t snowed heavily for the next four days.

Yorkshire was quickly covered with a mantle of white. The countryside around Pennistone Royal looked particularly picturesque. Drystone walls disappeared under monstrous drifts, trees were weighted down by their laden branches, rivers and streams were glazed over with blue-tinted ice.

But the snowstorm ceased with abruptness on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. Suddenly the blindingly white landscape had a crystalline beauty as the sun broke through. There was a diamond-bright dazzle to the sky, a sparkling crispness in the air.

By nightfall the fields and the fells and the rolling moors were ethereal under a clear winter moon that coated them with a silvery sheen.

Emma, standing at the window of her bedroom, was momentarily transfixed as she gazed down at her gardens. The snow and the ice had created the most magical effect, enveloping the land in a strange white silence, an overwhelming stillness that seemed like a palpable thing to her. But despite the breathtaking beauty spread before her, Emma knew that beyond the great iron gates of her house, the roads and country lanes were dangerous, very treacherous in this kind of weather.

As she turned away and walked through into the upstairs parlor, she could not help but worry, thinking of her family and friends who were currently driving on those roads. All were courageously braving the icy conditions in order to spend this special evening with her. It had been a tradition for many years, and none of them wanted to miss it. She hoped each of them would arrive safely and without any mishaps.

Emma already had a full house.

Once they were back in Yorkshire, Paula had lost no time in moving her family into Pennistone Royal. Jim, the babies, the nanny, and the male nurse were already ensconced. Emily had brought Amanda and Francesca home from Harro-gate College earlier in the week. David and Daisy had taken the train from London yesterday, accompanied by Alexander and his fiancee, Maggie Reynolds. Edwina and Anthony had flown into Manchester Airport from Dublin that morning, had reached the ancient house in time for a late lunch.

Pausing at her desk, Emma picked up the guest list, scanned it quickly. Her sons and their wives had been invited, but she was quite certain they would not come. Well, it did not matter anymore. She was adjusted to their absence from her life. Kit and Robin would avoid her again. She knew why. They were as guilt as hell about their treachery toward her. Elizabeth was not coming either, was remaining in Paris with Marc Deboyne, but at least her daughter had been gracious when she had phoned to decline and to wish her a happy Christmas. I hope this is the last husband she's going to have, Emma thought, her glance traveling on down the list.

Her eyes rested briefly on Jonathan's name. He had accepted. So had Sarah. They were driving over from Bramhope together. She could not help wondering about their current chumminess. Were they up to something? Now, Emma Harte, no bad thoughts tonight, she cautioned herself. It instantly struck her that she was unutterably weary of intrigue. It had dogged her all of her life. She was getting too old to pick up the sword again.

A thoughtful look settled on her face as she remained standing at the desk, clutching the guest list. She was eighty. She had paid her dues long ago. Her time was now far too precious to indulge in battles. Let them get on with it, she muttered. As I shall get on with my life—what's left of it. All I want is to have peace and quiet and to be with my dear old friend. We'll march on together into the future; Blackie and I... a couple of old warhorses. She felt as if a great burden had been lifted as she suddenly acknowledged that she had abdicated eight months ago. She was out of the fray. She was determined to stay out.

Emma finished perusing the list. Blackie, who was spending Christmas with Bryan and Geraldine in Wetherby, was due to arrive with them and Miranda shortly. The entire Kallinski clan had also promised to come early. The Hartes would be out in full force tonight. Randolph, too, had a house full, since his mother, Charlotte, and his aunt Natalie, were staying at Allington Hall with Sally, Vivienne, and himself. Winston was a self-invited guest at Pennistone Royal, had walked in at four o'clock with his suitcase and three large shopping bags top-heavy with gifts. Only Philip and Shane are missing, Emma murmured to herself, putting down the list. But perhaps next year they will be here. We'll all be together. Then the three clans will really be complete.

The clock struck six.

The chimes roused her from her meandering thoughts. She gazed down at the one remaining present that lay on the desk. Earlier all of the others had been taken downstairs to the Stone Hall to be placed under the tree. Sitting down, Emma thought for a moment, then inscribed the card carefully.

There was a knock on the door. "Cooee, Gran, it's me," Emily called, floating in on a cloud of perfume.

Emma lifted her head, smiled at her granddaughter. "And don't you look lovely!" she exclaimed, scrutinizing her intently.

"That's the dress tartan of the Seaforth Highlanders," Emma remarked, referring to the long taffeta skirt Emily wore, immediately recognizing the plaid. "My father's old regiment, and Joe s and Blackie's when they were in the First World War. It certainly looks smart with your white silk shirt."

