nyway, Shane, when John Crawford told me he was going to Australia to spend a month with Daisy and Philip, I was delighted," Winston said across the luncheon table to his closest friend.

"So am I." Shane lifted his glass, took a sip of red wine, and continued, "Daisy was looking much better, and she was certainly in brighter spirits when I saw her in Sydney in August. I think she's adjusting to life without David."

"Daisy's a sensible woman." Winston eyed Shane, and then he laughed quietly. "I must admit, I've always had a sneaking suspicion that John had a crush on Daisy.' Shrugging lightly, he added, "Who knows, maybe he can give her a bit of love and companionship. After all, she's still a young woman."

"Yes." Shane's face changed. His expression turned morose and brooding as he gazed across the restaurant absently. He was lost in his thoughts, pondering his future, as he so often did of late.

Winston leaned forward and said slowly, carefully, "Despite Paula's attitude at this moment, she could easily reverse herself, you know. Women are unpredictable creatures at the best of times."

"Not Paula," Shane said after a few seconds of consideration. "She's very strong, and once her mind is made up, it's made up." He shook his head sadly. "I'm going to have to do my damnedest to forget her, Winston, and make a fresh start. It won't be easy, but I'm certainly going to give it a try. I can't go around carrying a torch for her the rest of my life. There's not much to be gained from that."

"No, there isn't."

Shane brought out his cigarettes, offered one to Winston. They sat smoking for a few minutes, and then Shane said, "I'm glad you stopped off in New York for a couple of days on your way back to London. It's been a—"

"So am I," Winston interjected and chuckled. "I rather like the idea of flying home in style on that private jet of yours. Not to mention having you for company. And thanks again for delaying your plans, waiting for me. I appreciate it."

"Yes, and what I started to tell you is that I've appreciated having your company." Shane pursed his lips, gave Winston a pointed stare. "As you're aware, I've never talked about women or my love affairs to you, but I needed to confide my feelings for Paula, to unburden myself to someone I trust and respect. You've been very patient and helpful. Thanks, Winston."

Winston sat back, finished his wine, and then puffed on his cigarette, looking thoughtful. Finally he murmured, "I should have told you this the other night, but you seemed done in after your marathon session on the subject of Paula. Anyway, you weren't really telling me anything I didn't know. I mean about you being in love with Paula. I've known that for the longest time now. So has Emily."

Shane said, very startled, "And I thought no one knew. Just goes to show you, doesn't it."

Winston said softly, "Emma knew too, Shane."

"She did!" Shane's astonishment was more pronounced, and for a split second he was speechless; then he smiled faintly. "Funnily enough, I've had the strangest feeling since she died that she was aware of our relationship. But Paula pooh-poohed the idea, dismissed it out of hand."

"Aunt Emma didn't know you were involved, that's true,"

Winston exclaimed rapidly. "And to tell you the honest truth, neither Emily nor I were too sure about that either. Aunt Emma spotted a look in your eyes when you were observing Paula at the christening two and a half years ago. That s when Emily and I also realized how'deeply you felt about Paula."

"I see." Leaning across the table, Shane gave Winston a hard and questioning stare, then asked, "Obviously Aunt Emma discussed it with you. What did she say?"

"She was worried about you, Shane. She loved you a lot, you know, like one of us, one of her own. I think it was a disappointment to her that you hadn't spoken up earlier, before Paula married Jim. But she was philosophical about it really

and knew she couldn't interfere. However, if she were alive, she wouldn't be a bit surprised to know that Paula reciprocates your love for her—that I can guarantee you."

"Reciprocated in the past tense, mate," Shane muttered and made a sour face. "The lady has chosen to walk a solitary path."

"She might change her mind," Winston shot back, wanting to cheer him up. "I keep telling you, women do that half a dozen times a day. Besides, it's only been nine months. Give her a chance, a bit longer to pull herself together. Look, Shane, I have an idea. Don't flyback to London with me this afternoon. Stay here in New York. Paula's been in Texas for a week, and I know she's due back in the city in a couple of days, either tomorrow or Wednesday. See her again, take her out, wine and dine her, talk to her. You can be very persuasive and—"

Shane held up his hand and shook his head with firmness. "No, Winston, it won't do any good. She made it very clear to me in June that it was over. Finished, Besides, I can't delay my return any longer. Dad's due to go out to Sydney later this week. His turn, you know, and with Merry running this hotel, I have to be on the scene at home for a few months. I'll be racing between Leeds and London but spending more time in Yorkshire, I hope."

