mma sat at the table in her splendidly appointed Adam dining room, sipping a cup of coffee after lunch, smiling and nodding occasionally, enjoying Emily's natural joie de vivre and bubbling enthusiasm for everything. Earlier, when they had been eating, Emily had bombarded her with questions about Genret. Each one had been probing and not without a certain shrewdness, and this had pleased Emma.

Now, the twenty-two-year-old was entertaining her with tidbits of gossip about the family, and as usual Emma found her pithy comments hilarious. Robin and Kit were most often the butts of her barbed wit, and she had already managed to get in a few sharp digs about her uncles.

But here her sarcasm stopped, for she never made astringent or unkind remarks about anyone else. Although Emily tended to be something of a chatterbox, she was not malicious, nor was she a talebearer intent on stirring up trouble. In point of fact, she was anything but this, and Emma was well aware that her granddaughter's predilection for chattering was harmless enough, especially since she knew herself to be the girl's only confidante. To Emma's considerable relief, Emily was not only discreet but extremely close-mouthed with everyone else in the family, and even Paula and Alexander, with whom she was on very intimate terms, were no exceptions to this rule.

Unexpectedly Emily veered away from her discourse on the family and launched into glowing descriptions of the outfits she had chosen for the fifteen-year-old twins to wear the next day. Recently Emily had elected to play a motherly big-sister role with Amanda and Francesca, and Emma had assigned to her the task of selecting their clothes and looking after similar details.

But it was not very long before Emma found her attention straying, her mind forever preoccupied with business, and specifically Paula's meeting with the Crosses. She could not help speculating on the outcome, wondering how Paula had fared. If the negotiations had gone well, she was facing a fair amount of work. Not that this troubled Emma unduly. She had always thrived on honest:to-goodness toil and still did, and Paula had laid out foolproof plans for the takeover.

Emma and Paula wanted Aire Communications for its three most important assets: its magazine division, its local radio stations, its huge, modem building in the Headrow. Following Paula's advice, she fully intended to make Aire Communications a subsidiary of the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company. Once she had relocated the entire staff of Aire in the offices of the Yorkshire Morning Gazette, her newspaper headquartered in Leeds, she would sell the Aire Communications building. This would enable her to cut down on Aire's staggering overhead, and at the same time she would cleverly recoup part of the purchase price, possibly a good half of her two-million-pound investment. Yes, that building's worth at least a million, Emma reflected, whatever Jonathan says to the contrary. She would have to have a little talk with her trandson tomorrow, a very serious talk. He was dragging his jet with his second evaluation of Aire's prime bit of real estate. She had asked him for it days ago, and he had not yet responded. Once again she wondered why, and her mouth tightened.

"Grandy, you're not listening to me!" Emily shook her arm impatiently.

"Oh sorry, dear. You were saying you'd chosen navy blue dresses and coats for the twins. I'm sure they're very smart, you have such good—"

"Goodness, Gran, that was five minutes ago," Emily interjected. "I was already onto another subject. Aunt Ed-wina to be precise."

"Now why on earth is she suddenly so interesting to you?"

"She's not really. I think she's an old sourpuss and a

crashing bore," Emily said in her typical blunt fashion. "However, I'm positive we're going to be in for a rocky ride with her this weekend. I bet she's going to give us all an earful."

"What about?" Emma asked, sounding slightly baffled.

"The divorce," Emily said succinctly.

This'reply brought Emma upright in her chair, and she stared hard at Emily. "So, you've heard about that, have you?" Surprise immediately gave way to humor, and Emma chuckled and shook her head. "Is there anything you don't know about this family of ours?"

"Not much," said Emily, grinning at her. "But I don't pry, Gran. You know that. Everyone just tells me things automatically. It must be my sympathetic nature." Her grin widened. "And then I tell you. Never secrets, though. I don't break a confidence. Ever."

"I should hope not, dear. Remember what I've aKvays said... a still tongue and a wise head. Anyway, who mentioned Anthony's divorce?"

