assions spin the plot: We are betrayed by what is false within.

GEORGE MEREDITH

I am not made or unmade by the things which happen to me but by my reactions to them. That is all God cares about.

ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS

She had been alone for two weeks and had drawn strength and a sense of renewal from her solitude.

But now on this warm and pleasant Sunday Paula suddenly experienced a little spurt of pleasure at the thought of seeing Emily. Her cousin was driving over from Pennistone Royal for tea, and she was really looking forward to her company.

After she had finished setting the wrought-iron table on the terrace, Paula hurried down the steps and onto the lawn, to check on the twins. Lorne and Tessa lay in the double pram, sleeping peacefully in the shade. They looked so contented she could not help smiling before turning away and going back to the terrace to wait for Emily.

It was one of those afternoons in the middle of September which frequently occur in Yorkshire and rival the most beautiful days of midsummer. The arc of the sky was a light periwinkle blue, clear and radiant, with a few scattered cotton-ball clouds scudding intermittently across the sun which had blazed down since the late morning.

The gardens at Long Meadow were riotous with color and the warm air was filled with the pervasive scents of the flowers and shrubs.

Paula stretched out on the garden chaise, basking in the golden light, thinking of nothing very special as she relaxed. The tranquility soothed her, was like a balm after her particularly hectic week, during which she had been on the go nonstop. They had been holding their annual Autumn Fashion Fair for five days; models had paraded through the Bird Cage at lunchtime wearing the latest ready-to-wear winter styles; every afternoon at three o'clock there had been a fashion show of designer clothes in the couture salon. Fashion aside, Harte's had had other special events during the past week, including the opening of a cooking school in the basement; daily appearances by a famous makeup artist in the cosmetics department; on Thursday evening there had been a cocktail party for the unveiling of the new art gallery in the store and the exhibition of oils and watercolors by Sally Harte. The vernissage had been a huge success and most of Sally's paintings of the Yorkshire Dales and the Lake District had already been sold. Whilst coping with these in-store promotions, Paula had had to handle her normal work load and it seemed to her now that every department had needed her complete attention. Much to her dismay, two buyers had resigned on Tuesday and she had had to start interviewing replacements immediately; she had also found it necessary to dismiss the jewelry buyer for incompetence late on Friday and this had proved to be a most unpleasant scene. But continuing daily problems and constant activity of this nature were par for the course, part of the daily routine of a large and successful department store such as theirs. Still, Paula knew she had been pushing herself harder than ever since Jim had been abroad, rising at five in the morning to get to the store by six-thirty so that she could leave early on most days in order to arrive home in time to bathe the twins.

She had eaten dinner alone every night, had not done any socializing whatsoever, and, apart from Sally Harte, the only other people she had seen were her staff at the house, her business colleagues, the few friends who had attended the art gallery opening. During these two weeks of solitariness in her private life Paula had come to realize more fully how vital it was for her to have these stretches of absolute peace and rest at the end of each frantic day. Working as intensely as she did, in a job that required her total concentration, frequently left her frazzled. It was essential for her well-being to have periods entirely alone so that she could recoup her sapped strength. She had the need to think, to review her schedule, to plan ahead as she pottered around in the garden, played witn'the babies, read or simply listened to classical music in the cool greenness of the conservatory.

With a wry smile Paula had to admit that even if she had wanted to gad about, lead a gay life during Jim's absence in Canada, there was no one available to play with. Winston had flown off a week ago to join Jim in Toronto where they were attending a world conference of newspaper editors, publishers, and proprietors. But the real reason for Winston's trip was to start negotiations with a Canadian paper mill which was up for sale. He hoped to acquire it for the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company. Miranda O'Neill was in Barbados for the opening of their new hotel and the launching of the Harte boutique. Sarah was with her, acting as fashion adviser, supervising the interior displays and the dressing of the windows. Alexander was taking a holiday in the South of France with Maggie Reynolds, and they were staying at Emma's house in Cap Martin. Until last night Emily had been in Paris on a buying trip for Genret.

