?" she asked. "Another male centerfold?"

"No, not that," Phyllis said as the other secretaries hastily disbanded and she followed Meredith into her office. Rolling her eyes in amusement, she explained, "Pam ordered another printout of her astrological forecast for next month. This one says true love is coming her way, along with fortune and fame."

Lifting her brows in shared amusement, Meredith said, "I thought that's what the last one said."

"It did. I told her for fifteen dollars, I'd do her next one." The two women regarded each other in laughing harmony, and then they switched to business. "You have a board of directors meeting in five minutes," Phyllis reminded her.

Meredith nodded and picked up the folder with her notes in it. "Is the architect's model in the boardroom?"

"Yes. And I got the projector set up for the slides."

"You're a complete jewel," Meredith said, and she meant it. With the folder in hand, she started for the door, then she turned and added, "Call Sam Green and ask him to be available to meet with me as soon as I finish with the board of directors. Tell him I'd like to go over the preliminary purchase contract he's drawn up for the Houston land. I want to get it to Thorp Development by the end of the week. With a little luck," Meredith added, "I'll have the board's approval on the Houston project by this afternoon."

Phyllis picked up the telephone on Meredith's desk to call the chief counsel and gave a thumbs-up sign. "Knock 'em dead," she said.

The boardroom was very much as it had been fifty years earlier, only now, in the age of glass and brass and chrome, there was a nostalgic grandeur about the immense room with its Oriental carpeting, the intricate molding on dark-paneled walls, and the English landscapes hanging in their baroque frames. Stretching down the center of the huge room was a massive carved mahogany table, thirty feet in length, with twenty ornately carved chairs upholstered in scarlet velvet arranged around it at precise intervals. In the center of the table was an enormous and elaborate antique sterling silver bowl filled with red and white roses. Beside it was a matching tea and coffee service with delicate Sevres porcelain coffee cups rimmed in gold and hand-painted with tiny roses and vines. Silver pitchers, frosted from the ice water within them, had also been placed at intervals down the table.

The room, with its oversize, heavily carved furniture, had the atmosphere of a throne room, which Meredith often suspected was exactly what her grandfather had wanted when he commissioned the furnishings to be made a half century before. There were times when she couldn't decide whether the room was impressive or ugly, but either way, every time she entered it, she felt as if she were stepping into history. This morning, however, her thoughts were more on making history by opening another store than on feeling a part of past history. "Good morning, gentlemen," she said with a bright, businesslike smile at the twelve conservatively dressed men fanned around the table who had the power to accept or reject her proposal for the Houston project.

With the exception of Parker, whose smile was warm, and old Cyrus Fortell, whose smile was lecherous, there was a marked reticence in the chorus of polite "good mornings" that answered her greeting. Part of their reserve, Meredith knew, sprang from their awareness of the power and responsibility they held; part of it was due to the simple fact that she had repeatedly forced and cajoled them into investing Bancroft's profits into expansion rather than using it to pay large dividends to shareholders—including themselves. Most of all, however, they were restrained and guarded with her because she was an enigma and because they didn't know exactly how to deal with her. Although she was an executive vice president, she was not a member of the board, therefore they outranked her. On the other hand, she was a Bancroft—a direct descendant of the founder of the company—and entitled to be treated with a measure of respect. And yet her own father, who was both a Bancroft and a member of the board, treated her with curt tolerance and nothing more. It was no secret that he'd never wanted her to work for Bancroft & Company; it was also no secret that she'd excelled in every way, and that her contribution to the company had been great. As a result of all that, the board members were caught in a situation guaranteed to make successful, confident men become temperamental and brusque—uncertainty. And because Meredith was indirectly the cause of that unpleasant feeling for them, they reacted to her with frequent and unprovoked negativity.

Meredith understood all that, and she refused to let their unencouraging expressions ruffle her confidence as she took her place at the foot of the table where the projector had been set up, and wait for her father's permission to begin.

"Since Meredith is here," he said, his tone implying she was late and had kept them waiting, "I believe we can now get down to business."

Meredith waited through the interminable reading of the minutes of the last board meeting, but her attention was on the architectural scale model of the Houston store that Phyllis had wheeled in earlier. Looking at the magnificent Spanish-style mall the architect had designed with space for other shops in its enclosed courtyard, she felt her resolve harden and her confidence soar. Houston was the perfect place for this newest and largest member of Bancroft's growing family, and the proximity of the land to Houston's Galleria would ensure its success from the moment Bancroft's opened its doors. When the minutes had been accepted as read, Nolan Wilder, who was the board's chairman, formally stated that Meredith wished to present the final figures and plans for the Houston store for their approval.

