ora the nursemaid who looked after the Fairley twins sat sewing in a rocking chair in the nursery. As Paula's smiling face appeared around the door she brought her finger to her lips and made a soft shushing sound.

Paula immediately nodded her understanding, mouthed silently, "I'll be back in a while. I'm going to take a bath."

After luxuriating in a hot tub for fifteen minutes, Paula felt rejuvenated. But as she dried herself vigorously, she had to admit that although the warm water had eased her tired body, this lovely sense of well-being sprang from the decision she had just made in the garden to be more understanding about Jim's feelings for Edvvina. Yes, it was the only attitude she could take; she saw that clearer than ever. To adopt any other stance would be utterly self-defeating. She would simply rise above it all, as Grandy would do in similar circumstances. Her grandmother was too big a woman to succumb to pettiness, and she would try her level best to act exactly in the same way.

Paula put on a toweling robe and went back into the bedroom. This was spacious, with a high ceiling and a bay window overlooking the gardens, and it bore no resemblance to the way it had looked when Edwin Fairley had been alive. The first day Paula had seen the room, her heart sank as she had stood staring in horror at the dark blueflocked wallpaper and the heaxy, ponderous mahogany furniture crammed into the space. The bedroom had reflected the rest of the Victorian house, which was a dubious monument to a bygone age. All of the rooms had been old-fashioned, dark, lifeless, and depressing. The house had oppressed her with its gloomy, shadow-filled rooms and antiquated furniture and ornate festooned draperies and ugly lamps. She had wondered dismally how she could ever live at Long Meadow with any degree of comfort or happiness, or bring up children in such a bleak and dreary ambiance.

But Jim had insisted they move in, and he had refused point-blank even to take one look at the lovely old farmhouse which Winston had found for her at West Tanfield. And so she had been obliged to acquiesce to keep the i peace, but only with the understanding that Jim allowed her carte blanche to renovate and redecorate the entire house. Fortunately he had agreed, and this she had done immediately before he had a chance to change his mind or tried to persuade her to live in the midst of the hopeless muddle of nondescript furnishings which his grandfather had so assiduously accumulated during his lifetime. The refurbishing of the house had been her parents' wedding gift to them. Her mother had helped her create a totally new look with such efficiency, boldness, and speed that even Emma had been surprised and somewhat amused by their ruthlessness. They threw out everything except a few good pieces of furniture, including Edwin's desk, a Venetian mirror, and a French Provincial armoire of light oak, as well as several relatively valuable oil paintings. The pale pastel colors she and Daisy had selected for the rooms instantly brought an airy lightness to the house and opened it up to introduce a feeling of great spaciousness and freedom. Pretty fabrics, porcelain and jade lamps, and the charming country antiques her mother had found added charm, liveliness, understated elegance, and comfort.

The dark blue bedroom was transformed into a bower of yellow, white, peach, and pale green, with these clear colors repeated throughout in the floral wallpaper and matching fabrics and in the Chinese lamps. Although Jim had voiced the opinion that the white carpeting was rather impractical, he had afterward acknowledged that the room was lovely and in perfect taste. And to Paula's relief he had liked the rest of the house.

Their bedroom looked sunny and restful this afternoon as she padded across the floor to the dressing table which took pride of place in the wide and curving bay window. She sat down and, after brushing her hair, applied her makeup in readiness for the evening ahead. Her thoughts lingered on her grandmother. How lovely she had looked at the christening; she had been so charming and gracious, so alive with energy and spirit that everyone else had paled in comparison. Jim had said the same things about her grandmother over dinner on Saturday night at the Red Lion in South Stainley, where they had gone to dine alone. Then he had lapsed into one of his strange silences for a few minutes, and she had known he was thinking of his grandfather.

Paula put down her lipstick, swiveled in the chair, and sat staring into space, remembering the night Jim had first brought her to this house to meet Sir Edwin Fairley K.C.

The scene played for her again, vividly alive in her mind.

