hope you really do understand why we had to lie to you, Sally," Paula said gently.

"Yes. And it's just as well that you did." Sally Harte swallowed and cleared her throat nervously. Her voice shook as she added, "I don't think I could have driven over here without having an accident if Emily had told me the truth on the phone."

Paula nodded, continued to survey her cousin intently, filled with anxiousness for her.

For the last fifteen minutes, all through Paula's account of the events in Ireland, Sally had managed to cling to her self-control. Paula admired her for taking the terrible news without flinching. I ought to have known she would be brave, Paula thought. She always was stoical, even as a child. The Harte backbone, her grandmother called it. Yes, despite this extraordinary show of strength, Paula knew Sally was shattered. It showed in her cornflower-blue eyes, now so devastated, and in her lovely face, which was stark with shock.

Sally was holding herself so rigidly in the chair she looked as if she had been paralyzed by Paula's recital, and leaning forward Paula took hold of Sally's hand. She was alarmed at its deathly coldness, said, "Sally, you're frozen! Let me get you a brandy, or make you a cup of tea. You need something to warm you up."

"No, no, really. Thanks, anyway." Sally attempted to bring a smile to her face without success, and as she continued to meet Paula's worried gaze her eyes suddenly filled. "Anthony must be under the most dreadful strain," she began unsteadily and stopped. Now the tears came, spilling out of her wide blue eyes, rolling down her ashen cheeks. Still she did not stir, nor did she utter a sound.

Paula got up and went and knelt in front of Sally, encircling her cousin with her arms. "Oh, darling, it's going to be all right," Paula murmured with the utmost gentleness, full of compassion. "Don't fight the tears. It's much better to cry, really, to.get the pain out, and crying does help a bit. It's a release."

Sally clung to Paula, heaving with silent, racking sobs, and Paula stroked her black hair, gentled her, and eventually the awful quiet heaving lessened. Soon Sally straightened up, brushing her wet face with her strong painter's hands.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, her voice strangling in her throat. She strove hard to get hold of herself, blinking the tears away. "I love him so much, Paula. I can hardly stand it, knowing what he's going through... He's so alone over there. I'm sure Aunt Edwina is no help at all. She's probably blaming all this on me." She shook her head desperately. "Oh God!" She pressed her hands to her contorted face, which expressed her anguished thoughts. "He needs me..."

Paula, who had returned to her chair, stiffened at these words. She held her breath, willing herself to be silent. She knew what must be said, but she was also aware that it would be wiser and kinder to wait until Sally had calmed herself further.

Emily, hovering in the doorway of the drawing room, flashed Paula a warning look and began to move her head violently from side to side. Silently Emily mouthed, "Don't let her go over there."

Paula nodded, motioned for Emily to come into the room. This she did at once, seating herself in a nearby chair. In a half whisper, Emily said to Paula, "No luck, I'm afraid. There's no reply from Jim's room or Winston's either. I've left messages for them to call here the minute they get back to their hotels."

Although Emily had spoken softly, Sally had heard her, and at the mention of her brother's name her hands fell away from her face. She jerked her head, looked directly at Emily. "I wish Winston were here. I feel so... helpless..."

"I wish he were here too," Emily replied and patted Sally's arm in her motherly way. "But you're not helpless, since you've got us. It's going to be fine, honestly it is. Paula's been

super, and she's in full control, on top of everything. Try not to worry."

"I'll do my best." Sally's eyes swiveled to Paula. "I haven't thanked you—you've been wonderful. So have you, Emily, and I'm very grateful to you both."

Discerning that Sally was a little more composed, Paula said, "There is one thing I must say to you—please don't go to Ireland to be with Anthony. I know you're sick at heart, • dreadfully concerned about him, but you really mustn't go over there. You can't do anything constructive, and, frankly, your presence would be highly inflammatory."

Sally was startled. "I've no intention of going to Clonlottghlin! I know there's been a lot of nasty gossip. Anthony told me about that weeks ago—he tells me everything. Obviously I don't want to add fuel to the fire. But, Paula, I do think I ought to go to Ireland, either to Waterford or, better still, Dublin. I'll go tomorrow. I can leave in the morning, from Manchester Airport, and be there in several hours. At least I'll be closer to him than I am here in Yorkshire—"

"No!" Paula exclaimed with unusual sharpness. "You can't go. You're staying here—even if I have to put you under lock and key!"

