ince the conservatory opened directly off the marble-floored entrance hall, Paula heard Jim's footsteps the moment he entered the house. She was standing near the fading hydrangea plant, holding the discolored leaf in her hand, and she turned, expectancy and warmth filling her face.

"Hello, darling," she said, as he came down the two steps, and moved swiftly toward him, her eagerness to see him most apparent.

"Hello," he replied.

They met in the center of the room. He gave her a light kiss, then lowered himself into a chair without saying another word.

Paula stood staring down at him, puzzlement in her eyes. He had sounded so apathetic, and the kiss was so perfunctory she knew he was not himself. She said instantly, "Is there something the matter, Jim?"

He shook his head. "Just tired," he said, smiling that bland, dismissive smile she had come to know so well. 'There was an accident on the Harrogate road, quite a pileup of cars because of it, and it slowed the. traffic. We crawled along for miles. Frustrating... exhausting, actually."

"How awful. I'm sorry. That's all you needed. Let me fix you a drink," she suggested, not entirely satisfied with this explanation but making up her mind not to press too hard for the moment.

"That's a good idea," he exclaimed in a stronger tone. "Thanks, a gin and tonic should hit the spot."

"I'll just go for some ice," she said and made to leave the conservatory.

"Ring for Meg. She can bring it." He frowned. "The bell's not broken again, is it?"

"No, but it'll be quicker if I go," Paula said, pausing with one foot on the step, glancing over her shoulder.

"I wonder sometimes why we have a maid," he said with a hint of irritation, looking up, leveling his pale grayish blue eyes on her.

She stared back at him, detecting criticism in his tone and manner, but she remarked with evenness, "She's awfully busy right now, and anyway Grandy brought us up not to be overly dependent on servants, as I've told you so many times." Not waiting for a response, she hurried out, but she heard his pained sigh as she went into the hall. Maybe it is only weariness, a hard day at the paper, the difficult drive' home, plus the hectic weekend, Paula thought, endeavoring to persuade herself that these were the real reasons for his peculiar mood. He wasn't often moody, at least not exactly like this! As she pushed open the kitchen door, she noticed she was still holding the leaf. It was mangled in her hand.

Relax, she instructed herself, his moodiness means nothing. He'll be more like himself after a drink.

Meg said, "Do you think I've made enough canape's, Mrs. Fairley?" She indicated the silver tray, pausing in herjwork.

"Yes, that's plenty, Meg, and they look delicious. Thank you. Could you fill the ice bucket, please?" Whilst the maid busied herself at the refrigerator, Paula threw the leaf in the rubbish bin and washed her hands at the kitchen sink.

]im had risen in her absence, and he was standing looking out into the garden when Paula went back to the conservatory with the ice. His face was in profile; nonetheless she could not fail to miss the morose curve of his mouth, and when he swung around, his eyes were vague.

Questions flew to her tongue, but she bit them back and hurried to the skirted table, which held bottles and a tray of glasses. Pouring his gin and tonic, she said without turning around, "I thought we'd have drinks in here later, or do you prefer the drawing room?"

"Wherever you wish," he replied in a disinterested voice.

Striving for a normal manner, she continued steadily, "Did you book at the Granby after all, Jim?"

"Yes. We have a table reserved for eight-thirty. Anthony called earlier today and said they wouldn't be able to get here until seven fifteen. That gives us an hour to relax."

"Yes." Anxiety was rising in her. He was strange, there were no two ways about it, and she wondered if their quarrel of the previous evening still lingered in the back of his mind, rankled perhaps! But why would it? He had won, and anyway he had teen chatty and pleasant at breakfast. But she resolved to get to the root of whatever was bothering him. She also decided'to have a vodka and tonic, even though she hardly ever drank hard liquor.

Jim seemed to visibly cheer up as he sipped his drink. He lit a cigarette and asked casually, "Heard from anybody today?"

"Emily, Merry O'Neill. And Grandy, of course. She rang me just after you left this morning to let me know she was going to London for a few days." Paula now looked directly at him, took a deep breath. "Why are we making small talk, Jim, when you're troubled? I know something's wrong. Please tell me what it is, darling."

He was silent.

She leaned forward intently, her unwavering eyes holding his. "Look, I want to know what's bothering you," she insisted.

Jim sighed heavily. "I suppose there's no point putting it off... I had a bit of a set-to with Winston today, and—"

Paula laughed with relief. "Is that all! Well, you've had clashes with him before, and they always blow over. So will this—"

"I've resigned," Jim announced flatly.