He had been dozing in front of the fire in the small, pine-paneled library, and he had roused himself when they arrived, had walked across the floor, smiling warmly, his hand outstretched, a frail, whitehaired old man, lovely in his gentleness and courtesy. When he had been only a few feet away from her, his step had faltered as he had seen her more clearly in the dimming light. Shock struck his face, and he had looked as if he had seen a ghost as Jim had introduced "them. And of course he had. He had seen a reflection of Emma Harte in her, although she and Jim had not understood this at that time. But he must have dismissed the resemblance as mere coincidence because he had recovered himself almost immediately. And then during drinks he had asked her what she did, and she had said she worked for her grandmother, Emma Harte, as Jim did, but that she was employed at the stores. He had started violently in the chair, stifled a gasp, and stared at her more intently. His eyes were suddenly alive with burgeoning interest and an unveiled, avid curiosity. He had asked her about her parents and her life, and she had answered him frankly. He had smiled and nodded and patted her hand and told her she was a lovely young woman, that he approved of this match. She had met him several times after that first occasion, and he had never been anything but welcoming, obviously overjoyed to see her. After she and Jim had broken up, he had apparently been disconsolate and extremely distressed as their rift had widened, Jim had told her.

Sir Edwin had died before they had reconciled and then married, with Emma's blessing.

She had asked her grandmother innumerable questions about Edwin, once their old story was out in the open and no longer relegated to the closet along with the other skeletons Emma had hidden there.

Emma, who had hitherto glossed over certain aspects of her early life, had suddenly been quite willing to talk, and she had been surprisingly candid. She had told Paula how she had become involved with Edwin when she had been a servant at Fairley Hall, how they had drawn together after both of their mothers had died. She spoke of the moors and the Top of the World and the cave where they had sheltered from the raging storm and where Edwin had seduced her. "Oh, but Edwin Fairley wasn't a bad person," Grandy had said to her only a few weeks ago, when they had been discussing things again. "Just terribly, terribly weak, and afraid of his father, and hidebound to his class. Naturally. That was the way it was in those days. We're going back over sixty years, you know. Still, I've often wished that he hadn't been so cowardly, that he had made some sort of effort to help me when I was carrying his child. Then perhaps I wouldn't have hated him so much."

Emma had shrugged. "But there you are, that's the way it happened. I survived, didn't I? I was sixteen and about to have an illegitimate child, and because I didn't want to bring shame to my father, I ran away to Leeds. To Blackie. He was my only friend in my dreadful predicament. And Laura, of course, though Blackie wasn't married to my lovely Laura at the time. I had the baby, obviously. You know the rest."

Paula had asked her why she had called the child Edwina. "A peculiar, rather unfortunate slip of the tongue," Emma had replied with a dry laugh. "When I wasn't thinking. Or rather, perhaps I should say when I was thinking about Edwin."

"But how on earth did you manage, Grandma?" Paula had next asked, her eyes full and her heart aching as she had pictured

the young Emma's awful ordeal, one she had had to face alone and penniless and without her family.

"Ah well, I had a couple of things going for me," Emma had remarked with an odd smile, "and they pulled me through." Paula had quietly insisted that she elaborate further, and Emma had said, "Well, let's see. I had my strength of character, my physical stamina, a few brains, not such bad looks, and most importantly an implacable will to succeed. Plus a hell of a lot of courage, now that I think about it. But that's enough of my life story today." And at this point Emma had brought the conversation to an abrupt halt.

Now Paula thought: Edwin Fairley was not only weak, he was unconscionable in the way he treated her. She shifted her thoughts to her grandmother and was overwhelmed with pride and enormous love for her. Emma Harte had been strong, and because of her great strength and her immense courage, she had conquered the whole damned world. She had stood tall and still stood tall. Edvvina suddenly flashed through her mind. That child born a Fairley had caused Emma nothing but heartache from the day she had been born. And that's one of the reasons I can't bear being near her, Paula muttered. Why doesn't Jim understand? she asked herself and squashed this question instantly. Edwina had caused her problems recently, but only because she herself had allowed that to happen. Edwina is insignificant in the scheme of things. Grandy said so weeks ago,

and as usual she is absolutely right.

The clock struck the half-hour. Paula glanced at it, saw that it was four-thirty. She had no more time~to waste, she realized, pulling herself away from her reflections. Jumping up, she went to her clothes closet, found a pair of gray flannel pants and a white silk shirt, dressed in them swiftly. Her step had a ring of decisiveness as she walked across the upstairs hall and into the nursery.

Nora peered out of the tiny kitchen, once a large cupboard that Paula had had remodeled into a nursery pantry. She was holding a baby's milk bottle and said, "I was about to feed them, Mrs. Fairley."

"Then I'm just in time to help you, Nora." Paula bent over the cot nearest to her. Tessa was now wide awake, gazing up at her through eyes as stunningly green as her great-grandmother's, and she suddenly began to gurgle and kick her little fat legs in the air. Paula picked up her daughter, holding her tightly, kissing the child's -fuzzy head and soft downy cheek, her heart clenching with love. She held Tessa for a second longer before returning her to the cot. Immediately the baby girl began to cry.

