im Fairley, orphaned at the age of ten and raised by his widowed grandfather, had always been lonely as a child.

In consequence' he thoroughly enjoyed being a part of Emma Harte's huge family, one which had become his own when he married Paula in 1968. In a way, being flung headfirst into this extraordinary clan was something of a novelty to him; also, as yet he remained unscathed by them and thus had kept an open mind about their individual characters, had not attempted to do a tally of their attributes or their faults. And he had held himself apart from the complex animosities and alliances, feuds and friendships that flourished around Emma.

Because Jim rarely thought ill of anyone, he was frequently startled when Paula came down hard on one of her aunts or uncles, and at times he even wondered if she exaggerated when she listed their imperfections, the terrible wrongs they had done her grandmother. But then she was fiercely protective of her beloved Grandy, whom she doted on. Jim was 'secretly amused by his wife's attitude, since he believed no one was better equipped to take care of herself than Emma Harte.

A short while ago Jim had decided that Paula's warnings about the Countess of Dunvale were written in water. So far this weekend Edwina had behaved impeccably—as he had fully expected she would. If she was somewhat reserved with Paula, she was at least civil, and he had even managed to make Edwina laugh on their way back from the church. She was still in an amiable mood, as he could now see.

His aunt was chatting with her son Anthony and Sally Harte near the fireplace, and her usually stiff, tight-lipped expression had all but vanished. For once she appeared to be relatively at ease. Poor old thing, she's not so bad, he thought, as always charitable about others, and swung his eyes to the painting to Edwina's left. This hung over the white marble fireplace; and it was one of his favorites.

Jim stood at the entrance to the Peach Drawing Room. Pennistone Royal, that lovely mixture of Renaissance and Jacobean design, boasted two formal reception rooms. Paula had chosen this one for the christening party.

He was glad that she had.

He thought it was the loveliest spot in the entire house, with its cream and peach color scheme and exquisite paintings. Although Emma had depleted her renowned collection of Impressionists by selling some of them off last year, she had retained the two Monets and the three Sisleys that graced these walls. In his opinion it was the works of art that gave the tranquil and elegant Regency room its great beauty.

Jim gazed at the Sisley for a second or two longer, admiring it from this vantage point. He had never coveted anything material in his whole life, but he longed to own this painting. Of course he never would. It would always hang in this house, as Emma had decreed in her will. One day it would be Paula's property, and therefore he would never be deprived of it, could gaze at the landscape whenever he wished. That was why his intense desire for personal possession of it constantly startled him. He had never felt so strongly about anything, except perhaps his wife. His eyes sought Paula without success. The room had filled up during the ten minutes he had been absent with the photographer, who was setting up his equipment in the Gray Drawing Room. It was just possible she was hidden from view.

He went in rapidly.

At six-foot-one, well built but trim of figure and with long legs, James Arthur Fairley cut quite a swathe, especially since he

was something of a clotheshorse, was never anything but faultlessly dressed right down to his handmade shoes. Like his great-grandfather before him, he had a weakness for elegant clothes and a penchant for wearing them with a bit of a dash.

Fair of coloring with light brown' hair, he had a pleasant, rather sensitive face and soulful grayish blue eyes. Born and bred a gentleman, he had a natural self-confidence and handled himself easily and with aplomb in any given situation. He had a certain quiet charm and a ready smile for everyone.

This flashed as he strode into the center of the room and glanced about, looking for Paula.

Since he could not find her, he took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and made a move in his father-in-law's direction. Edwina spotted him and hurried over, cutting him off before he reached David Amory. She at once launched into a rave about the church ceremony and then engaged him in a conversation that centered on Fairley village. As he listened patiently, Jim realized yet again, with a recurrence of his initial surprise, that being a Fairley was of tremendous importance to her. Ever since their first meeting, she had continued to ply him with questions about his grandfather, his grandmother, and her father, the long-dead Earl of Carlesmoor, and was inquisitive about his own parents, who had been tragically killed in a plane crash in 1948.

On the various occasions he had been with his half great-aunt, for that was what she actually was, he had detected a sense of embarrassment in her because of her illegitimacy, and he had always felt slightly sorry for her. This was one of the reasons he tried to be kind, to include her in those family celebrations about which he had something to say. His mother-in-law had a nice way with Edwina, but apart from this, Jim recognized that Edwina was 'drawn to Daisy because they had both been bom on the wrong side of the blanket. Emma's first child strongly identified with her youngest because of this similarity in their births. But their illegitimacy was the only thing they had in common. The two women were the antithesis of each other. His mother-in-law had the sweetest nature, was a compassionate and considerate woman and a Jady in the truest sense of that word. There was no "side" to Daisy Amory, and he liked her for her relaxed attitude toward life, her gaiety, and her sense of humor. Sadly his Aunt Edwina was inflexible and sour, tense and standoffish, a dyed-in-the-wool snob whose basic values were quite alien to him. Yet there was something indefinable in her that touched him, filled him with a curious sympathy for her. Perhaps this was because they shared the same blood. Paula constantly said that blood was nof thicker than water, but he tended to disagree. He was sure of one thing. His relationship with Edwina, slender and tenuous though it was, annoyed Paula to the point of anger. He found this to be most unreasonable on her part, and he fervently wished she could be less emotional about his aunt. In his opinion Edwina was a harmless old lady.