"Jim. He came to see me last weekend. He wanted my opinion about something, my advice really. He brought up the divorce in passing. It was Aunt Edwina who told him. Apparently shes terribly upset... scandal touching the sacred name of the Dunvales and all that silly nonsense. As if anybody cares about divorce these days. But she'll harp on about it for the next few days, you mark my words."

"I doubt it, since Anthony will be here himself. "In fact, he's already here."

"In this house?" It was Emily's turn to be astonished.

"No. He's staying with your Uncle Randolph up at Middle-ham. Actually, He's going to be there for the next week." A wicked gleam entered Emma's eyes, and she could not resist teasing, "Obviously there are some things you don't know, Emily. Our young earl is staying with the Hartes because he's courting Sally. Very seriously courting her." Emma was unable to hold back a laugh as she observed the expression on Emily's face.

Emily was so dumbfounded by this piece of news that her jaw dropped. But it took less than a second for her to recover, and she retorted, "And I bet Aunt Edwina doesn't know either! Otherwise she would have scuttled that relationship ages ago. And she'll still try."

"She can do nothing," Emma snapped, her face hardening. "Anthony is not only of age, he's thirty-three. He doesn't

have to answer to his mother, or anyone else for that matter, and I told him so last night. He has my blessing. Frankly, I'm glad he's going to marry Sally. She's a fine girl and quite lovely, and it's a perfect match in my opinion."

"I second that about Sally being a lovely person. But then I'm prejudiced. So are you—even more so, because she looks so much like your mother. And Edwina's going to be prejudiced too, in the other direction." Emily stopped, thinking of her aunt's reaction, which would be violent, and she cried excitedly, "Oh my God! I can't wait to see Aunt Edwina's face when she finds out he's involved with Sally Harte. She's going to be absolutely furious, Grandma. She has such grand ideas about everything. And after all, Sally's only a generation removed from the working class."

"And what do you think Edwina is?"

"A countess," Emily giggled gleefully, "and a Fairley to boot! She's never been the same since she discovered her father was Sir Edwin Fairley, and a K.C., no less. She's an even bigger snob now than she was before. It's a pity you ever told her the truth about you and old Edwin, Gran."

"I'm inclined to agree with you."

Emma averted her face,'looked out the window, focused her thoughts on her eldest grandchild, son of her own first-bom child. Anthony Standish was the only offspring of Edwina's marriage with the Earl of Dunvale, and as' such he was her whole life. Because Emma had been estranged from Edwina for years, she had hot really come to know Anthony until he was eighteen. That was in 1951, when her brother Winston had effected a reconciliation between her and her daughter. More like an armed truce, Emma said inwardly, but at least the boy and I took to each other immediately, and thankfully we have continued to be close. She was extremely fond of Anthony, who, despite his reserved nature and gentle manner, had an inner strength and a toughness of mind that Emma had recognized instantly and privately applauded. Upon his father's death, he had inherited the latter's title and lands in Ireland. For the most part Anthony lived at Clonloughlin, his estate in County Cork, but whenever he had the occasion to be in England, he never failed to visit her. It was on one of these trips to Yorkshire six months ago that he had become reacquainted with Sally, Winston's granddaughter, who was his cousin. According to Anthony they had fallen in love at once. "It was a coup defoudre, Grandmother," he had confided shyly last night. "And as soon as my divorce from Min is final, I intend to marry Sally." Emma, delighted at this news, had indicated her pleasure and assured him of her full support.

Shifting in the chair, Emma glanced at Emily and said, "I wouldn't worry your head about Anthony. He can take care of himself. I told him not to hide his relationship with Sally anymore—from his mother, that is—and to behave naturally at the christening. We might as well get this out in the open once and for all."

"Edwina will make trouble, Grandma. Big, big trouble," Emily warned, rolling her eyes at the ceiling.

"If she knows what's good for her, she won't," Emma replied, her voice murderously soft. "Now, on to other things. You said Jim wanted your advice. What about, Emily?"

"The gift he's bought for Paula. It's a strand of pearls, and he wasn't sure she'd like them. But they're beautiful, and I told him she'd be thrilled."

