ou don't think he could have done it,' do you?"

Paula lifted her head sharply. "Of course not!" She stared at Emily, who sat opposite her on the sofa in the conservatory. Her stare intensified and she frowned, "Why, do you?"

Without hesitation, Emily exclaimed, "No. I don't think he would be capable of it." There was a pause, and Emily bit her lip. She said in a rush, "On the other hand, you said something..."

"I did? What do you mean? When?"

"Oh, not today, Paula, months ago, when you and Alexander took me to lunch just after Gran left. You know, the day we discussed Jonathan. We also spoke about Sarah. You made an interesting remark and it's stuck in my mind ever since. You said we never really know about other people, not even those who are closest to us, and that we know very little about what goes on in people's private lives. I was struck by the essential truth in your words at the time, and, let's face it, we don't know Anthony all that well. We've never spent a lot of time with him."

"You're right. But I've got to go with my gut instinct on this, Emily. I just know he didn't have anything to do with Min's death. Admittedly, the circumstances sound peculiar, but no"—Paula shook her head vehemently—"I don't believe he killed her. I'm convinced it was an accident. Or suicide. Look here, Emily, Grandy is the shrewdest person we know, and she is brilliant at reading people, spotting character flaws. She thinks the world of Anthony and—"

"Even the nicest people can commit murder," Emily interrupted quietly. "If they're under pressure, pushed hard enough. What about crimes of passion, for instance?"

"We must presume Anthony's innocence! That is British law, after all—innocent until proven guilty." • "Please don't think I was implying that he did kill her, because I wasn't. I was just speculating, that's all. To be honest, I'm inclined to go along with you on the suicide theory. Still, I hope she didn't kill herself. Think how hard that would be on Sally and Anthony—having to live with the knowledge that Mm took her own life because of them."

"Yes, that had crossed my mind earlier. It would affect them in the worst way," Paula said, her eyes darkening with worry. She glanced at her watch. "I wish my mother would call back. I hope she's not having a problem getting a plane to Ireland."

Emily also checked her watch. "She's only had fifteen minutes, Paula. Give her a chance. In the meantime, let's go over your list again, check your plan."

"Right," Paula replied, aware positive action would help to subdue her nagging anxiety. Lifting the pad, she scanned it, said, "One: We get Mummy over to Ireland as soon as possible, so that she can hold the fort. She's already working on that, so—" Paula picked up her pen, ticked it off. "Two: My father has to put a call through to Philip at Coonamble between nine ana ten tonight, to alert Philip. God forbid Grandy reads about this trouble in the papers first. Daddy understands he must do this once Mother is on the plane." Again this item was checked off, and she went on reading aloud. "Three: Put a lid on this mess as far as the newspapers are concerned. I'll call Sam Fellowes at the Yorkshire Morning Gazette and Pete Smythe on our evening paper. Actually, I'll have to call all of the papers in our chain. I can't control the national press but I can certainly make sure those we own don't carry a single line. Four: Talk to Henry Rossiter about legal advice. We might have to send John Crawford. As the family solicitor, he could represent Anthony, if necessary. Five: Get hold of Winston, Jim, or both, to let them know what's happened." She lifted her eyes. "Maybe you can make that phone call, Emily, but not until we have everything under control. I don't want either of them flying back here. Six: Ring Edwina to reassure her, and talk to Anthony, tell him what we've done. Seven: Locate Sally Harte. You can do that as well."

"Okay." Emily peered through the door of the conservatory and out into the hall. The telephone was in her direct line of vision. "I think you should work at your desk here, and I'll use the phone in the hall. That way we can see each other, talk easily between calls."

"Good idea. Look, I had better speak to Fellowes and get that out of the way."

"Yes, and I'll start trying to find Sally. Did she tell you on Thursday where exactly she was going in the Lake District?"

"No, and I didn't think to ask, but Uncle Randolph will know. Don't mention a thing about this—not yet," Paula warned.

"Not on your life. He'd go into a flat spin." Emily jumped up. "If the other line rings while you're talking to Fellowes, I'll pick it up. It'll probably be your mother."

As Emily ran out, Paula lifted the receiver and dialed the editor's private line at the Yorkshire Morning Gazette. He answered on the second ring, and Paula quickly cut through the usual pleasantries. "Sam, I'm calling about a family matter. My cousin,

the Earl of Dunvale, has had a terrible tragedy. His wife has been drowned in the lake on his estate in Ireland."

