mily was awed.

"Just.look at this evening gown. It's absolutely exquisite," she said in hushed tones, lifting the garment out of the large box lined with layers and layers of tissue paper.

Alexander, lolling on the bed in one of the guest rooms in Emma's Belgrave Square flat, nodded in agreement. "It also looks as if it's in perfect condition." A fond smile glanced across his serious face as Emily glided into the middle of the floor and held it against herself, carefully.

The gown was a long, slender sheath of turquoise silk, entirely encrusted with thousands of tiny bugle beads in shades of pale blue and emerald green. Emily moved slightly and the dress undulated, the beads instantly changing color as they caught and held the light. The effect was dazzling.

Cocking his head to one side, continuing to regard his sister intently, Alexander said, "You know, it contains all the colors of a summer sea in the South of France, and it certainly matches your eyes, Emily. What a pity you can't keep it, have it for yourself. It's not a bit outdated."

"Oh I know, and I'd love it, but it's far too valuable, really. Anyway, I couldn't do that to Paula. She needs the dress for her fashion exhibition next January."

"Has she found a name for that yet?"

"She's considering calling it Fashion Fantasia, with the subheading Fifty Years of Elegance and Style. I rather like it, don't you?"

"Yes." He watched Emily as she expertly folded the gown into the box and covered it with the tissue, remarking, "Imagine Gran keeping the evening dress all these years. It's easily forty-five years old, and it really pongs of mothballs." He curled his nose in distaste, then added, "But I bet our Gran looked smashing in it, with her red-gold hair and green eyes."

Emily lifted her blond head. 'To say the least. And you're right about its age. Just before Gran left she said we'd find It in one of her cedar closets on the top floor, along with the other clothes. Gran told us she'd first worn it at the supper dance she gave for Uncle Frank and Aunt Natalie when they got engaged." Emily put the lid on the box, patted it down, glanced at her brother. "Do you know, there's even a pair of emerald satin slippers from Pinet to go with it, and they're in mint condition, too. They look as if they've been worn once or twice and that's all."

"Yes, everything's been so carefully preserved," Alexander observed, thinking of his canny grandmother's sense of thrift which was legendary. Swinging his legs off the bed, he ambled over to the long metal clothes rack positioned near the window, ran his hand along it,- Peering at the labels on the suits, dresses, and evening gowns, he read out loud, "Chanel, Vionnet, Balenciaga, Molyneux... these are all as good as new, Emily, and they must date back to the twenties and thirties."

"They do, and that's why they're essential for the exhibition. Several other women who are noted for their elegance— Best-Dressed List ladies—are loaning similar designer clothes to Paula, and they've all accepted her invitation to come to the cocktail party at the store the night she opens the exhibition to the public."

Emily now crossed to the dressing table, picked up a typed sheet, made a notation, slipped the sheet into its folder and said, "Thanks for keeping me company, Sandy, while I checked everything off. Well, let's go downstairs, that's all I have time to do tonight. I promised to help Paula organize the rest of the clothes this weekend, since she's snowed under at the moment."

"Where is she, by the way?" Alexander asked, following Emily out of the guest room onto the second-floor landing. "Don't tell me shes still at the store."

"Oh no, she's here," Emily said over her shoulder, tripping down the staircase. "After we'd unpacked the clothes and hung them up to be checked for any minor repairs, she went to change her dress. She's probably popped into the old nursery."

Alexander pushed open the drawing room door for Emily, stepped inside after her. "Are the babies here too?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes, and Nora. Paula brought them to town with her on Monday afternoon. Oh look, Sandy, good old Parker's put out a bottle of white wine for us. Shall we have a glass now?" She rushed over to the console.

