mma Harte stared hard at Paula, a frown knitting her brow. "I'm not sure I'm following you," she said. "What exactly do you mean when you say Christmas is going to be difficult?"

Paula said quickly, "Before I explain, I just want you to understand that he's all right, actually—"

'Who's all right?". -

"Jim, Grandy. I'm afraid he's had an accident. A rather bad accident, and he's—"

"Not in that plane of his?" Emma cried, and straightened up in the chair jerkily, her frown intensifying.

"Yes. He crashed. Two weeks ago. It happened a couple of days after I got back from New York, at the beginning of December," Paula said in a rush. Wanting to allay her grandmother's worry, she hurried on, "But lie was lucky, in one sense at least, since the plane came down at Yeadon Airport. They were able to pull him out of the plane before it exploded in flames."

"Oh my God!" Emma's hackles rose as she thought of Jim's narrow escape. He could so easily have been killed, and Paula might have been in the plane with him, might not have survived. Leaning forward, she asked in an urgent voice, "How badly is he injured?"

"He's broken his right leg and his left shoulder, and his ribs are cracked. He's also badly bruised. But there are no injuries that are permanently disabling or life-threatening. Obviously, though, those he has sustained are serious enough."

"No internal damage?"

"None, thank heavens, Grandy. Jim was rushed to Leeds Infirmary immediately, and he stayed there for five days, having all kinds of tests—neurological, what have you. Fortunately, the doctors didn't find a thing. Every injury is external." Paula paused, looked across at her grandmother. Worry ringed her face. She said, "He's in two casts and his ribs are taped. I've had to hire a male nurse to look after him. You see, Jim can't dress himself and he finds it awkward, almost impossible, to do the most normal things."

Emma exhaled, still reeling from the news. She exclaimed, "Why on earth didn't you tell me about this when I was in New York? Or yesterday, when I arrived in London?"

"I didn't want to worry you when you were still on your holiday, and so far away. And last night you were so excited about being back I didn't want to spoil your homecoming and the little supper my mother had planned for you here. I'd intended to mention it on our way in from the airport but-1—" Paula shrugged, gave her a small apologetic smile. "I decided it could easily wait until today."

"I see." Emma sat back, shaking her head. "I am sorry, Paula, this is just dreadful, simply dreadful. But we must be thankful it's not any worse, more serious than it is. He's going to be out of action for months, of course."

"Yes," Paula murmured. "The casts have to be on at least six weeks. Then he'll have to have intensive physical therapy. The muscles will atrophy from lack of use. The doctor has explained that Jim won't be able to lift his arm or put weight on his leg until those dead muscles have been built up again. It seems it'll be a good six months before he's back to normal."

"Broken bones are a lot more serious than people realize," Emma said quietly. She fixed Paula with a steely glance. "And how did it happen?"

'The engine stalled. Jim tried to land as best he could, and thankfully he was on the approach to Yeadon airstrip. But— well, he couldn't control the plane. It plunged down, virtually broke in two when it hit the ground. He's been awfully lucky."

"He has indeed." Emma's mouth tightened. "I always knew he'd have an accident in that damned plane one day, Paula. It's worried me to death." She shook her head again, her dismay apparent. "Whilst I'm upset and sorry that Jim's been hurt, I can't help feeling he's been somewhat irresponsible." She gave Paula a long and careful look. Her eyes narrowed. "He's a married man with two children, and he should'not have been taking that kind of risk. Utter foolishness on his part. If only he'd given up that pile of junk when I asked him, this wouldn't have happened."

"Well, Jim is inclined to be a bit stubborn."

"That's the understatement of the year," Emma snapped. "I don't mean to sound callous or unsympathetic, but it strikes me he was putting himself in unnecessary physical danger. And why /'// never know. Perhaps that husband of yours will listen to me now. And I insist that we buy a corporate jet if we must have a plane in the family. I will not permit Jim to waltz around the skies in a flimsy light aircraft ever again. Oh no, not under any circumstances." Emma leaned back in the chair, her face grimly set in its rigid determination.

"Yes, Grandy." Paula glanced down at her hands, recognizing the implacability in that dear and familiar voice. Her grandmother was furious, and she could not blame her. Jim did lack a sense of responsibility and he had most willfully ignored everyone's pleas to get a more stable, up-to-date plane.