"That's nice." Emma glanced at her watch, feeling restless. "I'll have another quick cup of coffee, and then I'd better go up and do a little paperwork.until Paula arrives."

"I'll get the coffee for you," Emily volunteered, taking Emma's cup to the sideboard. Returning with it, she said, "I had dinner with T.B. when I was in London on Tuesday. He sends his love."

Emma's face softened considerably. She had always cared for Tony Barkstone, Elizabeth's first husband and father of Emily and Alexander. They had remained good friends over the years, and she asked, with a warm smile, "How is he?"

"In good form. He's as sweet as always, and he seems happy. No, content might be a better word. Or perhaps accepting is even better. Yes, that's it. He's accepting." Emily sighed heavily.

And a little too dramatically, in Emma's opinion. But then Emily was a romantic girl and Emma knew that she had long harbored the desire for her parents to be reunited. A most unlikely event, as far as Emma was concerned. Looking at Emily thoughtfully, Emma's brow lifted quizzically, and she murmured, "Accepting is a peculiar word to use about your father's life, isn't it, dear?"

"Not really. I think T.B. is accepting—of his new family. But I don't believe my father has been really happy since he split with Mummy. To tell you the truth, Gran, I think he's still in love with her." She confided this in an intense tone, giving Emma a long and knowing look.

"Oh phooey!"

"Well, she was his grand passion, that I know for a fact— because he once told me so. I believe he's carrying a torch for her."

"That's a bit farfetched, Emily. They've been divorced for donkey's years."

"Even so, he could have remained shackled to her emotionally." Emily tilted her blond head to one side and wrinkled her nose. "Unrequited love and all that. Why are you looking so skeptical, Grandma? Don't you believe that's possible?"

"Possible. Not very practical. And I'm quite certain your father has more common sense than to yearn after Elizabeth. He had her pegged years ago."

"I hope you're right. I'm sure that being in love with someone who doesn't care in return is most unsatisfactory, not to mention painful. Very impractical in the long run, as you just said." A faraway expression flickered in Emily's wide green eyes, and she said, almost inaudibly, "If only Sarah would recognize that."

As quiet as her voice had been, Emma had heard her. She put down her coffee cup with a loud clatter and gaped at Emily, frowning. "Our Sarah. Is she in love with someone who doesn't love her?"

"Oh gosh, Gran, I shouldn't have mentioned Sarah. It's really none of my business," Emily muttered, her face flushing and filling with chagrin. "Please don't say anything to her, will you? She'd be ever so upset."

"Of course I won't say anything. I never do, do I? Who's she carrying a torch for? That's what you implied, you know."

Emily hesitated. She was suddenly tempted to fib. But she had never lied to her grandmother in her whole life. Still, perhaps in this instance she ought to resort to a white lie.

Emma pressed, "Who is it?"

There was a moment of silence. Emily swallowed, and, knowing herself to be trapped, she mumbled, "Shane."

"I'll be damned." Emma leaned back and focused her keen old eyes on her granddaughter, "Well, well, well," she said, and a slow smile spread across her face.

Emily shot up in her chair, her eyes flaring open, and she cried, "Oh Grandy, don't look like that! Please don't look like that!"

"And how am I looking?"

"Gratified. And ever so conspiratorial, I know you and Uncle Blackie have long had hopes that one of us, or one of the Harte girls, would marry Shane O'Neill and unite our families. But he's not interested in any of us, except for—" Emily bit off the rest of her sentence abruptly, instantly wishing she could also bite off her tongue. This time she really had said far too much. She jumped up and went to the Hepplewhite sideboard, where she hovered over the silver bowl of fruit. "I think I'll have a banana," she said, attempting nonchalance. "Would you like one too, Gran dear?"

"I certainly wouldn't, thank you very much." Emma swung her head ana studied her granddaughter's back. "Except for whom, Emily?"

"No one. Gran." Emily wondered how to extricate herself adroitly, without arousing her grandmother's suspicions further. She sauntered back to her chair, flopped down, and attacked the banana with her dessert knife and fork, her head studiously bent.

Emma watched her, knowing that Emily was avoiding her eyes. And avoiding answering.