"Yes, I thought so too." Emily planted a kiss on Emma's cheek, said quickly, "You seemed a bit surprised when Winston arrived this afternoon. I could have sworn I'd told you he was coming to stay."

"No, you didn't. But that's all right." Sitting back, Emma pursed her lips, gave Emily a pointed look. "I expect it's too much to ask you to behave yourselves, but please, do be discreet if you're bedroom-hopping."

Emily's face flushed. "How can you think a thing like that, Grandma?"

"Because I was young once, believe it or not, and I know what it's like to be in love. But be careful, dear. After all, we do

have a lot of house guests. I wouldn't want your reputation besmirched."

"In this family! Good God, nobody can afford to throw any stones—" Emily stopped. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, Grandma."

"Don't apologize for speaking the truth, Emily. But remember what I ve just said."

Nodding and looking relieved, Emily drifted over to the fireplace, stood observing her grandmother. "You should always wear dark green velvet. It's very becoming on you, especially with all your emeralds."

"Goodness me, Emily, you make it sound as if they're dripping from every pore. I'm only wearing Paul's ring and earrings and Blackie's little bow. But thank you for the compliment, and, tell me, what's happening downtairs?"

"Amanda and Francesca are finishing trimming the tree, at least the top half which I started earlier. Little monkeys, they haven't helped me one bit today. All they've done is loll around in their room, listening to the Beatles and shrieking their heads off, or alternatively swooning and being silly. I routed them out an hour ago and set them to work."

"Good for you. I'm going to have to take those two in hand during the holidays, put my foot down. There has to be a limit on the time they spend listening to those records. Apart from anything else, the racket was deafening this afternoon. Anyone else down yet?"

"Auntie Daisy, looking gorgeous in a red silk pant suit and masses of rubies and diamonds—"

"Why do you always exaggerate?" Emma shook her head, faintly reprimanding, but her eyes were fond. "She doesn't have masses of rubies and diamonds, to my knowledge."

"Well, a pair of beautiful earrings," Emily admitted, wrinkling her nose. "She was" helping to set up the bar. Jim's there, in the new wheelchair you got for him, having a drink and—"

"He's started a bit early, hasn't he?" Emma exclaimed, a silver brow lifting in surprise.

"What do you mean, started early? He hasn't stopped since lunch."

Emma was dismayed. "Ought he to be drinking?" she asked. "He's on painkillers—so Paula told me. That combination can'be awfully dangerous." Her eyes grew flinty with a mixture of concern and annoyance.

Emily nodded. "I mentioned that to him a few minutes ago, so don't you say anything. He told me to mind my own business. He's awfully grouchy. I don't envy Paula one bit."

"I've noticed his moodiness. Still, we have to make allowances, I suppose. Has Paula come home from the store yet?"

"No, but she should be here any minute."

"Oh dear, the roads are so bad tonight..." Emma's voice faltered.

"Don't fret, Gran, she's a careful driver. Besides, she went over to the Harrogate store this afternoon. However, knowing

Paula, she'll probably stay until closing time. But at least her driving time has been cut in half."

"I'll rest easier once she gets here. Well, continue, who else has made an appearance?"

"Maggie. She's sorting the Christmas tree decorations, helping the girls. Alexander and Uncle David are hanging mistle-' toe. Hilda and Joe are preparing the refectory table for the buffet, and Winston's stacking gifts under the tree." Emily grinned. "Oh yes, and Aunt Edwina is making herself useful for once. She's instructing Winston exactly how to arrange the packages for the best effect, as if it mattered."

"At least she's talking to a Harte for a change. That's certainly a step in the right direction." Emma motioned to Emily. "Come here, dear, I want to show you something."

As Emily joined her, Emma lifted the lid of an old leather jewelry case and then handed it to her granddaughter.

Emily gasped, staring down at the beautiful diamond necklace lying on the dark red velvet. It was a glittering lacy web of brilliant, perfectly cut and mounted stones. The diamonds had such fire, such life, such matchless beauty, Emily gasped again. "This is extraordinary, Grandma, and obviously very old. Where did it come from? I don't think I've ever seen you wear it."

"No, you haven't, because I never have. I haven't even tried it on since I've owned it."

"I don't understand," Emily said, her eyes perplexed.

"I've never wanted to wear it, and I only bought it when it was auctioned because—well, it was a sort of symbol to me. It represented everything I never had when I was a young girl—when I was a maid at Fairley Hall." Emma took the case back from Emily, lifted out the necklace, held it up to the light. "Yes, it's superb. Superb. It belonged to Adele Fairley, Jim's great-grandmother. I can still recall the night of a big dinner when I helped Adele to dress, fastened this around her throat. I was very bitter that night. The necklace, you see, represented the grinding toil and drudgery of the villagers, and of my father, my brother Frank, and me." Emma shook her head. "When the Fairleys went down the drain, after Adam died, Gerald put this up for sale." Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I outbid everyone," she explained and placed the necklace in its case.