"That is indeed tragic," Fellowes said. "I'll get one of my top writers onto the obituary immediately."

"No, no, Sam. The reason I'm calling is to let you know I don't want anything in the paper. I'm pretty sure the wire services

will be carrying something later tonight or tomorrow. In any event, I want the story killed. No obituary, either."

"But why not?" he. demanded. "If the story's on the wires, the national press will be running it. Well look ridiculous if we

don't mention—"

"Sam," Paula cut in quietly, "you should know by now that Emma Harte does not wish to read anything—anything at all—about her family in her newspapers."

"I know that," he snapped, "but surely this is different. How's it going to look if every paper in the country but ours has it?

What kind of newspaper are we, anyway? I definitely do not like suppressing news."

"Then perhaps you re working on the wrong newspaper, Sam. Because, believe you me, Emma Harte makes the rules around here, and you'd better respect them."

"I'm going to call Jim and Winston in Canada. They run the papers and it seems to me that it's their decision—about what we print and what we don't print."

"In their absence, and in the absence of my grandmother, it is my decision and mine alone. / have told you what to do. No story. No obituary."

"If you say so," he said, his anger ill-concealed.

"I do say so. Thank you, Sam, and good-bye."

Paula hung up, bristling. She pulled her address book toward her, looking up Pete Smythe's home number, since the evening paper was closed on Sundays. She hoped she would not get the same argument from Smythe. She was about to dial when Emily flew down the steps, and she swung around in the chair. "Was that my mother?"

"Yes, or rather, Uncle David. Aer Lingus has a flight out early this evening, but he doesn't think Auntie Daisy will make the airport in time. So he's arranged for your mother to be flown over by private plane. Uncle David's going to phone Edwina right now to let her know Auntie Daisy's virtually on. her way. Your mother's packing. She'll call before she leaves the flat."

"That's a relief. Did you speak to Uncle Randolph?"

"No, he was out. But Vivienne told me Sally's due back in Middleham shortly. It's been raining in the Lake District, so she packed her painting gear and is driving home. I told Vivienne to have her call here the minute she arrives."

"Was she curious?"

"Not really. I said you wanted to speak to Sally, and got off the phone quickly."

"I dread having to tell her about this—" Paula murmured, her face grim, her eyes reflecting her deep concern.

"Yes, it's going to be awful for her, but she'll have to be told. In person, I think, don't you?"

"Absolutely. Well, let's not waste, time. We'd better get on, Emily."

"What shall I do next?"

"Could you bring the babies into the house, please? You can park the pram in here for a while. I must call those other editors."

"Yes, do it, and I'll be back in a jiffy."

Paula reached Pete Smythe, editor of the Yorkshire Evening Standard, at his home in Knaresborough. She repeated the story she had told Sam Fellowes. After sympathizing with her about the accident, Pete concurred with her decision and gave her no arguments.

"I wouldn't have run anything anyway, Paula," Pete told her, "I know how Mrs. Harte feels. She'd skin me alive if a single line appeared about any of you, regardless of the circumstances.'

"Sam Fellowes was a bit difficult," Paula volunteered. "I hope I'm not going to meet any similar resistance from our other editors."

"You won't. Sam's a special case. Not the easiest person to deal with. If you want, I'll make the calls to our Doncaster, Sheffield, Bradford, and Darlington papers."

"Oh, would you, Pete? That'd be marvelous. I really appreciate your help. Thanks a lot."

The phone shrilled the moment Paula put it down. It was her mother.

"Hello, darling," Daisy said with her usual calm control. "I'm about to leave. I'm taking a cab to the airport so that your father can be here at the flat, just in case you need him. He spoke to Edwina a few minutes ago. She's relieved I'm on my way. He said she sounded less agitated. The police have left. Anthony's with her. They're waiting for your call."

"I know. I'll ring them when we hang up. Thanks for going over to Ireland, Mother. You're the only one who can handle this. Edwina does trust you, and you'll deal with everyone diplomatically, which is more than she could manage."

"Heavens, Paula, I don't mind. We are a family and we must stick together. But what an appalling situation! I can't understand the police over there... it seems very straightforward to me. Your father agrees. Anyway, talking about it endlessly won't solve a thing. I must rush. Good-bye, dear."

"Bye, Mummy, and have a safe journey. We'll speak tomorrow."