"Emily's looking forward to having you at Beck House on weekends, Shane, as soon as she's back from Scarborough. I hope you're not going to disappoint her, or me for that matter."

"No. I'll be staying with you at weekends when I can, and thanks a lot. I want to spend some time at your father's stables, talk to him about Emerald Bow and our racing program for next year. Grandpops left me the racehorses to race, not to put out to pasture. And I haven't been on a horse for months. I'm itching to get into the saddle, give War Lord and Celtic Maiden a few good workouts.".

"That's great, Shane, it'll be—" Winston stopped, grinned from ear to ear and waved. To Shane he said, "Here's that gorgeous sister of yours."

Shane swung around, and his face lit up when he saw Miranda, who was hurrying across the restaurant looking as if she had something of vital importance to tell him. He smiled at her extraordinary costume, for that was all he could call it. She resembled a redheaded gypsy in her colorful patchwork cotton dress and masses of gold chains. Taking over as head of their New York operation had not induced her to change her spectacular.style of dressing. Good for you. Merry, Shane thought. Stick to your guns. Be your highly original self, one of the genuine free spirits of this world.

"Hello, you two gorgeous men, and don't get up," Merry exclaimed as they both made to rise. She flopped down into the empty chair and said, "Come closer. I ve something interesting to tell you." Giving them both a conspiratorial look, she went on, "You'll never guess who I've just seen. Not in a million years!"

Winston looked amused. "Then tell us, Merry darling. It'll save a lot of time."

"Yes, do," Shane remarked. "Would you like a glass of this?" He lifted the bottle of wine, showed it to her.

"Thanks, that'll be lovely." Merry settled back in her chair, waited until her brother had poured the last of the wine into their three glasses, then said, "I was in the Terrace Caffi, talking to the maitre d' when I spotted them... talk about the Terrible Trio!"

Both men looked at her blankly.

Grinning, Miranda wrinkled her freckled nose and hissed, "Allison Ridley, Skye Smith, and—Sarah Lowther. All lunching together and looking very, very chummy, to say the least. Can you believe it!"

"Sarah!" Winston chuckled sardonically. "Well, well, well, that's very interesting. I wonder what she's doing in New York. Paula and Emily haven't heard anything about her for months, or Jonathan either, for that matter, since he went to the Far East."

"Don't mention that bastard," Shane said, scowling. "He's always been a troublemaker and as devious as the devil."

Winston nodded in agreement.

Merry said, "I suppose I ought to have gone over and spoken to them, but quite frankly I beat a hasty retreat. I wanted to warn you both that a couple of your old girlfriends were floating around our hotel. Thank Cod they didn't decide to lunch in here—then where would you have been?"

Winston said jokingly, "Allison would have probably slipped a Mickey Finn in my drink."

"Skye Smith was never a girlfriend of mine," Shane announced and winked at Merry. "Not my type."

"We all know you don't like blondes, that you prefer dark exotic beauties like m'y darling Pau—" Miranda bit off the name and gave her brother an apologetic and concerned look. "Sorry, Shane, I didn't mean to rub salt in the wound."

"That's all right, Merry, and I'm a big boy. I might be still licking my wounds, but at least I've managed to stem the flow of blood finally."

"Yes, I know." Merry took a small swallow of her wine and began to talk about their impending flight to London, making an effort to change the subject. Despite Shane's flippancy, the front he put up, she was aware that lie was deeply hurt and still suffering inside. He yearned for Paula. He would all of his life—that was the depressing part. If only Jim had not been so tragically killed, Merry thought. Paula would have eventually been divorced, and Shane and she would have married. Now Paula had put herself on a rack. And Shane too. Why is she doing this? Miranda asked herself. I don't understand her anymore.

Shane said, "Daydreaming suddenly, Merry? You started to say something about the car."

"Oh yes, sorry," Merry said, smiling at him. "I arranged for the limousine to be outside at three o'clock. That gives you plenty

of time to get to Kennedy before the rush hour."

Skye Smith was the first to excuse herself after lunch. She could not wait to escape, and it was with a sigh of relief that she crossed the elegant lobby of the Plaza Towers Hotel, property of the O'Neills, and hurried out into the street.

She peered at her watch. It was just turning off two-thirty,

and she had plenty of time to get back to the antique shop for her next appointment at three.

