aula was blazing mad.

Walking rapidly down the Headrow, one of the main thoroughfares in Leeds, she soon put distance,between herself and the Aire Communications building. Her mind was racing. Although she had felt the sharp thrust of Sebastian Cross's vindictive and combative personality, had readily acknowledged that he detested her and had become her arch enemy, her thoughts now centered on his father and with good reason. Having more or less agreed to her terms right from the start, John Cross had ultimately reneged and, moreover, in the most treacherous and despicable way.

It did not require much analysis on her part to understand why he had done so. It was apparent that he did not want to lose face in front of his domineering son, whose presence had unnerved him, made him defensive and, very possibly, more reckless than he had ever been in his entire life. Yet surely his honor and integrity were important to him too, took precedence over everything else. And what about retaining his son's respect? She laughed hollowly at herself for entertaining such ridiculous thoughts. A young'man of Sebastian's perfidious nature had never made the acquaintance of those particular qualities. During the meeting, when she had understood that John Cross was not to be trusted, she had been momentarily astonished. He enjoyed a good reputation in Yorkshire's business community, had always'been considered honorable if not necessarily the wisest of men. That he would go back on his word was inconceivable to her.

Her pace accelerated, and so did her anger, as she recalled the energy and thought and time she had expended on Aire Communications. Her grandmother was going to be as infuriated as she was. Emma Harte would not tolerate being played for a fool; neither could she abide anyone who did not deal from a straight deck. Grandy would handle the situation in one of two ways. She would either shrug disdainfully and turn away in disgust, or she would treat Mr. Cross to a tongue lashing the likes of which he had never heard before. Her grandmother had an intractable sense of honor, never went back on her handshake or her word, both of which were as good as a written contract, as the whole world knew.

The thought of Emma Harte putting the duplicitous John Cross firmly in his place brought a flicker of a smile to Paula's violet-blue eyes. He deserved that if nothing else. But in reality he was facing much worse than Emma's acid tongue and her virulent condemnation. He was looking disaster right in the eye. Bankruptcy. Total ruin. Obliteration. She knew he was convinced that he could easily find another conglomerate or company to refinance Aire. She also knew he was absolutely wrong in this foolish belief. She had her ear to the ground, and the word was out. Nobody wanted to touch Aire Communications. Not even those ruthless and rapacious asset strippers who bought companies, plundered them, and then tossed to one side the empty shells which were left.

It suddenly occurred to Paula, as she cut down Albion Street, that, unbelievable though it was, John Cross had no real conception of what was about to happen to him or his company. She thought then of those he would take down with him and of the many employees at Aire who would be thrown out of work. We could have saved him, more importantly saved them, she muttered under her breath. The man is unconscionable. Ever since she could remember, her grandmother had instilled a sense of responsibility in her, and this was one of the mandatory rules in Emma's special code of ethics.

"Great wealth and power bring enormous responsibilities, and don't you ever forget that," Grandy had told her time and time again. "We must always look after those who work for us, and with us, because they help to make all this possible. And they rely on us, just as we rely on them in other ways," she had constantly pointed out. Paula was well aware that there were those magnates and industrialists who were jealous of Emma Harte, and who, as adversaries, misguidedly saw her as a hard, ruthless, driven, and power-hungry woman. Yet even they did not have the temerity to deny that she was eminently fair. That was something every Harte employee knew from first-hand experience—hence their extraordinary loyalty and devotion to her grandmother and their love for her.

Paula stopped abruptly and took several deep breaths. She must get rid of the anger boiling inside her. It was exhausting, took too much of her precious energy—energy which could be directed elsewhere and to much better purpose. And besides, rage blocked reasonable and intelligent thought. She started to walk again, but now her step was slower and more regulated, and by the time she reached Commercial Street she had managed to calm herself considerably. She dawdled a little bit, stopping to glance in shop windows until finally she was drawing to a standstill in front of E. Harte, her grandmother's huge department store at the end of the street. She smiled at the uniformed doorman whom she had known since childhood. "Hello, Alfred," she said, smiling.