Sally began, "But I—"

"I'm not going to let you go to Ireland." Paula threw her cousin a stern look and her mouth settled into resolute lines.

Sally stared back at Paula defiantly, and her pellucid blue eyes filled with stubbornness. Asserting herself, she said with equal firmness, "I understand your reasoning. On the other hand, what harm is there in my being in Dublin?" When Paula remained silent, Sally went on, "It's hundreds of miles away from Clonloughlin." She stopped again, frowned. "If I'm in Dublin, Anthony will at least know I'm within easy reach, and we can be together once the inquest is over," she finished shakily, sounding less sure of herself. The trembling started anew, and Sally clenched her hands together in her lap, striving to curb this, and then her eyes unexpectedly welled. "He needs me, Paula. Don't you understand that? Understand that I have to be with him?"

Paula commanded: "Now listen to me, and listen very, very carefully. You cannot help Anthony in any way whatsoever. In fact, you could easily do him irrevocable damage by showing up in Ireland. If Anthony were suspected of murder, you could be his motive. In Grandy's absence I am in charge of this family, and you'd better understand that I'm making all the rules. Therefore, Sally, I must insist that you stay here."

Sally had shrunk back in the chair, momentarily stunned by Paula's vehemence. She had hot realized how formidable her cousin could be.

Paula and Emily were watching Sally and now they exchanged-knowing glances. It was Emily who broke the silence. She touched Sally's arm, said, "Please take Paula's advice, Sal."

Emotionally, Sally had the desire to be with Anthony because she believed he needed her during this dreadful time. Intellectually, she was beginning to accept that going to him would be the wrong move to make. Paula was right in everything she had been saying. Listen to your head, not your heart, she cautioned herself.

"I'll stay here," Sally whispered finally, leaning back in the chair, passing her hands over the aching muscles in her face.

Paula let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God for that. Are you feeling up to ringing Anthony now? He's anxious to speak to you and you'll set his mind at rest, once he knows how well you're coping."

Sally jumped up. "Yes, yes, I must talk to him at once."

"Why don't you go up to my bedroom where it's quiet— private," Paula suggested kindly.

"Thanks, I will." Sally paused at the door, swung her head. She stared at Paula. "You're the most daunting person I know," she said and disappeared down the hall.. Paula gazed after her, then looked at Emily speechlessly.

Emily said, "I'd take that as a compliment, if I were you. And I think you'd better get to the phone too—don't you want to reach Henry Rossiter? It's well past eight-thirty, you know."

Together they sat on the terrace, enjoying the gentle stillness of the gardens, cloaked now by a dark-blue sky peppered with brightly twinkling stars. It was a clear night, cloudless, with a full moon, and its silvered rim was just visible above the tops of the distant trees swaying and rustling under the soft evening breeze.

"I don't know about you, but I'm wiped out," Emily said.

breaking the long silence at last, peering across at Paula in the dusky, shadowy light.

Paula turned her face, and quite suddenly it was clearly illuminated in the bright glow emanating from the lamps in the drawing room immediately behind them. Emily noticed at once that the stern veil had been lifted, and a lovely softness dwelt there again and there was warmth in her cousin's expression.

Finally Paula answered. "Yes, I'm a bit done in too, I must admit. But at least all the important phone calls are out of the way." She lifted the goblet of white wine and took a long swallow. "This was a good idea of yours, Emily. Sitting waiting for Jim or Winston to ring us was getting awfully wearisome and frustrating."

"Yes, it was. I wonder if your father has managed to get hold of Philip yet. It must be nine-thirty by now."

Squinting at her watch, Paula nodded. "Almost.- We have to give him time to get through to Australia. He'll be in touch soon." Paula cleared her throat, continued, "I do wish Sally-had stayed longer. Do you think she was really all right when she left?"

"She was certainly calmer when she came downstairs, but awfully subdued."