"I'm so sorry, Aunt Edwina, I missed that," Jim said with an apologetic smile, giving her his undivided attention again.

"1 was saying that it was a pity my mother had Fairley Hall torn down." Edwina gave him a long and careful look through her narrowed silvery eyes. "The house was very old, and by rights it really ought to have been preserved as a landmark in Yorkshire. And just think, if it were still standing, you could have lived there with Paula."

Jim missed the inherent criticism of her mother in these words. He laughed and shook his head. "1 don't think so. I didn't like the look of Fairley Hall from the photographs I've seen. According to Grandfather it was a hodgepodge of architectural styles and a bit of a monstrosity. He never liked it himself, and personally I think Grandy did the right thing."

Daisy, who had been hovering close by, caught the tail end of their conversation and exclaimed, "I second that, Jim. Besides, Mother put the land it stood on to very good use by turning it into a park for the villagers. It's a charming spot for them during the warm weather. It was very generous of her." She glancea across at the Vicar of Fairley, who was talking to her husband, and explained, "And the reason Reverend Hunt-ley is beaming right now is because Mother has just given him a large check for the church restoration fund. She keeps that village going in more ways than one." Having rebutted Edwina, squelched her in the pleasantest way, Daisy gave her half sister a warm smile. "I haven't complimented you, Edwina dear. You look lovely, and that's a very smart suit you're wearing."

"Oh," Edwina said, startled by these kind words. She hardly ever received compliments. She preened a little, a sparkle entered her pale eyes, and she automatically reached up and patted her hair. Then, remembering her manners,

she rushed on, '"Thank you very much, Daisy. You look beautiful yourself, but then you always do. As for my suit, it's by Hardy Amies. I wasn't sure it was right for me, but he persuaded me it was."

The two women discussed clothes for a few seconds; then Daisy exclaimed, "You'll have to excuse me, I'm afraid. I can see Mother trying to catch my eye."

Left alone with Jim again, Edwina began to enumerate the delights of her home in Ireland. "I do wish you could see Clonloughlin at this time of year, Jim. It's perfectly beautiful. Everything's so green. Why don't you and Paula make plans to come over for a weekend soon? You've never seen it, and we'd love to have you. It's only a hop, skip, and a jump in that plane of yours."

"Thank you, Edwina, perhaps we will." As he spoke, Jim knew Paula would never agree. He decided to cover himself and added, "However, I don't think I'll be able to drag her away from the babies for some time yet."

"Yes, I do understand," Edwina murmured, wondering if she had been rebuffed, and to cover her confusion she went on talking nonstop.

Jim, listening politely and trying to be attentive, wished he could make his escape. Because of his height he towered above Edwina, who was quite small, and now he glanced over her silvery blond head, looking around, wondering what had happened to Paula. Most of their guests had arrived. She was noticeably absent.

Sarah Lowther had just walked in on the arm of her cousin, Jonathan Ainsley. Bryan and Geraldine O'Neill were talking to Alexander Barkstone and his girlfriend. Blackie was standing by the window, engaged in an animated conversation with Randolph Harte, and he appeared to be excited about something, was beckoning to his granddaughter. Miranda floated over to join them, a vision in one of her crazy costumes, her freckled face brimming with laughter, her bright auburn hair gleaming like a copper helmet in the sunshine pouring through the tall windows.

Jim shifted slightly on his feet, surveying the room at large. Emma was perched on the arm of a sofa, being attentive to her brothers widows, Charlotte and Natalie. These two genteel-looking ladies gave the impression of frailty and great age in comparison to Emma, who exuded vitality and happiness this afternoon. He studied her face for a moment. He had revered

and respected this remarkable woman all the years he had worked for her; since his marriage to her granddaughter, he had come to know a different side of her, had grown to love her. Emma had such an understanding heart, was kind and generous, the most fair-minded person he had ever met. What a fool his grandfather had been to let her escape. But he supposed things were difficult in those days. Stupid class differences, he thought and sighed under his breath. Then, quite suddenly, he wished that Edwin Fairley had lived long enough to witness this day... to see the Fairleys and the Hartes united at last through matrimony. Their blood was mingled now. He and Paula had started a new bloodline.

He became aware that Edwina had stopped her ceaseless chattering and was staring up at him. He said quickly, "Let me get you a refill, Aunt Edwina; then 1 think I d better go and look for Paula. I can't imagine what's happened to her."

"No more champagne at the moment, thank you, Jim," Edwina said with the faintest of smiles. She was determined to remain cool and collected and keep a clear head this afternoon. Too much wine would have an adverse effect on her, make her lose her self-possession. That she could not afford. She said, "Before you disappear there is one thing I'd like to ask of you. I've been wondering if you would be kind enough to invite me to your house in Harrogate. I know it belonged to your grandfather." She hesitated, nervously cleared her throat, and finished, "I'd love to see where he... where my father lived for so many years of his life."

"Of course you must come over for drinks," Jim said, understanding this need in her. He hoped Paula would not fly into one of her tempers when he told her he had acquiesced to his aunt's request. He began to edge away when Emily, with Amanda and Francesca in tow, breezed up to them, cutting off his escape route.