Jonathan was the only member of the family who was not traveling somewhere, but their paths rarely crossed. This was the chief reason Paula had been surprised when he had dropped in to see her at the store on Wednesday. Before she had even asked what he was doing in Yorkshire, he had volunteered, and rather defensively she had thought, that he was in Leeds on real estate business for Harte Enterprises. He had wasted an hour of her precious time chatting about absolutely nothing, although he had asked her, and several times during the course of their aimless conversation, when Crandy was returning from Australia. She had said she had no idea, which was the truth, and had been noncommittal about matters in general. Cautious by nature, Paula had never been overly fond of Jonathan Ainsley, always wary of him. This feeling had only intensified since Emma had alerted her to him, confided her worries about his loyalty.

After her grandmother's unexpected retirement and her departure on her world tour—almost five months ago—she and Alexander had met in London to discuss the 'situation in general. They had agreed they should continue to confer regularly

once a month, in order to review matters pertaining -to the business empires they were running, had even acknowledged

they might well need each other as a sounding board.

At their first get-together they had come to the conclusion that Emily should be told about Emma's suspicions regarding Jonathan. They had invited her to lunch the following day, and had taken her.into their confidence, had suggested that she attend their monthly brainstorming sessions. All three had concurred that they must watch Jonathan like a hawk. By mutual agreement they had also made the decision to exclude Sarah from their confabs, feeling that her sudden closeness to Jonathan was suspicious. Paula, Emily, and Alexander had thus become the self-appointed triumvirate who were resolved in their determination to run Emma's companies in" the way she wanted, whilst guarding her great legacy.

The French doors leading to the drawing room were open and dimly, in the background, Paula heard the grandfather clock in the hall striking four. She roused herself and went inside, hurrying through into the kitchen. She put the babies' bottles in a pan of water to be warmed up later, loaded the tray with tea sandwiches, scones, strawberry jam, and a cream cake, then went to the cupboard for the tea caddy. Ten minutes later, as she completed her tasks, she heard a car in the driveway and looked out the window to see Emily alighting from her battered white Jaguar.

Emily bounced into the kitchen with her usual joie de vivre, wearing a happy grin. She ran to Paula and hugged her. "Sorry

I'm late,' Emily said as they drew apart, "but that pile of old junk has been acting up all the way from Pennistone Royal. I

really think I'll have to splurge and buy myself a new car."

Paula laughed. "You're not late, and I think you're right about the Jag, it has seen better days. Anyway, welcome back, Emily.'

"It's good to be home, although I did enjoy Paris. It's still my favorite city." Emily perched on the edge of a kitchen chair as Paula hovered near the stove. "Have you heard from anybody? Grandy, to be specific?"

"Yes." Paula swung around, the kettle in her hand. "She rang me up at midnight on Thursday. She wanted to hear about the vernissage and how the opening of the art gallery went—you know that's been her pet project for the last year. She said she and Blackie were going to Coonamble with Philip for four or five days. She sends you her love."

"I'm beginning to think she'll never come back. Did Gran indicate what their plans were?"

"Yes she did, as a matter of fact. She and Blackie intend to leave Sydney in the middle of October, wend their way back to New York before returning here sometime in late November. She promised to be home in time for Christmas at Pennistone Royal."

"My God, that's a long way off! 1 can't wait to see her. It's not the same without Grandma is it?"

"No." Paula stared at Emily, scowled. "You've got a face like a wet week, Emily. Do you have problems with Genret?"

Emily shook her head. "No, no, everything's fine. I miss Gran, that's all, and even though she has retired, it's awfully reassuring to know she's in the background. And right now she seems so far away, sitting over there at the other side of the world."

"I know what you mean," Paula said slowly, having sorely missed Emma's presence herself; She dreaded to think'what it would be like, how they would manage, when her grandmother was gone from them forever. She instantly squashed this morbid and distressing thought, and forced a bright smile. "Come on, Emily, let's go out to the terrace. I thought we'd have tea in the garden, it's such a gorgeous day. But we have to feed the babies first. Nora asked to change her day off this week, and Meg is never here on Sundays, so I've been coping alone today. I've enjoyed it, actually."

Emily followed her outside to the terrace. She ran down the steps to the pram. "They're both wide awake," she called over her shoulder, and began making cooing noises to the twins, leaning into the pram and touching their downy cheeks. "Upsy-daisy," Paula murmured, lifting Lome into her arms, "time for your bottle, little boy."

Emily scooped up Tessa and the two young women returned to sit at the table on the terrace. Half an hour later, after the children had been slowly fed, dutifully burped, and then returned to their perambulator, Paula went inside. Not long after, she came back carrying the tea tray.