Paula glanced down at Tessa, and there was joyful laughter in her voice as she said, "Well, my goodness, aren't you the rambunctious little one, Miss Fairley. But we don't play favorites in this family. I have to give your brother a few kisses too, you know, and a little bit of attention as well."

Almost as if she had understood, the baby girl stopped her wailing.

Paula stepped over to the other cot to see Lome staring at her solemnly. She lifted him out, hugging him as fiercely as she had his sister, experiencing the same profound emotions of protectiveness and tender love.

"Oh, you darling," she whispered against his cheek, so warm and wet with slaver. "Your father is right, you're a little poppet." She kissed Lome, held him away •from her, and shook her head, grinning broadly at him. "But you're always so serious, Lome. You remind me of a little old man. Goodness me, you have such ancient worldly eyes, and you gaze at me as if there's nothing you don't know."

Paula walked over to the small loveseat in front of the windows and sat down. She bounced Lome up and down on' her knees and the baby seemed to enjoy this, since he at once started to chortle and slaver, and he waved his clenched fists as if he was happy and glad to be alive.

"I'll feed Lome since I have him, Nora, and you can take care of his more vocal sister," Paula said.

"Yes, Mrs. Fairley." Nora smiled at her, glanced over at Tessa's cot. "She is a little minx, I must admit. She certainly wants to make sure we all know she's here."

Paula and Nora chatted desultorily about the babies and matters pertaining to their care as they fed the twins. At one moment Paula explained that she had adjusted her timetable and office hours again so that she could fit in with the schedule the twins were currently following. Then she went on, "So I'll be home early every day to help you feed and bathe them. But I won't be able to spend bath time with you tonight, I'm afraid, Nora. We're having guests for drinks before we go out to dinner."

"Yes, I understand, Mrs. Fairley." Nora brought Tessa upright in her arms. She laid the baby against her shoulder and patted her back.

The little girl burped loudly several times.

This brought a smile to Paula's face.

Nora said, "Isn't she a pickle! She'll find a way to make herself heard, no matter what. But she's a good baby; so is Lome."

Paula nodded. "Let's be thankful for that. But, you know, both my mother and my grandmother seem to think that Tessa's going to be the maverick in the family." She smiled to herself, mulling this over, and leaned back against the cushions, concentrating on Lome.

Paula cherished these quiet times with her children, away from the bustle and frantic pace of her hectic working life. All was peace and gentleness in the large yet cozy nursery, with its white-painted walls and furniture, with blue and pink accents, and nursery-rhyme paintings hanging on the walls.

Golden sunlight filtered in through the filmy curtains blowing gently in the light breeze, and there were the mingled smells of babies, talcum powder, boiled milk, freshly ironed clothes permeating the air. She looked down at her son, so contentedly sucking on his bottle, and stroked his small fair head. How lucky I am, she mused. I have so much to be thankful for—these adorable healthy beautiful babies... Grandy and my parents... a job that excites me, and most important of all the most wonderful husband. Quite suddenly she couldn't wait for Jim to get home from the newspaper so that she could tell him how much she loved him and how much she regretted their ridiculous quarrels about their aunt.

I'm glad everything's gone well on your first day, Emily, but don't overdo it this week. You sound awfully tired," Paula said. "Please try and pace yourself properly." She sat back in the chair, dragging the telephone across the white wicker desk as she did.

"Oh yes, I will, don't worry," Emily exclaimed, her voice rising slightly as it came over the wire. "Grandy's already told me to keep regular office hours, not to try and gulp every-. thing down all at once. But it's so exciting here at Genret, Paula, and I've so much to absorb and leam. Len Harvey is a super person, we're going to get on fine together." He says we'll probably go to Hong Kong next month. On a buying trip. We may even go into mainland China. Something to do with purchasing pigs' bristles or whiskers."

Paula's laugh rang out. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Brushes. Made of pig's bristles. They're the best, so I understand. Paula... 'it's quite amazing here. I hadn't realized how much merchandise we bought abroad. Genret is the biggest importing company in England. Well, one of the biggest. We stock everything... false eyelashes, wigs, cosmetics, silks and satins, pots and pans—"

"Not to mention pigs' whiskers," Paula teased. "Yes, I knew that, Emily, and I think this job is going to be marvelous for you. A lot of responsibility—but I know you can handle it. To tell you the truth, Apple Dumpling, I miss you already, and this is only your first day over there."

"I feel the same way. I shall miss working with you, too. Still, it's not as if we're disappearing from each other's lives.