Smiling brightly, Emily grabbed his arm, glanced at Edwina, and cried, "Hello, you two. Isn't this the most amazing bun fight. I think it's going to be a super party."

Jim smiled at her indulgently. He was extremely fond of young Emily. "Have you seen my wife anywhere?" he asked.

"She went upstairs with the nursemaids and the babies, muttering something about changing them. I guess they wet themselves rather thoroughly." Emily giggled and rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "Just be glad they didn't get

that elegant Kilgour and French suit of yours drenched with their wee-w—"

"Really, Emily," Edwina sniffed reprovingly, "don't be so vulgar." She gave her niece a cold ana disapproving look.

Emily, blithely unconcerned, giggled again. "Babies do do that, you know. They're like puppies. They can't control their bladders. And I wasn't being vulgar, Aunt Edwina, merely stating a fact of life."

Jim could not resist laughing, recognizing that Emily was purposely being provocative. He threw her a warning frown, glanced at his aunt, praying she would not pounce on Emily.

Edwina was obviously annoyed. Fortunately, before she could think of a suitably chilly response, Winston hove in view, made a beeline for them, greeted everyone, and positioned himself between Emily and Amanda.

He turned to Jim and said, "Sorry to bring up business on such a festive occasion, but I'm afraid I have no alternative. I'd like to get together with you first thing on Monday to discuss a couple of matters. Will you have time to see me?"

"Of course," Jim said, giving Winston a puzzled look. Concern edged into his eyes, and he frowned. "Anything serious?"

"No, no, and the only reason I mentioned it now was to make sure you'd keep an hour free for me. I have to go to Doncaster and Sheffield that day, and the rest of the week is impossible. I'm really jammed."

"Then let's make a definite date, Winston. Say about ten-thirty? I'll have the first edition out on the streets by then."

'That's fine," said Winston.

With this matter settled, Jim said, "Your father seems very pleased with himself, and so does Blackie. Look at them both. They're behaving like a couple of kids with a new toy. What's all the excitement about?"

Winston glanced over his shoulder and laughed. "My father wants to run Emerald Bow in the National next year, and Blackie's tickled to death about it. I think Aunt Emma's just as thrilled."

"So I can see," Jim said.

' "Gosh, what marvelous news, Winston," Emily exclaimed. "I hope Grandma invites us all to go to Aintree next March." The conversation now centered around the Grand National and the possibility of Emerald Bow winning the steeplechase.

All kinds of opinions were voiced, and even the fifteen-year-old twins had something to say.

But not Edwina. She was silent.

She sipped the last drop of champagne in her glass, eyed Winston with an oblique surreptitiousness. She did not particularly like him. But then she had never had much time for the Hartes. All they had were pots and pots of money. And looks. She could not deny that they were a good-looking family—each and every one of them. Suddenly with a small start of surprise, she saw how closely Winston resembled her mother. She had always been aware that they shared certain physical characteristics, yet had never realized how pointed and strong these were. Why, Winston Harte is a younger, male replica of her, Edwina muttered to herself. More so than any of her children or grandchildren. The same features, so clearly defined they might have been cut by a chisel; that red hair shot through with gold; those quick intelligent eyes of an unnatural green. Even his small hands holding the glass are like hers. My God, it's uncanny, Edwina thought and looked away quickly, wondering why this revelation disturbed her.

Jim, who had been listening with interest to Winston talking about Steve Lamer, the jockey, interrupted him when he exclaimed, "There's Paula at last." His face filled with pleasure, and he waved to her. "I'll see you all a little later. * He squeezed Edwina's arm reassuringly and dashed across the room.

Paula watched him hurrying to her, a happy expectant smile playing around her mouth. Her heart tightened. She loved Jim very much, and she was so lucky to have found him. He was the dearest, sweetest man, and fine and honorable and good. She xvould have to. try harder with Edwina... she wanted so much to please her husband.

Jim caught Paula's hands in his as he came to a standstill by her side. He smiled down into her face. "You were gone such a long time," he said. "I missed you."

"The babies, darling, they needed me." Her sparkling bright eyes rested on him lovingly. "I hope you're not going to turn out to be one of those jealous fathers I keep hearing about."

"Not on your life. I adore those little moppets." He leaned into her, pulled her closer, and lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. "But I also adore you. Listen, darling, let's sneak away tonight and have a quiet dinner. Just the two of us. Your parents won't mind. They can have dinner with Emma."

"Well—"

"I won't take no for an answer, my pet." He bent over her and whispered in her ear, gripped her hands all that more tightly as he did so.

Paula blushed at his words, then laughed a light sweet laugh. "You're positively wicked. A regular devil." Looking at him archly, she teased flirtatiously, "I'll have you know I'm a married woman, sir. What you propose is most indecent. Quite improper, I'd say."

"Do you really think so?" He laughed and then he winked, "1 think my ideas are very exciting.'

"Mummy's-heading this way," Paula said, laughing and adroitly changing the subject. "And she's looking very determined about something."

"Say yes," Jim demanded. "To everything."

"Yes. Yes. Yes."

