o you think all families are like ours?"

"What do you mean—exactly?" Winston asked, turning to face Emily.

"We've always got a drama of one kind or another erupting. It seems to me there's never been a minute's peace for as long as I can remember. If it's not the awful aunts and uncles being beastly and scratching everyone's eyes out, it's our generation quarreling and creating the most dreadful upsets. To tell you the truth, I feel as though I'm on a battlefield half the time, and I don't think I'm a very good combatant."

Winston chuckled at her mournful tone, which reflected her dire expression. "You manage all right, Emily. You're a good little scrapper—so I've noticed."

The two of them sat together on an old stone garden seat at the bottom on the rolling lawns that sloped away from the wide terrace which fronted the Peach Drawing Room. Behind them, Pennistone Royal soared up into a sky of deepening blue, awesome in its grandeur and majestic beauty, the many windows glittering in the sunshine of late afternoon.

Now Winston said more thoughtfully, "But to answer your question, I don't suppose other families are quite like ours. After all, how many have an Emma Harte as the matriarch."

Emily drew away, looking up at him, a small frown wrinkling her smooth brow. Her eyes held his gravely as she said, "Don't blame Grandma for the dramatics that are being endlessly enacted. I think she's an innocent bystander, poor thing. I really get angry when I think of the heartache some members of this family cause her."

Winston exclaimed, "I wasn't being critical of her, if that's what you think. Or suggesting for one minute that she's responsible for these situations, Emily. I agree with you— she's not at fault. I was merely pointing out that as the most remarkable woman of our time and an original, there's bound to be controversy surrounding her. Look, she's had a very complex and complicated life, and one she's certainly lived to the fullest. She has shoals of children and grandchildren, and if you include all of us Hartes, which you must, her family is huge. Bigger than most. And don't forget her other close attachments—the O'Neill and Kallinski clans. Add up the numbers—and you've got an army, more or less."

"Everything you say is true, Winston. Still I do get awfully fed up with the infighting and bickering. I just wish we could all live peacefully together and get on with it, for God's sake."

"Yes... but there's another thing you must take into consideration, Emily. Immense wealth and power are vested in her and in this family, so obviously there are going to be jealousies and competitiveness and all kinds of machinations. It strikes me that intrigues are inescapable, given the nature of people... they can be rotten, Emily. Selfish, greedy, self-serving, and ruthless. I've discovered that some people will stop at nothing when their own interests are at stake.'

"Don't I know it!" Emily stared down into the murky depths of the pond, looking troubled! Finally she lifted her head and swung her eyes to Winston. "When I mentioned dramas a few minutes ago, naturally I was referring to Shane. But, I must admit, I sensed things this afternoon—you know, undercurrents. As usual the room was divided into camps. There was a lot of maneuvering going on."

"And who was doing what to whom?" Winston asked with some alertness, his curiosity aroused.

"Jonathan and Sarah are as thick as thieves, for one thing. That's very strange, because I know she never used to like him. I can't put my finger on it, yet I can't help feeling they're concocting something. -Alexander is probably suspicious of that new liaison. Didn't you notice how he's steered clear of them today?"

"Now that you mention it, yes. Personally I've never had much time for Jonathan Ainsley. He was a bully as a child, and like all bullies he's basically a coward. He projects a lot of charm these days, but I don't expect he's changed much over the years, not inside. I haven't forgotten the time he hit me over the head with a cricket bat. The nasty little bugger. He could have done me real damage."

"I know he could, and he was always horrid to me when we were growing up. I still believe it was Master Jonathan who cut the tires on that bicycle Grandy gave me when I was ten,

even though he denied it when she challenged him. He came up with some sort of plausible alibi about his whereabouts that day, but I just know it was a total fib." Emily scowled. "As for Sarah, well, she's been a loner and secretive all of her life."

"You know what they say—still waters -run deep and the devil's at the bottom," Winston remarked.

He bent down, picked up a pebble, and idly threw it into the pond, watching the ripples eddying out from the pool's center. "There have been occasions when I've thought that Sarah has the hots for Shane."

Emily started in surprise. "You're not the only one," she admitted quietly. "Well, fat chance she's got—" She stopped, added swiftly, 'That sounded mean, and I didn't intend to be catty, Winston. I don't dislike Sarah. She can be very sweet, and I feel sorry for her really. Carrying a torch for a man like Shane O'Neill must be positively awful. Even heartbreaking perhaps. She and I have never been all that close, but... well, I always thought she was true-blue—until today. Now I'm not sure anymore."