'"Ello, Miss Paula," he responded with a benevolent grin, touching his cap. "It's a right beautiful day. Yes, luvely, it is that, Miss Paula. Let's 'ope t' weather 'olds til termorrer, for yer bairns' baptisms."

"Yes, let's hope so, Alfred."

He grinned again and pushed open the door for her. She thanked him, hurried through the perfume department and. took the lift to her office on the fourth floor. Her secretary, Agnes, looked up as she walked in and exclaimed with a small frown, "Oh dear, Mrs. Fairley, you've just missed Mr. O'Neill. Shane O'Neill, that is, and only by a few minutes too. What a shame. He waited for quite a while, then had to rush off to an appointment."

"Oh." Paula stopped dead in her tracks, taken aback, but she recovered herself and asked quickly, "Did he say why he dropped in? Or leave a message?"

"I gathered he was passing the store and decided to say hello on the spur of the moment. No message though, other than to tell you he would be coming to the christening."

"I see. Anything else, Agnes?"

"Mr. Fairley phoned from London. You can't call him back—he was on his way to a luncheon at the Savoy Hotel. He'll be arriving on schedule at six with your parents. The other messages are on your desk. Nothing vital." Agnes hesitated, then asked, "How did your meeting go at Aire?"

Paula made a sour face. "Not good, Agnes. In fact I'd venture to say that it went extremely badly."

"I am sorry, Mrs. Fairley. I know the amount of work you put in on those dreadful balance sheets and then the-hours you devoted to the contracts." Agnes Fuller, prematurely gray at thirty-eight, plain of feature and with a severe expression that actually betrayed the kindest of hearts, had worked her way up through the ranks of the Leeds store. She had been flattered yet apprehensive when Paula had promoted her to private secretary. After all, Paula was the heiress apparent, and Emma Harte's favorite; also there were those in the store who thought she was cold, remote, unyielding, and something of a snob who lacked Emma's extraordinary common touch. But Agnes had soon discovered that Paula had none of the characteristics so unkindly attributed to her by detractors. She was reserved of nature—even a little shy— cautious and prudent, and a veritable work horse, and these traits had very simply been misconstrued. Over the past three years Agnes had come to love the younger woman, was admiring of her, and considered her to be a brilliant executive who was a warm and caring person and a considerate employer.

As she peered at her young boss through her bifocals, Agnes noticed that Paula was paler than usual and drawn. She gave her a look of sympathy mingled with regret. "It's all very annoying," she clucked in commiseration, shaking her head. "And I hope you're not going to let it bother you, particularly this weekend."

"No, I won't, I promise you that," Paula reassured. "As my grandmother always says, you win a few, lose a few. We lost this one—" She did not finish, and a reflective expression settled on her face. "But, come to think of it, perhaps that's just as well." There was a thoughtful pause before she finished. "Excuse me, Agnes, I'll see you shortly."

Paula went into her office and sat down at the huge antique partners' desk which dominated the room. After taking the Aire Communications papers out of her briefcase, she picked up a red pen and wrote dead in capitals across the front of the bulging folder. She rose, went to -the filing cabinet, and slipped it inside, then returned to her desk. The deal was dead as far as she was concerned. The negotiations had ended in a fiasco, and in consequence she had lost all interest in Aire Communications.

More than any other of the Harte offspring, Paula had inherited an unusual number of Emma's characteristics, and those she had not been bom with she had acquired by osmosis from years of working at Emma's side. Chief amongst these was the ability to admit any kind of mistake with openness and candor and then put it behind her philosophically. Like Emma, she would invariably say: It didn't work. Perhaps my judgment was flawed. But let's go on from here. We mustn't look back.

