he harsh winter had passed.

The spring came, bringing a new and wondrous greenness to her gardens at Pennistone Royal. And then, before she knew it, the summer was filling the air with its sweet fragrance as the flowers burst into bloom under warming sunlight and skies that were as blue as speedwells and filled with that glorious northern light.

She was alone now. Entirely alone except for her children. Lome and Tessa filled every waking moment of her time, and she drew consolation and joy from their laughter, their carefree spirits, and their childlike pleasures.

The grief that had shattered her at the end of January had been brought under control.

Paula had reached deep inside herself, had drawn on her inner resources for sustenance and strength in her time of loss and pain and trouble. She had had no option really. Too many people were dependent on her.

Her mother and Alexander had returned from Chamonix grief-stricken and crushed by sorrow. They had automatically

turned to her, had needed her comfort and her support, her immense fortitude, to help them through the difficult period of the funerals and the distressing weeks that followed. They were plunged deeper into mourning as their shock receded and reality took over. Her children had also needed the security of her love and devotion, every bit of attention she could give them, now that they were without a father.

And finally her enormous empire required her to be at the helm,-guiding its course at all times, and she devoted herself to the great legacy she had inherited from her grandmother, working around the clock to ensure that it remained safe and only increased in importance and wealth. And work had become her strong citadel in the way it had been Emma's in the past.

But as the grief lessened, grew a little easier to bear, her guilt only increased and intensified. And it was the guilt that continued to cripple her now, so many months after the tragedy that had decimated the family.

It was a many-faceted guilt... survivor guilt that she was alive when her father, Jim, and Maggie were dead... guilt that she and Jim had parted with such animosity the day before he had left for Chamonix... and, worst of all, guill that she had been with Shane when those three people she cared about had met their untimely and hideous deaths.

As they had been suffocating under thousands of tons of snow, she had been in Shane's arms, transported by passion and the ecstasy of fulfillment. Illogical as it was, she nevertheless felt responsible, blamed herself for. their deaths. Intellectually she knew that she was not to blame, that it was wrong to feel this way, but emotionally she could not come to grips with true reality.

Arid she never wanted to make love again because in her mind the act of love was now associated with death and dying. In consequence, the mere thought of sex appalled her. She was desensitized, without feeling, and emotionally and physically frigid, incapable of giving of herself as a woman.

Slowly Paula had come to realize that she had nothing to offer Shane O'Neill. He was too virile, too passionate a man to settle for only a small part of her, and since she could not participate in lovemaking, she believed the relationship to be doomed.

And so she sent him away. She knew his heart was broken, and she loathed herself for inflicting pain and heartache on

him, but she had convinced herself that she was doing the best thing for him, for them both ultimately.

Shane had remained by her side through February, always there when she needed him, giving her his continuing love and friendship. Sensitive by nature and knowing her as well as he did, he never made demands on her whatsoever. He shared her grief, her pain and her anguish, was consoling, became kindness' itself. But after a month's sojourn in London and Yorkshire, he had had to resume his business activities. He had flown off to Australia to supervise the building of the new O'Neill hotel which Blackie had purchased on his trip with Emma.

Around this period, Paula had conceived the idea of sending her mother to Sydney with Philip, who was returning on the O'Neill private jet with Shane. At first Daisy had demurred, had protested that she must remain in England to be with Paula and the twins, but Paula had persuaded her to go. At the last minute Daisy had hurriedly packed and traveled across the world with the two men. Her mother was still in Australia, trying to pick up the threads of her life without David, acting as Philip's hostess and taking an interest in the McGill holdings. And Paula was aware that her mother was starting to throw off her own pain and function again.

But Shane had returned to England in April and had come again to Yorkshire to see her. Once more, as was his way, he had been understanding of her dilemma. He had explained that he recognized that she needed time to adjust herself to the loss of her father, to whom she had been so close, to the loss of her husband, who though estranged from her, was still the father of her children.

"I only wanted my freedom, a divorce from Jim. I never wished him harm or wanted him to die. He was so young," she had whispered on the day Shane was setting off for New York with Miranda.

"I know, I know, darling," Shane had said with gentleness. "I'm there whenever you need me. I'll wait for you, Paula.'.'