Twelve perfectly groomed, masculine heads turned to her as she stood up and walked over to the slide projector. "Gentlemen," she began, "I gather you've all had ample opportunity to look over the architect's model?"

Ten of them nodded, her father glanced at the model, but Parker quietly regarded her with the half-proud, half-puzzled smile he usually wore whenever he watched her perform her job—as if he couldn't quite fathom how or why she insisted on doing it, but was pleased with how well she did it. His position as Bancroft's banker gave him his seat on the board, but Meredith knew she couldn't always count on his support. He was his own man; she'd understood that from the beginning, and she respected him for it.

"We've already discussed most of these cost figures in past meetings," Meredith said, reaching behind her and dimming the lights, "so I'll try to go over these slides as quickly as possible." She pressed the button on the projector's remote control, and the first slide showing the anticipated costs for the proposed store dropped into place. "As we agreed earlier this year, the Houston store will be approximately three hundred thousand square feet. Our projected building costs are thirty-two million dollars which includes our new store, fixtures, parking lot, lighting—everything. The land we intend to purchase from Thorp Development will be an additional twenty to twenty-three million depending upon our final negotiations with them. We'll need another twenty million for inventory—"

"That's seventy-five million maximum," one of the directors interrupted, "but you're asking us to approve an expenditure of seventy-seven million for the store."

"The other two million is to cover pre-opening expenses," Meredith explained. "If you'll look at line four on the screen, you'll see that it covers grand-opening expenses, advertising, et cetera."

She pressed the button and the next slide fell into place, showing much higher figures for the project. "This next slide," she explained, "shows our projected costs for building the entire mall when we build our store rather than waiting until later to expand. You already know that I feel strongly that we ought to build the entire mall at the same time we build our store. The added costs are fifty-two million, but we'll recover that from leasing out space in the mall to other retail tenants."

"Recover it, yes," her father stated irritably, "but not immediately, as you implied, Meredith."

"Did I imply that?" Meredith asked politely, knowing she'd done no such thing. She smiled at him and let a pulse beat of silence reprimand him for his injustice and impatience. It was, she'd learned, the most effective way to deal with him when he was unreasonable. Even so, his voice sounded strained, as it often had since his heart attack, and she had to subdue a sharp jab of worry.

"We're waiting," he warned.

In a tone of calm reason, Meredith continued. "Some of you feel we ought to wait before constructing the entire mall. I think there are three strong reasons to build it all at once."

"For the record, what are those reasons?" another board member asked as he filled his glass with ice water.

"In the first place, we'll have to pay for all the land whether we're using it for the mall or not. If we go ahead and build the mall on it at the same time we build our store, we'll save several million dollars in construction costs, because as you all know, it is cheaper by the square foot to build it all at once rather than to add on later. Second, construction costs are bound to rise as Houston's economy continues to improve. Third, if we have other, carefully selected tenants in our mall, they will help bring traffic into our store. Are there any other questions?" she asked, and when there were none, Meredith proceeded to the remaining slides. "As you can see from these graphs, our area research team has thoroughly evaluated the location I've chosen for the Houston store, and they've given it the highest possible rating. The demographics of the primary trade area are perfect, there are no geographic barriers—"

Her explanation was interrupted by Cyrus Fortell, an eighty-year-old reprobate who'd been on Bancroft's board for fifty years, and whose ideas were as antiquated as the brocaded vest and ivory-handled cane he always carried. "That's all a bunch of jibberish to me, missy," he exclaimed in his reedy, irate voice." 'Demographics' and 'primary trade areas' and 'area research teams' and 'geographic barriers.' What's it mean, that's what I want to know!"

Meredith felt a mixture of exasperation and affection for Cyrus, whom she'd known since she was a child. The other board members thought he was getting senile, and they planned to retire him. "It means, Cyrus, that a team of people who specialize in studying the best places to open retail stores have gone to Houston and studied the site I've chosen. They think the demographics—"

"Demowhatsas?" he scoffed. "We didn't even have that word when I was opening up drugstores across the nation! What does it mean?"

"In the way I'm using it now, it means the characteristics of the human population in the surrounding area of our store—how old they are and how much money they make—"

"I didn't pay any attention to all that in the old days," he persisted irritably, glaring at the impatient faces around the table. "Well, I didn't. When I wanted to open up a drugstore, I just sent people out to build one and filled it up with inventory, and we were in business."

"It's a little different today, Cyrus," Ben Houghton said. "Now, just listen, so you can vote on what Meredith is talking about."