"She might have been using Jonathan as a shield, and that's all. It was pretty obvious she was trying to disappear into the woodwork because of Shane's presence, I've no doubt."

"Maybe you're right." Changing the subject, Emily remarked, "Jim's very taken with Edwina and with Anthony by the look of it. He's been glued to our young earl for the last hour or so. Maybe titles impress him. Anyway, what do you think about Anthony and Sally getting together?"

"Anthony's decent enough, but my father's not so happy about Sally's involvement with him, mostly because of Edwina. If Sally does marry him, we're going to have that old battleaxe slap bang in our midst. Not a very pleasing prospect. She hates the Hartes for some reason."

"It's because Grandma is a Harte!" Emily exclaimed. "Edwina has always looked down her nose at her mother. What a stupid woman she is. I really can't bear her." Emily'looked away, pondering. After a short silence, she said in a casual tone, "You don't like Jim Fairley, do you?"

Winston shook his head vehemently. "No, no, you're wrong there. I do like him, and I certainly have a high regard for his professional abilities. It's just that—" Winston shrugged, made a face. "Well, I know Paula better than most people. Despite that quiet facade she's very strong, as you know. She's also ambitious, driven, a workhorse, and a brilliant businesswoman to boot. She's quite extraordinary for her age, and the older she gets, the more like Emma she'll become, you mark my words. Actually she's been brought up and groomed to be exactly that—the next Emma Harte. By Emma Harte herself. So because of this and the differences in their personalities, I can't help thinking she and Jim are ill-suited. But then I'm prejudiced, I suppose... in Shane's favor. He's my best friend and one hell of a man. But then—"

Emily broke in peremptorily, 'There's something I want to tell you about Jim, Winston. I believe he's got a lot more depth and strength than some people realize. Paula told me that he used to have the most terrible and agonizing fear of flying because his parents were killed in a plane crash when he was a small boy. And that's why he took up flying and bought his own plane. He became a pilot to conquer his fear. I know Gran hates him tootling around in his little tin bird, as she calls it, but it's obviously important for him to do so, perhaps even essential to his well-being."

Winston looked surprised: He said, "Then I've got to hand it to him, it takes guts and courage to overcome that kind of paralyzing fear. I'm glad you told me, Emily. Anyway, I was. about to say that 1 could be wrong about Paula and Jim. I'm not infallible. Maybe those two will make it together. I certainly don't wish any unhapptness on Paula, of whom I'm very fond. Or on Jim for that matter."

He paused, gave Emily a cheeky grin, and finished, "Besides^ nobody knows what really goes on between two people, or what happens in the privacy of the bedroom. Jim could have hidden charms, you know." He winked at her suggestively.

Emily could not help laughing. "You are wicked, Winston." Her eyes filled with mischief. "You should have seen Grandy's face when you were rattling on about Shane and his hit-and-run affairs and sexual entanglements. It was a picture. And she kept giving me the most surreptitious and concerned glances, as if I wasn't supposed to know about sex."

"And of course you are the lady of great experience, eh, Tiddler?"

Emily adopted a haughty expression and drew herself up on the bench. "Have you forgotten that I'm now twenty-two years of age? I know exactly how many beans make five."

They grinned at each other. She saw that Winston was highly amused. '

Emily went on, "Do you know, you haven't called me Tiddler since I was just that—a very little girl."

"And you were, too. The tiniest oflittle tots for your age."

"But I did sprout suddenly. I'll havexyou know I'm now ' five-feet, five-inches tall, Winston Harte!"

"And a very grown-up young woman, I'll wager," he teased. "We had fun as kids, though, didn't we. Tiddler? Do you remember that day we decided to play at being early Britons, and I dubbed you Queen Boadicea?"

"How could I forget!" Emily shrieked. Her face flooded with merriment. "You painted me blue. All over."

"Not quite, since you insisted on keeping your knickers on, and your liberty bodice. You were a modest little thing, as I recall."

"No, I wasn't! It was the dead of winter and freezing in Grandy's garage. Besides, why would I be bashful then? I didn't have anything to show off when I was five years old."

Winston gave her an appraising look, one full of speculation, seeing her through the eyes of a grown man. "But you do now—" He left the rest of his sentence unfinished, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. Then he. became intensely aware of her close proximity as he breathed in the scent of her floral perfume, the lemony tang of her newly washed hair. Her face, at this moment upturned to his, was trusting, and it had lost its earlier pallor. She looked more like herself, so very pretty and delicate and as sweet as a summer rose, dewy and fresh and innocent.