She looked at him uncomprehendingly, totally at a loss for words. Slowly she put down her drink. Her dark brows drew together in a frown. "Resigned?"

"As managing director of the company, that is," he added quickly. "Effective immediately."

Thunderstruck, she continued to gape at him. She found her voice and it rose slightly as'she asked, "But why? And why didn't you mention it to me, tell me what was on your mind? I simply don't understand..." She did not finish her sentence, sat tensely in the chair.

"There was nothing to discuss. You see, I didn't know I was going to resign—until I did."

"Jim, this is perfectly ridiculous," she said, attempting a laugh. "Just because you had a little row with Winston doesn't mean you have to do something as drastic as this.... after all, Grandy has the final word, you know that. She appointed you; she'll reinstate you at once. She'll put Winston straight, deal with him. Look, I'll speak to her tomorrow, ring her first thing in the morning." She gave him an encouraging smile, but it faltered as he held up his hand with an abrupt movement that was uncharacteristic.

"I'm afraid you're misunderstanding me. Winston didn't force me to resign or anything like that, if that's what you're thinking. I did so of my own accord. I wanted to, and rather badly, although I must admit in all truthfulness that I didn't realize this until the opportunity presented itself. So I certainly don't want to be reinstated.'

"But why not, for heaven's sake?" she cried, her perplexity and concern mounting, rising to the surface to cloud her face.

"Because I don't like the job. Never have. When Winston came to see me this morning, he asked me point-blank if I wished to continue as managing director; and as he was speaking, I knew—really knew, Paula—that I didn't. I've never been particularly good at administrative work or interested in it, and I told Winston so, and he said he'd sensed this for some time. He pointed out that perhaps it would be better if I stuck to journalism, ran the papers but not the company. I thoroughly agree with him, so I stepped down. That s all there is to it, actually," he shrugged, smiled faintly,

"All there is to it," she echoed incredulously. She was aghast at what he had done and at his attitude. "I don't believe I'm hearing you say these things. You're acting as if it didn't matter, as if this wasn't serious, when it's terribly serious. And you're being so cavalier, so dismissive, I'm absolutely staggered."

"Don't get so het up. Frankly, I'm filled with relief."

"Relief should be the last thing on your mind," she said in a small dismayed voice. "What about duty? Responsibility? Grandy showed a great deal of faith in you, put her trust in you when she appointed you managing director last year. I think you've let her down and rather badly."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Paula, because I must disagree with you. I haven't let Grandy down," he protested. "I'm still going to be managing editor in charge of two of the most important newspapers in the Consolidated group. I'll be doing what I do best, being a newspaperman and a damned good one at that." He sat back, crossed his legs, and returned her penetrating stare with an unblinking gaze. His expression was adamant!

"And who's going to run the company, now that you've stepped down?"

"Winston, of course." "You know very well he doesn't want that job."

"Neither do I.

Paula's lips drew together in aggravation. Another thought struck her, and she exclaimed fiercely,."I hope this sudden and rather extraordinary decision of yours doesn't mean that Grandy will have to cancel her trip with Blackie. She really needs that holiday. What did she say? I presume you've told her."

"Naturally I've told her. Winston and I walked over to the store at lunch' time for a meeting with her. Your grandmother accepted my resignation, Winston's agreed to take the job, and he didn't seem very perturbed about the idea either. Grandy isn't going to cancel her holiday—rest assured of that." He leaned forward and clasped her hand in his. "Come on, relax. You're the one who's more upset than anyone. Grandy and Winston respect my decision. They didn't quibble. In fact there was very little discussion... it was rather cut and dried, actually."

"You've simply misunderstood their reactions," she murmured, filled with misery.

Jim laughed. "Now you're being ridiculous, Paula. I know them both very well, and I can assure you that everything is all right."

Paula could think of no easy reply to this statement. She was astonished at his lack of insight, and his assumption that things were on an even keel showed extremely flawed judgment on his part. Jim obviously had no conception of what made her grandmother and Winston tick. She didn't have to think twice to know that they had accepted the situation because they had had no alternative. They would pull together to keep the company running smoothly. That's our way, she thought. We do our duty and accept responsibility, no matter how difficult that is. Things were far from all right, as he so glibly put it.