As she strolled toward Park Avenue, she thought about Sarah Lowther. She did not particularly like Sarah and could not help wondering what Allison saw in her. Sarah was the bitchiest woman she had ever met.and not very bright in some ways.

On the other hand, Sarah had inadvertently dropped a gold mine of information onto the table over lunch, and had opened up in such a personal way about her private affairs that Skye was still slightly taken aback.

She smiled cynically as she waited on the corner for the traffic lights to change before crossing Park. So Paula Fairley was the mystery woman, the love of Shane's life, the lady who had got her clutches into him. And so much so he was incapable of making it with any other woman.

This news had staggered Skye. When Sarah had discovered that Skye had occasionally dated Shane, the Englishwoman had turned to stone at the luncheon table. Skye had thought for a minute that Sarah was going to scratch her eyes out, so venomous was the look on the redhead's face. It had become patently obvious to Skye that Sarah was madly in love with Shane, and she had quickly assured Allison's friend that they had only ever had a platonic relationship. This had seemed to appease Sarah, and she had relaxed again, confided more dirt about the family, and in particular about Paula. The hatred Sarah harbored for her cousin was frightening. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Skye thought, hurrying along. I ought to know.

She hardly ever saw Shane O'Neill these days. He had become a world traveler as their holdings had increased, and apparently he spent a great deal of time in Australia. He was only in New York on rare fleeting visits since his sister had been made the president of their American hotel corporation. He had called her once, almost a year ago now, and they had had a drink together, but he had seemed preoccupied and restless, and she had decided against pressing him to take her to dinner.

Ross, on the other hand, was always taking Paula Fairley to lunch, especially in the last six months or so. He had let that slip accidentally. When she had teased him about Paula, Ross had said that it was strictly business. And at heart she knew there was a great deal of truth in this. Ross had been close to Paula's grandmother, as had his uncle, Daniel P. Nelson. Still, Skye knew Ross as well as she knew herself. Business it might indeed be, but he no doubt hankered after the woman. Paula Fairley was everything Ross craved. Good-looking. Young. Rich. Powerful. And available—now that she was a widow. Ross probably had some scheme up his sleeve, a plan to propel Paula Fairley into his bed and possibly into matrimony. He had once told her that if he ever married again, he would make sure his intended bride was wealthy. Yes, Ross would always continue to repeat his old patterns. He desired what he could not have. And after the things Sarah had told her, there was no question in her mind that Paula Fairley had held herself apart, had not succumbed to Ross's charms. And why would she with Shane O'Neill in the background—her lover of long standing?

Skye now thought about her dinner date with Ross on Wednesday night and laughed under her breath. They dined once a week since they had become friends again. It had taken her a long time to forgive his shoddy treatment of her, but in the end she had forgiven him. She had done so because of their daughter Jennifer. When Ross had come begging to see their child, she had consistently and categorically refused to permit this. The longer she had remained cold and unbending, refused to reverse her decision, the more his need to see his little girl had increased. How typical of him. What he could not have he did persist in chasing and forever tried to attain. She had taken great pleasure in making Ross implore and crawl on his hands and knees to her. And that he had eventually done—well, almost.

With reluctance she had finally given in but only because she had come to understand how much Jennifer loved her father, longed to see him on a continuing basis and to spend time with him. She could not deprive the child because of the man and his character.

The laughter bubbled up in Skye again as she continued walking at a steady pace, heading for ner shop on Seventy-third and Lexington. What fun she would have with Ross at dinner later in the week. She would adroitly drop a few spicy tidbits about Paula Fairley and Shane O'Neill at the right moment, and then sit back and watch Ross choke on his food. It would drive him crazy when he knew that the sorrowing widder was in reality the Merry Widow, waltzing to Shane's tune and bestowing her very special favors on him. Although Ross and Shane had done business together in the past, Ross had always been disparaging about Shane behind his back, constantly referring to him as the stud.

Although she was not an unkind woman, Skye Smith was bitter about Ross Nelson. A cold gleam entered her eyes as she contemplated making her former lover squirm. I knew if I waited long enough I'd be able to twist the knife in Ross's back one day, she thought. And he deserves it after all the pain and humiliation hes inflicted on me. I forgave him for our daughter's sake. But I've never forgotten and I never will.

She did not understand that she wanted Ross for herself.

Ross Nelson's sanguine expression vanished. His light hazel eyes clouded and narrowed slightly as he leaned back in his leather chair and stared harder at Dale Stevens.

Finally Ross cleared his throat and asked, "Exactly what do you mean when you say Paula changed her mind?"