Daisy looked from one to the other fondly and shook her head. "Sorry to break up you two lovebirds, but Mother is champing at the bit. She wants to get the photography out of the way as soon as possible now. I'm rounding everyone up. So come along, lets start assembling in.the Gray Drawing Room. Oh and by the way, Jim dear, I've suggested that Edwina be included in one of the family group portraits, and my mother has agreed."

"How very nice of you, Daisy," Jim exclaimed with warmth and sincerity, thinking how typical it was of her to be thoughtful and caring about another person's feelings. That Daisy had shown such consideration for Edwina was doubly commendable..

Emma Harte had never missed a trick in her entire life.

This afternoon was no exception. Her eyes were everywhere, and from her position near the fireplace, she had an overall view of the room and everyone in it. In much the same way that Jim Fairley held himself apart and took in everything, so Emma herself played the observer much of the time these days.

However, unlike Jim, who only saw things on the surface and moreover believed exactly what he saw, Emma had an almost frightening perceptiveness, one that pierced any facade to comprehend what actually lay behind it. She understood that nothing was ever the way it seemed, and so she was acutely conscious of the undercurrents in the room—the rivalries, the conflicts, the bad blood that existed between some of those present.

A sardonic smile touched her lips. As usual, cliques had formed. It was easy to see who was allied to whom. And she could read them all like an open book.

Edwina was the one who had surprised her the most, in that she had obviously had the intelligence to accept the inevitable. Her eldest daughter was giving off an aura of cordiality, sitting on the sofa near the window, chatting with Sally. On the other hand, Emma had noticed that she was assiduously avoiding any real contact with the other Hartes in the drawing room.

Randolph, Sally's father, and his two other children, Vivienne and Winston, were most decidedly persona non grata with Edwina, and her intense dislike of them was barely concealed behind the stiff and chilly smiles she had given them earlier. Edwina was also cold-shouldering Blackie, although there was nothing new about that. Once last year Edwina had referred to him as the grand seigneur, meaning it disparagingly, her voice ringing with sarcasm.

Emma smiled inwardly. She had rather liked the description then, she did so now. It was apt.

Blackie was indeed behaving like the grand patrician gentleman, strolling around as if he had territorial rights, his manner distinctly proprietary, being gracious and charming, playing the genial host to the limit. And why not? He was her greatest friend and her escort after all; this was her house, and she was the hostess at this gthering. He had stood at her side during the toasts and the cutting of the christening cake, and after Randolph had finished speaking, he had made a toast himself. To her. He had called her the youngest and most beautiful great-grandmother in the world. Now he had paused, was hovering over Paula, who in turn hovered over her babies. Daisy joined them, her serenity and sincerity and goodness a beacon in this room.

Emma shifted her eyes to the far corner, where they settled on her grandson, Alexander.

Always reserved, Alexander seemed particularly so with Jonathan and Sarah, whom he had briefly acknowledged when he had arrived. Since then he had consistently and carefully

ignored them. He had attached himself to Bryan and Geral-dine O'Neill at the commencement of the reception and returned to sit with them after the photographs had been taken. She did not understand why he was being cool and distant with Sarah and Jonathan. Could they have had a disagreement? Even a falling-out? Or was he simply bored by the company of his cousins with whom he worked at Harte Enterprises? She turned these possibilities over and then let them go. She would know soon enough if there were any real problems amongst these three. She wished Alexander would make up his mind about that nice Marguerite Reynolds. He had kept that poor girl dangling for too long. Now where was she hiding herself?

Emma scanned the room. Ah yes, there she was near the door, laughing with Merry O'Neill and Amanda. Good God, was that child drinking another glass of champagne. Her third? Emily is supposed to be looking after those sisters of hers, and she's not even in the room, Emma thought and took a step forward, making for Amanda, then stopped in her tracks. Emily had just returned with Winston and Shane, had spotted Amanda, and was about to chastise her little sister, who wore a guilty expression. Emma nodded to herself, amused at the little scene being enacted. Emily, for all her youth and gay disposition, could be very tough when she wanted to be.

Shane had detached himself from Winston and Emily and was prowling across the floor. Her eyes followed him. He came to a stop next to David, drew Paula's father to one side, began speaking to him intently. Shane is not himself today, Emma decided. He has a remote air. It occurred to her that he might be suffering from ennui at this family function of hers, not to mention preoccupation with his impending trip to New York.

As for Sarah, her auburn-haired granddaughter appeared to be patently uninterested in Shane. Did Emily exaggerate? No, definitely not. Sarah, clinging to Jonathan like a barnacle to a hull, was by her very actions proving to Emma that she did indeed care greatly. If Shane no longer mattered to her,. she would not be huddled in a corner staying out of his way. Was Jonathan a handy convenience? Or had he and Sarah formed some kind of special alliance lately? If so, why? They had never been particularly close in the past.

Emma gave Jonathan a long hard stare, studying that bland and smiling face, noting his insouciant manner. How disarming he could be. He's clever, she thought, but not quite as clever as he believes he is. He has acquired the knack of dissembling, most likely from me. And because I'm better at dissimulation than he is, he doesn't deceive me one little bit. I have no hard evidence of his treachery, nothing concrete with which I can nail him, and yet I know he's up to no good.