Emily said, "But why have you never worn it, Grandy?"

"Because it was suddenly meaningless to me once I owned it... I preferred the things which had been given to me. with love, by those who loved me."

"What are you going to do with it?" Emily eyed the fancy wrapping paper and silver ribbon on the desk. "Oh, I know! You're going to give it to Paula because she's married to Jim."

"No, not Paula."

"Then who?"

"Edwina."

"Edwina. Why her? She's always so awful to you!"

"So what. And just because she behaves badly doesn't mean I have to do the same. Anyway, throughout my life I've tried to rise above that sort of thing. Always remember that it is far better to be gracious in difficult.situations,- Emily, than to sink to the level of others. Anyway, Paula wouldn't want this. She might bear the name of Fairley, but I don't believe she considers herself to be one, no,,not at all. On the other hand, Edwina does. The Fairley name is important to her, and I think she, above everyone in the family, would appreciate owning this and—"

"But Gran," Emily began.

Emma held up her hand. "Edwina was denied her birthright because she was illegitimate, and I know how much the circumstances of her birth troubled her, perhaps still do. I feel it is only proper that she has something that belonged to them—this kind of family heirloom. I don't want it, since it has no meaning for me. Neither am I trying to ingratiate myself with her, or redeem myself in her eyes. I simply want to give it to her, and that's all there is to it. She will enjoy wearing it, of that I feel sure. Now, perhaps you would be kind enough to wrap it for me, Emily.'

"Of course I will. May I sit at the desk? It's easier to work there."

"Yes." Emma rose, walked across to the fireplace, stood with her back to it.

Emily glanced at the necklace again, closed the case, began to wrap it, thinking what an extraordinary woman her grandmother was. There was no one like her in the whole world.. She was so generous and so very forgiving. Damn Edwina, she thought. I wish-s/je would make just one gesture of love toward Gran. That would make me feel better.

There was a tap on the door. It opened and Paula looked in, exclaimed, "Hello, you two! I'm frightfully late, I'm afraid. The Harrogate store was mobbed all day, like bedlam when we closed. Then the roads were ghastly. See you both in a while. I must pop in on the babies and Nora before I change."

"Thank heaven you got here safely." Emma was filled with relief at the sight of Paula's smiling face.."And take your time,

dear. Nobody's going anywhere."

"I will." Paula closed the door softly.

Emma said to Emily, "Once you finish wrapping the necklace I think we'd better go downstairs. The O'Neills and the

Kallinskis will be arriving momentarily."

"It's finished." Emily clipped ofT the end of the silver ribbon, sat back to admire her handiwork. She lifted her dancing green eyes, focused them on her grandmother. "I bet old Edwina has a heart attack when she opens this later, Gran!" she said, grinning mischievously.

"Really, Emily, sometimes..." Emma shook her head, tried to look disapproving, without much success.

The Stone Hall at Pennistone Royal derived its name from the local gray stone which had been used throughout—on the ceiling, the walls, the floor, and the fireplace facade. But it was more than an entrance hall, had the overtones of a huge sitting room with its handsome Jacobean and Tudor furniture which partially underscored the architecture of the house.

Dark wood beams crisscrossed the stone ceiling, introduced a touch of warmth, as did the faded Aubusson carpets on the floor, the antique tapestries and oil paintings on the walls. The baronial overtones were further diminished by the blaze of rosy light from the chandelier and wall sconces, and the huge fire crackling up the chimney back. Pots of yellow, pink, and purple chrysanthemums and deep-orange amaryllis sparked some of the wood surfaces, and tall brass urns filled with dark green holly, bright red berries, graced several corners.

But taking pride of place and dominating the hall tonight was a giant Christmas tree. This was nine feet tall, with wide spreading branches, and it towered up to touch the edge of the minstrel gallery at the far end of the hall.

Emma, descending the staircase with Emily, paused halfway, stood for a moment admiring the scene. "Oh, doesn't it look festive!" she cried. Not waiting for a response, she hurried clown, glided across the floor to join the throng of family members, her eyes sparkling, her face wreathed in smiles.

"Hello, everyone," she said. "And well done. You've obviously worked hard to make the hall look beautiful tonight. Thank you."

They came to greet her in turn, kissed her, told her she looked wonderful. Winston took the gift she handed him and put it.under the tree. Jim, who had trouble maneuvering the wheelchair, could only wave.

Emma hurried over to him, rested her hand on his good shoulder, squeezed it, bent to kiss him. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her concern for his well-being apparent in her expression.