Suddenly realizing she had sounded harsh, Emma said rapidly, in a softer tone, "I expect poor Jim is in a lot of pain, isn't he, lovey?"

"Excruciating. The shoulder's driving him crazy. He says he's not sure which is the worst, the persistent nagging ache

in the shoulder itself, or the cramp and stiffness from having his arm permanently bent in the cast. It's constricting, you know." Paula winced, recalling the past ten days, knowing how much he was genuinely suffering. Once her initial shock and fright had subsided, exasperation with him had surfaced, only to be replaced by compassion. Being inherently kind, she was doing her utmost to make him as comfortable as possible. And she had shelved the discussion about a divorce. She would have to wait until he was in better physical condition to talk about her freedom.

Emma said, "Surely the doctor has given him painkillers."

"Yes, and they help. But he says they make him feel doped up, woozy, a little out of it."

"I hate pills myself. Still, if they ease the pain, he ought to stay on them. I see what you mean about Christmas being difficult, Paula. Oh dear, this is such an added burden for you—on ton of all of your work during one of our busiest seasons at the stores. Not only that, we have so many family things planned at Pennistone Royal... our traditional Christmas Eve with the O'Neills and the Kallinskis, lunch on Christmas Day, and Sally's wedding to Anthony—" Emma cut herself short.

Her green eyes became thoughtful. An idea came to her, and she made a snap decision. Taking command in her usual way, she exclaimed, "Running back'and forth between your house and mine is going to become the bane of your life, and transporting Jim hither and yon will prove tiring. I think you'd better move everyone in with me... Jim, the babies, Nora, and the male nurse. I've plenty of room and, in fact, I'd rather enjoy having you all with me after my eight-month absence."

"Oh, Gran, what a wonderful idea!" Paula cried, swamped with relief. "And it's a marvelous solution." A smile broke through as she confided, "I've been panicky, wondering how I would ever cope."

Emma laughed quietly, amusement flickering on her mouth. "You'll always cope, my girl, that's your basic nature. But I don't see why your life shouldn't be made as easy as possible, since you carry enough responsibility to bury three people. Now that I'm back home, I aim to see to it that things run smoothly for you. You've had a rough few months, between business problems and all the family upsets."

"Thank you, Gran. What a lovely thought, moving into Pennistone Royal, being with you. Why ever didn't I think of it?"

"I suspect you've had enough on your plate these past few weeks. I'm sure Jim is not a good patient... too active a man to be confined in this way. Is he getting around at all?"

"No. Ever since he came home from Leeds Infirmary he's been sleeping in his den, virtually living in it—he can't navigate the stairs, for one thing. He's awfully frustrated being disabled. Even more frustrated because he can't go to the paper. He misses it."

"I'm sure he does. But he won't be able to go to work for a long time. No use fussing over that. Well, he certainly won't be able to manage the staircase at Pennistone Royal. It's too long and steep. But never mind. Hilda can turn the small parlor next to the dining room into a bedroom for him. Now, Paula, please try not to worry anymore. What's done is done. We'll have to make the best of it."

"You're right, Grandma, and moving in with you is going to make my life so much easier," Paula said, thinking that being surrounded by people was going to be a real blessing. Jim was becoming fractious because of the pain, his helplessness. He had started to complain about her work more vociferously than ever, forever grumbled about the hours she kept. And he was drinking more than he should.

Rising, Emma now walked across to the fireplace, stood with her back to it, warming herself. She and Paula were having coffee in the charming study of her Belgrave Square flat where they were both staying until they journeyed to Yorkshire the following day.

Paula glanced up at her grandmother, thinking how rested and well she looked this morning after yesterday's transatlantic flight. Emma wore a coral wool dress and pearls. Her silver hair was beavitifully styled and immaculate and her makeup perfectly applied. There was a freshness and vitality about her. Paula thought: It doesn't seem possible that she is eighty years old. She looks ten years younger at least.

"You're scrutinizing me very intently," Emma said. "What's wrong with my appearance?"

"Nothing, Gran, and I was admiring you, really. You're positively blooming this morning."

"Thank you. I must admit to feeling marvelous. I'm not a bit jetlagged." She glanced at her watch. "It's only ten o'clock. I'd better not ring Blackie just yet. He may still be sleeping.

Bryan's driving him back to Harrogate later in the day, you know."