As she poured, she said, "Any news from Winston?"

"Yes, he phoned me last night. He's gone up to Vancouver. He's already in negotiations with the directors of that paper mill, and he thinks he's going to make the deal. There are a few more details to iron out, but he says they'll be able to conclude everything in a matter of days. He was very optimistic, and the mill will be a wonderful acquisition for Consolidated. Anyway, he's going to stop off in New York to spend a few days with Shane. Apparently he's in Barbados for the opening of the hotel, and won't be in New York until the middle of this coming week."

"I'm glad to hear the deal is going through!" Paula exclaimed. "When I spoke to Jim a few days ago he sounded uncertain about its outcome, and said Winston was down in the dumps. Obviously he was wrong, or things have changed radically overnight." She sipped her tea and continued, "Talking of Barbados... Sarah flew out there ten days ago to help Merry supervise the unpacking of the Lady Hamilton clothes and get the merchandise on the racks. I expect they're all having a whale of a time—"

Emily exclaimed, "Sarah went to Barbados! Why ever was that necessary?" She banged the cup down with such an angry clatter Paula was taken aback.

She threw Emily a baffled look. "Goodness, you do sound fierce. Sarah seemed to think it was her duty to go out there. In fact, she was hell-bent on going. Since she is running our fashion division, and since the boutiques are mostly stocking Lady Hamilton beach clothes and resort wear I suppose she has a point. Besides, I couldn't very well interfere. She doesn't have to answer to me... only to your brother. You know Sarah, she considers herself her own boss."

"Oh well." Emily shrugged, trying to act as if Sarah was of no consequence. But her fertile brain whirled and two and two suddenly made more than four. She was convinced the only interest Sarah Lowther had in Barbados and the Harte boutique was Shane O'Neill. Sarah must have found out from Miranda that he was going to be in the Caribbean for the opening of the hotel. Sarah was probably making a fool of herself at this very moment—throwing herself at Shane.

Emily, changing the subject, said with a rueful smile, "Poor Alexander. I called him yesterday before I left Paris and found out that Mummy's descended on him with Marc Deboyne in tow. She's installed them at Grandy's villa, claims she has a right to be there and to visit with her darling daughters. Sandy says she's being a pain in the neck. Very bossy. I think Amanda and Francesca are anxious to fly home immediately. They haven't had much time for Mummy, not forages."

"Oh what a shame he's having to cope with problems on holiday—he was so looking forward to going away. Won't your little sisters have to be back here very soon anyway?"

"Yes. They're due at Harrogate College on the last day of this month. I'm glad Gran agreed to let them stay there for another term before packing them off to Switzerland. I don't think those two relish the idea of being far away from her, and—" Emily stopped, cocked her bright blond head, listening. "Isn't that the phone?"

"Yes. Ill be back in a second." Paula dashed through the drawing room into the hall to answer it, snatching at the receiver.

Before she had a chance to say a word, the caller was exclaiming, "Jim? Is that you?"

"Oh hello. Aunt Edwina," she said, surprised. "It's Paula. Jim's not here. He's in Canada on business."

"Canada. Oh my Godl"

Instantly recognizing the anxiety in the high-pitched voice, Paula asked, "Is there something wrong?"

Edwina began to babble so hysterically Paula was unable to make sense of her aunt's words. She was incoherent, obviously distraught. Paula listened for a few seconds longer, filling with increasing alarm. Finally she cut in. "Aunt Edwina, I can't understand a thing you re saying. Please speak a little more clearly, and slower.'

Paula heard Edwina sucking in her breath. There was a drawn-out moment of silence.

"It's poor Min," Edwina gasped at last. "Anthony's wife... she's... she's... dead. She's been found... drowned..." Though she had choked on these words, Edwina managed to add, "In the lake at Clonloughlin. And... and..." Edwina was unable to continue and oegan to weep.

Paula went cold from head to toe. Innumerable questions leapt into her mind. How had she drowned? Accident? Suicide? And why had Min been at Clonloughlin in the first place when she and Anthony were estranged? Aware suddenly that her aunt's sobbing had lessened, if only a fraction, Paula said sympathetically, "I'm so sorry; so very sorry. This must be a terrible shock for you."