Jim was watching her, trying to ascertain what she was thinking, but her violet eyes were veiled, unreadable. He said anxiously, "Please try to see my point of view, understand my feelings about the situation. Your grandmother and Winston do. And don't let's argue about my resignation. Since it's a fait accompli, this is all rather silly, wouldn't you say?"

Paula said nothing. She leaned back in her chair, extracted her hand quietly, and reached for her drink. She took a quick sip. There was a protracted silence before she said, "Jim, I do wish you'd reconsider... there are other things involved here. Grandy was going to tell you this herself later in the week, but I know she won't mind if I tell you now. She's going to change her will. At the moment her shares in the newspaper company are part of the assets of Harte Enterprises, which as you know my cousins are to inherit. But she's decided to leave the newspaper shares to the twins—our children—so I know it's important to her that you're totally involved with the newspaper company and on every level. I don't care what she said to you this morning, I'm absolutely convinced she's terribly disappointed deep down because you've chosen to step away from the managerial side—"

Jim's brief laugh stopped her short. She looked at him, searched his face, wondering'if she had imagined the edge to that laugh.

He said patiently in a soft,.smooth voice, "Paula, whether I'm managing director, managing editor, or both, or neither, for

that matter, your grandmother will still change her will. She'll leave those shares to our children no matter what and for

several good reasons."

"What reasons?"

"They're Fairleys for one thing, and then there's her guilt."

Paula blinked, for a second not understanding what he was getting at; then quite suddenly she had a flash of insight, and she stared at him intently. She hoped she had misunderstood the implication behind his words. She took a deep breath to steady herself and asked very slowly, "Her guilt about what exactly?"

"Wresting the Yorkshire Morning Gazette away from my grandfather, grabbing control of the company," he said offhandedly, lighting a cigarette.

"You make it sound as if she stole it!" Paula tersely exclaimed. "You know very well that your grandfather ran that newspaper into the ground, and that certainly had nothing to do with Grandy. You've said often enough that he was a brilliant barrister but a lousy businessman. Surely I don't have to remind you that the other shareholders begged Grandy to take over. She bailed them out—and your grandfather, for that matter. He made a lot of money on his shares."

"Yes, you're correct—especially about him mismanaging the paper—but 1 suppose he would have muddled through, limped along somehow, and retained control, if your grandmother hadn't swooped dovvn'.and scooped it up." He gulped some of his drink, drew on his cigarette.

"The paper would have gone bankrupt! Then where would your grandfather have been?" She glared at him. "In a mess— that's where!"

"Look here, Paula, don't sound so shocked. I'm only reminding you of the facts. We both know that Grandy ruined the Fairleys." He gave her an easy lopsided smile. "We're both adults, so we'd be rather silly if we tried to s%veep all that under the rug, just because you and I are married. What happened did actually happen, you know. You and I are not going to change it, and it's certainly nonsensical for us to quarrel about it now, so long after the event."

Paula recoiled, gaping at him. Dismay had lodged like a rock in the pit of her stomach, and she was shaking inside. As his words echoed in her head, her patience evaporated, the tension of the last few weeks rose up in her, and something snapped

all of a sudden. "She no more ruined the Fairleys than I did! It just so happens that Adam Fairley and that eldest son of his, Gerald, did it all by themselves. Whether you want to believe it or not, your great-grandfather and great-uncle were negligent, stupid, self-indulgent, and very poor businessmen. And besides, even if she had ruined them, I for one wouldn't blame her. I'd applaud her for settling the score. The Fairleys treated my grandmother abominably. And as for your sainted grandfather, what he did to her was... was unspeakable!" She gasped. "Unconscionable, do vou hear! Fine upstanding young man Edwin was, wasn't he? Getting her pregnant at sixteen and then leaving her to fend for herself. He didn't even lift a finger to help her. As for—"

"I know all that—" Jim began, wondering how to placate her and stop this flow of angry words.

She cut him off peremptorily. "What you don't know perhaps is that your great-uncle Gerald tried to rape her, and believe you me, no woman ever forgets the man who has attempted rape on her! So don't start presenting a case for the Fairleys to me. And how dare you point a finger at my grandmother, after all she's done for you! Could it be that you're trying to gloss over your abdication of your duty to her—" Paula stopped herself from saying any more.- Her emotions were running high, and she was so furious she was shaking like a leaf.

A sudden chill settled in the room.

They stared at each other. Both of them were appalled. Paula's face was so white her deep blue eyes seemed more startling than ever, and Jim's face was taut with shock.