"I can't vote on something I don't understand, now, can I?" he said, turning up the control in his pocket that was connected to his hearing aid. He looked at Meredith. "Proceed, my dear. I understand now that you sent a bunch of experts to Houston who discovered that there are people living in the area who are old enough to get to your store on foot or by motor car, and who have enough money in their pockets to share some of it with Bancroft's. Is that about it?"

Meredith chuckled and so did several of the others. "That's about it," she admitted.

"Then why didn't you just say so? It baffles me why you young people have to complicate every little thing by inventing high-sounding words to confuse us. Now, what are 'geographical barriers'?"

"Well," Meredith said, "a geographical barrier is anything that a potential customer might not want to have to drive through in order to get to our store. For example, if customers had to drive through an industrial area or an unsafe neighborhood to get to our store, those would be geographical barriers."

"Does this Houston site have any of those?"

"No, it doesn't."

"Then I vote in favor of it," he announced, and Meredith swallowed a giggle.

"Meredith"—her father's curt voice cut Cyrus off from further comment— "do you have anything else to add before the board votes on the Houston project?"

Meredith glanced at the inscrutable faces of the men seated at the table, and shook her head. "In as much as we've discussed the details of the Houston project in great depth in prior board meetings, I have nothing to add to all that. I would, however, like to state once again that only by expanding can Bancroft's hope to compete successfully with other full-line department stores." Still slightly uncertain as to whether the board would actually vote in favor of the Houston project or not, Meredith made a final effort to gain their support by adding, "I'm sure I don't have to remind the members of the board that every one of our five new stores is showing profits that equal or surpass our projections. I believe much of that success is due to the care with which we've picked the locations we open in."

"The care with which you pick the locations," her father corrected her, and he looked so cold and stern that it took a moment before Meredith realized he had just paid her a compliment. It was not the first time he'd paid her a grudging compliment, but coming now, with the board present, Meredith took it as a highly encouraging sign that he was not only going to support the Houston project, but that he meant to ask the board to approve her as interim president during his leave of absence. "Thank you," she said with quiet simplicity, and sat down.

As if he hardly knew what she was thanking him for, he turned to Parker. "I gather your bank is still willing to commit the funds for a loan to finance the Houston project if the board so approves it?"

"We intend to, Philip, but only under the terms we discussed at the last meeting."

Meredith had known about those terms for weeks, but even so, she had to bite her lip to hide her moment of panic at his mention of them. Parker's bank—more accurately his own board of directors—had reviewed the enormous sums of money they'd loaned to Bancroft's in the last few years, and they'd grown nervous about the astronomical figures. In order to make the loans for the Phoenix and now the Houston store, his board had insisted on some new terms. Specifically, they were requiring she and her father to personally guarantee the loans as well as to put up additional collateral, including their personal stock in Bancroft's, to secure the loans. Meredith was gambling with her own money, and she found it slightly terrifying. Beyond her stock in Bancroft's and her salary, the only money she had was her inheritance from her grandfather, and it was that which she was going to put up as additional collateral for the Houston store.

As her father spoke, however, it was obvious he was still angry at what he regarded as outrageous demands from his banker. "You know how I feel about your special terms, Parker. Given the fact that Reynolds Mercantile has been Bancroft's only bank for more than eighty years, this sudden demand for personal guarantees and additional collateral is not only uncalled for, it's insulting."

"I understand your feelings," Parker said calmly. "I even agree with you, and you know that. This morning I met again with my board and tried to persuade them to either relinquish their insistence on these tighter terms or at least to lessen their demands, but without success. However," he continued, looking at the men assembled around the table in order to include them in his remarks, "their insistence on added collateral and personal guarantees is no reflection on their opinion of Bancroft & Company's worthiness as a borrower."

"Sounds to me like it is," old Cyrus announced.

"Sounds to me like your bank thinks Bancroft's is a potential deadbeat!"

"They think nothing of the sort. The fact is that in the last year the economic climate for department store chains has been less than healthy. Two of them have filed Chapter 11 to escape being shut down by their creditors while they try to reorganize. That's one factor that influenced our decision, but of equal importance is the fact that banks have been failing in numbers unequaled since the Great Depression. As a result of that, most banks are becoming increasingly cautious about lending too much to any one borrower. Then, too, we have to satisfy the bank examiners who are now scrutinizing all our loans more closely than ever before. Lending requirements are stricter now."

"Sounds to me like we ought to go to another bank," Cyrus suggested with a bright, eager look at the faces around the table. "That's what I'd do! Tell Parker here to go to Hades and we'll find our money elsewhere!"