Edwina gasped, "It's not only Min. It's poor Anthony. Paula—the police are here. They're questioning Anthony again. Oh my poor boy! I don't know what to do! I wish I could talk to Jim. It's also a pity Mother isn't in England. She'd know how to handle this ghastly mess. Oh dear God, what am I going to do?"

Paula stiffened. Her mind worked swiftly, striving to comprehend what Edwina was intimating. "What do you mean about the police? You're not trying to tell me they think Anthony is somehow involved in Min's death are you?"

There was an awful stillness at Edwina's end. Her voice was a terrified whisper when she spoke. "Yes," she said.

Paula sat down heavily on the hall chair. She felt prickles of gooseflesh on her arms and her heartbeat accelerated against her rib cage. Horror was trickling through her but instantly this gave way to a burst of anger. "How ridiculous! Your local police force must be bonkers. Anthony under suspicion of murd—" Paula bit off the remainder of the word, reluctant to say it. Again she exclaimed, "This is preposterous!"

"They think he ki—" Edwina faltered, for like Paula she was unable to voice the unthinkable.

Striving to take hold of herself, Paula said in her firmest manner, "Aunt Edwina, please start at the beginning and tell me everything. Grandy and Jim may not be here, but I am, and I will do everything I can to help, but you must be absolutely

honest with me so that I can make the proper decisions."

"Yes. Yes. All right." Edwina sounded slightly calmer, and although she stumbled a few times she was able to give Paula the essential details about the discovery of Min's body early that morning, the 'arrival of the police, who had been summoned by Anthony, their departure and their subsequent return two hours ago. After poking around the estate they had ensconced themselves with Anthony in the library at Clonloughlin and were still with him.

When Edwina finished, Paula said, "It sounds very cut-and-dried to me. Min obviously had an accident." She hesitated. "Look," she went on, "I think this is merely routine... I mean, the police coming back this afternoon."

"No! No!" Edwina cried. "It isn't routine. Min's been creating problems lately. She changed her mind several weeks ago—about the divorce. She refused to go ahead with it. Other things have been happening. Dreadful things." Then Edwina added rapidly, in a voice so quiet Paula had to strain to hear, "That's why the police are here."

"You'd better tell me everything," Paula said as steadily as she could, even though her sense of dread was mounting by the second.

Edwina gulped. "Yes, I think I must. The trouble started a ' month ago, actually. Min came down here—she's been living in Waterford—and started to make a nuisance of herself, caused the most horrendous scenes. Sometimes she was really sloshed, reeling from drink. She and Anthony had fierce quarrels and there were some unfortunate scenes in front of the staff, the estate workers, and even a nasty confrontation one afternoon in the village, when she accosted Anthony. All of the rows, the violence, have inevitably caused gossip, and, Sally Harte's presence here earlier this summer hasn't done anything to help the situation. You know what people are like in a small place, Paula. Gossip is their way of life. There's been an awful lot of talk—distressing talk—about the other woman."

Paula groaned inwardly. "Let's go back for a moment. What did you mean when you referred to violence?"

"Oh, violent words mostly. Shouting and screaming on Min's part, but Anthony did become enraged last weekend when she showed up on Saturday. At dinnertime. He had guests. I was there. They had a fight, a verbal fight that is, and she hit Anthony with a golf club. He pushed her away from him, a natural reaction, I suppose. She fell, though, in the hall. Min wasn't really hurt, but she pretended she was. She was overly dramatic about it, screamed something about Anthony wanting her—"

"Yes, Aunt Edwina, go on," Paula gently encouraged as the silence lengthened.

There was a sound of harsh breathing before Edwina told Paula, with a sob, "Min shouted something about Anthony wanting her dead and buried and that she wouldn't be surprised if she was found murdered. And very soon. Several people heard her say this. I did myself."

"Oh my God!" Paula's heart sank and her apprehension spiraled into genuine fear. She did not think for a single moment that her cousin had killed his wife, but it was suddenly apparent to her why the police harbored suspicions about Anthony. Her mind momentarily floundered, then rallied, as she told herself she had to come to grips with this dilemma. But where to begin? Who to enlist?

Paula said in a strong, calm voice that belied her inner nervousness, "All the gossip, the scenes are meaningless in the long run. The police need hard evidence before they can do anything—arrest Anthony, accuse him of killing her. When did she drown? What about an alibi? Surely Anthony has one."