And this was exactly what she said to herself now. In her mind Aire Communications was already a thing of the past.! If she had gravely misjudged John Cross and wasted a great deal of time and effort on him, she had no intention of compounding these errors by dwelling on them unnecessarily. She wondered whether she ought to give her grandmother a ring to explain what had happened, then decided against it. Grandy was seeing both Alexander and Emily this morning and was bound to be busy. Later she would drive out to Pennistone Royal as arranged and apprise her of the situation. Grandy is going to be disappointed, of course, she thought, sorting through the sheaf of messages. But that won't last long, and I'll soon find another project for her.

Picking up the telephone, Paula returned all of her business calls, signed the stack of letters Agnes had typed, and then sat back in the chair, glancing at her personal messages.

Her mother had called. Nothing important. Don't bother to call back. Will see you tonight, Agnes had scribbled, then added one of her inimitable postscripts: Mrs. Amory sounded marvelous, elated about tomorrow. We had a lovely chat. She's got a new hairstyle and is wearing a gray Christian Dior suit for the event.

Paula smiled at Agnes's comments, then scanned the message from her cousin, Sarah Lowther. Apparently she was fighting a cold and might not be well enough to attend the christening. But she didn't sound at all sick, Agnes had written cryptically. How strange, Paula thought, frowning and rereading the slip of paper. Sarah obviously doesn't want to come. I xvonder why? Since she could not hazard a guess, she turned to the last message. Miranda O'Neill was at the Leeds office of O'Neill Hotels International. Please call her back before lunch, Agnes had instructed.

Paula immediately dialed Miranda's private number. The line was busy, as it usually was when she was in the city. Like her grandfather, Miranda had what the poet Dylan Thomas had called, "the beautiful gift of the gab." She could easily be talking for the next hour. Automatically Paula's thoughts turned to Miranda's brother, Shane, and instantly she saw his vivid laughing face in her mind's eye. She was terribly disappointed she had missed him earlier. Such a visit had become a rarity. For years he had made it a habit to drop in on her, both in Leeds and London, and when these unexpected visits had ceased abruptly, she had been hurt and baffled.

Shane O'Neill, son of Bryan, grandson of Blackie, had been Paula's closest friend since childhood. They had grown up with each other, had spent all of their school holidays together, and had been inseparable for most of their lives—so much so that Emma had nicknamed Paula the Shadow. As her mind lingered on Shane, she realized she had not set eyes on him for many, many months. He was constantly traveling these days, dashing off to Spain and the Caribbean, where a number of the O'Neill hotels were located; when he was in England and if she chanced to run into him, he had a preoccupied air and a distant manner. She exhaled softly, slowly. How odd it was that their closeness should end with such finality, as it had a year ago. This still puzzled her. When she had eventually tackled Shane, had asked him what had happened between them, he had looked at her in the most peculiar way and denied that anything had. He had blamed business and his time-consuming schedule for his absence from her life. Perhaps he had simply outgrown her. Childhood friendships often did change radically; very frequently they deteriorated to such an extent they could never be reinstated. Regrettably, she thought. And I do miss him. I wish I'd been here this morning.

The buzz of the telephone cut into her thoughts. She reached for it. Agnes said, "It's Miss O'Neill, Mrs. Fairley."

"Thanks, Agnes, put her through, please."

A split second later Miranda's lilting voice flowed over the wire. "Hello, Paula. I thought I'd better call you again, since my phone's been busy for ages."

"That's par for the course," Paula said with an affectionate laugh. "When did you get in from London?"

"Last night. I drove up with Shane. And for the last time, I don't mind telling you. He's a maniac in a car. The tires sizzled the roads. I thought we'd end up in a ditch. I'll never know how I got here safe and sound. I was so shaken up and white when we arrived at the house, Mummy knew immediately what had happened. She's forbidden me to drive with him again. She gave him quite a piece of her mind, and—"

"I'll bet," Paula broke in with another laugh. "Your mother

thinks the sun shines out of Shane. He can't do anything wrong in her eyes."

"Well, he's in the doghouse at the moment, my dear. She really told him off, and so did Dad."

"Shane came to see me today, Miranda."

"Hey, that's good news. Like you, I can't understand why he's so aloof with you these days, but then he's a strange one, that big brother of mine. Too much of the Celt in him, perhaps. Anyway what did he have to say?"