His distress prevented him from speaking for a few seconds. He was stunned by her outburst and dismayed that she had chosen to totally misconstrue his words—uttered idly and rather carelessly, he now had to admit.

He finally exclaimed with great fervency, "Paula, please believe me, I wasn't making a case for the Fairleys or pointing a finger at Emma. How can you possibly think I would do anything like that? I've always respected and honored her, since the first day I worked for her. And I've grown to love her since we've been married. She's a wonderful woman, and I'm the first to appreciate everything she's done for me."

"That's nice to know."

Jim caught his breath, cringed at her sarcastic tone. "Please, Paula, don't look at me like that. You've misunderstood me completely."

She did not reply, averted her face, and stared at the mass of plants lining the glass walls of the conservatory.

Jim jumped up. He grabbed her hands and pulled her'out of the chair, took- her in his arms. "Darling, please listen to me. I love you. The past doesn't matter; Grandy's the first person to say so. I was wrong to even bring it up. What they all did to each other half a century ago has nothing to do with us. Somehow we've gone off the rails because of this'... this discussion about my resignation. Everything lias been blown out of proportion. You're overly upset about nothing. Please, please calm yourself." As he spoke, he led her to a loveseat and pressed her down, seated himself next to her, and took her hand, looked deeply into her face.

He said, "Look, I agree with you, Paula—what my grandfather did was unspeakable. And he knew that himself. He lived with a guilty conscience for the rest of his life. In fact his actions as a young man mined his life in many ways. He confided that in me before he died. He never stopped regretting losing Emma and their child, nor did he stop loving her, and at the end all he wanted was your grandmother's forgiveness. When he was dying, he implored me to go to Emma and beg her forgiveness for everything the Fairleys had done to her, himself most of all. Don t you remember? I told you this, I spoke to Grandy about it the night she announced our engagement."

"Yes," Paula said.

"I repeated everything to Grandy—his last words just before he slipped away. He said, 'Jim, it will be an unquiet grave I lie in if Emma does not forgive me. Implore her to do so, Jim, so that my tortured soul can rest in peace.' And when I told Emma, she wept a little, and she said, 'I think perhaps your grandfather suffered more than I did, after all.' And Paula, Emma forgave him. She forgave all of the Fairleys. Why can't you?"

She lifted her head sharply, startled by the question. "Oh, Jim, I—" There was a short pause before she finished, "There's nothing for me to forgive. I think you've misunderstood me!"

"Perhaps. But you were so angry, shouting at me, going on about the Fairleys..."

"Yes, I did lose my temper, but you riled me when you said Grandy had guilt feelings. I know her, and far better than you,

Jim, and I'm convinced she doesn't feel guilty about anything."

"Then I was wrong," he said with a weak smile. "I apologize." He was relieved she sounded more normal.

"You're wrong about something else too."

"What's that?"

"The past. You just said that the past doesn't matter, but I can't agree with you. The past is always coming back to haunt us, and we can never escape it. It makes prisoners of us all. Grandy might give lip service to the idea that the past is no longer important, but she doesn't really believe this. She's often said to me that the past is immutable, and it most certainly is in my opinion."

"The sins of the fathers and all that—is that what you mean?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

Jim exhaled, shook his head.

Paula looked at him carefully. "I have a question. You might not like it, but I feel compelled to ask it." She waited, watching him closely.

He stared back at her. "Paula, I'm your husband, and I love you, and there should never be anything but complete honesty and directness between us. Obviously you can ask me anything. What's the question?"

She took a breath, plunged. "Do you resent Grandy? I mean because she's the owner of the Gazette and not you? If your grandfather had managed to retain control, you would have inherited the paper." '

Jim's jaw dropped in astonishment, and he gaped at her; then he laughed. "If I had any resentment—or bitterness or jealousy—I'd hardly be resigning as managing director. I'd be scheming to get the paper for myself—at least, to get as much power as I possibly could. And I'd have been dropping hints to you long ago to influence Grandy to leave the newspaper shares to our children... so that I could get absolute control through their holdings. With that kind of clout at my fingertips, I would be kingpin in the company after Emma was dead. Actually, it would be mine in a manner of speaking, since I would be handling their business affairs until they came of age." He shook his head, still laughing. "Now wouldn't I have done that?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Paula admitted in a drained voice, feeling suddenly debilitated.

