now thine enemy,’ Paula said. ‘That’s what this is all about, Jack, why I asked you here.’

Jack Figg, managing director of Figg International, nodded quickly. ‘I get the picture. And this Jonathan Ainsley chap is also your cousin, is he?’

‘Correct. And a very troublesome one at that. The situation is critical. I wouldn’t have dragged you to the store at eleven-thirty at night otherwise.’

‘That’s no problem. I’d come out at any time for you, Paula. I’ve always valued our friendship, as well as our long-standing business relationship.’

‘Thanks.’ She gave a warm smile. ‘I feel the same way.’

Jack Figg, who ran the biggest and most successful security and private investigating company in Britain, sat back in the chair facing her. He pulled an Asprey leather jotting pad out of his sports jacket, said, ‘All right, Paula, shoot. Give me as many facts as you can.’

‘That’s just it, I don’t have very many. However, it’s my understanding that Jonathan Ainsley has lived in Hong Kong for about twelve years. That’s when he left England. He owns a company called Janus and Janus Holdings. More than likely it’s to do with real estate, that’s always been his area of expertise. He’s married, but I don’t know to whom. Charles Rossiter told me that they’re presently staying at Claridge’s; oh, and he mentioned that the wife is pregnant.’ Paula lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘I can’t tell you more than that.’

‘Hong Kong is obviously our jumping off point. But I’ll also have him watched here, so we know what he’s up to.’

‘That’s a good idea, and, as I just said, the situation is critical.’

‘I understand. And no doubt you needed the information yesterday.’

‘No, five years ago, if the truth be known,’ Paula answered quietly.

Jack Figg gave her a knowing look. ‘I get the picture. But actually, how long do I have?’

‘Five days – at the most. I’d like your report on my desk by Monday.’

‘Good God, Paula! You’re asking for miracles! I can’t deliver in that short a time!’

‘Jack, you have to, otherwise the information will be worthless to me. It’ll be too late.’ She leaned across the desk, her face tense, her blue eyes focused intently on him. ‘I don’t care how many agents you put on. It can be a hundred, if necessary – ‘

‘If I do that, it’s going to cost you a lot of money,’ Jack interjected.

‘Have I ever haggled with you, Jack?’

‘No, of course you haven’t, it’s not your style. But digging deep, doing a complete profile of this nature can become very expensive. Very quickly. Especially when there’s a time element involved. To gather the kind of information you want, I have to turn Ainsley inside out. I will have to put a lot of operatives on. It’ll also be necessary to move a number of my agents from other Far East countries into Hong Kong. That in itself will send the costs skyrocketing. Then there’ll be all kinds of payoffs, bribes – ‘

Paula cut in, ‘I don’t need to know the details, Jack. Just do it. Please. Get me as much information on Jonathan Ainsley as you can. I need ammunition against him, in order to defend myself. There’ve got to be some skeletons in his closet.’

‘Maybe not, Paula. He might be as clean as a whistle.’

She was silent, knowing this was true.

‘But I hope he’s not,’ Jack added swiftly, ‘for your sake. And look, I’ll try to get back to you on Monday. However, it could be Tuesday.’

‘Do your very best, Jack.’

‘I’ll get to it tonight,’ he promised, impatient to start working the telephones and the telex machine. He stood up. ‘The Far East is already open for business.’

After Paula had walked Jack Figg to the staff lift and thanked him once again, she hurried into the office where Emily and Michael were working on the records of Harte’s shareholders.

‘Any luck yet?’ she asked from the doorway.

‘Not yet,’ Emily answered. ‘But never fear, we’re bound to come up with some names before too long. How did it go with Jack Figg? Is he on the job?’

‘He is. And I have a lot of confidence in him. If there’s anything to find, Jack will find it.’

‘Oh I’m sure there’s sleaze in Jonathan Ainsley’s life!’ Emily exclaimed. ‘He always was weird and mixed with a strange bunch when he lived here. Like that awful Sebastian Cross.’

Paula felt a cold little shiver run through her. ‘I’d rather not think about him, if you don’t mind.’

‘Why should he bother you! He’s dead. Anyway, don’t stand there looking like a sucking duck. Come and help us.’