"Nothing, Miranda, since I wasn't here. I was out at a meeting."

'Too bad. Still he's coming to the christening. I know you had your doubts, but he told me he was definitely going to go. He even offered to drive me." Miranda groaned in mock horror at this idea. "I declined. I was going to go with Crandpops, but naturally he's escorting Aunt Emma. So I'll toddle over by myself. Listen, Paula, apart from wanting to say hello, 1 was wondering if you'd like to have lunch? I've got to come over to the store to pick up a package for my mother. I could meet you in the Bird Cage in half an hour. What do you think?"

"That's a nice suggestion. Merry. Ill see you there at noon."

"It's a date," Miranda said. "Bye."

"Bye." As she began clearing her desk of papers, Paula was suddenly glad Miranda had suggested lunch. Her friend was a delight to be with and a very special girl, with her naturalness, her sweetness, her gaiety and effervescence. She had a joyous, carefree disposition, and laughter sprang readily to her lips, undoubtedly the reason why her nickname Mirry had soon turned into Merry when she was small.

Paula smiled to herself, wondering what Miranda was wearing today, what surprise was in store for her. The twenty-three-year-old girl had a penchant for creating the most outlandish outfits—costumes really—but they were put together with imagination and style, and she certainly carried them off with elan. They would have looked perfectly ridiculous on anyone else, but somehow they were exactly right on Miranda O'Neill. Apart from suiting her tall, somewhat boyish figure, they were an adjunct to her fey and whimsical personality. Or so it seemed to Paula, who considered Merry to be an original, the one genuine free spirit she knew. Her grandmother was equally as fond of Miranda and said that

Blaclde's granddaughter was the best tonic in the world for all of them because she chased their blues away. "There's not a bad bone in that girl's body," Emma had remarked to Paula recently. "And now that she's grown up, she reminds me a lot of her grandmother. There's a good deal of Laura Spencer in Merry—Laura's true goodness for one thing. Also there's a wise head on those young shoulders, and I'm pleased you two have become such good friends. Every woman needs a close and trusted friend of the same sex. I should know. I never really had one after Laura died."

Remembering these words of Emma's, Paula thought: But she always had Blackie, and she still has him; xvhereas I've lost Shane. Funny, though, that Miranda and I drew closer together once Shane had dropped'out...

There was a knock, and Agnes poked her head around the door. "These proofs just came up from the advertising department. Can you give them your okay?"

"Yes, come in, Agnes."

"They're the advertisements for the spring fashion sales," Agnes explained, handing them to her.

After studying the newspaper advertisements for a few seconds, Paula initialed the proofs, gave them back to her secretary, and stood up. "I'm going out onto the floor for a while. Could you phone the Bird Cage, Agnes, and tell them I'll need my usual table, please. At noon."

"Right away," Agnes said as they went out together.

When Emma Harte had first opened the cafe on the second floor of the Leeds store, she had called it the Elizabethan Gazebo and had decorated it in the style of an English country garden. Such things as handpainted wallpaper depicting pastoral scenes, panels of white trellis, artificial topiary animals, and antique bird cages combined to create a most enchanting little setting.

Over the years, as she refurbished the cafe, the name changed to match the theme, or vice versa. But always a garden or outdoor motif prevailed, often with an international avor, as Emma had given rein to her imagination and fantasies with flair and not a little wit. After a trip to the Bosphorus with Paul McGill, she had been inspired to create the effect of a courtyard in a seraglio. Mosaic tiles, silver wallpaper painted with peacocks, potted palms, and a splashing fountain were combined in the new design. She had called the caf£ Turkish Delight and had been delighted herself to witness its instantaneous popularity as a smart gathering place, not only for women shoppers but local businessmen who came in for lunch. Several years later Emma decided a more homespun motif was' in order. Highland Fling was the name she chose, and the setting took on the appearance of a Scottish castle yard, featuring rustic furniture and colorful tartans. Eventually this ambiance gave way to one which suggested an oriental teahouse and drew its inspiration from the elegant decorative elements of the Far East. The cafe was renamed the China Doll. Then came the Balalaika, redolent of nineteenth-century Russia; after that it was transformed into Riviera Terrace, and in 1960 Emma redid the caf<§ yet again. This time she used a sophisticated theme based on the skyline of New York City, lining the walls with giant-sized photographic murals of Manhattan. The decor suggested a big-city roof garden, and she called it Skyscrapers. But by the late summer of 1968 Emma had grown tired of this decorative mood; and as the caffi needed a complete overhaul at this time, she gave the project to Paula, asking her to create something different.