"Well, that's understandable."

Emily made no response. Shifting her position in her chair, she picked up her drink, sipped it. "Did you notice anything different about Sally?" There was a moment's hesitation on Emily's part before she added, "I don't mean when she left, but in general."

"She s put on weight."

Emily's fingers tightened around her glass and, dropping her voice, she whispered, "I have a horrible feeling... well, I might as well say it... I think Sally's pregnant."

Paula sighed. Her worst fears had been confirmed. "That's what I was afraid you'd say, Emily. Actually, so do I."

"Oh bloody hell," Emily exploded, her voice rising, "that's all we need! I'm surprised you didn't spot her condition at the vernissage. Or did you?'

"No, I didn't. Mind you, she was wearing a sort of loose, tenty dress. Anyway, I was harassed, surrounded by people. But when she walked in tonight I was struck by her heaviness, especially across her bustline. Still, I was so concerned about the news I had to break I didn't dwell on her figure. I noticed her weight gain when she was standing near the fireplace, just

before she left. It was most pronounced."."That's when it occurred to me. Oh my God, Paula, the balloon's going to go up when Uncle Randolph finds out!" Emily groaned loudly. "I can't help wishing Gran were here."

"So do I, but she isn't, and I don't want her dragged back needlessly. We'll have to cope the best way we can." Paula rubbed her weary face and exhaled heavily. "Oh God, what a ghastly mess this is, and poor Sally..." She shook her head sadly. "I do feel sorry for her..." Paula left the rest of her sentence unfinished, sat staring into the shadows, filled with terrible misgivings about the situation in Ireland.

Emily said suddenly, "Well, if she is pregnant there's no problem. At least they'll be able to get married now that—"

"Emily!" Paula swung her head, glared at her cousin, horror-struck. "Don't say it," she warned.

"Oh, sorry," Emily apologized swiftly, but could not resist adding with her typical unnerving bluntness, "Nevertheless, it is true."

Paula gave her a withering look.

Lifting the wine bottle out of the ice bucket, Emily refilled their glasses, and remarked, "I don't think I'd better mention the possibility of Sally's being pregnant to Winston."

"Don't you dare! In fact, we re not going to say anything to anyone, not even Grandy. I don't want her to have that kind of worry. As for the rest of the family, you know how gossipy they're inclined to be. To even hint that Sally's pregnant would be like throwing a can of petrol on a bonfire. Besides, let's face it, Emily, we don't know that she is expecting. She might have merely gained weight lately.

"Yes," Emily said, "there is that possibility, and we don't want to give certain people room to talk."

She fell silent, sank back into the chair, gazing out at the garden. It had acquired a magical, almost ethereal quality and the trees had turned to shimmering silver in the moonlight, which now bathed everything in its extraordinary radiance. "It's so peaceful, so beautiful," Emily murmured. "I could sit here forever. But I suppose I ought to drive over to Pennistone Royal to get my clothes for the office tomorrow if I'm going to stay here with you tonight. I told Hilda what to pack for me, and she'll have my suitcase ready, so I won't be very long."

Paula roused herself from her own reverie. "Perhaps you should pop back there, but take my car, Emily. The Jag is ready for the scrap heap, and 1 don't want you stranded in the. middle of nowhere.' Paula stood up. "I'll look in on the babies and then start supper. Do you really want bubble and squeak?" she asked,.reaching for the ice bucket and moving into the drawing room'.

"Yes, it's sort of comforting. It takes me back to the summers at Heron's Nest. We always had bubble and squeak on Sunday nights.with Gran when we were little. Oh, for the good old days! Besides, you've a lot of leftover vegetables in your fridge. We might as well use them up. And I'm ravenous."

Paula looked over her shoulder and shook her head wonderingly. "Doesn't anything ever affect your appetite, Apple Dumpling?":

Emily, following her inside, grinned somewhat self-consciously. "I suppose not, Beanstalk," she shot ba'ck, using Paula's childhood nickname. "But listen, I'm going to scoot. I'll be back as quickly as I can, and if Winston happens to ring, give him lots of love from me."