"Why not? Thanks, Emily." He took a chair near the fireplace, crossed his long legs and lit a cigarette, studying his sister as she poured the wine. Although she was of average height he generally thought of her as being small, perhaps because she was so delicately made, so daintily proportioned. He nodded to himself. Emily had turned into a very pretty young woman in the last few years. How mean he and his male cousins had been to little Emily when they were children, teasing her about her enormous appetite and her totally spherical body, calling her Apple Dumpling. She was no longer anything like a dumpling. Tonight she resembled a pert china doll in the flattering pink wool dress. Some china doll, he added under his breath, ruminating on her tremendous physical and mental energy, wondering, as he so often did, where it came from. Their grandmother? Certainly it was not something she had inherited from their parents. Their mother was an indolent, bored, spoiled socialite without a serious thought in her head. Their father was a has-been who had never really made it in the first place—forever the failure. Poor Dad, he thought, he's without doubt the nicest, kindest chap I know. Alexander reminded himself to ring his father tomorrow to make a date for lunch or dinner. They didn't really see enough of each other these days.

"Gosh, Sandy, I didn't notice your lovely tan when' we were upstairs," Emily remarked, bringing him the glass of wine, scrutinizing him closely. She flopped onto the chair opposite. "You really look super. You should sit in the sun more often."

"What? And let Harte Enterprises go to rack and ruin? Not on your life." He raised his glass. "Sante."

"Cheers," said Emily, and after taking a sip, she asked, "Where's old Mag?"

"She went to Scotland this morning to look at a shooting lodge that's going up for sale. The owner wants the real estate firm she works for to handle it, so Maggie's about to be given the grand tour. If she likes it, it'll go on their books. God knows who'll buy it, though. Who on earth wants a shooting lodge in this day and age, I ask you?"

"A rich American," Emily suggested. "Have you set a date for your wedding?"

"June... possibly."

"That's not fair!" Emily wailed, her eyes flashing. "You know Winston and I are getting married in June. You'd better make sure Maggie checks with me before you set a firm date."

"We could have a double wedding," he said, and burst out laughing at her expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"If you don't know, then I'm not going to tell you," she retorted huffily. "On the other hand, perhaps I should."

"Forget that I said it. Anyway, 1 wasn't really serious."

"Yes, you were, and I shall tell you," Emily announced. "There are three good reasons. One: Every bride wants to be the center of attraction on her special day and she certainly can't be if there's another bride loitering around. Two: Gran would have a fit because she'd consider it icky... bad form. Three: We can't disappoint our grandmother, who's looking • forward to giving two big super-duper extra-special weddings with all the trimmings next summer."

"You've convinced me, Emily—a double wedding is out of the question," he replied in a teasing voice. He sobered almost at once, drew on his cigarette, quickly stubbed it out, his gestures unexpectedly nervous.

Emily, forever the acute observer, exclaimed, "Is something the matter?"

"Paula' might have managed to nip one scandal in the bud—over in Ireland—but I'm afraid we have another one about to explode. It's—"

"Scandal," Paula repeated quietly, entering the room. She closed the door behind her and stood staring at Alexander and Emily with a worried expression.

"Paula," Alexander said, rising and going to greet her affectionately. "Let me get you a glass of wine, and then we'll have a little powwow before we go to the White Elephant."

Paula sat down on the sofa and her gaze followed him across the room. With a scowl she asked him, "What kind of scandal, Sandy?"

He brought her the drink, returned to the chair. "It's Mother again. I'm sorry to have to tell you both." His concerned eyes swung from Paula to Emily. "She rang me this morning from Paris sounding quite hysterical. Apparently Gianni Ravioli—"

"Don't be mean," Emily remonstrated. "How many times do I have to tell you his name's de Rayello and Gianni's very sweet."

"—has started divorce proceedings," Alexander continued in a stronger tone, after throwing a chastising frown in Emily's direction, "and she's on the verge of nervous collapse, or so she says—"

"What the hell does she expect?" Emily broke in again. "She's the one who did a bolt with the detestable Frog."

"If you keep interrupting me, we're never going to get to dinner," Alexander pointed out, sternly wagging a finger at his sister. "In any event, our mother's distressed because of Gianni's intractability. You see, even though she's given him the evidence, he refuses to name Marc Deboyne."

"Why?" Emily asked, her curiosity piqued.

Paula said, "Who is he naming? Obviously that's at the root of your mother's upset."

Alexander gave her a sharp look. "Smart girl. That's it exactly." There was a slight pause before he went on, with the utmost quiet, "It seems he's going to cite a number of... ministers of the Crown as the corespondents. Darling Mummy must've gone through the Cabinet like a dose of salts."