"I know you were about to tell me who Shane is interested in, Emily. If anyone knows, it's you." She laughed lightly, endeavoring to be casual. "You've always been my conduit for information about everyone in the family. And out of it for that matter. So come along, finish your sentence."

Emily, who was still cutting the skin off the banana with painstaking care, finally lifted her head. Her face was a picture of innocence as she said, "I wasn't about to reveal a thing, really I wasn't. I'm not in Shane's confidence—I don't know anything about his love life. What I was going to say, before, is that he isn't interested in any of us except for a one-night stand."

"Really, Emily!"

"Sorry." Emily dropped her eyes, then coyly looked up at Emma through her long lashes. "Have I shocked you, Grandma?"

"At my age I'm shock-resistant, my girl," Emma replied tartly. "But I am rather surprised by your remark about Shane. It wasn't very nice. Extremely unkind in fact." A new thought struck Emma, and she gave her granddaughter a fierce stare. "Has he ever suggested anything of the sort—"

"No, no, of course not," Emily burst out peremptorily before Emma could finish. And then she was swift to qualify her previous statement about Shane. "It's-just a feeling I have about him," she mumbled, hating herself for maligning Shane, who was the nicest person imaginable. "I didn't mean any harm, Grandy, honestly I didn't. Besides, who can blame him for being a bit of a lady killer, when women fall at his feet like ninepins? That's hardly his fault."

"True," Emma acknowledged. "But getting back to Sarah, I hope this crush she has on him is going to pass soon. 1 can't bear to think that she's miserable. How does she redly feel, dear?"

"I don't know, Gran," Emily replied in all truthfulness. "She's only discussed Shane with me once, ages ago, and I think she's regretted mentioning him ever since. But I know she's smitten with him, just through my own observation. She always blushes furiously whenever his name comes up, and she gets all self-conscious and sort of dopey when he's around." Emily leveled her gaze at Emma, and it was direct and candid as she added, "No, she'll never say anything to anyone about her feelings. Sarah's basically much too secretive to confide."

This last comment further surprised Emma, but she decided not to pursue it for the moment. Conscious of the girl's stricken expression, she hastened to say, "You don't have to be apprehensive about me, darling. - Have no fear, I won't mention Shane to Sarah... I wouldn't dream of embarrassing her. And she'll come to her senses if she hasn't already." Emma's eyes rested on the bowl of spring hyacinths in the center of the table, and she ruminated briefly on all that had been said. When she raised her head, she smiled kindly at Emily. "I don't want you to think I'm questioning your powers of observation or your judgment, but-you do have a tendency to be overly imaginative at times. You could be wrong about Sarah. Perhaps she has forgotten Shane by now in view of his lack of interest in her. She does have her feet on the ground, you know."

"Yes, Gran," Emily said, although she did not agree with her grandmother's assessment of her cousin. Sarah might look as if her feet were firmly planted on the ground, but her head was most definitely in the clouds. Emily bit her lip, and she wished more fervently -than before that she had never mentioned Sarah in the first place. Embarking on this kind of conversation with her canny grandmother had been a horrible mistake. The trouble was she was constantly doing it. Emma had always been the most dominant and important person in her young life, and confiding everything in her was a childhood ^habit which was difficult if not impossible to break. But Emily was thankful for one thing—she had caught herself in the nick of time, had managed not to reveal the truth about Shane to Grandy, who doted on him as if he were one of her own.

The realization that she had protected him made Emily feel better, for she liked and admired Blackie's grandson. She smiled to herself as she toyed with the banana in front of her, filled with sudden self-congratulation. For once she had been rather clever, side-stepping Grandy's probing so skillfully. And thankfully Shane O Neill's secret was still safe. It would always be safe with her. Poor Shane, she thought with a twinge of sadness, what a terrible burden he has to cany. Stifling a sigh, Emily finally said, "I don't think I want any more of this," and she pushed her dessert plate away, making a face.

Emma, anxious to bring the lunch to an end, nodded quickly and said, "I'd better get back to my desk. What are your plans for this afternoon? You've finished at the Harro-gate store, haven't you?"