"They're not sure about the time of death... at least that's what they say. I think they're doing an autopsy," Edwina went on miserably. "Alibi? No, that's the terrible part, Anthony doesn't have one."

"Where was he yesterday? Last night? Those must be the crucial hours."

"Last night," Edwina repeated as if she were confused. Then she said quickly, "Yes, yes, I see what you mean. Min arrived at Clonloughlin at about five o'clock yesterday. I saw her driving up—from my bedroom window in the Dower

House. I phoned Anthony to warn him. He was annoyed. He told me he was going to hop into his old Land-Rover and drive out to the lake—in the hopes of avoiding her."

"And he did that? Went out to the lake?" Paula asked.. "Yes. But she must have seen him driving off in that direction, or she simply second-guessed where he had gone. It was one of his favorite spots. She followed him out there, and—"

"They had a quarrel at the lake?" Paula cut in.

"Oh no. He never even spoke to her!" Edwina cried. "You see, he saw her mini in the distance—the land is flat around the far side of the lake. He simply got back into the Land-Rover and was going to return to the house the long way round. But he hadn't driven very far when the Land-Rover conked out. Anthony left it parked and started to walk home. He wanted to avoid Min... don't you understand?"

"Yes. And he left the Land-Rover near the lake, is that what you're saying?" Paula demanded, wondering if this was incriminating or not.

"Of course he left it there.-It wouldn't start..." Edwina was saying, her high-pitched voice trembling again..

"Please don't cry, Aunt Edwina," Paula pleaded. "It's essential that you control yourself. Please."

"Yes. Yes. I'll try," she sniffed.

Paqla heard her blowing her nose and then her aunt resumed, "You don't know Clonloughlin, Paula, it's vast. It took Anthony an hour to walk back. He had to go up the hill, through the wood and several fields to get to the road that cuts across the estate and leads to the village. He—"

"Road!" Paula exclaimed, seizing on this fact immediately. "Didn't he see anyone?"

"No, he didn't. At least he never mentioned that. Anyway, Anthony got back to the house around six-thirty. He phoned me, told me about the Land-Rover breaking down. Then he said he would change for dinner, see me later. I went up to the house around seven. We had drinks and ate, but Anthony was very nervous, not himself. You see, he thought Min would show up and start behaving offensively again."

"But she didn't, did she?"

"No, we were alone all evening. As I said, Anthony was out of sorts and he walked me back to the Dower House around nine-thirty, perhaps nine forty-five, then he returned to Clonloughlin."

"And who found Min's body?"

"The estate manager. He was driving past the lake very early this morning and saw the Land-Rover, also the mini. Then he found—' Edwina broke down, sobbing as if her heart would break.

Paula tried to soothe her aunt, reassure her, and said, "Please, Aunt Edwina, be brave. I'm sure everything is going to be all right." She prayed she was right.

"But I'm frightened for him," Edwina mumbled in a tear-filled tone, "truly frightened—"

"Now listen to me and please do as I tell you," Paula instructed peremptorily, taking charge. "Don't make any more phone calls, and if you receive any, hang up as quickly as

Eossible. I want you to keep this line open. I shall ring you ack very shortly. I presume you're calling from the Dower House?"

"Yes." Edwina hesitated, asked, "But what are you going to do?"

"I think I'd better get my mother over there to stay with you for the next few days. You shouldn't be alone at a time like this. I assume there's going to be an inquest. The main thing is, I don't want you to worry. Fretting won't help anyone. I know it won't be easy, but you must try. I'll ring you back within the hour."

"Th-th-th-thank you, P-P-Paula," Edwina stammered.

They said good-bye and hung up. Paula immediately lifted the phone and dialed her parents' flat in London. The line was ousy. She flung the receiver back into the cradle with impatience and leapt up, realizing she had better go and talk to Emily.

As Paula raced through the drawing room, she almost fell over an occasional table. She righted it and stumbled out onto the terrace, blinking as she came out in the bright sunlight.

Having heard the crash, Emily swung her head and grinned. "You are a clumsy clot—" She stopped, her eyes opening wide. "What's happened?" Emily asked worriedly. "You're as white as a sheet.'

Paula leaned against a chair. "We have some trouble, really serious trouble, Emily. I'm going to have to deal with it—and you'll have to help me. Please come inside. I must reach my mother. It'll save time if you listen whilst I explain everything to her."