"So Merry said last night at the airport."

"It was nice having Bryan and Geraldine in Sydney for a couple of weeks," Emma now volunteered with a smile of fond recollection. "And they really enjoyed themselves. However, I was a bit disappointed that it wasn't Shane who came to negotiate the deal on the hotel they've bought."

"From what Shane said to me, November was a difficult time for him."

"Yes, Bryan mentioned it." Flashing Paula a warm and loving glance, Emma continued, "I'm glad you were able to find time to pop down to Barbados to see our boutique when Shane was there. It did you good, seemingly. You're positively blooming yourself, Paula. You look better than I've seen you for years."

"I enjoyed the trip, the little rest," Paula said, keeping her voice very steady. "I still have traces of my tan, so perhaps that's it."

Emma nodded. She studied her favorite granddaughter. Paula has become as inscrutable as I am, she thought. I'm actually having difficulty reading her at this moment. Clearing her throat, Emma said, "So... you and Shane are good. friends again. I am happy about that."

Paula made no comment.

Emma, riddled with curiosity, probed, "And did he explain what it was all about, finally?"

"Pressure of work, his schedule, his traveling, as he's always said, Gran. However, I do think he was afraid of intruding—" Paula met her grandmother's quizzical gaze with a cool, direct look of complete innocence. She added in a calm voice, "You know what I mean—intruding on' a couple of newlyweds. I think he was simply being diplomatic and considerate."

"Really," Emma said. A snowy brow arched. She did not believe his reasons, but she said nothing else, moved in the direction of the desk. Seating herself, she gave her attention to the three different folders Paula had arranged there earlier. Emma opened one, stared at the memorandum on top, but she was not actually reading it. Instead, she was contemplating Paula and Shane. Ever since she had heard about their rapprochement, which was no great secret, she had wondered if Shane had finally made an overt move. She had never forgotten that look on his face at the christening. A man who loved a woman the way Shane O'Neill loved her granddaughter would be unable to repress his feelings indefinitely. He would have to come out in the open. One day. He would not be able to help himself. Had he already done so? And if so, what had his reception been? She could not hazard a guess. Shane had been unreadable in New York, as Paula was now. She concentrated on Shane, whom she knew like one of her own, and thought of his nature. He was impetuous, impulsive, passionate. And what of Paula? Of course Paula would have spurned him. Would she? Yes, Emma answered herself. She is happily married. But is she?

Partially raising her eyes, Emma stole a look at Paula, surreptitiously, over the top of her glasses. There was something different about her granddaughter—she had noticed it last night. She seemed more womanly, more feminine than usual. Had there been a radical internal change? Or was it merely her outward appearance? The longer hair, the extra weight, the general air of softness she had acquired? Had a man's influence been at work? Shane's? Or was her current look'simply a new style she had formulated for herself. I'm damned if 1 know, Emma thought. And I refuse to pry. Her life is her own. I will never interfere. I dare not. If she has anything to tell me she will do so... eventually.

Paula said, "I asked Alexander and Emily to prepare those reports for you, Grandy, and I've written one myself. Each folder—"

"So I see," Emma interrupted, glancing up. "Are they simply summations of business matters over the past eight months? Or have you included anything I don't already know about?"

"Oh no, Grandy, we've simply recapped everything for you, the matters we telexed you about, or discussed on the phone. There's nothing new at the moment, but I thought you ought to have the reports just to refresh your memory. Later, at your leisure."

"I don't have to refresh my memory," Emma exclaimed dryly. "I forget nothing. Thank you for going to all this trouble, though.-I'm sure it goes without saying that I trust the three of you, and I'm very proud of you and your cousins. You've handled yourselves in the most exemplary manner, been extremely diligent, and, I might add, very smart in a number of instances." Emma's eyes gleamed shrewdly under the hooded lids. "And how's Gianni what's-his-name working out at Trade Winds?"

Paula could not help grinning at her grandmother's knowing expression. "He's the best antique expert Harte's has ever had,"

she said. "And he's done a terrific job on his trips to the Orient recently. He's worth every penny we're paying him."

"I sincerely hope so... Presumably he's now giving Elizabeth the divorce without causing a scandal?"

"Yes, he is, Gran."

"Alexander never did explain fully about that fuss and bother with his mother, when he rang me in Australia." Emma's eyes sharpened. "Who was Gianni going to cite instead of Marc Deboyne?"