When Emma had first arrived at the Fairley church, Jonathan had rushed over to her and told her he would see her on Monday morning, would bring her his new evaluation of the Aire Communications building. She had merely nodded, kept her face inscrutable. But she had immediately wondered why he suddenly thought the evaluation of the building's worth was no longer urgent, that it could now wait until Monday. She had been stressing its urgency to him for some time. Emma had not had to think very hard to come up with the answer. Jonathan knew the evaluation was no longer pressing. because he was aware that the Aire deal had collapsed. Neither she nor Paula had mentioned the failure of those negotiations, so he could only have acquired his information from Sebastian Cross and in the last twenty-four hours.

This conversation at the church, coupled with Emily's revelation of the night before, had convinced Emma that Jonathan was somehow im'olved with the Crosses, in cahoots with them. But to what purpose?

She did not know. But she would soon find out. She had no intention of confronting Jonathan on Monday morning. It was not her way to show her hand when that hand could be doling out rope, forming a noose. Instead she would go to London next week and start digging. Discreetly. Jonathan's behavior today had only served to underscore the nagging suspicion that he was not trustworthy, a feeling that she had harbored for weeks. Without realizing it, he had alerted her further. If he were really smart he would have acted as though the Aire deal were still alive. He had made a small slip—but it was a fatal one in her eyes.

Jonathan happened to turn around at this moment. His glance met hers. He smiled broadly and loped across the room to her.

"Goodness, Grandy, why are you standing here all alone?" he asked, showing concern for her. Not waiting for a reply, he went on, "Do you want anything? A glass of champagne or a cup of tea maybe? And do come and sit down. You must be

tired." He took hold of her arm affectionately, and his posture was loving.

"I don't want anything, thank you," Emma said. "And I'm not a hit tired. In fact I never felt better." She gave him a smile as fraudulently sweet as his had been. Extracting her arm ever so gently, she remarked, "I've been enjoying myself, standing here watching everyone. You'd be surprised what people reveal alxnit themselves when they believe they're unobserved." Her eyes were riveted to his face.

She waited.

He squirmed under her unflinching gaze, returned it, managed to keep his expression open and candid. But he laughed too quickly and too loudly as he said, "You are a card, Grandy."

And possibly you're the joker in the pack, Emma thought coldly. She said, "What's wrong with Sarah? She's being rather aloof with everyone, apart from you of course."

"She's not feeling well," he answered with swiftness. "Fighting a bad cold."

"She looks as fit as a fiddle to me," Emma observed dryly, throwing a rapid glance in Sarah's direction.

Emma suddenly stepped back, moved away from Jonathan, and leveled her direct stare on him again. "Did you come up here together? And when did you arrive in Yorkshire?"

"No, we came separately. Sarah by train last night. I drove up this morning." This was said steadily enough, and he smiled down at her.

Emma saw the faintest flicker of deceit in his light eyes. She studied his face briefly. Arthur Ainsley's weak mouth, she thought: She said, "I'm glad Sarah has you to look after her today, Jonathan. It's most kind of you."

He said nothing, changed the subject by remarking, "Are you sure you don't want to sit down, Grandmother?"

"I suppose I might as well."

He steered her across the room.toward Charlotte and Natalie, and Emma smothered a laugh. So that's where he thinks I belong, with the old ladies, she thought with some acerbity.

He saw her settled on the sofa, spoke briefly to his great-aunts, and disappeared, heading back to Sarah.

Emma watched him go, filled with sadness and disappointment. Too bad about Jonathan, she thought with resignation. He surely doesn't realize it, but he's as transparent as water.

Just like his father. She had always seen right through Robin and had been several jumps ahead of him all of his life, usually to his perpetual irritation and discomfort. Sighing, Emma pushed herself into the cushions and accepted a cup of tea offered by one of the waiters, then turned to her sisters-in-law. Natalie, Frank's widow, was unusually garrulous this afternoon, and she soon dominated the conversation, caught up in an endless recital about her only child, Rosamund, who lived in Italy with her diplomat husband. Charlotte and Emma listened, eyeing each other with amusement from time to time, but Emma's interest rapidly waned. She soon fell into her myriad thoughts.

Emma would never know what prompted her to suddenly put down her cup of tea, stand up, and swing around at the precise moment that she did. And later, when she thought about it in private, she was to wish she had remained seated.

But she did go through these motions and found Shane O'Neill in her direct line of vision. He did not see her. He stood alone, leaning against the wall in the shadow of a tall Regency cabinet. There was an expression of such unadulter-. ated love and aching yearning on his handsome face that Emma had to stifle a gasp of surprise. His face was naked, utterly vulnerable, and it revealed the strongest -and most powerful emotions a man could feel for a woman.

And it was Paula whom Shane was staring at with such concentrated intensity and longing.

Oh my God, Emma thought, dismay flooding through her. Her heart missed a beat. How well she knew that look on a man's face. It signified passion and desire, the overwhelming urgency to possess absolutely. And forever.

But her granddaughter was oblivious to him. She was bending over the nursemaid who sat cradling Tessa, adjusting the child's christening robe, cooing to her. Paula's face was tender with a mother's love, and she was completely absorbed in the baby.

Emma was so shocked by what she saw that she could not move. She was rooted to the spot, staring at him transfixed, unable to tear her eyes away from Shane, 'who undoubtedly believed he was safe from prying eyes. Emma reached out blindly and gripped the back of the sofa, filled with a terrible shaking sensation.