Winston cleared his throat and could not resist drawing her closer to him, wanting and needing that closeness. He said tenderly, in a newly gentle voice, "It's a good thing you were a modest child, Emily. If you hadn't kept some of your clothes on, I would have painted you all over and probably killed you in the process."

"How were we to know at our ages that skin can't breathe through paint. It wasn't really your fault, Winston. I was just as bad, and after all I painted parts of you." Emily relaxed against him. She was as conscious of Winston as he was of her, and she longed to prolong this unanticipated and unexpected moment of real physical contact.

He let out a deep chuckle. "I'll never forget Aunt Emma's terrible fury when she found us in the garage. I thought she was going to give me the whipping of my life. Do you know, every time I smell turpentine I think of that day, of those gruesome turpentine baths she and Hilda gave us. 1 swear to God she scrubbed me twice as hard as she did you. Extra punishment for me, of course, the irresponsible ten-year-old boy, who should have known better. I was raw for days."

Emily squeezed his arm. "We were always getting into trouble, weren't we? You were the ring leader, I the devoted follower, faithfully trailing after you, doing your bidding. I did adore you so, Winston."

He nodded, looked down into a pair of sparkling eyes that were extraordinary reflections of his own.

Winston caught his breath. He saw something flashing in those green depths, an intensity of feeling, the self-same adoration she had had for him when she had been a child. Unexpectedly his heart began to clatter, and before he could stop himself he bent forward and kissed her on the mouth.

Instantly Emily's arms went around his neck, and she returned his kiss so fervently he was momentarily taken aback. He gripped her tighter and kissed her again and then again, with increasing passion. He felt an overwhelming desire for her flowing through him, rising in him. My God, he was suddenly as hard as a rock. He wanted Emily and with every part of himself. His whole body was throbbing for her, and he was stunned, thrown off-balance by this discovery.

Eventually they loosened their grip on each other and pulled apart breathlessly.

They stared at each other in amazement.

Emily's face was flushed, her eyes startlingly bright, and he saw with sudden clarity the love burning in them. Love for him. He touched her cheek and found it was red-hot under his caress, burning like her eyes burned. Impatiently he dragged her into his arms again, and his mouth sought hers roughly. They kissed with mounting passion. Their tongues met tantalizingly. He probed her mouth, devoured it. They pressed closer, their bodies cleaving.

Vaguely, dimly, at the back of his swimming mind, Winston remembered how he had always had the urge to undress her when they had been children. In a rush he recalled the long-forgotten games they had played in the attics here... secret, intimate, exciting games when he had experienced his first arousals. He thought of how his clumsy boy's hands had explored her little girl's body... he wanted to explore it again with the sure hands of the experienced man he now was, to touch every part of her, woman that she now was, to plunge into her, to possess her completely. His erection was enormous, and he thought he was going to explode. He struggled for control, knowing he ought to curtail their love-making at once, but he found he was unwilling to release her from his arms. He gave in to his feeling, kissing her face, her neck, her hair, touching her breasts, taut under the flimsy silk blouse.

It was Emily who finally broke the spell which held them enraptured with each other. She extricated herself from his forceful embrace, but ever so gently and with reluctance. She gazed up at him. Her expression was one of stupefaction.

"Oh, Winston," she whispered and reached out to touch his sensual, trembling mouth with two fingers. She let them rest there for a moment, as if gentling him.

Winston was speechless.

He sat rigidly on the bench, waiting for his excitement to subside. Emily was motionless at his side, looking up into his face. His eyes bored into her. telegraphing so much to her.

At last he managed, in a strangled voice thick with emo tion, "Emily, I—"

"Please," she whispered quaveringly, "don't say anything. At least not now." She glanced away, biting her inner lip, giving him a few moments to steady himself, to regain his composure. Then she stood up, held out her hand. "Come on," she said, "we'd better go inside. It's getting ever so late."

He said nothing but simply rose; and they walked up the steps in silence, holding hands tightly, each conscious of the other, while lost within themselves.

Emily was filled with euphoria.

He has noticed me again, she thought, her heart soaring. At last. Since I was sixteen, I've been waiting for him to see me as a woman. I want him. I've never stopped wanting him since we were children. Oh, Winston, please feel the same way as I do. Take me for yourself. I've always belonged to you. You made sure of that when I was a child.