"Yes, Grandy. I completed the stock inventories you wanted and selected the clothing for the sales," Emily explained, relieved that Emma had apparently now dismissed Shane and Sarah Lowther from her mind. "I'm going to potter around in my room. Hilda asked one of the maids to unpack my suitcases when I arrived, but 1 prefer to arrange my things myself."

"Suitcases in the plural, Emily? How many did you bring?"

'Ten, Gran."

"For the weekend?"

Emily cleared her throat and gave her grandmother one of her most engaging and persuasive smiles. "Not exactly. I thought I'd stay with you for a while, if that's all right with you. It is, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so," Emma answered slowly, wondering what this unexpected move on Emily's part was all about. "But what about your flat in Headingley?" she thought to ask with a small frown.

"I want to get rid of it. I have for some time, actually. I decided to sell it, or rather that you should ask Jonathan to do so. Anyway, last night I packed a lot of my clothes and other things, because I'd convinced myself you'd be sending me to Paris next week. Now that I'm not going, I might as well stay here at Pennistone Royal. I'll be company for you, Gran. You won't be so lonely."

I'm not lonely, Emma thought but said, "I'm probably being dense, but you seemed awfully taken with that flat when I bought it for you last November. Don't you like it anymore, Emily?"

'It's a very nice flat, really it is, but— Well, to be honest, Gran darling, I have felt rather isolated there by myself. I'd much rather be here. With you!" Emily flashed her beguiling smile again. "For one thing, it's a lot more fun. And exciting."

"Personally I find it pretty dull here. Pretty dull indeed," Emma muttered and stood up, headed for.the dining room door. Over her shoulder she said, "But you're quite welcome, Emily," and she hoped she had not sounded too grudging. First the twins and now Emily, she sighed under her breath. Suddenly they're all moving in on me. And just when I thought I was going to get some peace and quiet for once in my life.

As she walked briskly across the vast Stone Hall and mounted the staircase, with Emily trailing in her wake, Emma had another thought: Maybe she would take Blackie up on his little proposition after all.

Paula talked and Emma listened.

They sat together in the upstairs parlor, facing each other across the Georgian silver tea service which Hilda had brought up a few minutes after Paula had arrived.

Emma had poured tea for them both, but she had hardly touched her own cup. She sat so still on the sofa she might have turned to stone, and the familiar mask of inscrutability had dropped down over her face as she concentrated on Paula's words, absorbing each one.

Paula spoke well, recounting the meeting at Aire Communications with precision and careful attention to the smallest detail, and her narration was so graphically descriptive Emma

felt as though she had been present herself. Several times she experienced a spurt of anger or annoyance, but not an eyelash flickered, not a muscle moved in her blank, impenetrable face, and not once did she interrupt the flow of words.

Long before Paula came to the retelling of the final scene in the boardroom, Emma's mind, so agile and astute, leaped ahead. She knew without having to be told that John Cross had reneged on the deal. For a moment she was as startled as Paula had been earlier in the day, but when this initial reaction passed with some swiftness she realized she was not so surprised after all. And she came to the conclusion that she knew John Cross better than she had believed. Years ago she had spotted him for what he was—an egotist, puffed up with his own self-importance, a foolish man with immeasurable weaknesses. At this time in his life he was between a rock and a hard place, dealing from fear and desperation and propelled by increasing panic, and it was patently clear that he would be capable of just about anything. Even a dishonorable action, for apparently he was a man without scruples. And then there was that disreputable son of his, goading him on. A pretty pair indeed, she thought disdainfully.

Paula came to the end of her story at last and finished with a tiny regretful sigh, "And there you have it, Grandy. I'm sorry it ended in a debacle. I did my best. More than my best."

"You certainly did," Emma said, looking her fully in the face, proud of her, thinking how she had progressed. A year ago Paula would have blamed herself for the breakdown in the talks. "You've nothing to reproach yourself for, and just chalk this one up to experience and learn from it."