To her immense relief the expression on Shane's face was fleeting. In a flash it vanished, was replaced by a studied expression of assumed nonchalance, one she knew so well. He moved out of the shadows without noticing her and mingled with the crowd again. -Distantly she heard his vibrant, throaty laugh and then Randolph's voice in response to something he had said.

Endeavoring to marshal her thoughts, Emma shifted her stance, turned to face the room. Had anyone else witnessed this intensely private moment of Shane's when his guard was down? Where was Jim? Emma's quick alert eyes darted from side to side, came to rest on Emily, who stood motionless a few yards away, staring back at her appalled, anxiety clouding her pretty young face.

Emma frowned. She pinned Emily with a knowing look, then motioned to the door with a brief nod of her head. Emma went out of the drawing room slowly. She was filled with sorrow, and her heart ached for Shane O'Neill. And as she crossed the Stone Hall, everything became crystal clear to her, and her sorrow deepened immeasurably.

Upon entering the library, Emma sat down heavily on the nearest chair. She was surprised her legs had carried her this far. She felt weak at the knees.

Emily came in a split second later, closed the door firmly behind her, and leaned against it speechlessly.

To Emma she looked as if she had seen a ghost. She was unnaturally pale, and her face was tight, very strained.

Emma said, "You saw it then? The way Shane was gazing at Paula?"

"Yes," Emily whispered.

"He's very much in love with her," Emma said, her voice husky. Her throat tightened. She paused, -got a grip on herself. "But then you knew that before today, Emily. In fact you almost let it slip out yesterday. But you managed to stop yourself just in time. That is correct, isn't it?"

"Yes, Gran."

"Don't look so scared, Emily. And come here and sit with me. I must talk to you about this. It's most disturbing."

Emily ran across the room and took the adjoining chair. She gazed deeply into Emma's troubled face, which looked oddly fatigued and weary all of a sudden. She said, "I'm truly sorry you had to find out. I never wanted you to know, Grandma. I knew it would pain you."

"Yes, that's true, it does. But now that I do know, I've a

couple of questions. First of all, how did you find out that Shane was in love with Paula in the first place?"

"Because I've seen that look on his face before. It was at Paula's wedding in London last year... when he thought no one was watching him. Much the same kind of situation as today. He was tucked away in a corner, at the reception at Claridge's, and his eyes never left her. And then there's his behavior... let's face it, Grandy, he's been distant and peculiar with her for the longest time. Actually to be honest he's dropped her like a ton of bricks. Obviously he can't bear to be around her, knowing she's married to someone else."

Emily bit her lip nervously. "I suspect that's also one of the reasons he spends so much time abroad. I know he has to travel because of their hotel chain, but Merry recently said something to me about Shane constantly jumping on planes at the slightest excuse. She said he seemed to have ants in his pants these days."

"I see," Emma said. "So Shane has never confided in you?"

"God no! He wouldn't. He's too proud."

"Yes," Emma said, "I know what you mean." She was reflective for a moment, then said almost to herself, "That seems to be a family characteristic. And it's false pride, too. What a waste of time that is. So very foolish in the long run. It serves no good purpose." She looked away, staring into the distance absently, seeing so much, understanding.

Emily patted her hand in her old-fashioned, motherly way, and urged, "Try not to worry. Gran. I know you love Shane like one of your own grandchildren, but there's nothing you can do about this."

"I'm aware of that, darling. But getting back to the incident in the drawing room, do you think anyone else saw what we saw? Jim for instance?"

"Jim had gone outside a few minutes before, Gran. I spoke to him as he followed Anthony and Sally out onto the terrace. Then Miranda joined them and the twins." Emily chewed her inner lip again. "Sarah. She has been sneaking looks at Shane all afternoon. She might have caught it; I'm just not sure." '

"I certainly hope she didn't!" Emma exclaimed worriedly.

"So do I." Emily took a deep breath, volunteered in a low voice, 'There was one person who noticed—"

"Who?" Emma demanded, looking at her swiftly.

"Winston."

"Well, thank God for small mercies. I'm glad it wasn't anyone else. Go and fetch him to me, Emily, and don't discuss a thing. Not in there. Too many nosey Parkers around."

"Yes, Grandmother." Emily flew out of the room.

Emma rose and went to the windows, staring out at her beautiful gardens. How peaceful they look in the radiant sunlight... next door in the drawing room there is a young man who has everything except the woman he loves and who may never know genuine peace in his whole life because of that. Unless his love for Paula ceases to exist. Emma doubted this would happen. The kind of love she had seen etched on his face was everlasting. Its depth and intensity chilled her to the bone. She was absolutely convinced that a man like Shane O'Neill would not be content to worship from afar. His emotions could easily propel him to take more overt action in time. He might try to fight for taula one day in the future. And even if Paula was not interested in Shane, the situation still spelled trouble, in Emma's opinion. Triangles were not only uncomfortable, they were explosive.

Emma let out a tiny sigh. She had no answers, no solutions, and speculating was surely a big waste of time.