Jim-said, "Paula, surely you realize by now that I'm not money hungry, nor particularly ambitious for power. I like

running the papers, being managing editor—I admit that— but I don't want to be involved in business and administration."

"Not even when you know that the newspaper company will be your children's one day?"

"I trust Winston. He'll do a good job. After all, he does have rather a big stake in the Consolidated group when you consider that he and the Hartes own half the company. He controls forty-eight percent of the shares, don't forget."

Paula knew there was no point arguing with Jim any further about his resignation, at least not now. She stood up. "I think I've got to go outside... I need some fresh air."

Jim also rose, looking at her with concern. "Are you all right? You're awfully pale."

"Yes, really. Why don't you spend a few minutes with the babies before you change? I'll be up in a short while—I just need to take a stroll around the garden."

He caught her arm as she moved toward the door and swung her to face him. "Friends again, darling?" he asked softly.

"Yes, of course," she reassured him, conscious of the anxiety reflected in his eyes and recognising the plea in his voice.

Paula walked slowly through the garden, circumvented the plantation of trees, and took the narrow path leading to the second lawn that sloped down toward the grove of laburnum trees and the pond.

She was considerably shaken by their quarrel, and her senses were swimming. She sat down on the steps of the white-painted summerhouse, relieved to be alone, to regain her equilibrium. She deplored the fact that she had lost control, flown into a temper, and her only excuse was the extreme provocation. Jim's remark that her grandmother was guilt-ridden about the Fairleys had been so inflammatory it had made her blood boil. The suggestion was ridiculous. Just as his resignation was ludicrous.

Although she was desperately troubled by that impulsive and irresponsible move on his part, her dismay about it had been jostled to one side by the impact of their collision. This last row was a lot more serious than one of their quarrels about Edvvina. It had struck at an important fundamental in any marriage—trust. And it raised questions in her mind about Jim, his innermost fefilings for her grandmother, and his loyalty to Emma. Her head was teeming with questions. Did he bear a grudge against Emma Harte because she now owned everything the Fairleys had once owned? Perhaps subconsciously, without really understanding that he did? It struck her and very sharply that this was not beyond the realms of possibility. Alter all, he had been the one to launch into the past, not she; and if the past didn't matter, as he had claimed, then why had he brought it up in the first place?

Were resentment and bitterness at the root of his statement after all? She trembled at this thought. Those were the most dangerous emotions in the world, for like cancer they gnawed away at a person's insides; they were destructive and colored everything a person did. Yet when she had asked Jim bluntly if he resented Grandy, he had obviously been flabbergasted by the idea, and his answer had been immediate, direct, and totally without guile. He had been genuine—she had seen that instantly. She had always found Jim relatively easy to read. He was not a devious man but was quite the reverse really, in that he was not constitutionally cut out to dissemble.

Paula leaned against the railings and closed her eyes, her mind working at its rapid and most intelligent best, assessing and analyzing. She had always believed she knew Jim inside out, but did she really? Perhaps it was arrogant of her to -think she had such great insight into him. After all, how well did anyone know another person when one got right down to it? There had been times when she had found those who were closest to her, with whom she had grown up, difficult and even impossible to comprehend on occasions. If members of her immediate family and her oldest friends were frequently baffling, how could she possibly understand a man she had known for a brief two years, a man who might easily be termed a stranger even though he was her husband? She had come to realize that people could not always be taken on face value... most people were highly complex. Sometimes they themselves did not recognize what motivated them to do the things they did. How well did James Arthur Fairley actually know himself? And, come to think of it, how well did he know her?

These nagging questions hung in the air, and she finally let go of them, sighing, understanding that she had no ready answers for herself. She opened her eyes and looked down at her hands, so relaxed, curled in her lap. The tension had gone, and now that her anger had all but dissipated entirely, she was able to think objectively and with a cool head. She acknowledged that she had leaped down Jim's throat. Of course he had been awfully provocative, but that was no doubt unintentional on his part. They were both at fault, and if he had a few imperfections, then most assuredly so did she. They were both human. As he had defended himself against her strong verbal onslaught, she had heard the ring of truth and sincerity, in his voice, had noted the genuine love written all over his face. It suddenly seemed inconceivable to her that Jim could harbor ill feelings for her grandmother. Furthermore she owed it to her husband to believe that he did not. Yes, she must trust him, must give him the benefit of the doubt. If she was not capable of doing that, then their relationship would be threatened. Besides, he had made a very salient point, one she could not now ignore. He had said he would hardly be resigning as managing director if he was embittered and felt that the Gazette was his by rights, that instead he would be making sure he grabbed all.the power for himself. She could not deny that his words made sense. Anybody who was goaded on by resentment to get even, to win, would hardly be quitting the arena. He would be planning the coup-de-grace.