"You've got to be joking," Paula cried, staring at him in astonishment and alarm.

"I wish I were," Alexander said, his gloominess mounting as he-thought of the consequences of his mother's adultery, the embarrassment to the family, particularly his grandmother. She would be mortified.

Emily was all agog. Her eyes widened and she shrieked, "Uncle Robin's cronies, I'll wager!" Groaning theatrically, she rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "1 can just see the banner headline in the Daily Mirror: 'Italian count cites entire British Government in society divorce.' Or what about this one in the Netvs of the World: 'Socialite lays all her eggs in Government basket." The papers are going to have a field day with this one!" She leered at them wickedly.

Paula's mouth twitched involuntarily and she could not help laughing, despite her annoyance with her aunt and the seriousness of the situation. "Stop it, Emily, you're impossible." Paula attempted to swallow her rising laughter, which she knew partially sprang from her nervousness tonight.

Alexander, who was not amused, glared at both women. "It's not funny, you know—" He broke off, shaking his head,

suddenly at a loss for words. He had been seething ever since his mother had telephoned him that morning. Like Emma, he

was constantly maddened by her outrageous behavior, and, being conservative, her morals were offensive to him.

In a rush, Emily said, "I'd love to know who Mummy's lovers were." A speculative gleam flashed across her face and she wrinkled her nose. "No, I can't picture the beauteous Elizabeth in bed with Fat Dabs."

"Fat Dabs?" Paula echoed in perplexity.

"Really, Emily!" Alexander exploded.

Quite undaunted by Alexander's reprimand, and adopting an exaggerated Yorkshire.accent, Emily informed Paula, "Aye, Fat Dabs. That's wot t'lads at Genret call our 'Arold from "Uddersfield." Another thought instantly occurred to Emily, and, reverting to her normal cultivated tone, she pointed out, "Robin's going to have apoplexy. Let's not forget that our charming uncle, member of Parliament for Southeast Leeds, is also one of Harold Wilson's Cabinet ministers. He's expecting to be appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer, you know, if Labor gets in again at the next election. Gosh, Sandy, you're right, there's going to be a huge scandal... Shades of Profumo, do you think? We'll never be able to nip this one in the bud."

"I'm not going to worry myself about Uncle Robin's precious political career," Alexander retorted with acerbity. "Oh no, not at all. Besides, he's such an opportunist he'll find a way to get mileage out of this, if I'm not mistaken. Anyway, it's probably all his fault. You put your finger on it, Emily, I'm sure Mother met the gentlemen in question through him. She was constantly dashing over to his fancy parties in Eaton Square." He shot Paula a worried glance. "Once the divorce papers are filed with the law courts the press will be onto it in no time, and Emily's not too far off the mark about those banner headlines."

Paula sat reflecting, said at last, "How much? To buy him off."

"Not'sure," Alexander said.

Emily cried, "Oh, I don't think he wants anything."

Paula pinned her cousin with her cool, knowing gaze. "I'm surprised at your nai'vete', Emily. We've been raised by a woman who continually told us that everyone has a price, and that it's only a question of how much. Of course he wants

money. Then he'll do the gentlemanly thing and name Marc Deboyne."

Emily protested with fierceness, "I know him better than either of you and I don't think he's like that."

"Gran is also fond of saying that the price isn't necessarily money," Alexander was quick to remind them. "And now that I think about it, I'm inclined to agree with you, Emily. I honestly don't believe he wants lots of cash. But he does want something. Revenge. I'm certain he still loves our mother— although God knows why in view of her treatment of him— and he's badly hurt. So... -he has the need to strike back, hurt her in return, and the only way he knows how is to embarrass her publicly."

"Maybe," Paula admitted, seeing the sense in Alexander's theory. "Apparently he has all the evidence he needs?" This came out as a question.-

"Oh yes," Alexander told her. "Mother was quite clear that he has the goods on her. He's not making idle threats."

"Are you sure she didn't tell you who the ministers were?" Emily probed with her usual inquisitiveness.

Alexander looked at her pityingly. "Come on, she may be a foolish, misguided woman, but deep down she's quite crafty. Of course she didn't volunteer any names."