Her thoughts settled on Paula. She prayed her granddaughter would be happy with Jim Fairley for the rest of her life. If she was not, Shane might indeed make headway with her. Yet this first year of the marriage had been idyllic. On the other hand there were things she herself had noticed and which had given her food for thought and cause to wonder about Jim. Instinctively she knew that he was no match for Paula when it came to inherent strength of character. Paula was inordinately stubborn, and she had a will of iron. And she was so much cleverer than Jim—on every level.

Emma admired Jim professionally—he was a brilliant newspaperman. Also she was fond of him personally. It was difficult not to be. On the other hand, Emma had recognized for some time that his judgment was flawed in many areas, most especially when it came to his assessment of people. He was not terribly discriminating. He liked everyone; furthermore he wanted everyone to be happy and all of the time, no less. He hated controversy and upset, bent over backward to keep the peace—and very often that was to his own detriment. In Emma's mind one of Jim's main problems was his overwhelming need to be liked in return, to be popular with every member of the family, his friends, and those in his employment. This trait in him both dismayed and irritated Emma. It was lonely at the top. And it was generally not very wise to be overly familiar with employees. That quickly led to trouble. Loath though she was to admit it, Jim was simply not of the same caliber as Paula. Would he hold up over the years? Every marriage had its problems, its stresses, its emotional upheavals. If Jim caved in because of his lack of stamina and endurance under pressure, what would happen to that marriage? To Paula? To their children? She hated "to contemplate the future in this dismal way and instantly pushed all negative thoughts out of her mind. They did love each other very much, and perhaps their love would overcome any differences thev may have.

Winston said, "You wanted to see me. Aunt Emma?" He sounded both nervous and concerned.

"Yes," Emma said, pivoting. She walked over to a grouping of chairs, motioned Winston and Emily to join her.

They sat down opposite her, waiting.

Winston had been mystified when Emily had dragged him out of the drawing room, whispering that Emma had sent her to get him. He knew at once, from the girl's anxious demeanor, that something was wrong. Now his worried air intensified as he puffed rapidly on his cigarette. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Emily's face was stark above her yellow suit, its bony pallor more pronounced.

Getting right to the point, Emma said, "A few minutes ago I saw Shane looking at Paula in such a way that it left no doubt in my mind about his feelings for her. Emily tells me you also noticed."

"Yes, I did," Winston said at once, realizing there was no point in denying it or lying. He braced himself, wondering what she would say next. He studied her face, which was severe and grave.

"Shane is in love with Paula," Emma announced in a clipped tone.

"Yes. And desperately so," Winston replied,-shaking his head. He had wondered for a long time when this would' come out in the open, and now that it had, he decided it was wisest to be completely candid with Emma. In a way he felt relieved that she finally knew. It had been a heavy burden for him to carry alone.

Desperately Emma repeated under her breath. And her heart sank. Winston was underscoring her own suspicions,

confirming her conclusions. She said slowly, "Has Shane discussed his feelings for her with you, Winston?"

No, Aunt Emma, he hasn't. He's a very private man and discreet. But I've picked up a few things lately, and I've known about his emotional involvement with Paula for a while now... through my own observations. After all we do share the same house at weekends. To be honest I have a feeling Shane thinks I know, but he's never brought the matter up. As I said, he's extremely discreet."

Emma sat back, pursing her lips, her.eyes more reflective than before. After a short silence, she said, "They've been as close as two peas in a pod all of their lives, Winston. How could he have let her slip through his fingers?"

"I can only hazard a guess," Winston muttered, eyeing her closely. He stubbed out his cigarette, the gesture filled with sudden anger. "It's because they grew up together... I mean, I don't think he could see the wood for the trees, see what was under his nose. I'm positive Shane only realized the depth of his feelings for her when she became engaged to Jim. And they got married so quickly after their engagement was announced, Shane hardly nad time to catch his breath. Or act. It all went very fast, as you know."

Winston now lifted his shoulders in a weary shrug and glanced away, thinking of Shane's abject misery. It had grown more intense and acute—and more noticeable—lately. He was glad Shane was going to the States—for Shane's own sake. He turned back to Emma and finished, "That's my analysis of what happened, for what it's worth, Aunt Emma. I truly believe that it took another man in the picture to make Shane understand how much he loved Paula.'

"Yes, I think you're correct, Winston," Emma said.

"Do you think Paula ever knew or knows that he cares about her in that way?" Emily asked Winston in a hushed voice, touching his arm lightly, looking up at him. "I honestly can't answer that, Emily. But I—"

Emma interrupted with great firmness, "I'm sure she didn't and doesn't have an inkling, dear." She cleared her throat and continued in that same clear strong tone, 'This is a most tragic state of affairs for Shane, but there's nothing anyone can do, least of all me. Not anymore. Also it's really none of my business. Nor is it anyone else's, for that matter. The last thing I want is for Shane or Paula to become topics for the gossip mongers in this family, and we all know there are a few who would love to tittle-tattle, perhaps blow this matter out of proportion. I have implicit faith in the both of you and in your discretion and loyalty. However, I must ask you both to promise me faithfully that you will never mention what you saw this afternoon to anyone ever. Is that clearly understood?"

"Of course I promise, Grandma," Emily cried in a shocked voice, looking at Emma aghast. "You must know I would never talk about Paula or do anything to hurt her, I feel the same way about Shane."