Paula knew everything there was to know about all of the stores in the Harte chain, and she remembered the photographs she had seen of the original Elizabethan Gazebo. She went into the archives, dug out the original plans and sketches, and was instantly struck by the uniqueness and beauty of the antique bird cages. Since she was aware they were stored in packing cases in the basement, she had them brought up and unwrapped. And so the current theme and the latest name were born.

Paula had the wooden and brass bird cages repainted or repolished and, after finding more to add to the collection, she featured them throughout the restaurant. They stood out beautifully against a background of lime-green wallpaper overpattemed with a sharp white trellis design; white wicker chairs and matching tables with glass tops reiterated the outdoor mood. Paula loved all growing things, was in fact a gifted gardener, and so her final, masterly touch was a lush assortment of small trees, flowering shrubs, and plants. It was the many pots of hydrangeas and azaleas that gave the Bird Cage its cachet, and this real garden within the heart of the store bloomed in all seasons under her personal supervision. Emma had recognized at once that it was an evocation of her own first design and as such a little tribute to her, and she was flattered.

A few minutes after twelve on this Friday morning, Paula hurried into the Bird Cage, and as always she was struck by the refreshing sight of the flowers and foliage, one which appeared to cheer everyone up. Moving between the tables, where morning shoppers were settling down to lunch, Paula saw that Miranda O Neil! had already arrived. Her burnished copper hair, cascading in a glorious mass of waves and curls around her heart-shaped face, seemed to catch and hold all the light, was like a shining beacon at the far side of the room. Miranda glanced up from the menu she was perusing, saw Paula, and waved.

"Sorry I kept you waiting," Paula apologized when she reached the table. "I was delayed in the Designer Salon. We've been having the most awful trouble with the new lighting, and I wanted to check on it again. It's still not right, I'm afraid." She bent down and kissed her friend, slipped into the next chair.

Miranda grinned a little impishly, and said, "Oh dear, the trials and tribulations of running a store! I'll swap jobs with you any day. Doing public relations for a chain of hotels can be the pits at times.'

"If I remember correctly, you really badgered your father for that job."

"That s true. But I wouldn't have if I'd known what I was letting myself in for," Miranda grumbled, making a long face. But she then had the good grace to laugh and admitted, "I suppose I enjoy it, really. It's only occasionally that I feel the pressure. But right now I'm in Dad's good books. He's very happy with my latest campaign, and he even went so far as to say I d been innovative the other day. That's praise indeed from him. He's not given to paying me compliments, as you know. He even said that if I behave myself, he's going to send me to Barbados in a few weeks, to look over the hotel we've just bought there. By the time we've remodeled it and redecorated, it 11 be super deluxe and as elegant as the Sandy Lane. We all believe it's going to be an important addition to our chain."

"That's marvelous, Merry. Really exciting for you. Now, shall we order? I don't want to rush you, but I have to leave the store early today."

"No problem, I'm a bit pushed myself." Miranda glanced

at the menu again and said, "I'll have the plaice and chips, I think."

"Good idea. I'll join you." Paula caught the attention of the waitress, ordered, and then turned to Miranda, looking her over quickly, at once captivated by her outfit. Today she was wearing a rather theatrically styled jerkin with a wide, flaring collar and three-quarter sleeves, and it was laced up the front over a white silk shirt with longer sleeves. There was a twinkle in Paula's eyes as she said, "You look like a female Robin Hood in all that Sherwood Green suede. Merry. The only things that are missing are a quiver of arrows and a perkly little felt hat with a sweeping feather."