"Bloody awful, but I'll survive." He gazed up at her through his light silvery eyes, then grimaced. "What a rotten way to spend Christmas."

"Yes, 1 know, dear, and you must be terribly uncomfortable. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks. Where's Paula? She should be home by now. It's almost six-thirty." His voice was unexpectedly querulous, and he scowled at Emma, his mouth twisting into an angry line which he could not manage to conceal. Before she had a chance to answer, he exclaimed, "I don't know why she had to go to the store today. It's ridiculous the way she works, and it is Christmas Eve. She ought to be here with her family. The babies need her, and, furthermore, so do I—crippled as I am in this way. I think she's inconsiderate."

Emma drew back, amazed at his words, his nasty tone, his sudden burst of petulance. She knew he was not feeling well, but she could not help thinking that he was overdoing it a bit. She said softly, "It's because it is Christmas that she had to be at the stores today, Jim. You know this is her busiest period."

"She should have left at noon," he groused, "come home to me. After all, the circumstances are a little exceptional, wouldn't

you say?"

Emma bit back a sharp retort, knowing she must excuse him, blame his irascibility and immaturity on his condition. She said, more quietly than before, 'I was never an absentee landlord and I doubt that Paula will ever be one either. And, as a matter

of fact, she just got back. She'll be down in a few minutes. She's changing into a cocktail dress. I see you have a drink and your cigarettes, Jim, so if you'll excuse me I'll go and deal with those two rowdy teenagers."

Hurrying over to the tree, where Amanda and Franceses stood on two stepladders quarreling furiously, Emma exclaimed, "Now, girls, stop that and come down. At once, do you hear!"

"Yes, Grandma," Amanda said dutifully, quickly doing as she was bidden.

Francesca lingered. She placed a silver bell on the tip of a branch, craning her neck to study it.

Amanda, having reached the bottom of the ladder, took a step back, watching her sister. She shrieked, "Not there, you clot! It's right next to a silver icicle. You need more color on that branch. Put the red star you're holding in that spot instead of the bell."

"Go to hell!" Francesca retorted. "I'm sick of you tonight. You're a dimwit. And far too bossy."

"That's enough!" Emma snapped. "Get down, Francesca, and immediately. Otherwise you'll spend this evening in your room."

"Yes, Grandy," Francesca mumbled, clattering down the stepladder to join her sister, who was standing next to Emma.

"Now, upstairs, both of you." Emma gave them a disapproving glance. "You look like a couple of street urchins. I want you out of those disgusting jeans and grimy shirts and into more suitable clothes. Instantly. And wash your faces and brush your hair. I've never seen you both in such an appalling state. And please don't dress alike. I'm getting sick and tired of this twin-sister act of yours. You're like a music hall turn."

"Yes, Grandmother," Amanda murmured meekly.

"What do you want us to wear?" Francesca asked, eyeing Emma boldly, giving her a cheeky grin.

Quite unexpectedly, Emma wanted to laugh, but she controlled herself, said sternly, "You can put on your red velvet frock, Francesca. And you, Amanda, had better wear your blue silk. That should do it. If nothing else, at least I'll be able to distinguish you from each other. Now run along."

Emily, who had witnessed this little scene, laughed when her half sisters were out of earshot. "Thanks, Gran. They've been extremely bolshie these last few days. I almost threatened to send them to Paris to join our mother, but it would've been an

idle threat. I wouldn't have the heart to do that to them—as tiresome as they are."

"They're just trying the two of us on for size, you know, seeing how much they can get away with." Emma chuckled.

"I know. Would you like a drink?"

"Why not, Emily. Perhaps you can ask Winston or your brother to open a bottle of champagne. I think I'd like a glass. And let's have some music." Emma swung around as Emily hurried off to fetch the wine, and called across to David Amory, "Please pop a record on, David dear, one of those selections of Christmas carols. No, not the carols just yet. I rather like that Bing Crosby record White Christmas, I believe it's called."

"Right away, Emma. And it's certainly appropriate this year."

Emma turned to the box of tree decorations, started to dress the lower branches, which _were relatively bare and unfinished. She had been working only a few seconds when she felt a hand touch her arm tentatively. She swiveled,-found herself face-to-face with Edwina.

"May I help, Mother?"

"Yes, I'd like that," Emma said, camouflaging her surprise. "Root around in the other box. Perhaps you'll find something sparkling and.pretty for these low branches. It seems to me that the most beautiful ornaments generally end up on the top of the tree." Emma's eyes roved over her eldest daughter. She nodded. "Blue has always suited you, Edwina. You look lovely tonight, and that's a beautiful frock."