But she had not wanted him to wait, for she knew deep within herself that she would never be ready. She could never be Shane's wife. In a sense that part of her life was over, and she had adjusted herself to the knowledge that she would live alone with her children, would never share herself or her life with a man. It was not possible anymore.

She had not told Shane about the dreadful nights when she awakened from the same terrifying nightmare, the nightmare that

she was suffocating, one which constantly haunted her. It was so real she would sit up in bed with a start, her trembling body bathed in sweat as she cried out in terror and fear. And always in the center of her mind there wobbled the horrifying image of her father and Jim and Maggie being swept away by the avalanche, being buried under that icy snow that had smothered them, snuffed out their lives with such suddenness and so pointlessly.

But Shane O'Neill was no fool, and it soon became apparent to him that Paula bad changed toward him, and she knew that he knew. How could he not. She could not help her attitude or her demeanor, nor could she alter the circumstances that had wrought the shift in her emotional balance. Her remoteness, her detachment, her preoccupation with her children and her work combined to stun him initially, and then they eventually told him everything he needed to know.

Sometimes she was lonely, frequently she was sad and sorrowing, and occasionally she was afraid.

She stood alone. Her grandmother and her father, the two people from whom she had received so much support and love, were dead. She was the head of the Harte clan. Everyone looked to her, deferred to her, came to her with their problems, both personal and business. There were times when her responsibilities and burdens were crushing, overwhelming, too much for one woman to bear. But then she would think of Emma and draw strength from the memories of that beloved woman who was so much a part of her and whose blood ran in her veins. And every single day she thanked God for Winston, who was her rock, and for Emily, who was her greatest consolation, her dearest friend and her most loving, loyal, and devoted cousin. Without them her life would be very bleak indeed.

The old familiar sadness enveloped Paula on this Saturday morning in August as she strolled slowly up the Rhododendron Walk which she herself had created. It seemed so long ago now—that spring when she had planted these bushes. So much had happened to her in the last few years.... so many losses, so many defeats... and yet so many triumphs and gains as well. She smiled to herself as she suddenly thought of the children and the happiness and love they gave her. Her sadness lifted slightly and her smile widened. An hour ago Emily had arrived to take them and Nora off to Heron's Nest for the next three weeks. They would spend the remainder of August and the first two weeks of September in the old villa by the sea, whilst she herself was in Texas and New York on business. They loved their Auntie Emily and their older counterparts, Amanda and Francesca, who would be joining them for the holiday in Scarborough. They had been so excited as they had toddled down the steps to the car, clutching their buckets and spades. And they had looked so adorable in their cotton sunsuits and matching sun hats. Little monkeys, she muttered affectionately, recalling the scene which had been enacted in the driveway a short while before. For once they had not been a bit concerned that they would be apart from her. After kissing her hastily, they had clambered into the car and had been driven off without so much as giving her a backward glance.

No matter, she thought, as she turned and retraced her steps down the steep walk. They will enjoy the sun and the sea air and have a rare old time with Emily. And I know they are truly in safe hands in my absence.

Paula paused when she came to the lily pond at the bottom of the long sloping lawn. She stood reflecting as Shane edged into her mind.

The last time she had seen him, the two of them had sat here on the stone bench near the pond. It had been a very hot sunny day toward the end of June. Almost two months ago. She had been exhausted, careworn on that Saturday, after a debilitating week rushing between the Harte stores in Leeds, Harrogate, and Sheffield. He had arrived after lunch, unexpected and unannounced, and they had ended up having a violent quarrel. No, that was not actually true. They had not quarreled. But he had lost his temper with her, and she had simply sat there, letting his anger roll over her, aware that there was nothing else she could do. She had often been subjected to his outbursts as a child, and she had never won with him. It was always better to remain silent, let him rant and rave and get everything off his chest. That Saturday he had been justified. It would be wrong of her not to admit this.

Lowering herself onto the stone bench, Paula stared ahead, and it was as if she was watching a piece of film as she sat back and saw herself and Shane as they had been on that stifling June Saturday only a few weeks ago.

"I can't go on like this, Paula,". Shane had exclaimed suddenly in the middle of their conversation. His voice had risen to an unnatural level for him these days as he had burst out, "I know it's only been five months, and I understand your pain, understand what you're going through. But you don't give me any hope for the future. If you did that, perhaps I could go on coping. But without hope a man has nothing. You turned away from me on that ghastly day at the barn, and you're drawing further away as you retreat deeper into yourself."