Thoughts of his resignation intruded more sharply, but she clamped down on them with resoluteness. Wisely she decided she had better shelve that sensitive issue for the time being. It was hardly the time to start tackling him about that again when their guests were due to arrive shortly. And especially since Edvvina was one of those guests. She most certainly wasn't going to let her see a chink in the armor.

Jim stood at the window where, from this angle, he could see Paula sitting on the steps of the summerhouse. His eyes remained riveted on her, and he wished she would come back inside. It was imperative that he smooth things over between them.

He had not meant any harm when he had mentioned that old worn-out "story about Emma Harte ruining the Fairleys. But he had been tactless, no use denying it, and a bloody fool for not realizing that Paula would react fiercely. Jim exhaled wearily.

She had overreacted in his opinion; after all facts were facts and quite inescapable. But then his wife was irrational about her grandmother, worshiping her the way she did. She wielded a club on anyone who dared to even hint that Emma was less than perfect. Not that he ever said a wrong word about her... he had no reason to criticize or condemn Emma Harte. Just the opposite, actually.

Paula's revelation about Gerald Fairley attempting to rape the young Emma edged to the front of his mind. It was undoubtedly true, and the very idea of it was so repellent to him that he shivered involuntarily. On the rare occasions Gerald's name had cropped up in conversation, he had divined a look of immense distaste and contempt on his grandfather's face, and now he understood why. Jim shook his head wonderingly, thinking how entangled the lives of the Fairleys and the Hartes had been at the turn of the century; still the actions of his antecedents were hardly his fault or his responsibility. He had not known any of them, except for his grandfather, so they were shadowy figures at best; anyway, the present was the only thing that mattered, that counted for anything.

This thought brought his eyes back to the window. He moved the curtain slightly. Paula was a motionless figure on the steps of the old summerhouse, lost in her contemplations. Once she had returned to the bedroom to change her clothes, he would sit her down, talk to her, do his damnedest to make up to her, apologize again if necessary. He was beginning to loathe these quarrels, which had become so frequent of late.

He ran his hand through his fair hair absently, a meditative look settling on his finely drawn, rather sensitive face. Paula could be right—maybe Emma was not in the least troubled by her past deeds. Now that he considered it objectively, in a rational manner, it suddenly struck him that she was far too pragmatic a woman to worry about matters that could not be altered. And yet he could not dismiss the sense of guilt he had detected in her from time to time. Perhaps her guilt was centered solely on him, had nothing to do with those long-dead Fairleys. There was no question in his mind that Emma worried about him. This was the reason he had not been in the least surprised when Paula had mentioned the will, since he had always expected Emma to change it, to favor his children. He did not crave the shares for himself; nor could Emma leave him her interest in the papers without causing a stink in the family. And so Emma, being fairminded and scrupulous, was doing her level best to make amends, to make things right and proper in the only way she knew how. She was giving Lome and Tessa their birthright... the inheritance he himself would have willed to his children if his - family had retained control of the newspaper.

Jim was completely convinced that genuine emotion motivated Emma. She had once loved his grandfather, and in consequence she cared deeply about him. There was not the slightest doubt in his mind about that. He might even have been her grandson if circumstances had been slightly different.

Yes, Grandy had shown her true feelings for him in an infinite variety of ways—he had hard evidence. He ran all of the instances through his head... she had given him the job as managing editor when there had been other candidates just as well qualified; she had ended her vendetta against the Fairleys because of him; she had blessed his marriage to her favorite grandchild. In fact Emma Harte was always bending over backward to please him, and she was on his side—her actions more than proved this. Grandy had persuaded Paula to live-here at Long Meadow because he so wished it. She had acknowledged that the twins must be christened at Fairley church, and moreover, she had not objected when he had invited Edwina. It was only Paula who ever made a fuss about that unfortunate woman who had never done anybody any harm.