Paula said, "Did your mother tell you what she wanted you to do, Sandy?"

"Yes. She wants me to go and see Gianni, to persuade him to name Marc Deboyne in the suit. She seems to believe I can influence him, but she's up a bloody gum tree there. I don't know him that well, and, anyway, it's Emily he likes the most."

"Oh no," Emily shrieked, "not me!"

Alexander and Paula exchanged conspiratorial looks, and Paula said, "You might be the best person to deal with him, darling."

Emily moaned, fell back in the chair.

She found the idea of talking to Gianni about her mother's infidelity quite repugnant. On the other hand, she liked the man, and Alexander might be tactless with him. She said firmly, as she straightened up, "I simply refuse to offer Gianni money, and that's flail"

"What will your approach be?" Alexander asked, filling with profound relief that she'd apparently agreed to take on this unpleasant task.

"I shall—" Emily thought hard and her face brightened. She said, "Why, 1 shall appeal to his better-nature, explain that he will be hurting Amanda and Francesca more than Mummy, and he's very fond of the girls. He wouldn't want them to suffer."

Paula said with a degree of hesitation, "Very well, handle it that way... However, you'd better have something up your sleeve, just in case his better nature fails him."

"You do sound cynical at times," Emily declared, pursing her lips reprovingly. "1 will not insult that poor, betrayed man by offering him money."

Paying no attention to Emily's irate manner, Paula shrugged, said, "You could always offer him a job—if he's adamant, if he insists on naming half the damned Government."

"A job? Where? Who with?"

"With Harte's, Emily. I've been looking for someone to run Trade Winds, the new antique accessory shop I'm planning to open in the near future. Since Gianni's an expert in that area, perhaps he'd prefer working for the family rather than that antique importing company where he's currently employed. We d be killing several birds with one stone in a sense—ensuring he's on our side, if not your mother's especially, and he wouldn't really be under out feet, since he'd have to do a lot of traveling. Also, I might get myself a good man for Trade Winds. And hell certainly earn more at Harte's."

"What a marvelous solution!" Alexander exclaimed, immediately cheering up, relaxing in his chair.

Emily bit her lip. "I shall only mention the job at Harte's if. he's difficult," she warned, convinced that Gianni was not an opportunist. She added quickly, "I know he won't be, that he 11 do the right thing. I just do."

"We'll see," Paula murmured.

Alexander stood up, strode across the room. "Now that • we've dealt with Mother's love life, there's another matter I must discuss." He paused at the door. "Won't be a minute... I left my briefcase in the hall when I arrived."

In his absence, Emily leaned toward Paula, confided, "Gianni really is a lovely person. You just don't know him very well."

"I'm sure he is, under normal circumstances. But it's wiser to be prepared for the worst."

Emily said nothing, and a moment later Alexander returned, sat down, took a folder out of his briefcase. He handed it to Paula.

"What's this?" she asked, taking it from him.

"A report from Mr. Graves of Graves and Saunderson. But there's no need to read it now."

"Is it about Jonathan?" Paula ventured, turning the folder over, fingering it, her breath catching in her throat with apprehension.

"No. The report concerns Sebastian Cross."

"Oh." Paula put one hand to her mouth, remembering that day in the boardroom at Aire, wondering why she had a sudden sense of foreboding.

Alexander explained, "I think it'll be quicker if I give you the information in a few short sentences. The report is rather long, tedious in parts, which is why I suggest you peruse it at your'leisure."

"Hurry up, then, tell us. Sandy," Emily ordered. "We ought to be leaving for dinner in a few minutes. I'm starved."