What made you call me Apple Dumpling just then? You haven't for years."

Paula smiled into the phone. "I've been gardening today, making a rockery, and I kept thinking about the first garden K planted... at Heron's Nest. Do you remember that day I took you into Scarborough—"

"How could I ever forget it. I've been terrified of worms ever since," Emily cut in with a light laugh. "And I was an apple dumpling then, wasn't I? More like a roly-poly butter-ball."

"But not anymore, little one. Listen, would you like to join us for dinner tonight? We're going to the Granby... at least I think that's where Jim's decided to take us."

"I'd love to, but I can't, I'm afraid. Anyway, who's us?"

"Sally, Anthony, and Aunt Edwina."

"Oh God, I don't envy you, Paula," Emily groaned. "I would come if I could, just to give you moral support. However—" She broke off and giggled. "I have a rather special date."

"Oh! Who with?"

"My secret lover."

"And who's that?" Paula asked quickly, her curiosity aroused.

"If I told you, he'd no longer be my secret lover, now would he?" Emily replied mysteriously. "He's someone extra special and gorgeous, and when the time comes—if it comes, that is—you'll be the first to know." Laughter shaded her voice.

"Have I met him?" Paula probed, as usual feeling protective of Emily.

"I refuse to say one more word about him." Wanting to change the subject, Emily asked in a more sober tone, "By the way, why did Grandy go to London this afternoon?"

"She said something about pulling a new wardrobe, together, for her trip with Blackie to far-flung places. Why do you ask?"

"That's what she said to me, but I just wondered if there was another reason. She always tells you everything."

"What other reason could there be?" Paula asked, sounding baffled.

"Well... she popped in to see me a little while ago, and she looked as if she was on the war path! You know that expression she gets on her face when she's about to do battle. Implacable is the best way to describe it, I suppose."

Paula was thoughtful at the other end of the phone. She stared out at the garden, a frown marring her smooth brow. "I'm sure she doesn't have any business in London, Emily," she said after a short pause and laughed dismissively. "Besides, you ought to know by now that Grandy always looks implacable. It s become her normal expression. Also, she was probably in a hurry when you saw her. Mummy and Daddy were driving back with her, and she wouldn't have wanted to keep them waiting in the car! I know the clothes are preoccupying her. She told me yesterday that they're going to be hitting a lot of different climates and that they'll be gone for three months. Let's face it, Emily, she has quite a task ahead of her selecting the appropriate things."

"Perhaps you're right," Emily conceded slowly, not entirely convinced. 'She's very excited by the trip, Paula. She's done nothing but talk about it to me all weekend!"

"It'll do her good, since it's the first real holiday she's had in years. And she can't wait to see Philip and visit Dunoon, She always had such wonderful times there with my grandfather. And listen, Dumpling darling, talking of my baby brother, I'm going to have to hang up. When he telephoned from Sydney yesterday, I promised I'd write to him today and tell him all about the christening. I must get the letter out of the way before Jim gets home."

"I understand. Thanks for ringing, Paula, and 111 see you later in the week! Give Philip my love. Bye."

Paula murmured her goodbye, replaced -the receiver, and immediately started her letter to Philip. Her young brother was recuperating from a bout of pneumonia, and she and her parents and her grandmother had all agreed it was unfair and unnecessary to drag him from Australia just for one day. As she wrote, Paula relived the weekend, filling the letter with details about the church ceremony, the reception afterward, along with news of the entire family and their mutual friends, especially the O'Neills and the Kallinskis. • She stopped after three pages in her small neat script and looked up, thinking about Philip. They had always been close and were good friends, and she missed him. She was aware that Philip missed her too, and their parents and Grandy, and that he was sometimes awfully homesick for England. On the other hand, Dunoon, their sheep station at Coonamble in New South Wales, had fired his imagination since his childhood, and she believed it now held his complete affection.

Also, running their vast Australian holdings, which their grandfather, Paul McGill, had left Emma, was a tremendous challenge. She knew Philip more than relished his job. He had settled down at last in this past year and had started to make a full and complete life for himself out there, and she was glad of that. She finished the letter, addressed and sealed the envelope, then stood up, walked to the far end of the room. She bent down and picked up several blossoms which had dropped off a bright pink azalea, laid them in an ashtray on a ceramic drum table, and then glanced around, wondering whether to serve drinks in here or in the drawing room.