"She's decided not to sell her Sitex stock," Dale told him and shrugged. "We both misread her, I guess. And badly."

"She reneged? Reneged on our deal?" Ross exclaimed in a cold, tight voice. "And where the hell were you, Dale, when all this was happening?" When Dale did not reply, he continued in a sharper accusatory tone, 'This is one hell of a disaster! I'm going to look like the biggest fool in the world. Milt Jackson is going to have apoplexy when he finds out."

Dale sighed and crossed his legs, waiting for the banker to cool down.

The two men sat in Ross Nelson's private office in his bank on Wall Street. It was early on Thursday afternoon in the first week of September, the day after Dale had flown up from Texas with Paula.

"What am I going to say to him?" Ross pressed, leaning forward urgently across his huge partner's desk, endeavoring to control his considerable annoyance.

"Tell him the truth. That's all you can do."

"Why didn't you call me after the board meeting yesterday, give me a chance to collect my thoughts, come up with a reasonable story?" Ross demanded tersely.

"I felt it was better to tell you in person."

"I just can't believe this," Ross muttered angrily, shifting his weight in the chair. "I was certain she was going to sell, was convinced of it. I could wring her neck after the merry dance she's led us."

Dale sighed wearily. "Nobody was more surprised than I was when she pulled her stunt at the board meeting. But last night, when I could think dispassionately, I began to realize that she simply blinded us—with words, sweet talk, charm, and a lot of dissembling. And you know something, Ross, she didn't renege. I had time to analyze the situation last night, and as I ran everything through my head, replayed every meeting we've ever had with her, and particularly in the last six months, I suddenly saw things very clearly. Yes, she talked incessantly about her problems, her worries, the burdens of running the Harte chain, and she did keep intimating she wanted to sell her mother's stock. But she never actually came out and said she would do so. In my anxiousness to render Marriott Watson helpless, have International Petroleum take over the company, and in your own anxiousness to please Milt Jackson, your valued client, we assumed she would unload. If anything, we're at fault, believing we could push her around, get her to do our bidding."

"She listened to us both so attentively," Ross exploded. "She asked for our advice, seemed to be taking it. Not only that, she insisted on knowing who the prospective buyer was, and against my better judgment I told her!" Ross groaned. "Oh Jesus, what a fool I've been! I should never have arranged those meetings between her, Milt Jackson, and us." The banker reached for a cigarette and lit it nervously. "Milt thinks Sitex is in the bag. Jesus Christ, he's going to be convinced I misled him or that I've suddenly developed flawed judgment in the prime of my life. We've got to come up with a plausible story to tell him."

"I repeat what I just said, we have to tell him the truth, explain that she misled us. He'll have to accept it. There's nothing else he can do," Dale insisted.

Ross drew on his cigarette and then stubbed it out. He rose, walked around his desk, and began to pace up and down, his hands behind his back as he contemplated the meeting with Milton Jackson, chairman of the board of International Petroleum and an important client of the bank. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks and fixed his eyes on Dale. "If this gets out, we're going to look like the biggest idiots in Wall Street. Two grown men, seasoned businessmen; shrewd, tough, and hard-assed, taken by a slip of a girl." He ran his hand through his blondish hair and grimaced with disgust at himself and Dale. 'Talk about Emma Harte. Paula Fairley puts her to shame. The double-dealing little wretch. 1 would never have believed it of her. I really thought she was taking our guidance."

"I had my doubts about that on several occasions," Dale remarked dryly. "And then I admit I began to readjust my thinking about her, particularly in view of the events over the past year. There was Emma's death—that knocked her for a loop—and then she lost her daddy and her husband. She was in shock. You witnessed her state with your own eyes. So there she was, all alone, and suddenly I.believed it would be a cinch. 1 genuinely thought she would unload the stock. She indicated she'd be happy to do that, would be relieved to get out of the oil rat race. What a foul-up."

Ross said in a rush, "I'm going to tell Milt that she did in fact renege. To hell with it. Guys renege on deals every day in the street and in the oil business. Why should a woman be any different? More likely to change her mind, in my opinion. I can't afford to lose Milt Jackson as a client of this bank or International Petroleum as a corporate account."

"Okay," Dale concurred. "Basically he's your baby anyway. I don't owe him an explanation." The oil man brought out a cigar, fiddled with the end, finally struck a match, and brought the flame to the cigar. He said, "You do realize my hands were tied at the board meeting, don't you, Ross? There was nothing I could do."