As was usual on Sunday night, Harrogate was deserted and virtually free of traffic, and within minutes Emily was on the main Ripon road, speeding steadily along toward Pennistone Royal.

Since Paula had said she could take either of the two cars in the garage, Emily had elected to drive Jim's Aston-Martin. For a while she concentrated on getting the feel of the powerful piece of machinery under her hands, enjoying its smoothness and the sense of security she felt in the well-built arid beautifully designed car. It was certainly a pleasant change from her rackety Jaguar, which was so decrepit it was practically useless and probably unsafe.

Emily had clung to the old Jag for sentimental reasons, inasmuch as it had once belonged to Winston. 'He had sold it to her four years ago, and, until their fraternal relationship had blossomed into a love affair, driving his car had somehow seemed to bring him closer to her. It no longer held any significance because Winston himself was completely hers now that they were engaged. And the Jaguar had become a nuisance, really, always breaking down at the most inopportune times. Grandy had been after her to get rid of it for ages, and she decided she had better do so next week. She wondered what car to buy. An Aston-Martin, perhaps? Why not? It was a solid car, constructed like a tank. Emily began to ponder automobiles, but after a short while her thoughts not unnaturally turned to events in Ireland.

The Land-Rover's breaking down was a rotten piece of luck for Anthony, Emily thought. If it hadn't, he would be totally in the clear. This would be an open-and-shut case. Pity he didn't go back for it before dinner, but no doubt he was trying to avoid Min. That poor woman,.. dying like that... drowning is the worst death... terrifying.

Emily shivered involuntarily as she contemplated the accident,.endeavored to push away the image of cold black water eddying and swirling, dragging Min down into its murky depths. Emily swallowed, held the steering wheel more tightly. She had inherited her grandmother's fear of water, and like Emma she was a poor swimmer, assiduously avoided boats, the sea, lakes, and even the most innocuous of swimming pools. All terrified her:

In an effort to dispel the vivid mental picture of Min Standish's death, she turned on the car radio, twiddled the knob, but, unable to find the station she liked, she instantly switched it off. Through the car window she noticed • the signpost which indicated she was approaching Ripley, and slowed down as she went through the small village, picking up -speed as she left it behind, heading for South Stainley.

Unexpectedly, Emily felt her face tensing as a thought so distressing suddenly flashed through her mind, and she swerved, caught in the grip of apprehension. Righting the car immediately, she brought her full attention to the road, telling herself she would have an accident if she didn't concentrate.

Nonetheless, the thought would. not go away. It was a question, really, and it hovered over her in the most maddening way, and she wondered why it had not reared up before now. Finally she faced it head-on: What had Min actually been doing out at the lake for some five hours before she drowned?

All through those summers they had spent at Heron's Nest, Emma Harte had instilled many things in her grandchildren. Chief amongst these was the importance of analyzing a problem down to the last detail, examining every single aspect of it. Now Emily's brain began to turn with rapidity in the way it had been trained by Emma.

One possible answer to the question struck her instantly—

Min had not spent five hours at the lake, because she had not been there in the afternoon. It had been late at night when she had gone there for the first time yesterday. Oh my God, Emily thought, shuddering uncontrollably, that would mean Anthony is lying. That.can't be so, and even if he. was responsible for her death, why didn't he remove the Land-Rover? Why did he leave it at the lake?

Start at the beginning, Emily instructed herself. Think it through logically, and first of all work on the premise that he could be lying. She ran a possible sequence of events through her head.

Anthony has dinner with Edwina. He takes her home to the Dower House afterward- He returns to Clonloughlin House around ten. Min arrives unexpectedly soon'after. They quarrel. He rushes out, jumps into the Land-Rover and drives off. Min follows, accosts him at the lake. They fight again, she becomes violent, following her pattern of the past few weeks. He fends her off. They struggle. He accidentally kills her. He dumps the body in the lake so that it will look like an accident. Then the Land-Rover won't start, or it conks out. He has no alternative but to walk back to the house.

It could have happened that way, Emily told herself reluctantly. But if it did, why didn't he return to the lake later to get the Land-Rover? The last thing he would do was leave it there.

Her mind raced as she took her original thought to its conclusion.