Winston for his part was awash with all manner of conflicting emotions and turbulent feelings.

He was not only astonished at himself, but at Emily as well—staggered really. They had fallen into each other's arms a moment ago with such ardor and passion he knew that if they had been in more suitable surroundings, they would have made love. Nothing would have stopped them. And they had come together without premeditation.

Self-analysis and self-appraisal now edged into his whirling thoughts, cooling him down considerably. He came to his senses, asked himself how this could have happened. She was his cousin, after all. Well, his third cousin. And he had known her for his entire life, although he had paid httle attention to her over the past ten years. And inevitably he asked himself finally how he could feel so strongly about Emily when he was in love with Allison Ridley.

This thought nagged at him and maddeningly so as they mounted the long flight of steps. But when they stepped out onto the circular driveway, he let the thought go free as he saw Shane's red Ferrari hurtling around the corner. It slowed to a standstill with a screeching of brakes.

Shane rolled down the window and poked his head out, grinning at them. "Where have you two been?" he asked. "I've been looking all over for you, to say goodbye."

"Emily was feeling a bit bilious in that packed room, so we came out for'a breath of fresh air," Winston ad-libbed quickly. "Where are you off to in such a tearing hurry and at this early hour?"

"Like Emily, I was beginning to feel oppressed indoors. I thought I'd take a drive. To Harrogate. I have to say a few farewells... to a couple of chums."

Winston's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. He's going to see Dorothea Mallet, he thought. Some good that'll do him. He said, "Don't be late for Allison's dinner party. Eight sharp."

"I'll be there on time, don't worry."

Emily asked, "Will you be around tomorrow, Shane?"

"I don't think so, Emily." He opened the car door and got out. He took hold of her, hugged her tightly. "I'll see you in six months or so. Unless you come to New York first." He smiled at her fondly. "Aunt Emma just told me you're going to work for Genret. Congratulations, little one."

"Thank you, Shane, I'm excited about it." She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "And perhaps I will get over to the States on my travels for Genret. You'll have to show me the town, you know!"

"That's a date," he laughed. "Take care of yourself, Emily."

"And you too, Shane."

"See you later, Winston," Shane said and got back into the car.

"Yes," Winston answered laconically. He looked at Emily oddly as Shane drove off. "You didn't tell me about Genret.' This was said fretfully, and he felt so unexpectedly gloomy, he was surprised at himself.

She said, "I haven't had a chance, Winston."

"Does it mean you'll be doing a great deal of traveling?" he probed, scowling at her.

"Eventually. Why?" Emily lifted a brow quizzically, secretly delighted by his reaction.

"Oh, I just wondered," he muttered. He realized, with a small shock, that he did not relish the idea of her roaming the world by herself, trotting off on buying trips for Cenret.

They fell silent again as they continued up the drive to the house, but just before they went inside, Emily ventured in a hesitant tone, "Is it serious? With you and Allison, I mean?"

"No, of course not," Winston exclaimed swiftly, then asked himself why he had told such a bare-faced lie. He was on the verge of proposing to Allison.'

Emily's face brightened. She said, "I'm sorry you're busy tonight. I'd hoped you'd stay and have dinner with us."

"I m afraid I'm stuck." Winston grimaced to himself, discovering to his further astonishment that he was no longer looking forward to the dinner party. He smiled with some wryness, then took hold of Emily's arm as she pushed open the back door, and swung her to face him. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"I have to take the girls back to Harrogate College after Sunday lunch here. I'm free in the evening," she volunteered and returned his steady gaze unblinkingly. Expectancy illuminated her face.

"How would you like to cook supper for a lonely bachelor? I could come over to your flat in Headingley, Emily," he suggested.

The smile slipped off her face, and she shook her head. "It's not possible, Winston. I've> just moved in here with Grandy. Yesterday, actually. I'm getting rid of the flat. Otherwise I'd have loved to cook for you."

Winston stood staring down at her, his hands resting on her shoulders. He was swamped with mixed emotions. He. was positive she wanted him. He certainly wanted her. Urgently. Allison loomed up between them. Oh what the hell,

he thought, making a decision he hoped he would have no reason to regret later.

Tilting her chin, he kissed her quickly on the mouth. He said with a wide grin, "Then we're neighbors. Come over to Beck House tomorrow night, and I'll cook for you. We'll have a nice evening, I promise. What do you say?"

"I think it's a super idea, Winston," she said filling with happiness and excitement. "What time shall 1 come over?"

"As soon as you possibly can, darling."