"Mr. Graves has been digging for months, trying to find something on Sebastian, as you're both aware," Alexander commenced. "His inquiries were business-oriented at first, since he was following Grandy's instructions. When he came up empty-handed yet again, he decided to investigate Sebastian's private life. After a number of false leads, interviews with different people in London, he went up to Yorkshire. And he stumbled on some information that's not very pleasant, I don't mind telling you. Knowing that a lot of the chaps from Aire Communications congregate at Polly's Bar in Leeds he started hanging around there. One lunchtime he struck up a conversation with a young chap who'd once worked at Aire. Graves and the fellow eventually became very chummy, got to meeting for drinks regularly over a three-week period. One night Tommy Charwood—that's the fellow's name—told Graves that Sebastian was a nasty piece of work, said he'd like to get him in a dark alley one night and give him the thrashing of his life." Alexander stopped to light a cigarette, then continued, "When Graves asked the reason, Tommy" Charwood told him that he'd been courting a girl who had also worked at Aire, and that Sebastian had taken her away from him. Now, it seems that the girl, Alice Peele—"

"I've met Alice," Paula interjected quickly, her face quickening with interest. "She's in public relations, and she once came to

see me about a job at Harte's."

"What's she like?" Alexander asked curiously.

"Talented in her field, rather pleasant.. I remember her quite distinctly because she was well-turned-out and very striking. Tall, dark, with an unusually pretty face."

Alexander cleared his throat, pinned his grave eyes on Paula. "I'm not too sure how pretty she is these days. According to Tommy Charwood, Sebastian Cross beat her up a number of times. And so badly the last time, Alice Peele had to see a plastic surgeon. Charwood told Graves that she would have been disfigured for life without the prompt emergency treatment she received at Leeds General Infirmary. You see, Cross beat her with such a vengeance her jaw was broken, also one cheekbone, and her face was a bloody pulp."

"Oh my God!" Paula cried. "How appalling, what a horrible thing to happen!"

Emily had also blanched. Shuddering, she looked across at Paula, then whispered, "Your instincts were right about Sebastian Cross." Emily swallowed, turned to her brother. "Didn't the girl bring charges? Go to the police? Prosecute?"

"No, seemingly not. Charwood told Graves that she was terrified of Cross. Her father had wanted to go to the police, but Alice begged him not to, insisted it would only stir up more trouble. That's when Mr. Peele confided in Tommy, whom he'd remained friendly with. Tommy tried to talk Peele into going to Leeds CID—he knows a number of detectives on the force—but Peele kept wavering. In the end he decided against it. About a month after this last terrible beating, John Cross paid a visit to the Peele family, offered Mr. Peele money. Peele, who sounds like the salt of the earth, threw the money in John Cross's face. As soon as Alice was sufficiently recovered, he shipped her off to live with her married brother in Gibraltar. The brother's in the Royal Navy, helicopters I think, and is stationed permanently in Gib. Tommy Charwood believes she's still out there."

"What a ghastly story," Paula said, continuing to shiver. "I'm not surprised Alice Peele is terrified of Cross..." she faltered, stopped, turned away, filled with revulsion for the man.

Emily gasped, "He must be a maniac! That girl's family should have prosecuted him, regardless of what she said."

Alexander nodded, and his expression, reflecting Paula's, was one.of immense distaste. He said with harshness, "And that's not all... Charwood gave Graves some additional information, after our wily private eye ingratiated himself further. Charwood swears Sebastian is into drugs, quite aside

from being a heavy drinker, and is a congenital gambler who has suffered some big losses at the tables. At Crockford's, and God knows where else."

"And this is the man who is Jonathan Ainsley's best friend," Paula said. "This is just awful."

"Yes, it is,". Alexander concurred. "And whilst the information about Cross doesn't really do us any good, it does reflect rather badly on Jonathan, in that he's Cross's bosom chum. Wouldn't you say?"

Paula nodded.

Emily looked from Paula to her brother. "Do you think Jonathan's also on drugs? That he gambles?"

"He'd better not be on drugs," Alexander snapped. "Not if he wants to continue running the real estate division of Harte Enterprises. Let's not forget he handles a great deal of money, and also has to make some very important decisions at times." Alexander.stood up, walked over to the console, poured a glass of wine, muttered, "I'm going to have to monitor everything he does from now on—watch him even more closely than before. 1 simply can't afford to have him make any mistakes whatsoever. As for gambling"—Alexander shrugged, shook his head—"I can't hazard a guess about that. But he might be playing the tables, and that's another reason why I'm going to take a bigger interest in the real estate division. As I said, there's an awful lot of cash going through that company."

"Presumably you've instructed Mr. Graves to keep at it, Sandy. To dig deeper?" Paula said.