Jim shifted his stance impatiently, wondering how long Paula intended to sit out there. He glanced at his watch with irritation. If she did not come in within the next few minutes, he would go out and talk to her in the garden. He did want to make sure she understood one thing... Emma was not disappointed in him. That morning, when he had told her he wanted to resign, Grandy had agreed and said that she appreciated his honesty. "If that's what you want, then that's what you must do," Emma had said with a little smile. "I'd be the last person to stop you." Emma was compassionate and full of humanity, and she loved him in her own way. And he was loyal to her, devoted. There was a special bond between them. It was never mentioned, but it existed nevertheless.

Much to his relief Jim now saw Paula walking up the path. Thank God she was coming back to the house. His tension lessened, even though it was impossible from this distance to gauge her state of mind or to ascertain what her attitude would be. But then he always had trouble doing that. It seemed to him that she constantly had him on the edge, kept him guessing. She was temperamental, even difficult at times, but no woman had captivated him, ensnared him as she had. And she had done so without even trying. There was enormous chemistry between them, and their sexual attraction for each other was so strong it was overpowering. Paula was so intense, so serious, so complex she often left him floundering and baffled. Yet he found her depth and sincerity gratifying; equally he was thrilled by her passion, her desire for him in bed. The women he had been involved with before her had often complained about his sex drive. They seemed to think it was abnormal, were unable to cope, balked at his staying power. But not Paula... she never complained, always welcomed him with open arms, as ready

as he to abandon herself to their lovemaking, and he could never get enough of her. He knew she felt the same.

Paula was the best thing in the world that had ever happened to him, and he was struck by this realization more and more

every day. How lucky he had been to meet her on that plane journey from Paris.

He thought back to it now, remembering clearly every little detail of their first meeting. Her name had sounded familiar, and her lovely face had touched a chord in his memory, but he had not been able to place her. But later that night, restless, unable to sleep, haunted by her, everything had suddenly clicked into place. It had dawned on him that she was the daughter of David Amory, who ran the Harte stores, and that she was therefore the granddaughter of Emma Harte, his employer. He had been at once intimidated and dismayed, had not closed his eyes all night, worrying about the situation and the ramifications it involved.

The following morning, confused, disturbed, and ambivalent, he had wavered and wondered whether to cancel their dinner date planned for that evening. In the end he had been unable to resist seeing her again, had gone to the Mirabelle in a troubled state. He had been keyed up, anxious, and his heart had been in his mouth. After one of the waiters had made a remark about her grandmother, he had seen his chance. He had the perfect opening gambit, had asked her who her prestigious grandparent was, and Paula had told him without hesitation. She had made light of this, had made it easy for him, and surprisingly her relationship to Emma Harte had suddenly not mattered. His extraordinary feelings for Paula swept everything to one side, and he had fallen in love with her over dinner at the Mirabelle, had made up his mind to marry her—even if Emma sacked him and disinherited her heiress.

Jim recalled the night, a month after their first date, when he had finally succeeded in getting Paula into bed. Unexpectedly, erotic images of them together began to dance around in his head, made the heat rush through him. He knew what he was going to do the minute she walked in, knew how to put everything right between them. Words and long explanations were meaningless, inconsequential, now that he thought about it. Actions counted. Yes, his was the best way, the only way, to demolish the residue of their quarrel completely.

As Paula entered the bedroom, Jim saw that she was calmer, that her color was perfectly normal. He went to her, took her hands in his. "I can't bear these awful rows," he said.

"Neither can I."

Without saying anything else, he took her face between his hands and kissed her, his mouth working sensually on hers. His passion soared. He was at full arousal. His arms went around her, and he brought her closer so that she was positioned into the curve of his body. His hands slid down her back onto her buttocks, and he pressed her into him with impatience. She must understand the extent of his excitement, understand that he intended to possess her immediately.

Paula accepted his kisses and then quickly but gently pushed him away. "Jim, please. They'll be here in a few minutes. We

don't have time—"

He silenced her with another kiss; then, breaking away from her, he led her to the bed. He pushed her down onto it purposefully, lay next to her, wrapped his long legs around her. In a voice thickened by desire, he said against her neck,

"I must have you. Now. Quickly, before they arrive! We do have time. And you know we always make up, once we've made love. Come on, take your clothes off for me, darling."

Paula started to protest, not wanting this, wary of him, sensing she was being manipulated again. But he was already fumbling with the buttons on her shirt, and so she swallowed her words! It was far easier if she was compliant, as she had so quickly come to realize in the last year. Jim believed that sex solved every one of their problems. But of course it did not.