Miranda broke into laughter. 'Don't think I don't have the hat! I do. But I didn't dare wear it to lunch, in case you'd think I was bonkers. Everyone else does." She swiveled in the chair to reveal her legs, which were encased in tight green-suede pants and matching boots that came up above her knees. "When Shane saw me this morning, he said I looked like the Principal Boy in a pantomime. I went the whole hog with this outfit, I'm afraid. Is it too theatrical?"

"Not really. And you could have worn the hat. I for one happen to like you in your fanciful costumes."

Miranda looked pleased. "Coming from the elegant you that's a real compliment." Leaning closer, she hurried on, "Are you and Jim busy tonight? I was wondering if I could invite you out to dinner?"

"I'd love you to join us tonight, if you won't be bored. Grandy's having a family dinner at Pennistone Royal."

"I'm not sure that that's still on, Paula, four grandmamma has a hot date with my grandfather." Miranda's laugh held a hint of mischief, which was reflected in her eyes, as she said, "Can you imagine, and at their ages!"

Paula was thrown by this statement. "Oh you must be mistaken. I'm certain Grandy intends to be there."

"I'm not wrong, honestly I'm not. I heard Shane talking to my father a little while ago. Grandfather is taking Aunt Emma out to dinner. But I was only teasing when I said they had a hot date, since Shane's going with them."

'Then Grandy must have changed her plans," Paula said, dreading the thought of the dinner without her grandmother's presence. "I expect my mother will play hostess in her place, since I can't imagine Grandy actually canceling it without talking to me first.'

"No, I don't think she would do that." Leaning forward again, her manner still teasing, Miranda said, "When my grandfather and your grandmother get together, they're incorrigible. I told him the other day that it was about time he made an honest woman out of Aunt Emma and married her."

"If anyone's incorrigible, it's you, Merry! And what did Uncle Blackie say to that?"

"He chuckled and told me he'd-only been waiting for my approval, and now that he had it, he was going to pop the question. 'Course, I knew he was only kidding me in return. But to tell you the truth, I don't think it's such a bad idea, do you?"

Paula merely smiled. She said, "Anyway, getting back to the family dinner, you're very welcome. Come around seven-thirty for drinks. Dinner's at eight-thirty."

"You are a darling, Paula. Thank you. You've just rescued me from a boring evening with Ma and Pa. All they do these days is talk about the baby."

"I'm not sure your evening with us will be much more stimulating. My mother has become something of a doting grandma. All she does is rave about the twins. I can't seem to shut her up."

"But I adore Aunt Daisy. She's such a lovely woman and not a bit like the rest of you—" Miranda stopped, horrified at her words. Her pale, freckled face flamed to scarlet.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Paula demanded, a dark brow arching as she pretended to be insulted, but the amusement touching her mouth betrayed her.

"I didn't mean it the way it came out," Miranda exclaimed in embarrassment. "I wasn't referring to you or Aunt Emma or your cousins, but to your aunts and uncles actually. I am sorry, though. It was rather rude of me."

"Don't apologize, I happen to agree with you." Paula fell silent, thinking specifically of her Aunt Edwina, the Dowager Countess of Dunvale, who was due to arrive from Ireland later that day. It was because of Edwina that she and Jim had had their First truly serious quarrel. Some weeks ago, to her utter astonishment and disbelief, Jim had decided that Edwina must be invited to the christening. When Paula had objected strenuously and had reminded him that Edwina was no favorite of Grandy's, he had brushed aside her protestations and told her she was being silly.' And then he had reminded her that Emma wanted bygones to be bygones.

sought peace within the family. "Well, you'd better not invite Edwina until I've mentioned it to Grandy," Paula cautioned, and he had acquiesced to this suggestion at least. When she had told her grandmother about it, Emma had appeared off-hand, indifferent even, and had told her to accept the situation gracefully, to let him invite Edwina, and to put a good face on it if she accepted. But there had been a strange look in Grandy's eyes, and Paula suspected that Emma had been disappointed in Jim. As she had herself, but she had overcome this feeling, loving him as much as she did; and she had excused Jim, too, because he had no family of his own to invite to his children's christening, and Edwina was half Fairley. If only Edwina weren't so hostile to Emma and to her.