Anthony decides it's risky trying to tow the Land-Rover by himself late at night. He resolves to remove it early the next morning. But the estate manager is up and about at the crack of dawn and finds it first. Anthony concocts a plausible story with Edwina about Min's arriving in the afternoon, explains the Land-Rover broke down at that time. He cleverly bluffs his way through, counting on everyone to conclude, as I myself did, that only an innocent man would leave such damning evidence at the scene. On the'other hand, Anthony does have an alibi for those crucial hours late at night. The housekeeper saw him. But is Bridget to be believed?

Was Anthony's story a huge pack of lies? Was this an immensely daring and brilliant bluff?

As Emily passed through Pennistone village and turned into the gates of her grandmother's estate she told herself that a man would have to be awfully cold-blooded and ruthless, would have to have nerves of steel to carry off such a scheme so successfully. Was Anthony such a man? No. How do you know that, Emily Barkstone? Only a few hours ago you told Paula that neither of you knew him all that well.

Appalled at her thoughts, Emily did her best to shake them off as she parked and climbed out of the car. She went into the house.

Hilda, her grandmother's housekeeper, was coming out the door leading to the kitchen and the servants' quarters at the back

of the house.

A broad smile flew onto Hilda's face at the sight of her. "There you are, Miss Emily," she said, and peered through her glasses worriedly. She clucked, "You're looking a bit poorly. You'd best come to the kitchen for a cup of tea."

"Thanks, Hilda, but I have to get back to Miss Paula's immediately. I'm fine, honestly, just a bit tired." Emily managed to produce a smile, then glanced around, looking for her suitcase.

"Your overnight bag's here," Hilda said, producing it from behind one of the heavy Tudor hall chairs. She carried it to her, saying, "What terrible news, just awful. It gave.me a right turn, that it did. I had to sit down and have a drop of brandy after your phone call. His poor lordship... oh, deary me, what a tragedy for him. But then life's so unpredictable, isn't it." She nodded, her face mournful, then took hold of Emily's arm with a show of affection. Accompanying her across the hall, she said, "Does Mrs. Harte know yet? Have you spoken to her?"

"No, Hilda. ( Mr. David is trying to reach Mr. Philip in Australia. Don't worry, Grandma will be all right."

"Oh, I've no doubts about that, none at all, Miss Emily. But it does seem so unfair. Just when she gets a chance for a little rest, a nice holiday, a dreadful thing like this accident has to happen. Your poor grandmother's life has been full of troubles... I'd hoped that by now she'd be free of them."

"Yes, Hilda, I second that. But you said it yourself— unexpected things happen and we can't control life.'"

Emily began edging her way to the front door, looking about her as she did, savoring the beauty of the Stone Hall, but also suddenly acutely conscious of its normality. It was filled with lovely warm light, the fire in the huge hearth blazed as it always did through the autumn and winter, and pots of gold and bronze chrysanthemums were clustered in the well of the great staircase. Yes, this hall looked exactly the way it had all of her life, even to the brass urn filled with copper beech on the refectory table.

Its unchanging appearance engendered an enormous sense of security in Emily, and she felt Emma's presence so powerfully, so forcefully at this precise moment she was reassured, and her fears began to ebb away. Her grandmother was a brilliant woman with a shrewd and penetrating understanding of people. She loved and trusted Anthony... not because he was her grandson but because of his character and his qualities as a man.

Swinging around, Emily gave Hilda a dimpling smile. Her green eyes were serious and her voice was strong as she said,

"Don't worry, Hilda, Gran will take this in her stride. And thanks for packing my bag."

"It was no trouble, Miss Emily, and you drive carefully, do you hear."

After taking her leave of Hilda, Emily ran outside to the Aston-Martin, threw her bag on the back seat, and within seconds had reversed the car and was spinning down the driveway, heading back the way she had come.

On her return trip to Harrogate she kept a firm hold on the positive feelings she had experienced.at Pennistone Royal, and she kept telling herself that Anthony had been truthful and that Min's death was an accident.