"We could try to find other financing," Meredith told Cyrus, struggling to separate her personal feelings for Parker from this discussion. "However, Parker's bank is giving us a very advantageous interest rate that we'd have difficulty getting from any other bank. He's naturally—"

"There's nothing natural about it," Cyrus interrupted, passing an appreciative glance over her that verged on lecherous before he turned accusingly on Parker. "If I were going to marry this gorgeous young woman, the natural thing would be to give her any little thing she wants instead of tying up her assets!"

"Cyrus," Meredith warned, wondering why some old men, like Cyrus, abandoned dignity in favor of acting and speaking like pubescent teenagers, "this is business."

"Women shouldn't be involved in business—unless they're ugly and can't get a man to look after them. In my day, a beautiful girl like yourself would be at home, doing natural things like having babies and—"

"This isn't your day, Cyrus!" Parker snapped. "Go ahead, Meredith—what were you about to say?"

"I was about to say," Meredith replied, feeling her cheeks warm with embarrassment as the other men at the table exchanged smirking glances, "that your bank's special conditions are of little serious concern, since Bancroft & Company is going to make all loan payments on a timely basis."

"That's quite true," her father averred, his attitude becoming resigned and impatient. "Unless anyone has anything to add to this discussion, I believe we can close the Houston topic and vote on it at the end of this meeting."

Picking up her file, Meredith formally thanked the board for their consideration of the Houston project and left the boardroom.

"Well?" Phyllis asked, following Meredith into her office. "How did it go? Is there going to be a Houston branch of Bancroft's or not?"

"They're voting on it right now," Meredith said, leafing through the morning mail Phyllis had laid on her desk.

"I have my fingers crossed."

Touched by Phyllis's dedication to her and to Bancroft's, Meredith smiled reassuringly. "They'll approve the Houston store," she predicted. Her father was reluctantly in favor of that, so she had little doubt on that score. What she couldn't ascertain from his remarks during the past weeks was whether or not he was in favor of building the complete mall at the outset. "All that's really in doubt is whether they'll approve the building of the entire mall or only our store. Will you call Sam Green and ask him to bring the Thorp contracts?"

When she hung up the phone a few minutes later, Sam Green was standing in her doorway. Sam was only five feet five with hair the color and texture of steel wool, but there was an aura of competence and authority about him that was immediately recognizable—particularly to anyone who found themselves on the opposite side of any legal issue he was handling. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his green eyes were sharp with intelligence. At the moment, however, they were peering expectantly at Meredith. "Phyllis said you're ready to start finalizing a contract for the Houston land," he said, walking into her office. "Does this mean we have the board's approval?"

"I'm assuming we'll have it in a few minutes. How much do you think our opening offer to Thorp should be?"

"They're asking thirty million," he replied, thinking aloud as he sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. "How about an opening offer of eighteen million, and we settle at, say, twenty? They've got a mortgage on that land and they need cash badly. They might sell it for twenty."

"Do you really think so?"

"Probably not," he said with a chuckle.

"If we have to, we'll go to twenty-five. It's worth a maximum of thirty, but they haven't been able to sell it for that—" The phone rang on her desk and Meredith answered it instead of finishing her sentence. Her father's voice was curt and final: "We will proceed with the Houston project, Meredith, but we will postpone building the entire mall until we have some profits out of our store there."

"I think you're making a mistake," she told him, hiding her disappointment behind a brisk, businesslike tone.

"It was the board's decision."

"You could have swayed them," Meredith said baldly.

"Very well, then, that was my decision."

"And it's a mistake."

"When you are running this company, you can make the decisions—"

Meredith's heart gave a funny little lurch at his words. "And am I going to be doing that?"

"Until then I will make them," he said, avoiding her question. "For now, I'm going home. I'm not feeling well. In fact, I'd have postponed the meeting this morning if you hadn't been so adamant about needing to get going on the land deal."

Uncertain whether he was really ill or simply using that as a ploy to avoid a discussion with her, Meredith

sighed. "Take care of yourself. I'll see you at dinner Thursday night." When she hung up the phone, she allowed herself a silent moment of regret that the entire mall couldn't be built, and then she did what she'd learned to do years before, after her disastrous marriage: She faced reality and found something in it to look forward to and work toward. Smiling at Sam Green, she injected a note of pleasure and triumph into her voice. "We have approval to proceed on the Houston project."

"The entire mall, or just the store?"

"Just the store."

"I think it's a mistake."