'Thank you... Daisy talked me into buying it." Edwina hesitated. "You look very elegant, but then you always do. Mother." Edwina offered her a smile that was as tentative as her touch had been.

Emma smiled in return, wondering what to make of the unprecedented compliment, then reached for a gold papier-mache pear, hooked it onto a branch, frowning to herself. Edwina was certainly most cordial, all of a sudden. Still, she had to admit she was pleased at this show of friendliness.

After a moment, Edwina tapped Emma's arm, held out a blue glass star. "Here you are, Mother, would you like to hang this one? Maybe over there, next to the angel. Or wherever you think it would look right."

Taking it from her, Emma searched her daughter's face.

For a split second she was transported back in time... to a Christmas long, long ago. December of 1915. Joe Lowther had

still been alive. It was the year before he had been killed in the Battle of the Somme. They had lived in the avenue called the Towers in Armley. In her mind's eye the memory flashed so vividly Emma caught her breath. Edwina had been nine years old and exceptionally pretty with her long blond •hair, her silvery eyes so like Adele's, her delicate features inherited from Edwin Fairley, her father. But the little girl had believed Joe to be her father and she had adored him. Worshiped him, really.

The three of them had stood in front of a giant fir, very similar to this one, and on a snowy Christmas Eve such as this. Dim echoes of their joyous laughter reverberated in Emma's head. But it had been the child and the man who had laughed, shared the delight and fun of dressing the splendid tree. She had been the interloper, unwanted by her daughter. Edwina had spurned her, slighted her every time she had offered that beivutiful but disdainful child a pretty bauble to hang on the tree. And she had left the room, her heart almost breaking. She had put on her coat and run down the short avenue to Blackie and Laura's house, and her dearest Laura had comforted her, helped to take the sting out of the child's spitefulness.

Edwina said, "Are you feeling all right, Mother?"

Emma blinked. The memory dissolved. "Yes," she said, "oh yes. I'm fine. I was just remembering something."

"What were you remembering?"

"Oh, a Christmas... so long ago now you've surely forgotten it." Emma smiled faintly. "But I've never forgotten it— not really."

"You were thinking about the Christmas of 1915, weren't you?" Edwina moved closer to Emma.

"Yes."

"Mother..." Edwina looked deeply into Emma's old wise eyes. "I've not forgotten that Christmas either." She paused, seemed to consider, and then reached out and took old of Emma's hand impulsively. "Forgive me, Mother, please, please forgive me for that terrible Christmas," she whispered.

Emma stared back at her daughter in stupefaction. And then she instantly knew what Edwina was trying to say. She wanted

to be forgiven for all of her transgressions over the years, and not just that particular Christmas. Emma said slowly, "You were such a little girl, so young. You didn't understand... understand how things were in an adult world. You had no conception

of pain or heartbreak."

"Please say you forgive me. Mother," Edwina begged, her sincerity evident. "It's become so very important to me."

"Why, of course I forgive you, Edwina. You are my daughter, my firstborn child. And I told you months ago that I've always loved you. My love has never wavered or changed, though you have doubted me."

"I don't anymore." Tears swam in Edwina's pale eyes. "Can we be friends at last—so late in our lives—do you think?"

"I know we can." Emma smiled her incomparable smile that always filled her face with radiance. "Why, we already are, my dear," she said, clasping Edwina's hand tightly.

Jonathan Ainsley was beginning to realize how dangerous the conditions were after he left the main Ripon road and maneuvered his Aston-Martin down a narrow side lane, taking a shortcut to the village of Pennistone Royal. "You shouldn't have come this way," Sarah complained. "The lane twists and turns too much. Well have an accident, if you're not careful."

This is the fastest route," Jonathan replied. A cold smile touched his mouth. "I don't want to miss anything tonight. I think it's going to be—" He broke off as he felt the wheels sliding on the ice. The car was going into a skid. He gripped the steering wheel tighter, turning the car into the skid in an effort to avert it, gently pressing his foot on the brake as he did.

Sarah, stiffening with fright, grabbed his arm.

Angrily Jonathan shook off her hand, managed to right the Aston in the nick of time, shouted, "You'll have us in a bloody ditch!" He slowed his pace to a slow crawl. "For God's sake, don't ever do a thing like that again, Sarah. It's very dangerous."

"I'm sorry. It was a silly reaction. Don't he angry with me. You know I can't bear it when you lose your temper."

"Okay, okay, let's forget it," he muttered, pushing his annoyance to one side. The last thing he wanted was to upset Sarah. He needed her too much to incur her disfavor. He peered ahead, watching for new ice patches in the glare of the headlights.

Neither of the cousins spoke for a while.