"I can't help it," she had murmured. "I'm sorry, Shane."

"But why? For God's sake, tell me why."

She had taken a while to reply. Then she had murmured in her quietest voice, "If only I hadn't been with you... and I mean with you in the most intimate way, then perhaps things would be different now. But Shane, we were making love at seven o'clock on that Saturday morning. It was one o'clock in France, the moment the avalanche struck. Don't you see, I can't face making love ever again. I just can't. When I envision doing so, I fall apart emotionally. I link it to the tragedy, to the awful way Daddy and Jim and Maggie died."

He had stared at her helplessly, his face tensing. "I knew it. I knew that was it," he had finally remarked in a curiously hoarse, choked voice.

There had been a short silence, and then she had told him, had spelled out in actual words what she had long believed he knew within himself, understood in his heart of hearts. "Shane, it's better that we don't see each other again," she had whispered. "Not even as friends. I have nothing to offer you, not even friendship right now. Look, it wouldn't be fair to you if we continued in this way. Perhaps one day I will be able to resume our friendship, be your friend, but..." Her voice had trailed off.

He had stared at her hard, his eyes piercing into hers, and she had seen the shock and hurt, the disbelief, and then the sudden anger reflected on his handsome face.

"I can't believe you're saying this to me!" he had cried heatedly, his face blazing. "I love you, Paula, and even though you want to deny it at this moment, you love me. I know you do. We've had so much and have so much together. That deep closeness that has grown from childhood affection to the mature abiding love of two adults, and compatibility in every way, and passion. Yes, I understand how you feel about sex because of the last time we made love, but that awful memory of the catastrophe

will eventually fade. It has to. It would be abnormal if it didn't go away."

She had shaken her head, remained mute, her hands clasped in her lap.

"You blame yourself!" he shouted, losing patience with her. "Now I understand your attitude even more. You actually blame yourself and you're punishing yourself! Punishing me! You're so wrong, Paula. So wrong. It wasn't your fault. The avalanche was an act of God. You didn't cause it to happen. And now you think that by flagellating yourself, leading a chaste life, you'll redeem yourself! Is that it?" Not waiting for her response, he had rushed on, "Whatever you do, Paula, you can't bring them back. Accept that. Accept that life is for the living. You have every right to be happy. And so do I. So do we—together.

You need a husband, you need me, and Lome and Tessa need a father. I love the twins. I want to be a loving father to them, an adoring husband to you. You cannot be alone for the rest of your life. It would be a waste, the most terrible and wanton waste."

He had paused for breath at this point, and she had reached out, touched his arm gently. "Please, Shane, don't upset yourself like this."

"Upset myself! That's a joke, Paula! Here you are, telling me we must part... forever, seemingly, and you use a word like upset. Jesus Christ, I'm shattered, don't you realize that? You are my whole life. I have nothing if I don't have you."

"Shane," she had begun, reaching out again.

He had shaken her hand off his arm and leaped to his feet. "I cannot continue this ridiculous discussion. I have to go, get away from here. God knows how I'll ever find peace of mind again, but I don't suppose that's your problem, is it, Paula? It's mine." He had stepped away from her, gazed down at her, his expression one she could not quite read. "Good-bye, Paula," he had said in a shaking voice, and as he had turned away, she had seen the tears glittering in his black eyes.

She had wanted to run after him as he had bounded up the steps to the terrace. But she had restrained herself, knowing that there was no point. She had been cruel to Shane, but at least she had tola; him the truth, arid perhaps one day he would understand her motives. She hoped he would come to realize that she had given him his freedom because she could no longer continue to hurt him by dangling the future in front of his nose. It was a future that did not exist.

Now, as she rose and went up the stone steps to the terrace in front of Pennistone Royal, Paula remembered how oddly detached she had felt that day. It had troubled her then, and it troubled her now. Was she always going to be like this?

Sighing under her breath, she went in through the open French doors, crossed the Peach Drawing Room, and hurried down the length of the Stone Hall. As she ran lightly up the grand staircase, heading for the upstairs parlor, she put all private and personal thoughts to one side. She was driving to London later in the day, taking a plane to Texas on Monday. She was about to do battle at Sitex, and her plan of action needed every ounce of her attention, her total concentration.