‘Of course.’ Paula joined them.

Emily gave her a batch of computer printouts. ‘Start on these, but before you really dig in, let me get you a cup of coffee, and one of the sandwiches I brought with me. You haven’t eaten all night, Paula.’

‘I’m not hungry, darling. But I will have a cup of coffee. Thanks, Dumps.’

Paula concentrated on the top sheet, running her eyes quickly down the page of names. Harte’s had hundreds of small stockholders who held nominal amounts of shares, as well as those others who had acquired larger blocks over the years. Suddenly, her heart sank. This was an endless task, as Michael had said earlier. It might even take longer than one night, several days perhaps, to find the people they needed. She was conscious of time, felt the pressure. Jonathan had boasted he was quickly going to buy up the five per cent he needed. But it was not a boast. She knew he fully intended to do exactly that.

‘I bet Jonathan has his stockbrokers and all kinds of flunkies skittering around, trying to buy Harte shares!’ she exclaimed, looking at Michael.

He returned her glance. ‘I’m sure he has. But you have the advantage, Paula. You have the inside information – these records.’

‘Yes,’ she said dully, and dropped her eyes to the printout, starting to read again.

Emily brought coffee for the three of them, sat down next to Paula. ‘Cheer up, lovey. We’ll get the results soon. As Gran used to say, many hands make light work. But, oh boy, do I wish Winston and Shane were here to help us.’

‘Oh so do I, Emily. I miss Shane so much. I can’t wait for him to get back from Australia. I feel as if half of me is missing when he’s not here.’

‘Are you going to phone him tomorrow, tell him about this?’ Emily inquired.

‘I think I have to, he’d be hurt if I didn’t. I only hope it doesn’t upset him too much. I couldn’t bear that. Poor darling, he’s had too much to contend with lately.’

It was the gentle tone, the loving nuances, the look of longing in her eyes that stabbed at Michael. She worships Shane, he thought. He is her life. At that precise moment Michael knew what a fool he had been to think she would ever entertain any advances from him. The mere thought of what he might have done in a foolish moment caused him acute embarrassment.

He dropped his head, pretended to concentrate on the sheet of names to hide his sudden discomfiture. His sexual desire for her had not waned in the past year. He had constantly fantasized about her, but how ridiculous he had been, he saw that now. She was happily married to his friend. How could he have ever thought that she would be interested in him, or any other man for that matter. It had always been Shane since their childhood.

Michael felt as if a veil had been lifted. He saw everything with sudden clarity. He understood then what she had been doing earlier in the year…she had been persistently pushing Amanda at him. He ought to have recognized that months ago in New York, known that Paula was out of his range. But he had been so caught up in the fantasy in his own head, he had been blind to many things, most especially reality.

‘Here it is!’ Emily shrieked. ‘I’ve found a shareholder with quite a substantial number of shares.’

‘How many?’ Paula asked, hardly daring to breathe.

‘Four per cent. Gosh, she must be a fairly wealthy woman.’

‘Who is she?’ Paula asked excitedly, her voice echoing Emily’s enthusiasm.

‘A Mrs Iris Rumford of – ‘ Emily traced her finger across the printout. ‘– Bowden Ghyll House, Ilkley!’

‘A Yorkshire woman,’ Michael said quietly. ‘Perhaps this is a good omen, Paula.’

On Saturday morning at ten o’clock, Paula sat opposite Mrs Iris Rumford in the handsome drawing room of her lovely old manor house in Ilkley.

It was obvious to Paula that Mrs Rumford was a woman of considerable means, and she had been graciously received and offered coffee on her arrival minutes before.

Paula had accepted a cup, and the two women had exchanged pleasantries, discussed the weather. Now, as she finished her coffee, Paula said, ‘It was very kind of you to see me, Mrs Rumford. As my assistant told you, I wanted to talk to you about your shares in Harte’s stores.’

‘Yes. And it’s my pleasure, Mrs O’Neill. Anyway, it was the least I could do, in that I had tea with your cousin, Jonathan Ainsley, on Thursday.’

Paula almost dropped the coffee cup. She put it down carefully on the end table. This was the last thing she had expected to hear, and she gave Iris Rumford a sharp look. ‘He also came to see you about your shares in Harte’s presumably?’