Miranda, studying her friend, saw that she looked troubled, and ventured, "You're awfully pensive all of a sudden, Paula. Is something wrong?"

"No, no, of course not." Paula forced a smile and, changing the subject, asked, "How's your mother?"

"Her health's much better, thanks. Also I think she's finally recovered from the shock of getting pregnant at forty-five and giving birth to a change-of-life baby. And little Laura is simply adorable. I love to watch Grandfather playing with her. He's quite infatuated, and of course he's thrilled they called her Laura after my grandmother. They almost gave me that name, you know."

"No, I didn't, Merry."

"Yes. Then they changed their minds, I suppose. But I wouldn't have minded being named for my grandmother, and I certainly wish I'd known her. She must have been a remarkable woman. Everyone loved her so, especially Aunt Emma."

"Yes, and Grandy told me only the other day that she's "never stopped missing Laura since the day she died."

"We're all muddled up, aren't we, Paula?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Hartes and the O'Neills. And the Fairleys, for that matter. Our lives are inextricably linked... we can't really escape each other, can we?"

"No, I don't suppose we can."

Miranda reached over and squeezed Paula's hand. "I'm glad we can't. I think it's rather nice to have you and Aunt Emma and Aunt Daisy for a second family." Her huge hazel eyes, sparkling with tiny prisms of gold, overflowed with warmth and affection.

Paula returned the pressure of her hand. "And it's nice for me to have the O'Neills."

The arrival of the waitress with the tray of food interrupted this exchange, and for the next fifteen minutes or so the two young women talked mostly about Paula's babies,'the christening the next day, and the reception Emma was giving after the church ceremony. But then Miranda-quite suddenly adopted a serious tone when she said, 'There's something. very important I'd like to discuss with you."

Paula, at once noticing the change in her friend's demeanor, asked swiftly, "Do you have problems?"

"Not at all. But I do have an idea I'd like to throw at you, to get your reaction."

"What kind of idea, Merry?" she asked curiously.

"You and I doing business together."

"Oh." This was the last thing Paula expected, and after her initial exclamation she was startled into momentary silence.

Miranda grinned and, not giving her a chance to comment further or brush the idea to one side, rushed on, "I had a flash of inspiration last week when I was going over the blueprints for the new hotel we're building in Marbella. The architect has planned a galleria of shops, and it struck me immediately that we must include a boutique. Naturally I thought of Harte's; then I realized one boutique wouldn't interest you. So I took the idea a step further... Harte boutiques in all of our hotels. There's the new one we're doing over in Barbados, we're about to remodel the Torre-mollinos hotel, and eventually the entire chain will get a revamp..We could have a boutique in each one, and Harte's could run them." Miranda sat back and searched Paula's face for a clue to her feelings, but it was unreadable. She asked eagerly, "Well, what do you think?"

"I'm not sure," Paula said noncommittally. "Have you discussed this with Uncle Bryan?"

"Yes, and Dad liked the idea. He was very gung ho actually and told me to talk to you." Miranda gazed at her friend expectantly and crossed her fingers. "Would you be willing to go into the venture with us?"

"I think we might be. I'd have to talk to my grandmother, of course." This was uttered with Paula's usual caution, but she could not conceal the interest quickening on her face.

With a small rush of excitement, she thought: It could be the perfect project for Grandy. The one I've been looking for, and it would certainly take the sting out of the Cross fiasco. Straightening up, Paula said in a more positive voice, "Give me some additional details, Merry," arid she listened attentively as the other girl talked. Within minutes she began to recognize the endless possibilities and advantages inherent in Miranda O'Neill's idea.