Sarah shrank into the corner of the seat, pulling her silver fox coat around her, hoping his good humor would soon be restored.

Jonathan concentrated on the road, driving now with the utmost care. The Aston-Martin was new, not even paid for yet. A bashed-up hood or a damaged fender would be costly. He relaxed a fraction as he hit a clear stretch, but still he did not increase his pace, determined to be cautious. His mind swung to his cousin sitting next to him. He wondered how to persuade Sarah to put up more money, invest another few hundred thousand pounds in the company he secretly owned with Sebastian Cross. Sarah was their partner now. Her money was vital to them. Urgently needed. They had had a lot of bad luck lately. And Sebastian had made some disastrous deals, which negated the good ones he had closed. But they would pull out of it. One good deal would do the trick.

A grimness settled on his face as his duplicitous brain continued to turn at a rapid rate. Maybe he would have to steer one of the deals he was handling for Harte Enterprises into Stonewall Properties, his own company. Why not? The thought tickled him. Jonathan Ainsley was aware that he had larceny in his heart, accepted that he was avaricious, greedy for the good things in life, hungry for power. He also knew he was not a good sport, despite his grandmother's efforts to instill in him the importance of playing the game. Who wants to play the game? he now asked himself. He was a bad loser. He didn't care. But he would be damned if he would ever be the loser again. He was going to be the winner...

Sarah said, "We're almost at the end of the lane, Jonny."

"Yes, I know." Jonathan began to ponder her. He had been manipulating Sarah for months, playing on her hatred for Paula, feeding her jealousy, envy, and bitterness. But she had every reason to be bitter. Just as he did. Paula was the favorite, the Crown Princess. She was getting everything, damn her. And so was Alexander. A small tremor of fury shot through Jonathan. He instantly curbed it, warning himself to stay cool tonight. He had schooled himself not to show his hand to the family, and least of all to his grandmother. Bloody old witch, he thought. My father's right, she's never going to kick the bucket. We will have to shoot her in the end. Poor Dad—he was cheated out of his inheritance. But he's a great politician and one of the greatest men in England. He might even be Prime Minister one day. He's so smart. He thought my idea of starting my own business was brilliant. He gave me his blessing. Jonathan wondered if his grandmother suspected him. Never. She was too old, getting senile. Once Emma Harte was dead he would inherit the New York apartment. The bequest to him was in her will. It had to be worth five million dollars at least. And Sarah was to get the Belgrave Square house. I'll make her sell it, invest the cash with me. The mere thought of this enormous amount of money cheered him. He tingled with excitement. His mood became sanguine. He felt much better all of a sudden, and quite up to facing his boring family. He wished he could park and smoke a joint before they reached the house. He did not dare. Sarah would disapprove. She was such a bore. A pain, really. Better cater to her. He needed her support, her continuing friendship. Sebastian had recently had the idea of marrying Sarah. Jonathan was not sure that he should encourage this. He despised Sarah, but Sebastian was a strange bird, and the gambling had grown worse and he was growing ever more reckless. Besides, Jonathan did not want to lose control of Sarah, or, more precisely, her money.

At the end of the lane Jonathan drew to a standstill, flicked his lights, then nulled out onto the main road. He said, "That was a bumpy ride, but like all bumpy rides it was worth it. At least we won't be all that late."

"Why are you so anxious to get to Grandy's early? What are you afraid of missing?" Sarah asked, filled with curiosity.

"Family dramas." Jonathan chortled. "And there are bound to be some, with that motley crew in attendance. There'll be our peer of the realm hovering over his pregnant mistress. Christ, Sarah, Anthony's been lucky. He's just missed standing trial for murder, and by the skin of his teeth. I hear Sally Harte's blown up.like a helium balloon, got his bun in her oven all right, and for all the world to see."

"Do you always have to be so crude?" Sarah said with her usual primness.

He glanced at her quickly out of the corner of his eye and, undeterred, said, "And there'll be our two lovebirds, billing and cooing inanely. I always knew Emily was itching to get into Winston's trousers when we were kids. She's a bloody little sexpot if you'ask me, just like her randy mum."

"Allison Ridley's devastated about Winston," Sarah remarked as evenly as she could, brushing aside his vulgarity. "She's moving to New York in a few weeks. I can't say I blame her. Our crowd is too close-knit... she'd always be running into Winston."

"He's certainly riding high at the moment, got his hands on the newspaper company because of Jim's accident." Instantly Jonathan saw a way to inflame Sarah, added swiftly, 'That plane crash was a bit odd, don't you think?"

"In what way?"

"It struck me at the time that Jim might have been trying to do himself in—you know, end it all in one dramatic moment."