"I wasn't doubting you, Emily. I simply felt compelled to stress the importance of your absolute silence on this matter." She directed her attention at Winston.

He said, "I promise, Aunt Emma. I care about Paula and Shane as much as Emily does. And I tend to agree with you about the gossips in our family. There's also a lot of free-floating jealousy about Paula. Shane too, in many ways. They're very special people, so obviously they'll always be targets. My lips are sealed, Aunt Emma. Please don't worry about me."

"Thank you," Emma said and made a mental note of Winston's astute comments. She smiled thinly. "I would prefer it if we ourselves never referred to this matter again. 1 believe it would be best forgotten by the three of us. Shane is going away for six months. Let's hope he will forget Paula—"

"He'll never let go of her! Winston cut in fiercely, heatedly. "It's not in his nature to—" Angrily he clamped his mouth shut, regretting that he had.opened it in the first place.

But he had said enough for Emma to get a clear picture. Yes, she thought, that's what I'm afraid of, too. She said, as steadily as possible, "Perhaps he Witt always care for her, Winston. But he's a young man and virile. He has normal appetites and desires, I've no doubt. Let us hope that he'll eventually find someone who'll meet his needs and come up to his standards, a woman who can help him to forget Paula. I sincerely hope he makes a rewarding life for himself, finds fulfillment and happiness."

"I don't know about that," Winston muttered, changing his mind yet again. He ought to be truthful with Emma. He owed her that, after all. He threw his aunt a gloom-filled glance. 'And then, because he had always been able to say anything to her without a shred of embarrassment, he added

bluntly, "I'm sure he'll continue to have his brief, hit-and-run affairs, his sexual entanglements. He couldn't avoid them, not the way women throw themselves at him. Shane's no saint, you know. And he's hardly the type to lead a celibate life. After all, Aunt Emma, you don't have to be in love with a woman to sleep with her."

"Quite," Emma said, lifting a brow, glancing at Emily.

Winston noticed this, but Emily was a big girl. She knew what was what. Undeterred, he plunged on, "I suppose you won't want to hear this, but I'm going to say it anyway. In my opinion, Shane O'Neill will never love anyone but Paula. You said a few minutes ago that this was a tragic thing for Shane. And it is. But it's also tragic for Paula, / think. She'd have been far better off and happier with a man like Shane than with Jim Fairley."

Winston's harsh tone, not to mention his condemning words, brought Emma up with a start. She looked at him swiftly in astonishment, noticing the grim expression ringing his mouth, the angry glint in his eyes. Why, he bears a grudge against Jim, she thought, that's what his suppressed rage and resentment are all about. Winston is against Jim Fairley because he won Paula, cut Shane out.

Emma nodded, made no comment whatsoever.

Emily, her face puckering up, said quietly, "Poor Shane, life's so unfair."

"Come now, darling, you're only seeing Shane's side of this situation," Emma clucked gently, reprovingly. "Perhaps Paula doesn't think life is unfair. I'm sure she's happy with Jim. I know she loves him. And besides, Emily, whoever told you life is fair? It's most unfair, and it has always been damned hard in my experience. How we cope with life, react to our hardships and suffering, and overcome them—that's what really counts in the end. We must all be strong, learn from our troubles, grow in stature and character..We can't ever let adversity get us down, Emily. Now, let us end this discussion. Run along, the two of you. I want to be alone for a few minutes."

Winston went over and kissed her. So did Emily. They left together in silence.

Emma sat by herself for a while.

She felt weary, bone-tired. It seemed to her that she solved one problem only to encounter another. But then Her life had never been any different. Dear, dear Shane, she

murmured under her breath. My heart goes out to you. Life has dealt you a bad hand in this particular instance. But you'll survive. We all do.

Quite unexpectedly tears came into her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She searched her pockets for a handkerchief and dabbed at her wrinkled old face. She felt like weeping buckets of tears. But that was not her way, giving in like that. And tears solved nothing. She blew her nose, pocketed her handkerchief, and stood up, smoothing down her dress as she did.

Emma walked over to the windows again, taking a few deep breaths, drawing on her great strength, her willpower. And slowly she pulled herself together. Her thoughts came back to Shane. Perhaps Winston was right in his assessme'nt. Maybe Shane hadn't realized how he truly felt about Paula until it was too late. Then again, maybe he had believed he had all the time in the 'world to claim her for his own. We all think that time is endless when we're young, she sighed to herself. The years ahead seem to stretch out forever and indefinitely. But they don't.,. they disappear in a flash, in the wink of an eye. Blackie edged into her mind. She wondered what he would have to say about this situation. She decided at once not to tell him. It would upset him, cause him too much grief.

Last night Blackie had said that life was too damned short for dilly-dallying. There was a great deal of truth and wisdom in his words, especially when it came to a couple of old warriors like themselves. Emma made another sudden decision. She was going to accept-Blackie's invitation to go on that trip around the world after all. No more dilly-dallying for her.

Turning away from the window, Emma walked briskly across the floor and left the library. She went into the drawing room purposefully, seeking Blackie, picturing his expression when she told him to put his Plan with a capital P into operation immediately. And this she fully intended to do the minute she found him in the crowded room.