‘Yes, Mrs O’Neill. He did. He offered me an excellent price for them, went very high actually.’

Paula felt her throat tighten, and she swallowed several times before saying, ‘And did you accept his offer, Mrs Rumford?’

‘No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t.’

Paula relaxed. She smiled at the older woman. ‘Then I can make you an offer for them, can’t I?’

‘You could, yes.’

‘Name your price, Mrs Rumford.’ ‘I don’t have a price.’

‘But you must know how much you want for your shares.’

‘No, I don’t. You see, I’m not all that keen to sell them. My late husband bought them for me in 1959.’ She gave a funny little laugh. ‘I’m sort of sentimentally attached to them. Harte’s is my favourite shop in Leeds. I’ve always patronized it.’

Paula held herself still, pressing back her annoyance. She had obviously come here on a wild goose chase. But she could not afford to antagonize this woman; she needed her too badly. Paula said, ‘Well, of course I’m glad you like the store, that you’re a satisfied customer. But look here, I do wish you would consider my offer. I will purchase your shares at the same price Mr Ainsley quoted to you.’

Iris Rumford studied her for a moment, frowning slightly, as if she were trying to make up her mind about something. Then she said, ‘Is there going to be one of those big battles? The kind I read about in the financial pages of the Sunday Times?’

‘I sincerely hope not,’ Paula exclaimed. Unexpectedly, Iris Rumford pushed herself to her feet. Paula also rose, realizing the conversation was suddenly at an end.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs O’Neill,’ Mrs Rumford murmured. ‘Perhaps I should not have let you come to see me. I’ve wasted your time, I’m afraid. You see, I thought that I might sell my shares, but now I’ve changed my mind.’

‘I’m truly sorry to hear that.’ Paula stretched out her hand, trying to be cordial, courteous to her.

Iris Rumford shook it. ‘I can see you’re angry. And I can’t say I blame you. Forgive my vacillation. And please excuse the indecisiveness of an old lady.’

Paula said, ‘It’s all right, really it is. But if you should change your mind again, please ring me.’

All the way back to Leeds, Paula fumed.

She was baffled and irritated by the woman’s odd behaviour, as well as being disappointed. Had Iris Rumford just wanted to be important for a brief moment in her life? Or was it a case of simple curiosity on the part of a lonely old woman? Had she merely wanted to meet Jonathan and herself? Paula wondered how Jonathan Ainsley had found Iris Rumford, how he knew that she owned a block of Harte shares. Obviously, he had his ways and his means.

She sighed with exasperation as she pressed her foot hard on the accelerator, and headed the Aston Martin in the direction of Leeds. Going to see Iris Rumford had been a waste of time.

Paula spent most of the day working in her office at the Leeds store.

Several times she went out onto the floor, but mostly she kept herself busy with paperwork. And she strove hard not to think about Jonathan Ainsley, the possible takeover bid on his part, or dwell on the frightening prospect of losing the stores to him.

When she did become tense, she reminded herself that in the last forty-eight hours her stockbrokers and Charles Rossiter had between them managed to acquire another seven per cent of Harte shares on her behalf. They had bought them from nine small stockholders Emily and Michael had pinpointed on the computer printouts.

Only three per cent, that’s all I need now, she kept saying under her breath whenever she needed to lift her sagging spirits. The words consoled her.

At four o’clock she placed a pile of papers in her briefcase, locked her office and left the store. She usually stayed until six, even on Saturdays. But Emily was coming over to Pennistone Royal for dinner that evening, and Paula wanted to spend an hour with Patrick and Linnet before she arrived.

It was a lovely September afternoon, very sunny, and Leeds had been busy all day. The traffic was heavy on Chapeltown Road as shoppers returned to the outskirts after a day in town. But Paula was an excellent driver; she dodged in and out between the other cars, was soon on the open road going to Harrogate.

She was approaching the roundabout in Alwoodley when the Cellnet phone in her car rang. Reaching for it, she said, ‘Hello?’ half expecting it to be Emily.

‘Mrs O’Neill, it’s Doris at the store.’

‘Yes, Doris?’