"Yes, Grandy, I will." Paula regarded her closely. "What are you going to do now?" she asked, continuing to study that impassive face in an effort to gauge her grandmother's feelings about the Cross situation.

"Why nothing. Nothing at all."

Although she was not altogether surprised by this statement, Paula nevertheless felt bound to say, a bit heatedly, "I thought that might be your attitude, but I can't help wishing you'd give John Cross a piece of your mind, tell him what you think of him. Look at all the effort we put into this deal. He's not only wasted our valuable time but played us for a couple of fools."

"Played himself for a fool," Emma corrected, her voice low and without a trace of emotion. "Very frankly, I wouldn't waste my breath or the tuppence on a phone call to him. There's not much to be gained from flogging a dead horse. Besides, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing I'm put out. There's another thing... indifference is a mighty powerful weapon, and so I prefer to ignore Mr. Cross. I don't know what his game is, but I won't be a party to it." The look Emma gave Paula was full of shrewdness and her eyes narrowed. "It strikes me that he might be using our offer to jack up the price with another company. He won't succeed, he won't have any takers." A cynical smile glanced across her face, and she laughed quietly to herself. "He'll come crawling back to you, of course. On his hands and knees. And very soon. Then what will you do, Paula? That's more to the point." Settling back against the cushions, she let her eyes rest with intentness on her granddaughter.

Paula opened her mouth to speak, then closed it swiftly. For a split second she hesitated over her answer. She asked herself how Grandy would act in these particular circumstances and then dismissed the question. She knew exactly what her course of action was going to be.

In a resolute tone, Paula said, "I shall tell him to go to hell. Politely. I know I could hammer him down, get Aire Communications at a much lower figure, because when he does come back to us, and I agree that he will, he'll be choking. He'll accept any terms I offer. However, I don't want to do - business with that man. I don't trust him."

"Good girl!" Emma was pleased with this reply and showed it, then went on, "My sentiments exactly. I've told you many times that it's not particularly important to like those with whom we do business. But there should always be an element of trust between both parties in any transaction; otherwise it's begging for problems. I concur with what you think about Cross and that son of his. Their behavior was appalling, unconscionable. I wouldn't touch them with a ten-foot barge pole myself."

Despite these condemning words and the stern expression lingering on Emma's face, her overall reaction had been so understated, so mild that Paula was still a trifle puzzled. "I thought you'd be much more annoyed than you are, Grandy, unless you're not showing it. And you don't seem very disappointed either," she said.

"My initial anger soon changed to disgust. As for being disappointed, well, of course I am in some ways. But even that is being replaced by an enormous sense of relief. As much as I wanted Aire Communications, now, quite suddenly, I'm glad things turned out the way they did."

"I am too." There was the slightest hesitation on Paula's part before she remarked quietly, "Sebastian Cross has become my enemy, Grandmother."

"So what!' Emma exclaimed in a dismissive tone. "If he's your first, he's surely not going to be your last." As she spoke, Emma became aware of the concern reflected in the lovely, deep violet eyes fastened on hers, and she sucked in her breath quickly. Making an enemy troubles Paula, she thought, and she reached out and squeezed the girl's arm, adopted a gentler tone. "As unpleasant as it may be, you're bound to make enemies, as I myself did. Very frequently it happens through no fault of ours—that's the sad part." Emma let out a tiny sigh. "So many people are jealous and envious by nature, and you will always be vulnerable to that kind and a target, because you have so much. Wealth and power through me, not to mention your looks, your brains, and your immense capacity for work. All very enviable attributes. You must learn to ignore.the back biting, darling, rise above it. As I have always done. And forget Sebastian Cross. He's the least of your worries." '

"Yes, you're right on all counts, as usual, Grandmother," Paula said and pushed away the dismaying memory of those hard eyes which had filled with loathing for her that morning. She felt a shiver trickle through her. Sebastian Cross would do her harm if he could. This unexpected thought immediately seemed silly, farfetched, and overly imaginative. Paula laughed silently at herself and dismissed such an idea.