Emily was pushing the pram down the two low steps into the conservatory when Paula glanced up from her pad. "I'm going to make a fast call to Henry, and then I'll talk to Ireland." As she dialed Henry's number, Paula quickly gave Emily details about her conversations with Pete Smythe and her mother.

It was Henry Rossiter's housekeeper who answered at his Gloucestershire house..Paula spoke to her briefly, replaced the receiver, said to Emily, "I just missed him. He's driving back to London. Apparently he should be arriving around eight-thirty. Do you think I should call Gran's solicitors or wait to speak to Henry?"

"I'm not sure... What do you think Grandy.would do?" She answered herself instantly. "She'd talk to Henry first."

"That's my feeling," Paula agreed, her hand resting on the telephone. She took a deep breath, preparing herself to make

the call to Edwina at Clonloughlin. After picking up the receiver, she instantly put it back in the cradle, swung around. "Sally may be in touch any minute. You'll have to talk to her, Emily, so let's decide what you'll say."

The two young women stared at each other worriedly for the longest moment.

Finally Paula said, "It seems to me that the wisest thing would be to tell her that I have a problem, that I want to see her, talk to her, and will she please drive over immediately."

"She'H want to know what s wrong on the phone!" Emily cried, her eyes flaring. "I know I said we should tell her face to face, but now I'm wondering what explanation to give."

"You'll manage. Wriggle out of it, don't say anything concrete. You're very good at being evasive, Emily."

"I am?" Emily gave Paula a doubtful stare. "If you say so." She shrugged, then ran over to the pram, where Tessa was wailing.

Paula sprang up and followed her cousin. "They're probably both damp and need changing. Let's take them upstairs anyway, and maybe you could then start preparing their bottles."

"Nora would be off today, wouldn't she?" Emily moaned.

"It's always the way," Paula murmured, rocking her baby daughter in her arms, making soft, hushing sounds.

"Dower House Clonloughlin," a quiet male voice announced when Paula got through to Ireland fifteen minutes later.

She gave her name, asked to speak to the Earl, and a split second later Anthony was on the line.

"Paula... hello. Thanks for everything, for taking charge the way you have. I'm very grateful. My mother was panicked earlier, quite at her wits' end, and she fell apart when the police came back."

"I realize that, and it was nothing, really. I'm glad to help in any way I can. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Very fine," he asserted. "I'm holding up pretty well under the circumstances. This is extremely unpleasant, of course, but

I know it's going to be all right."

"Yes," Paula said, thinking he did not sound fine. Not in the least. His voice was weary, drained. Hoping she sounded more positive than she felt, she added, "Everything will be over and done with in the next twenty-four hours. You'll see.

Try not to worry in the meantime. I'd like to know what's been happening, but first I must tell you that Emily spoke to Sally a few minutes ago. She's coming over here. She thinks J have some sort of crisis. We thought it was wiser not to tell her about this on the telephone."

"I'm relieved to hear you've contacted her, Paula. I've been worried about Sally. I didn't know where to reach her in the Lake District. When we spoke on Friday, Sally said she'd call me on Monday or Tuesday. Perhaps you would ask her to ring me, once you've explained this dreadful situation."

"Of course. What are the latest developments? I know from my mother that the police have left... Obviously they haven't charged you—"

"How could they!" he interrupted heatedly. "I haven't done anything wrong, Paula! I wasn't involved in Min's death—" His voice cracked and there was a pause as he struggled for control. After a moment he spoke more steadily, apologized, "Sorry for breaking down. It's been such a terrible shock. Min and I have been having bitter quarrels, and she was being impossible, but I didn't wish anything like this to happen." He lapsed into silence.

Paula heard his harsh breathing as he tried to compose himself. She said gently, "You must be strong. We'll get you through this safely, Anthony, I promise." "

Eventually he said, "You've been awfully good, Paula, awfully helpful. Well," he sighed, added wearily, "they've established the time of death. The local doctor did an examination. He thinks it was between ten-thirty and midnight."

Paula's mouth went dry. From what Edwina had! said, Anthony had taken her back to the Do%ver House around nine forty-five, then returned home. To go to bed? If so, it was most unlikely that he had an alibi for his whereabouts during those key hours. But she made no 'comment, not wanting to alarm him further. "Your mother said something about an autopsy."

"Oh yes. I hope that'll be tomorrow. The inquest and coroner's court will be on Wednesday or Thursday. Everything's so tediously slow here." There was another heavy sigh, then dropping his voice, Anthony confided, "It's that damnable Land-Rover. I'm not certain the police believe me—about its breaking down in the afternoon."