In fact, Emily had so braimvashed herself she was in exceptionally good spirits when she drove into the garage at Long. Meadow. Although she had made the journey to Pennistone and back in record time, it had taken her a good hour, and she was beginning to feel faint with hunger. She was looking forward to a pleasant supper and her mouth watered as she thought of cold lamb, bubble and squeak, and a glass of icy white wine.

But all such thoughts were swept out of her head as she went into the kitchen. She could not fail to notice the disarray at once. Food lay abandoned on the counter top. The lamb was only half-carved, the bubble and squeak had congealed in a frying pan on top of the stove, and cupboard doors were open.

Paula sat inertly at the kitchen table and there was such a stricken look on her face Emily's worries sprang to life.

"What is it?" she cried from the doorway. "Something awful's happened at Clonloughlin. They haven't arrested—"

"No, no, nothing like that," Paula assured her, lifting her eyes. "I haven't even heard a peep out of them." Her voice was exhausted.

"Then what is it?" Emily demanded, joining her at the table, scanning her troubled face.. Paula sighed, remained mute.

Emily suspected her cousin had been crying, and leaning forward she took hold of her slender, tapering hand and patted it. "Please tell me," she said softly.

"I've had a terrible row with Jim. He phoned a little while ago and he was so snotty with me I can't get over it."

"But why?"

"Sam Felloives. He ignored my warning and called Jim. He left three urgent messages at the hotel in Toronto. When Jim got in, he rang him back, and Fellowes told him about the accident, and my instructions not to run a story, or an obituary. Fellowes said I'd treated him in a most rude and highhanded manner, that I'd even threatened to give him the sack. Jim was obviously furious, yelled at me, chastised me. He thinks I handled things most undiplomatically. He said he'd had to spend twenty minutes placating Fellowes, and had finally convinced him not to resign." Paula reached for a handkerchief and blew her nose.

"I can't believe it!" Emily was aghast. "Surely Jim apologized once he understood your reasons for putting a lid on the story, when you explained about Anthony being under suspicion."

"Oh, he did ease off a bit," Paula told her morosely, "but his nose was definitely out of joint. And, no, he didn't apologize. He was more concerned about whether he could get a flight to Ireland tomorrow. He thinks he should be with Edwina and Anthony to give them moral support."

Emily made a disagreeable face. "He would." She shook her head slowly. "What's wrong with Jim? Has he forgotten Grandy's rule about the family not being mentioned in our newspapers?"

"No. At the outset of our conversation he said this was different, that since reports of Min's death would probably appear in the nationals, we'd look ridiculous if we didn't carry an obituary. Once he was fully aware of the facts, he sort of

calmed down, but he still insisted I had handled Fellowes in the wrong way."

"What the hell did he expect you to do?"

Paula smiled thinly. "He said I should have told Fellowes not to run anything m the early editions, but to have the obituary prepared, and then to hold it until either Winston or he had been contacted in Canada. He told me it was their decision—his and Winston's—not mine." Emily's jaw dropped and she gave Paula a hard and baffled stare. "Doesn't he know that you have Grandy's power of attorney, and Winston's, to act on their behalf in an emergency?"

"I didn't see any reason to say anything before he left," Paula murmured. "I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I'd have had to break the news that I'm the trustee, with Winston and Alexander, of our children's shares in Consolidated, not he." When Emily said nothing, Paula insisted, "How could I tell him that, Emily?"

"Well, you should have," Emily retorted crossly.

"Perhaps," Paula admitted, ignoring her tone.

I bet she still hasn't told him, Emily thought, but said, "Is Jim really going to rush to Ireland?"

"I'm not certain. He was anxious to talk to Winston. Jim had been trying to reach him in Vancouver before he called here."

"You mean we were the last on his list, and after all the urgent messages I left?" Emily was flabbergasted.

Paula nodded. The two cousins exchanged long, very knowing looks, remembering their grandmother's strictest rule, one that had been drilled into them. Emma had told them to always check with at least one member of the family in any emergency before acting, to resist talking to strangers, to be supportive of each other, and, most importantly, to close ranks to protect the family.