"Sure, sure," Ross mumbled and returned to his chair. "Tell me exactly what happened on Tuesday."

"Be happy to, Ross. Paula arrived looking like a demure little nun, wearing a black dress with a white collar and cuffs. She was unusually pale, even for her, and it gave her a vvaiflike look. She had a sort of innocence about her."

"Save me the description, God damn it! I'm interested in what she said, not how she looked."

"Her appearance is important,".Dale replied. Paula had played her role very well. He had realized as he had sat in the Sitex boardroom in Odessa that there was something of the actress in her. "Don't you understand, Ross, she looked like a little girl, easy to handle; and some of those old buzzards on the board, who don't know her very well—why, they were rubbing their hands with glee. Metaphorically speaking, that is. Yes, Marriott Watson's cronies thought they were going to eat her alive."

"As we did," Ross muttered softly.

Dale smiled faintly. "We weren't the only guys who were fooled, Ross. Take comfort in that, cold as it is. Before we got down to general business—the North Sea oil situation and the renewal of my contract—Paula asked to make a statement to the board. Naturally Marriott Watson had no choice but to agree. She said that it was her duty to inform her fellow board members that she was about to sell her mother's stock. The entire block—the entire forty percent of it. Everyone was taken aback, and that was when Jason Emerson piped up."

Ross nodded. "He's still sharp, smart as hell, despite his great age."

Dale agreed. 'Tough old wildcatters like Jason don't change, not in my experience. 1 sat back, enjoying every minute, thinking it was going our way. It was only later that I began to realize Paula had made good use of the week she had spent in Texas, prior to the board meeting. She had done a lot of lobbying, entertained a number of the directors socially. Especially Jason. He was primed by her, no doubt in my mind about that. Still he was close to Paul McGill in the thirties and had remained loyal to Emma for forty years."

"I know about that," Ross snapped.

"Jason Emerson asked Paula who she was selling the stock to, and when she intended to sell. She told him very sweetly that she was selling all forty percent to Internatonal Petroleum. Immediately. I thought that some of the board members were going to have a collective coronary1. Holy hell broke loose. I said nothing, pleased at the way she had handled herself. There was a lot of heated talk about International Petroleum and Milt. It's no secret in the oil business that he has that company on a growth-and-expansion program and that once he gets a foothold in a company, he does his damnedest to swoop down and take it over. Also, certain board members seemed to be aware that Milt has been buying up Sitex's common stock and that he now holds an enormous amount of it. Only a dunce could fail to miss the implications."

' If I'm following the script correctly, as I think I am, presumably Jason spoke up again and asked her not to sell to International Petroleum."

"You've got it, old buddy." Dale shook his head regretfully. "Sure as God made little green apples, once the shouting had died down, old Jason started to persuade her to reconsider her decision. It was a hit of real craftiness, I can tell you, Ross. Before I had a chance to jump in with a few comments of my own, the majority of the board was singing his tune. Except Marriott Watson. He looked as if he was about to spit blood. I'm not certain, but he may have deduced that the tough negotiating between Paula and Jason had been set up in advance."

"And she capitulated, of course."

"Not at first. She said she would reconsider not selling her block of stock, providing she was guaranteed a stronger voice on the board and if certain conditions were met. Her conditions. To be precise, the continuation of the North Sea drilling and the renewal of my contract."

"She blackmailed the board!" Ross shouted.

Dale shook his head very slowly, and a gleam of admiration now entered his brown eyes. "No, Ross, I wouldn't call it blackmail. It was the most brilliant bit of manipulation I've seen in a long time. In one way I've got to take my hat off to her because that's what business is all about—manipulation."

'That's true," Ross acknowledged. "At least you got what you wanted despite everything. Your contract has been renewed again and is secure for two years, Marriott Watson is temporarily muzzled, and you have a free hand. But what's your position with Paula now, Dale?"

Dale grinned. "My position remains the same. I'm president of Sitex Oil, she controls the stock of her mother and is the largest single stockholder. Paula has more power on the board than she ever had. Naturally I'll continue confiding in her as 1 always have. I intend to remain friendly. You never know, she still might decide to sell her stock one day. International Petroleum isn't going anywhere."

"Points well taken." Ross laughed unexpectedly. "Business is business. Not every deal works out the way one would wish. There's no point in my being immature about this. The bank still handles some of her business in the States. Anyway, if I can't succeed with her in the boardroom, maybe I'll get lucky—in the bedroom."