Rising, she crossed to the fireplace and stood warming her back for a moment or two. Her eyes swept around the lovely old room. It looked so peaceful, so gentle in the late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the many windows, with every beautiful object in its given place, the fire crackling merrily in the huge grate, the old carriage clock ticking away on the mantelpiece as it had for as long as she could remember. She had loved the upstairs parlor all her life, had found comfort and tranquility here.- It was a room abundant with graciousness and harmony, where nothing ever changed, and it was this timelessness which made it seem so far removed from the outside world and all its ugliness. It's a very civilized room, she said to herself, created by a very civilized and extraordinary woman. She looked across at Emma, relaxed on the sofa and so pretty in the pale blue dress, and her eyes became tender. Paula thought: She is an old woman now, in her eightieth year, yet she never seems old to me. She could easily be my age with her vigor and strength and zest and enthusiasm. And she is my best friend.

For the first time since she had arrived, Paula smiled. "So much for my wheeling and dealing... skirmishing might be a better way to describe it, Grandy."

"And so much for my new project. Now that that's flown out the window, I'll have to find another one or take up knitting."

Paula could not help grinning. "That'll be the day," she retorted, merriment swamping her face. Stepping back to the sofa, she sat down, lifted her cup, and took a sip of tea, then remarked casually, "I had lunch with Miranda O'Neill today, and—"

"Oh dear, that reminds me, I'm afraid I won't be here for dinner this evening. I'm going out with Blackie and Shane."

"Yes, so Merry told me."

"My God, can't I take a breath around here without everyone knowing!" Emma paused, scanned Paula's face. "Well, you don't seem too upset, so I presume you don't mind that I'm trotting off and leaving you to cope with Edwina. Don't worry, she'll behave."

"I'm not concerned. I was at first, but I decided she's Jim's problem. He invited her, so he can entertain her. In any case, Mummy's always pretty good with Edwina. She knows how to appropriately squelch her, in the nicest possible way too." Paula put down her cup and saucer, leaned closer. "Listen, Grandy dear, Merry has had an idea, one that might appeal to you. It could be just the project you're looking for."

"Oh, has she. Well then, tell me about it."

Paula did so, but as she came to the end of her little recital, she made a small moue with her mouth and finished lamely, "I can tell you're not enthusiastic. Don't you think it's a good idea?"

Emma laughed at her crestfallen expression. "Yes, I do. However I'm not interested in taking it on as a personal project. Still, that doesn't mean you shouldn't pursue the idea and develop it further with Merry. It could be good for

the stores. Come back to me when you have it refined. Perhaps we will open the boutiques."

"I'll set up a meeting with her for next week—" Paula stopped, peered at Emma. "Out of curiosity, why don't you think it's a project for you?"

"There's no challenge to it. I like tougher nuts to crack."

"Oh Lord! And where on earth am I going to find such a thing for you?"

"I might find my own project, you know." Emma's green eyes twinkled, and she snook her head. "You're constantly trying to mother me these days. I do wish you'd stop."

Paula joined in Emma's laughter and admitted, "Yes, I am doing that lately, aren't I. Sorry, Gran." She glanced at the clock, swung her eyes back to Emma, and said, "I think I'd be much better off going home and mothering my babies. If I hurry, I'll get back in time to help the nurse bathe them."

"Yes, why don't you do that, darling. These early years are the most precious, the best really. Don't sacrifice them."

Paula stood up and slipped into the magenta jacket, found her handbag, came to kiss Emma. "Have a lovely time tonight, and give Uncle Blackie and Shane my love."

"1 will. And if I don't see you later, I'll talk to you in the morning."

Paula was halfway across the room when Emma called, "Oh, Paula, what time do you expect Jim and your parents?"

"Around six. Jim said he'd be landing at Leeds-Bradford airport at five."

"So.he's flying them up in that dreadful little plane of his, is he?" Emma pursed her lips in annoyance and gave Paula the benefit of a reproving stare. "I thought I'd told the two of you I don't like you flitting around in that pile of junk."

"You did indeed, but Jim has a mind of his own, as you well know. And flying is one of his main hobbies. But perhaps you'd better mention it to him again."

"I certainly will," Emma said and waved her out of the room.