Paula said hesitantly, "I suppose he thought there was something wrong at the paper—'

"He might not have been brought up by Grandy, but he sure as hell knows her rules!" Emily exploded. "He ought to have called us first, then he. would have had the facts. It might have prevented the row you two had, if nothing else." She sat back jerkily, her annoyance with Jim apparent.

"That's true. Oh, never mind, Emily, it doesn't matter. Look, I should have told you this the moment you arrived... Winston rang." Paula gave her a smile, determined to forget about Jim's unreasonable behavior.

"When?" Emily asked eagerly, then added pithily, "I bet he didn't have long dialogues with the whole world first!"

Paula laughed for the first time in hours. "You're absolutely right, darling. And he reached me just a few minutes after I'd hung up on Jim."

"Tell me everything Winston said, and please don't leave out one single word."

Paula looked across at Emily with fond indulgence, her expression warm and caring. "Winston had been having lunch with the chairman of the board of the paper mill, at the latter's home. When he finally got back to the hotel late this afternoon, afternoon in Canada that is, he found a pile of messages. Sam Fellowes had called—naturally—so had Sally, Jim, and you. Since you'd left this number, and since Fellowes had said it was urgent they speak, Winston immediately suspected there was some sort of crisis at the paper. Naturally he wanted to talk to me or you before anyone else. Grandy's golden rule is not something any of us is likely to forget. Winston was really thrown off-balance when I told him Min was dead, and he was particularly concerned about Sally. 'Keep that sister of mine as far away from Clonloughlin as you can,' he repeated quite a'few times. I set his mind at rest, of course, and he was awfully relieved I'd been tough with her. He asked a lot of pertinent questions, which I was able to answer, and he said I'd done"the right things, and that between the two of us we'd made all the right moves, too. He was also glad you're staying here tonight."

"Does he plan to fly home?" Emily asked.

"No, not unless the situation at Clonloughlin changes—for the worst. He reminded me that we'd all been trained in the same army camp by the same general, and pointed out that he couldn't contribute anything more than you or I could, and so therefore he intended to go about his business in a normal manner."

"He's right, of course." Emily paused for a fraction of a, second, before asking, "Did you say anything about the row— Jim's attitude toward you?"

"Only in passing, Emily. I didn't want to make a big thing about it, but I'm afraid Winston was fit to be tied. He was very down on Jim. He also said Fellowes was a fool, that his job had been in the balance for a long time. And then he sort

of wondered aloud why Jim hadn't spoken to me before calling Fellowes back." Paula shrugged. "I told him his guess was as good as mine. In any event, he's going to talk to Jim about Fellowes, and also about going to Ireland. He thinks Jim should stay in Canada, but I got the feeling Winston wouldn't interfere if Jim insisted on leaving for Dublin tomorrow. That's about it, but he asked for you, of course, and he sends his love."

"I do wish I hadn't missed him. I was longing to talk to him," Emily said a little wistfully.

"Oh, you can do that, any time after midnight—our time," Paula immediately volunteered. "Winston's not going out this evening. He told me he would order something up to the suite, and he indicated he was going to ring Sally and Jim, and I suspect he's going to give Sam Fellowes an earful."

"I'm sure he is, and I'll give him a buzz a bit later." Emily rose, slipped out of her cardigan and hung it on the back of the chair. "What about your father? Did he reach Philip?", "Yes, about an hour ago, only a few minutes after you d left for Pennistone. It was breakfast time at Dunoon and Grandy was up, having her morning tea and toast with Philip. She knows. Daddy spoke to her as well." Paula eyed Emily carefully. "What do you bet we'll hear from her before very long?"

Emily laughed. "Everything I have. It's a certainty Grandy'll ring us as soon as she's had time to think up a few penetrating questions which are bound to catch us off guard."

Paula could not help laughing too. "That's a bit naughty."

"Well, you know as well as I do that Emma Harte is always testing her grandchildren to see if they're on their toes. Why should tonight be any different?"

Throwing her a thoughtful glance, Paula said, "I don't suppose it is, and let's be thankful she brought us up the way she did. At least we're capable of handling any emergency."

"Yes," Emily agreed. "And in the meantime, I'm going to revive the bubble and squeak and make us a lovely supper."