‘I have a Mrs Rumford of Ilkley on another line,’ the switchboard operator said. ‘She insists it’s very urgent she speaks to you. Apparently you have her phone number.’

‘I do, Doris. But it’s in my briefcase. Please give her the car number, ask her to phone me at once. And thank you.’

Only a few minutes after Paula had hung up, the car phone rang again. It was Iris Rumford, and she got straight to the point. ‘I wonder if you could come and see me tomorrow? To discuss those shares again.’

‘I really can’t, Mrs Rumford. I have to drive to London tomorrow. In any case, since you don’t want to sell, there doesn’t really seem to be much point, does there?’

‘I might reconsider your offer, Mrs O’Neill.’

‘Then why don’t I drive over now?’

‘All right,’ Iris Rumford agreed.

‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’ Iris Rumford was saying to Paula an hour later.

Paula shook her head. ‘Should I? Do I know you?’ Her brows knitted together in perplexity. She fixed her gaze intently on the other woman. Iris Rumford was thin but sprightly, with silver hair and a ruddy complexion; she looked to be in her seventies. Paula was certain she did not know her. ‘Have we met?’ she asked with another frown.

Iris Rumford sat back and returned Paula’s penetrating stare. At last, she said slowly, ‘No, we haven’t met. But you knew my brother. Or at least, you were acquainted with him.’

‘Oh,’ Paula said, lifting a black brow. ‘What was his name?’ ‘John Cross.’

This name so startled Paula she almost exclaimed out loud. She managed to say in a normal tone, ‘We met when he owned Cross Communications.’ As she spoke Paula thought of his late son, Sebastian, once her deadly enemy and Jonathan’s best friend. She realized immediately how Jonathan knew about Iris Rumford and the stock she owned in Harte’s.

‘You were very kind and courteous to my brother at the end of his life,’ Iris Rumford continued. ‘He told me about you when he was dying. He respected you, thought you were very fair. It was your other cousin, Mr Alexander Barkstone, that I met briefly, when my brother was in St James’s Hospital in Leeds.’ Iris Rumford looked into the fire. There was a short pause. ‘You and Mr Barkstone…well, you’re different from Jonathan Ainsley…’ She brought her eyes to Paula, half smiled.

Paula waited, wondering what was coming next. When Mrs Rumford made no further comment, she said, ‘Yes, I do believe we are. I hope so. But sadly, Mr Barkstone is now dead.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ The old lady gazed into the flames again. She muttered, ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how people in families can differ so very much. He was wicked, evil, my nephew, Sebastian. I never had much time for him. John, of course, idolized him, the only son, the only child. But he killed my brother, drove him into his grave with all that wickedness. And Jonathan Ainsley was just as wicked. He hammered quite a few nails into my poor brother’s coffin. Bad lot, Sebastian and your cousin.’

Suddenly, Iris swung her silver head, focused her eyes on Paula once more. ‘I wanted to meet you, Mrs O’Neill, to judge for myself what kind of person you are. That’s why I asked you to come this morning. You’re a sincere woman, I can tell that from your eyes. Anyway, I’ve never heard anything bad about you hereabouts. Mostly they say you’re like Emma Harte. She was a good woman. I’m glad you take after her.’

Paula had no words. She held her breath. ‘And so, if it will help you personally, I will sell you my Harte shares.’

For a moment Paula thought she might burst into tears. ‘Thank you, Mrs Rumford. It would help me, very much so. I would be most grateful if you sold them to me and not to my cousin.’

‘Oh I never intended to sell them to him. I just wanted…well, wanted to look him over again, satisfy myself that I’d always been right in my judgement. Also, I got a bit of satisfaction from dangling the carrot in front of him and then snatching it away.’ She shook her head. There was a shrewd glint in her wise old eyes. ‘When you both phoned me about selling the shares, I got a feeling he was out to make trouble for you. Well, never mind, he’ll get his comeuppance one day.’

‘Yes.’ Paula leaned forward, said, ‘I told you this morning I would purchase the shares at the price Jonathan Ainsley had offered. That still stands, of course.’

‘Good Lord, that doesn’t matter! I wouldn’t dream of holding you up, Mrs O’Neill.’