Sarah was shocked. "Jonathan! That's a terrible thing to say! Why would Jim want to kill himself, for heaven's sake?"

"Who wouldn't—being married to the Ice Queen?"

"Yes," Sarah muttered, "she is a cold bitch. Probably frigid."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that—" Jonathan stopped, waiting for Sarah to take the bait.

"I thought you hated Paula as much as I do."

"I haven't changed," he reassured her.

"But you just implied that she's not cold, Jonny."

"I heard something about her that leads me to think otherwise—" Again he broke off, wanting to further intrigue Sarah.

"Oh! Tell me the gossip."

Jonathan sighed. "I shouldn't have started this conversation with you, Sarah dear. The last thing I want to do is upset you on Christmas Eve."

Sarah said, "I won't be upset... Come on, don't be mean, give me all the dirt on Paula. I'm certainly all ears."

"No, I'm positive I oughtn't to continue." He smothered a gleeful laugh, enjoying this cat-and-mouse game. He always did. It gave him a sense of power.

There was a small silence.

"On the other hand, you're a big girl—" He patted her hand. "And of course it might not be true at all."

"For God's sake, tell me... this is driving me crazy," Sarah cried.

'"Paula was in Barbados in November, as you know. But were you aware that Shane O'Neill was there at the same time?'

Sarah tensed. She sucked in her breath, obviously taken

aback. "So what?" she managed after a moment. "He was down there when I went out to supervise the opening of the boutique. His presence on the island doesn't mean a thing."

"Perhaps not—on the surface. But you were the one who told me you'd seen him ogling her, looking all hot-eyed and turned-on at the christening."

"He was!"

"Well, Rodney Robinson, my old school chum from Eton, was in Barbados at the same time as Paula. He was staying at the Sandy Lane Hotel, and he told me he saw her having lunch at the hotel. She was with a man—"

"It may not have been Shane," Sarah said swiftly. She could hardly bear to think of Shane with her cousin. It made her physically ill.

"It was Shane," Jonathan said steadily. "Rodney thought he looked familiar. After they'd left, old Rod spoke to the head

waiter, asked him if he knew the name of the man with the tall, dark, striking young woman. The head waiter told him it was

a Mr. O'Neill who owned the Coral Cove Hotel.'

"Having lunch together isn't anything unusual. They've always been close friends," Sarah protested, willing the pain in her chest to go away.

"Oh, I agree, love. Except for one thing. Rodney told me they were looking extremely cozy. Intimate, was his word. In fact, he said Shane was practically getting it off with her-at the table."

"P-p-please," Sarah stammered, "y-y-you know I loathe it when you're vulgar."

"Oh, sorry, love." He patted her hand again. His glee spiraled. "They were drooling all over each other and in the most disgusting way. So Rodney said. Obviously our Ice Queen isn't so icy after all, nor is she the little Miss Goody Two-shoes she pretends to be. Poor Jim. I'm not surprised he almost plunged to his death."

Sarah swallowed. She was overwhelmed by jealousy, hardly able to breathe.

Jonathan, aware of her feelings for Shane O'Neill, continued relentlessly, "Yes, methinks there's something rotten in the state of Denmark, to quote old Will Shakespeare. Adultery, perhaps? Rocking the House of Fairley." He chuckled sarcastically.

"They can't be having an affair," Sarah moaned. "Paula wouldn't dare. She'd be too scared that Grandy would find out. Anyway, she's in love with Jim."

"A hundred to one that you're entirely wrong, Sarah, my poppet."

"I don't think we should talk about this anymore. I am getting upset after all. Actually, I feel rather queasy."

"I do hope you're going to be all right," Jonathan murmured softly, pretending to be concerned. "I knew I shouldn't have told you. But you've always been able to twist me around your little finger. Thank God, we have each other, Sarah. We'll fight those cousins of ours and to the bitter end. We'll come out on top, you'll see. Sebastian and I have the company really rolling now. You're going to make millions with us, and be as rich and powerful as Paula bloody Fairley."

There was no response from Sarah, who sat hugging herself, fighting back the tears. She loved Shane so much it was painful hearing these things about him and Paula. She did not doubt Jonathan.

Jonathan said, "Cheer up, love. And remember one thing— Shane is a Roman Catholic. He'd never marry a divorced woman. And if he is involved with the lady, he's bound to tire of her soon. He's a real stu—" Jonathan cleared his throat, quickly corrected himself by substituting, "Ladies' man." He continued, "And he's still sowing his wild oats. That's what this affair with Paula is. Shane's bound to calm down soon, and, voila! you'll be there waiting for him. Rich, too, as you walk to the altar with him. By the way, I've been meaning to tell you, you're looking very beautiful these days, Sarah, since you lost so much weight. Shane won't be able to resist you. I'm going to help you, don't worry. I'm going to make certain you get the man you love."