"Yes," Paula acknowledged. "But are you sure no one saw the Land-Rover out there in the late afternoon, when it really

did break down? Perhaps one of the estate workers? That would prove to the police that you're speaking the truth."

"No one has come forward, and it's very deserted in that area of the estate—miles away from the house. I doubt anyone was around. However, there has been one positive development. A bit of good news. The police have information that should exonerate me. They've been interviewing everyone here for the past few hours... the staff, the estate workers... Bridget,

my housekeeper, told them that she saw me in the house between eleven and midnight."

"Why didn't you tell me this before! Then you have an alibi!" Paula was flooded with relief.

"Yes, I do. I only hope the police believe her story."

"Why wouldn't they?" she demanded, tensing.

"Don't misunderstand me, Paula. I've no reason to think they don't believe her, but Bridget has worked at Clonloughlin all of her life. Her mother was the housekeeper here before her, and she and I—well, we sort of grew up together. I'm praying the police don't get the idea she's lying to protect me. Mind you, she's unshakable in her story."

Puzzled, Paula asked nervously, "Why didn't you mention this to the police before? If you were with her last night after your mother left, surely—"

"I wasn't with her," Anthony interjected. "Actually, I didn't even see her. Bridget suffers from migraines, and apparently she had one all last evening. She was cleaning the kitchen after dinner when the migraine became unbearable. She passed the library on her way upstairs to her room. The light was on, the door was open, and she glanced in, saw me reading. However, she didn't call out to me because of her blinding pain. She ran upstairs, found her pills, and returned to the kitchen. She made herself a pot of tea, rested in the chair for half an hour, finished her work, set the dining room table for breakfast, and just after midnight she went to bed. Again she glanced through the open library door. I was by then working on the estate books, doing the accounting, and, not wishing to disturb me, she simply went on up to bed without even saying good night. It was her day off today and she wasn't here when the police first came."

"Oh Anthony, this is the best news I've heard today!"

"I think it is. Still, she is the only person who saw me during those crucial hours. The two maids who work here had already gone home to the village—they come in daily. So... there's no one to corroborate her story, and it's well known around

these parts that she's devoted to me and is extraordinarily loyal to our family. The police might—and remember I'm only

saying might—-doubt her word, think she and I concocted the alibi,"

Paula's heart plummeted, her relief of a moment ago evaporating entirely. "Oh God, don't say that."

"I have to look at the worst, view this situation objectively," Anthony said. "On the other hand, 1 don't see how the police can dismiss her, say she's lying without being absolutely certain that she is making it up, and I know she'll stick to her guns."

Pulling herself upright in the chair, Paula said slowly, "Yes, that's true. However, when I talk to Henry Rossiter later, about getting legal advice, I'm also going to suggest we retain a criminal lavyyer."

"Hang on a minute!" Anthony -exclaimed. "That's jumping the gun, isn't it?" He sounded aghast at this idea. "1 haven't done anything wrong, I've told you that, Paula. A criminal lawyer. Christ, that's going to make me look as guilty as hell."

"Of course it isn't," Paula shot back sternly, determined to stand her ground. "And let's wait to hear what Henry has to say. I trust his judgment, as Grandy has for many years. He 'won't steer us in the wrong direction. Please, Anthony, don't make swift decisions out of hand."

"Very well, get Henry's' opinion," he agreed, although somewhat grudgingly.

After they had concluded their conversation, Paula sat at her desk in the conservatory. She ran a hand through her hair, rubbed her eyes, stretched. Then eyeing the pad in front of her on the desk, she dragged her thoughts back to her list. Three people still had to be called—Jim, Winston, Henry Rossiter. Looking at her watch she saw that it was now seven-thirty. Henry would not be available for another hour at least, and obviously Emily had not had a chance to reach Jim or Winston in Canada, since she was preparing the babies' bottles in the nursery. Paula went to join her there.'

Once they were settled comfortably, each cradling a child, Paula recounted her conversation with Anthony.

Emily listened carefully as she adjusted the feeding bottle,-glancing at Paula several times, nodding her understanding.

"That's the gist of it then... Bridget has given Anthony an alibi."

A silence fell between them as they concentrated on the babies. Then very quietly, but in a voice of steel, Paula said, "No grandson of Emma Harte's is going to be in the dock standing trial for murder. I promise you that."