"Oh, some Cabinet minister, I believe," Paula said, striving to sound offhand, not wanting to go into the outrageous details. "Alexander was worried that a well-known politician being involved in the divorce would simply draw additional press attention to the case, to the family."

"Good thinking." Leaning over her desk, Emma now remarked, "Talking of politicians, or rather a politician's son, have you anything to tell me about Jonathan?"

"Not one thing, Gran." Paula hesitated. "But Mr. Graves of Graves and Saunderson dug up some unpleasant personal information about Sebastian Cross." Paula grimaced. "Alexander has the report. I'm sure you don't want to read it—it's rather disgusting. Alexander will explain it to you better than I."

"I've lived with unpleasantness all of my life, Paula. However, obviously you prefer not to discuss it, so we'll let it go for now. I'll take it up with Alexander when he gets here later. And what about your cousin Sarah? Is she behaving herself?"

"I haven't seen her, but Emily tells me she's very snotty with her, and holding herself aloof. Apparently Sarah's become rather chummy with Allison Ridley, Winston's old girlfriend. Emily thinks that's the reason for Sarah's coldness toward her."

"I'm rather surprised," Emma muttered. "Why would Sarah take umbrage at Emily?" She looked across at Paula, and began to laugh at herself. 'That's a pretty stupid comment on my part, when I think of the terrible things members of this.family have done to each other." She sat back in the chair, went on, "Would you mind giving me another cup of coffee, "please?"

"Of course not. Coming right up, Gran." After filling the cup, adding milk and sugar, Paula brought the coffee to the desk, hovered. She said slowly, "Look, this isn't a criticism of Emily, you know how much I love her, but she's got a ridiculous bee in her bonnet about the mess in Ireland. I'd like you to talk to her—"

"Oh, she's already • mentioned it to me, Paula," Emma interrupted. "Last night, when you were on the phone to Long Meadow." Emma swallowed a smile as she observed Paula's serious expression. "Murder most foul and all that nonsense, right?"

Paula nodded.

Emma said, "I gave her a little lecture. I don't believe she'll ever bring it up again. However"—Emma eyed her granddaughter closely—"you know, your mother mentioned something about Ireland too last night. When you were out of the room. She doesn't believe'the housekeeper was telling the truth... I mean about Min's craziness and drinking."

Paula exclaimed fiercely, in irritation, "Good God, the two of them are incorrigible! Honestly, Grandma, I hope you've nipped their imaginative chatter in the bud. It's a load of tripe and can only lead to further trouble. Loose tongues are dangerous."

"Agreed. But whether it's tripe or not is beside the point, Paula. What matters, in reality, is that the case is closed. Firmly closed. Min's death was a suicide. That was the coroner's ruling and it's good enough for me. And 'for John Crawford. Don't worry, neither your mother nor Emily will mention anything about murder in the future. I've.seen to that."

"Thank heavens you have." Paula came around the desk and hugged Emma tightly, kissed her cheek. "Oh, Gran darling, I'm so glad you re back. I've missed you so much. It's positively awful when you're not here."

Emma smiled up at her, patted her hand. "If you've said that once since I stepped off the plane, you've said it a hundred times, darling. But thank you, it's nice to hear. And I've missed you too—all of you. I've enjoyed myself, traveling the world with Blackie, seeing so many, many wonderful things. I've had a little fun for once. He was sweet. And he pampered me in a way I've not been pampered for years. Not since your grandfather died. But no more gallivanting off to foreign parts."

"I didn't begrudge you the wonderful trip around the world. Gran, please don't think that... but you seemed to be so far away most of the time."

"I was always here in spirit, Paula."

"Yes, I know, but it's not quite the same as having you here in the flesh!"

"Alexander should be arriving in a few minutes." Emma glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. "Then Emily at noon. I thought we would lunch at one." Her mouth twitched. "I suggested to Parker that we have fish-and-chips— and from the local fish shop. That's the one thing I missed when I was away."

Paula chortled. "Oh, Gran, you are lovely, and you haven't changed."

"And it's hardly likely that I will, not at my age."

"I'll just have time to dash across to Harte's, deal with a few things, and get back for lunch."

"Yes, do run along, dear. I know what it's like... I used to feel exactly the same way when I was your age. I couldn't wait to get to the store."