He'd obviously heard her say as much to her father, but Meredith didn't comment on his remark. She'd made it a policy to keep her comments and thoughts about her father's policies to herself whenever possible. Instead, she said, "How soon can you get a contract ready and take it to Thorp?"

"I can have the contracts ready by tomorrow night. But if you want me to negotiate the deal personally, I won't be able to go down to Houston until the week after next. We're still preparing that lawsuit against Wilson Toys."

"I'd rather you handle it," she said, knowing that he'd be able to negotiate a better deal than anyone else, but wishing he could do it sooner. "I suppose the week after next will be all right. By then we may have a written commitment from Reynolds Mercantile, and we won't need to make the contract contingent on financing."

"That land has been for sale for years," he said with a smile. "It will still be available in two weeks. Besides, the longer we wait, the more likely Thorp will be to take our low-ball-park offer." When she still looked concerned, he added, "I'll try to get my people moving quicker on the Wilson lawsuit. As soon as we wrap it up, I'll head to Houston."

It was after six when Meredith looked up from the contracts she'd been reading and saw Phyllis heading toward her with her coat on and Meredith's evening newspaper in her hand. "I'm sorry about the Houston deal," Phyllis said, "sorry that they wouldn't approve the entire mall, I mean."

Meredith leaned back in her chair and smiled wearily. "Thank you."

"For being sorry?"

"No," Meredith replied, reaching for the newspaper, "for caring. Basically, though, I'd say it's been a pretty good day."

Phyllis nodded toward the newspaper which she'd already opened to the second page. "I hope that this doesn't make you change your mind."

Puzzled, Meredith unfolded it and saw Matthew Farrell looking back at her beside some starlet who'd evidently flown to Chicago in his private jet to accompany him to the party of a friend last night. Snatches of newspaper copy imprinted itself on Meredith's mind as she glanced at the glowing article about Chicago's newest entrepreneur and most eligible bachelor, but when she looked up at Phyllis, her face was perfectly composed. "Is this supposed to bother me?"

"Check the business section before you decide," Phyllis advised.

It occurred to Meredith to tell Phyllis that she was out of line, and, just as quickly, she dismissed the notion. Phyllis had been her first secretary, and Meredith had been her first boss. In the past six years they'd worked hundreds of nights together as well as dozens of weekends; they'd eaten cold sandwiches at Meredith's desk while they worked to meet project deadlines. They were a dedicated team, they liked and respected each other.

The first page of the business section contained another picture of Matt and a glowing article about his leadership of Intercorp, his reasons for relocating to Chicago, the fabulous manufacturing facility he intended to build at Southville, and yet another mention of the lavish penthouse apartment he'd bought and furnished in the Berkeley Towers. Beside his picture and slightly below it was a picture of Meredith, accompanied by an article that quoted her remarks about Bancroft's successful expansion into the national retailing market.

"They gave him top billing," Phyllis noted, perching her hip on the edge of Meredith's desk, watching her read the article. "He's been here for less than two weeks and the newspapers are full of stories about him."

"Newspapers are also full of stories about muggers and rapists," Meredith reminded her, disgusted by the lavish praise the article heaped on his leadership, and furious with herself because for some reason, seeing his picture was making her hands tremble. No doubt her reaction was the result of knowing he was in Chicago now instead of thousands of miles away.

"Is he really as handsome as he looks in his pictures?"

"Handsome?" Meredith said with careful indifference as she got up and headed to the closet for her coat. "Not to me."

"He's a jerk, right?" Phyllis said with an irrepressible grin.

Meredith smiled back at her and walked over to lock her desk. "How'd you guess?"

"I read Sally Mansfield's column," Phyllis replied. "And when she wrote that you gave him the 'cut direct' in front of everyone, I figured he must be a world class jerk. I mean, I've seen you deal with men you couldn't stand and you managed to smile at them and be polite."

"Actually Sally Mansfield misunderstood the whole episode. I hardly know the man." Deliberately changing the subject, Meredith said, "If your car's still in the shop, I can give you a ride home."

"No thanks. I'm going to my sister's for dinner, and she lives in the other direction."

"I'd give you a ride to her place, but it's late and this is Wednesday—"

"And your fiancé always has dinner at your apartment on Wednesday, right?"

"Right."

"It's a lucky thing you like routine, Meredith, because it would drive me crazy knowing the man in my life always did particular things on particular days, day after day... year after year... decade after—"

Meredith burst out laughing. "Stop it. You're depressing me. Besides, I like routine and order and dependability."

"Not me. I like spontaneity."

"Which is why your dates rarely show up on the right night, let alone on time," Meredith teased.

"True."