Although Paula thought of this favorite room as her very own private spot in the house, it had fallen into general use lately. She often found Jim reading here, and most of their guests automatically gravitated to it. In actuality the room was a conservatory, typical of those built onto Victorian mansions in the second half of the nineteenth century, after Joseph Paxton had pioneered the use of iron girders as support for glass houses. Paula considered the large conservatory, like the garden, one of the few real assets at Long Meadow. It was Gothic in design, and she had filled it with tropical green plants, small trees, and exotic orchids, plus a lovely array of small and colorful flowering shrubs. The fir-green carpeting, and the green and white ivy print she had chosen for the wicker furniture and skirted tables produced a cool restful ambiance, and the conservatory appeared to flow out into the grounds beyond the.glass walls. Since Paula's redecoration, it provided an extra sitting room as well as a study for her in the refreshing environment of a garden that grew the year round.

As she turned around, her eyes fell on one of her prized hydrangeas; she was concerned to see that it had developed discolored edges! She continued to examine it thoughtfully until the shrilling telephone forced her to return to her desk She answered it with a bright "Hello?"

"And how's the little mother?" Miranda O'Neill asked in her lovely, lilting voice.

"I'm fine, Merry. How're you, lovey?"

"Exhausted if you want to. know the truth. I've had my nose to the grindstone all day, and I was in the office most of yesterday, developing my idea for the Harte boutiques in our hotels. I believe I've formulated some really workable plans. I want to show them to my father tomorrow, and then I thought we might get together later in the week if you have time."

"Of course I do, and I must say you've been awfully fast and extremely diligent."

'Thanks! Aunt Emma was most enthusiastic when I spoke to her on Saturday, and I didn't want to lose any time. As your grandmother always says, time is money. Besides, if we're going to do it, the areas for the boutiques must be included in the new architectural blueprints, and those will be on the drawing board soon."

"I realize there's a time element involved here because of your building and remodeling program, Merry. So let's meet on Wednesday. About two o'clock?"

'That's perfect for me, and let's do it in my office." Miranda chuckled and said, "Isn't it fabulous news about Aunt Emma going off on a world tour with Grandpops? We're all thrilled at home."

"So are we... it'll do them both good."

Merry said, "You should have seen him this morning. I couldn't believe it when he showed up at the office bright and early. There he was behind his desk, where he hasn't been for months, making phone calls, hustling and bustling, and driving that poor old secretary of his crazy. He kept saying to her, 'First class, first class, and all the way, Gertie! This has to be a deluxe trip.' Aunt Emma's agreeing to go with him has given him a new lease on life—not that he really needed one, actually, since he's always so up and bubbly. But do you know, he got quite miffed with me when I mentioned my idea about the boutiques. He actually bellowed at me to keep Emma out of it, said that he didn't want my piddling bit of business interfering with his Plan with a capital P. It took me ages to calm him down."

"How did you manage to do that?" Paula asked, laughing under her breath, trying to envision Blackie in a rage, which was rather difficult to do.

"When I finally got a word in edgewise, I said Aunt Emma wasn't involved, that you were and that we could cope very well without either, of them. Then he beamed and said I was his clever darling girl but just to be sure to -keep out of his way for the next few days because he was very preoccupied and extremely busy! Anybody would think they were" going off on a honeymoon."

"Well, he did give her the ring, you know, Merry.".

"Isn't it sweet. They're a couple of lovely old dears, aren't they?"

Paula burst out laughing. "I'd hardly characterize my grandmother and your grandfather as a couple of old dears. Blackie and Emma are more like firecrackers, in my opinion. And weren't you the one who told me only the other day that they were incorrigible when they got together?" Paula reminded Miranda.

Merry had the good grace to laugh with Paula, and she admitted, "That's true, I did, and you're right. And by the way, talking of Aunt Emma, I don't know what to buy her for her eightieth birthday. I've been racking my brains for days! Any suggestions?"

'You've got to be joking! We all have the same problem. Mummy and Daddy were discussing it with me over lunch today. And Emily's been nagging me to think of something she can get. Frankly, I'm at a loss, like you and everyone else!"

"Well, let's compare notes again on Wednesday," Merry said. "I'd better go, Paula. My father's waiting for me. We have to go over some of my rough drafts for the press release— about the acquisition of the hotel in New York. I hope to God he likes one of the versions; otherwise I'm going to be at my( desk until midnight. Not that that would be anything unusual,' Miranda grumbled. "I seem to have become a workhorse lately. No wonder I don't have any private life these days."

"I just told Emily to take it easy at Genretl And you'd better do the same, Merry," Paula cautioned.

"Listen who's talking!" Miranda said and laughed hollowly.