"See you later, then." Paula bent to kiss Emma's cheek.

"Yes. Oh, and by the way, Paula, I had lunch with Ross Nelson the day before I left New York. I haven't had a chance to tell you—but I scotched that idea about selling my Sitex stock."

"Good for you. He was getting to be a pest—in more ways than one, if you want the truth."

Emma pursed her lips, staring at Paula with sudden alertness. "Was he now," she said. "Well, yes, I must admit I did get the feeling he was rather keen on you. Tiresome man. Full of himself, and his so-called fatal charms, wouldn't you say?"

"He's the worst kind of bore. The deadliest, really. And so transparent. I'm afraid I can't stand him."

Paula walked to Harte's in Knightsbridge.

It was a frosty day. The etiolated sky was bloated with snow, but its bleached-out quality made the light seem curiously luminous despite the fugitive sun.

She was hardly conscious of the weather as she hurried along. She was thinking of Shane. She always thought of him. He was rarely out of her mind for very long. Today was the twentieth of December. When she had spoken to him yesterday he had said he would ring her at seven New York time. Noon in London. Immediately afterward he was taking a plane to Barbados, since it was the height of the season at the Coral Cove Hotel.

Paula sighed under her breath as she.cut down a side street, heading for the main thoroughfare. Jim's accident had thrown all of their plans askew.

But this aside, he had nearly been killed and all because of his ingrained pigheadedness. Her mind leapt back to the dreadful weekend two weeks ago. She had arrived in London on Saturday, having taken an overnight flight from the States, and had been driven straight to Yorkshire by her grandmother's chauffeur.

When she got to Long Meadow in the early afternoon her first stop had been the nursery. To her distress the twin's and Nora were suffering from streaming colds. At four o'clock, when Jim had walked in from the newspaper, he had muttered he was coming down with it himself, and had retired to bed immediately. She seized the opportunity to vacate their bedroom. That night she had slept in one of the guest rooms, explaining she could not afford to get sick, not with the whole household under siege and a business to run. He had not complained.

On Sunday, Jim had been much better, certainly well enough to get up for lunch, eat a hearty meal, and drink half a bottle of red wine. She had been aghast when he had insisted on going off to fly that dangerous little plane, had begged him to stay at home. Jim had laughed, told her she was being ridiculous, protested he was neither drunk nor sick. When the phone call had come through from the airport later that afternoon her heart had stopped beating for several seconds, and then she had leapt in the car and rushed to Leeds Infirmary to be with him. At odds with him though she was, and in love with Shane O'Neill, Paula still harbored affectionate feelings for her husband. She had once cared deeply for him, he was the father of her children, and she wished him no harm.

But later, when she could think clearly, she had realized there was no excuse for his behavior. The crash need not have happened. He had been reckless. At heart Paula doubted his story about the engine stalling. He had been taking pills for his cold; he had demolished half a bottle of wine. If he had not been drugged or drunk exactly, he had hardly been in a fit condition to take up the plane.

When she had telephoned Shane in New Milford, later on that fated Sunday, he had been distressed for her. But he had been understanding of her dilemma, had agreed they could not make their moves until Jim was well enough to cope with her news. She was going to tell him she wanted a divorce.

As she swung into Knightsbridge, she prayed that Jim would agree. The worry that he might fight her nagged at the back of her head constantly.

Don't think about it, don't be so negative, she told herself firmly. All you have to do is get yourself through the next few months. She and Shane had made new plans this past week, changing their business commitments to accommodate each other. They needed to be together as often as they could. In January she would go to New York to be with him. During February and March he would visit Australia to start work on the rebuilding of the hotel the O'Neill chain had just purchased. He would stay with her brother Philip. Shane would come to England in April to see Emerald Bow run in the Grand National, but she would be with him in London before and after the race. At the end of April he would return to New York. They had decided that Jim ought to be on his feet again by then, and once Shane had left for the States she would tackle her husband. In May she would finally tell her grandmother everything, move herself and the twins into Pennistone Royal.

May, Paula repeated under her breath. Such a long way off. No, not really. And, anyway, Shane and I have the rest of our lives ahead of us.

Her pace automatically quickened. She ached for the sound of his voice. Thank God for the telephone, she thought, as she went into the staff entrance at Harte's. At least we can talk every day.