"Naturally."

"Oddly enough," Paula went on thoughtfully, "John Cross rang the store today. He wanted an appointment."

"Are you going to see him?" Alexander asked, returning to the chair.

"I don't know—probably not. Gaye tried to reach him at his hotel late this afternoon but he'd gone out. I expect he'll phone again in the morning."

"In one sense, I'd be curious to know what he has to say. He can't possibly imagine we'd be interested in Aire. Not now, after he's sold the building, which was the main asset of the company."

Paula shrugged, and instantly changed the subject. "Sarah came to see me this afternoon." She proceeded to recount

the meeting, not missing a single detail. When she had finished, she sat back, waiting for their reactions.

Emily had been all eyes and ears throughout Paula's recital. She exclaimed, "I'd like to hear Miranda's version of the weekend, not to mention the whole ten days Sarah spent in Barbados. I have a feeling their stories will vary considerably. Sarah was always rather good at taking credit when it wasn't due her."

"Yes, I know." Paula immediately thought of their childhood days at Heron's Nest. She and Emily had been aware of Sarah's craftiness even then. Their cousin had forever tried to curry favor with their grandmother, paint herself in the best possible light, frequently at their expense.

Alexander spoke up. "Sarah's not stupid. She knows you can't sell the boutiques, not without first going to the board. She's also well aware that she can't spend the fashion division's money willy-nilly unless she has my permission. Therefore she must have convinced herself she can bypass us, succeed in her aims by going to Grandy directly. I'm certain she sent the telex, as she threatened to do."

"I am too," Emily muttered, condemning Sarah under her breath. Paula had far too many worries and problems to contend with at the moment, without Sarah creating difficulties.

Paula smiled faintly. "I won't argue with either of you. However, I can assure you that the telex ended up in the wastepaper basket. What Sarah doesn't know is that Grandy really came to believe in the boutiques before she left in May. At the last minute she suddenly saw them as a clever means to expand, and in a relatively easy way for our organization. She's convinced the boutiques will increase the value of the Harte shares—and of course they will—so she has no more intention of selling off the boutiques than I do."

"Yes, but you just said Sarah doesn't realize that," Emily pointed out quietly. "And, anyway, I've always thought she was infuriated because you got the Harte chain and not she. After all, she is the eldest granddaughter, and she has quite an opinion of herself as a businesswoman."

"Emily's taken the words out of my mouth," Alexander said, turning swiftly to Paula. "Sarah's visit this afternoon may have been a nasty little exercise—one specifically designed to upset you, Paula, to unnerve you, throw you off balance." As he was speaking, another thought struck him. "I say, could this be the beginning of the guerrilla war we've talked about, and have been anticipating?"

"That had crossed my mind earlier," Paula told him.

"If it is, what does Sarah hope to gain, Sandy?" Emily demanded.

"The satisfaction of knowing Paula's aggravated, under additional pressure. Also, a person who has been thrown off balance is not always thinking clearly or coolly, and frequently concentration is damaged." Alexander gave them both a very pointed look. "Sarah's been hand-in-glove with Jonathan for a long time. She bears watching as closely as he does."

Paula stood up. "Enough of them, for tonight at least. Let's go to dinner," she suggested, wanting to bring an end to this discussion. "It's been a difficult day, and a terrible week so far." She sighed wearily. "I'm not going to burden either of you with my problems at Sitex Oil, but I've had those to cope with today as well. I think I've just about run out of steam. I need a little light relief, such as an amusing evening at the White Elephant."

"Are they serious problems?" Alexander asked as the three of them went out into the entrance foyer to get their coats. He squeezed Paula's shoulder affectionately. "Can I be of help?"

Paula gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, 'Sandy, it's sweet of you to offer. I've got things under control..." She hesitated before adding, "Dale Stevens was determined to resign as president this afternoon. I spent over an hour on the phone with him, convinced him to stay on. He has a number of enemies on the board, unmitigated troublemakers who try to tie his hands whenever they can.*' She shook her head ruefully. "What I should have said a moment ago is that he's agreed to stay on as president until the end of the year. All I've done really is buy myself a little time."