16 All Bluff and No Bite

At first Philip seemed to regard Lisa as some sort of foundling he'd sponsored and who was surprising him by acquitting herself well at Bensonhurst. As time passed, however, he showed in his own gruff, undemonstrative way that he was proud of her and perhaps felt a modicum of affection for her.

Lisa's parents couldn't afford to come to Bensonhurst for any school functions, so Philip had assumed their role, taking her out to dinner when he took Meredith out, and generally showing an interest in her school activities. In the spring of the girls' freshman year Philip had even gone so far as to have his secretary call Mrs. Pontini and ask if there was anything she wanted him to take to Lisa when he flew to Vermont for Parents' Weekend.

Mrs. Pontini had eagerly accepted his offer and arranged to meet him at the airport. There, she presented him with a white bakery box filled with cannoli and other Italian pastries, and a brown paper bag containing long, pungent rolls of salami. Irritated at having to board his flight looking he later told Meredith—like a damned hobo boarding a Greyhound bus with his lunch in his arms, Philip nevertheless delivered his parcels into Lisa's hands, and he continued to act as surrogate parent to her at Bensonhurst.

Last night, in honor of graduation, he presented Meredith with a rose topaz pendant on a heavy gold chain from Tiffany's. To Lisa, he gave a much less expensive, but unquestionably lovely, gold bracelet with her initials and the date artfully engraved among the swirls on its surface. It, too, had been purchased at Tiffany's.

In the beginning, Lisa had been completely uncertain of how to respond to him, for although he was unfailingly courteous to her, he was always aloof and undemonstrative—much as he behaved to Meredith. Later, upon weighing his actions and discarding his surface attitude, Lisa cheerfully announced to Meredith that she'd decided Philip was actually a soft-hearted teddy bear who was all bluff and no bite!

That wholly erroneous conclusion led her to try to intercede for Meredith during the summer after their sophomore year. On that occasion Lisa had told Philip, very courteously and with her sweetest smile, that she truly thought Meredith deserved a little more freedom during the summer.

Philip's response to what he called Lisa's "ingratitude" and "meddling" had been explosive, and only her abject and instantaneous apology prevented him from carrying out his threat to put an end to Meredith's association with her and to suggest to Bensonhurst that her scholarship there be given to someone "more deserving." The confrontation had left Lisa staggered by more than just his incredibly volatile reaction.

From what he said to her, she finally realized that Philip had not merely suggested that the scholarship be given to her, but that the scholarship came from the Bancroft family's private endowment to the school. The discovery made her feel like a complete ingrate, while his explosive reaction left her in a state of angry frustration.

Now Lisa felt again that same impotent anger and bewilderment at the rigid restrictions he imposed on Meredith. "Do you really, honestly believe," she said, "that the reason he acts like your watchdog is because your mother cheated on him?"

"She didn't cheat on him just once, she was a total slut who slept with everyone from horse trainers to truck drivers after they were married. She purposely made a laughing stock out of my father by having flagrant affairs with sleazy nobodies. Parker told me last year, when I asked him, what his parents knew about her. Evidently, everybody knew what she was like."

"You told me all that, but what I don't understand," Lisa continued bitterly, "is why your father acts like lack of morals is some kind of genetic flaw you might have inherited."

"He acts that way," Meredith replied, "because he partially believes it."

They both looked up guiltily as Philip Bancroft walked back into the room. One look at his grim face and Meredith forgot her own problems. "What's wrong?"

"Your grandfather died this morning," he said in a dazed, gruff voice. "A heart attack. I'll go and check out of the motel and get my things. I've arranged for both of us to get on a flight that leaves in an hour." He turned to Lisa. "I'll rely on you to drive my car back home." Meredith had talked him into driving instead of flying so that Lisa could ride back with them.

"Of course I will, Mr. Bancroft," Lisa said quickly. "And I'm very sorry about your father."

When he left, Lisa looked at Meredith, who was staring blankly at the empty doorway. "Mer? Are you okay?"

"I guess so," Meredith said in an odd voice.

"Is this grandfather the guy who married his secretary years ago?"

Meredith nodded. "He and my father didn't get along very well. I haven't seen him since I was eleven. He called though, to talk to my father about things at the store, and to me. He was—he was —I liked him," she finished helplessly. "He liked me too."

She looked up at Lisa, her eyes glazed with sorrow. "Besides my father, he was my only close relative. All I have left are a few fifth or sixth cousins who I don't even know."

In the foyer of Philip Bancroft's house, Jonathan Sommers hesitated uneasily, searching through the crowds of people who, like himself, had come to pay the obligatory condolence visit on the day of Cyril Bancroft's funeral. He stopped one of the caterer's staff who was carrying a tray of drinks and helped himself to two that had been destined for other guests. After tossing down the vodka and tonic, Jonathan deposited the empty glass in a large potted fern, then he took a swallow of the scotch in the second glass and wrinkled his nose because it wasn't Chivas Regal.

The vodka, combined with gin he'd drunk from a flask in the car outside, made him feel slightly better fortified to face the funeral amenities. Beside him, a tiny elderly woman was leaning on a cane, studying him with curiosity. Since good manners seemed to require that he speak to her, Jon cast about for some sort of polite conversation pertinent to the occasion. "I hate funerals, don't you?" he said.

"I rather like them," she said smugly. "At my age, I regard each funeral I attend as a personal triumph, because I was not the guest of honor."