"Oh, Jonny, you're always so nice to me," Sarah said, instantly cheering. "Everything you say is true, I just know it is. I will end up with Shane. And I am glad about our real estate company." She peered at him in the dim light of the car. "Am I really going to be as wealthy as Paula?"

"Absolutely. I guarantee it. Incidentally, after Christmas, Sebastian and I want you to come to our first real board meeting. We'll show you the books, go over our various deals, explain the new ones that are pending. You may have to invest a little more money, but it'll be worth it. Think of the dowry you'll take to Shane. I realize that sounds old-fashioned, but don't let's be foolish enough to dismiss money in this instance. Shane O'Neill is bloody ambitious, and he'd never look twice at a poor woman. So... I'm going to make sure you are loaded, Sarah."

"What would I do without you?" Sarah sighed, blissful at the prospect of her rosy future. "I'm feeling tons better now." She giggled. "It must be the thought of lauding it over Paula in the not too distant future, and snatching Shane out from under her nose."

"That's the spirit, Sarah! When should I arrange for us to get together with Sebastian Cross?" '

"Any time you like. And of course I'll put up some more money. I trust you, Jonny. You've always been on my side, been my best friend."

"And as you have been mine, my pet."

Within minutes Jonathan was turning into the gates of Pennistone Royal. As he parked he noticed'the long lineup of cars, and realized that they were probably the last to arrive. Secretly laughing up his sleeve at Sarah's gullibility, he nevertheless managed to keep his face straight as he helped her out of the car, ran around to the trunk to collect their gifts for their grandmother.

Puffed up with self-congratulation at his adroit handling of his cousin, he put his hand under her elbow, arranged a suitably insouciant smile, and escorted her inside.

Joe, the houseman, was on duty, and he wished them a happy Christmas as he took their coats. They returned his greeting. Jonathan's sharp, ever-quick eyes.darted around as he and Sarah went down the short flight of steps leading into the Stone Hall. The party was in full swing. Everyone was present. The air was filled with the sound of Christmas music playing on the stereo, and the high-pitched buzz of chatter'. intermingled with bursts of jolly laughter. The fire roared, the giant tree blazed with lights, and the familiar faces which turned to greet them were ringed with happy smiles.

Jonathan smiled back, nodded, but did not stop. He propelled Sarah on a steady course down the hall. He saw Paula sitting on the arm of Blackie's chair, talking to the old man very earnestly, her face tender. If I exaggerated Rodney's story to goad Sarah, I know I wasn't far off the mark, Jonathan commented silently. I bet Shane O'Neill has got her where he wants her. In his bed. Good old-Rodney. I owe him one.

Now Jonathan noticed Jim, trapped in the wheelchair talking to Anthony. They had a strong look of each other. Fairley blood, he thought. He felt the sardonic laughter rising in his throat, almost choking him. He swallowed, made sure his charming smile was intact. As soon as Jim's alone, I'll go over and talk to him, sow a few seeds of doubt in his mind about that holier-than-thou wife of his. In the meantime, I'd better find the old dragon, go over and genuflect.

Jonathan's predictions to Sarah to the contrary, there were no dramas at Pennistone Royal that evening.

Emma's traditional Christmas Eve party progressed without a hitch. However, Emily's comment about Edwina's being shocked to death when she saw the diamond necklace proved to be no exaggeration.

After the buffet supper had been served and eaten, and before the carol singing began, Emma distributed her generous tokens of her affection to her family and friends. They were thrilled and touched by their presents, recognizing the amount of time she had spent in selecting something extra-special for each of them. Even the malcontents were pleased— Jonathan. with his gold-and-jade cuff links, Sarah with the pearl-and-jade necklace she had received.

But it was Edwina who was genuinely stunned, momentarily rendered speechless as she gaped in amazement at the Fairley necklace. Observing her closely, Emma thought her daughter was indeed going to keel over from a heart attack. Instead, Edwina collapsed in floods of tears.

After she had composed herself, Edwina began to realize that the Fairley heirloom she had been given was a gesture of • unselfish love, that of a mother for a daughter, and she was more than thankful she had made the initial move to end her estrangement from her mother earlier. She remained at Emma's side for the rest of the evening.

The happy mood prevailed until midnight. Only Paula felt out of it at times, when her thoughts turned to Shane. She was attentive to Jim and his needs, and chatted with everyone, but she constantly found herself gravitating to the O'Neills, needing to be in the midst of Shane's family. Somehow it seemed to bring him closer.

Next year, she kept thinking. Next year. We'll be together next year.