Free Paradise by Judith McNaught

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 witheveryone from horse trainers to truck drivers after they were married. She purposely made a laughingstock out of my father by having flagrant affairs withsleazy 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 carback 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."

Chapter 7
     
    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."
    He swallowed a bark of laughter, because loud laughter on this austere occasion would be a severe breach of the etiquette he'd been taught to observe. Excusing himself, he put the unfinished scotch down on a small table beside him and went off in search of a better drink. Behind him, the elderly lady picked up the