en days later Emma could not conceive how she had managed to do all that she had since she had been in London. But she had worked miracles, accomplished more in that brief span of time than in the last six months. Or so it seemed to her this afternoon as she glanced at her checklist on the yellow legal pad.

She had reviewed her various business enterprises to be certain that everything was in perfect order and to reassure herself that there would be no snags during her long absence. She had met with her solicitors several times and with her banker Henry Rossiter; she and Henry had even been able to spend a couple of pleasant social evenings tgether. There had been long sessions with Winston and Alexander respectively; she had conferred with Sarah, all the designs for the 1970 Spring Collection of Ludy Hamilton clothes, and had gone over the new advertising campaign with her. And as she had worked late at the store, rushed hither and yon, switching mental gears as she went from one meeting to the next, she had found time to pull together that all-important wardrobe for her round-the-world trip with Blackie.

Emma felt settled in her mind about everything—except Jonathan. He was her enemy. She did not know the reason why; nor could she prove it. Nonetheless Emma was filled with the growing conviction that he was the one grandchild she could not trust.

Opening the folder on her desk, her shrewd eyes scanned the report from private investigators she had engaged to check on Jonathan's activities in his business and personal life. They had turned up nothing untoward, but this did not convince her that he was innocent of any wrongdoing. The firm of Graves and Saunderson would have to dig deeper, look farther afield. She was positive there was something— somewhere.

All her life Emma Harte had been able to see through everyone, had the gift of second-guessing her family and friends and adversaries alike. It was almost as if she had a demon telling her things. She also possessed that highly sensitive built-in antenna which born survivors are usually blessed with, a sort of sixth sense that enabled her to pick up vibrations—both good and bad, but especially bad. And then of course there was her gut instinct which she had come to trust, to rely on without questioning it, knowing it would never mislead her. For some time now, all of her faculties of acute perception had combined to alert her to trouble brewing, yet so far she had not put her hand on anything concrete. Still it was there, as if hovering in the dark and just beyond her reach.

Her gaze now settled on the few brief paragraphs about Sebastian Cross. They were good friends, he and Jonathan, real intimates in fact, but that was the extent of it. When she had first learned of their close relationship, which dated back to their school days at Eton, she had wondered whether or not there was a homosexual involvement here, but apparently not—quite to the contrary, according to Mr. Graves. She closed the folder with a decisive slap. There was no point in reading it over and over again. That was a waste of time. Besides, she had gone through it with a small-tooth comb already, searching for one single clue, a small lead, and had come up empty-handed. Emma slipped the folder in the desk and locked the drawer, not wanting to dwell any longer on the possibility of treachery.

A dismal feeling trickled through her. It had been painful and sad for her to resort to these awful and chilling measures —to put detectives on one of her own kin. But she had not known what else to do. And she had only ever taken such a dreadful step—spied on someone—once in her life before; and then, like now, it had been repugnant, had gone against her nature. Some forty years ago she had seen fit to have the activities of her second husband monitored... to protect herself and her children. She was suddenly struck by the bitter irony of the present situation. Her second husband, Arthur Ainsley, had been Jonathan's grandfather.

Sitting back in the chair, Emma wrestled with another pressing problem—whether or not to discuss her suspicions about Jonathan with Alexander and Paula. Maybe it would be wisest to confide in them. What if something happened to her when she was abroad? What if she fell sick? Or dropped dead? She did not think there was much chance of either. She was in good health, arid she felt strong and vital, and certainly she was more energetic than ever. On the other hand she would be eighty years old in a couple of days. Perhaps, to be on the safe side, she ought to tell them. They were her chief heirs. Her empire would be under their control one day in the future...

There was a knock on the door, and as she said, "Come in," Gaye Sloane's face appeared around it. "Do you need anything else, Mrs. Harte?" her private secretary asked.

Emma shook her head. "No, Gaye thanks very much. I'm waiting for Paula. We're going out to dinner. But there's no need for you to hang around. You might as well get off."

'Thanks, Mrs. Harte, I will. See you tomorrow, and good night."

"Good night, Gaye dear."

Ten minutes later Paula walked in, arid Emma looked up from the papers on her desk, her.face softening, and then instantly her eyes narrowed. "Paula, you look awfully tired!" she exclaimed, her worry resounding audibly. "You've got dark shadows, and you're very pale. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes," Paula reassured her and gave her a small rueful smile as she flopped down into the chair opposite the desk. "It's been one of those beastly days. Interminable problems with the French Week planned for July." '

"What kind of problems?" Emma asked, straightening up and then leaning over the desk, resting her chin in her hands.

"People problems mostly. You know—temperaments, ruffled feathers, noses out of joint. But I've managed to get things moving smoothly again. I really miss Emily, though, Grandy. She was always so good at pulling our special events together,

and she was certainly a soothing influence on everybody."

"That's part of Emily's talent, I've always thought. I know she used to make the store managers tremble in their boots, but she usually had them eating out of her hand in the long run, charming them all the way. Perhaps you ought to consider getting an assistant—someone to replace Emily." Emma's brows lifted. "Why not?"

"Oh, I don't know—" Paula shrugged. "I think I can cope; anyway, let's not worry about that now. The French Week is. finally under control, and I 'don't foresee any more major difficulties cropping up. God forbid! In the meantime did you get a chance to look at the boutique plans? And did you speak to Merry?"

"Yes, I did. This afternoon. I spent an hour poring over the plans, and then I phoned her, told her you both had my blessing. You were right, Paula, the scheme is excellent, and we should do very well with the boutiques."

"Oh, I'm so glad you agree, Grandy." Paula looked pleased as she added, "Merry worked so hard, and she deserves all the credit, not I. Incidentally, 1 mentioned our new venture to Emily yesterday. Since she's going to Hong Kong early next month, I thought she might keep her eyes open for special merchandise for the boutiques. You know, straw hats and bags, sandals, pretty shawls, summer jewelry, anything really that would be suitable for holiday arid resort wear."

Emma nodded her approval. "Very good thought, and Emily does have a penchant for spotting fashionable goods." She paused, placed a pile of papers in a blue folder, then glanced up, gave her granddaughter a careful look. "Did Emily tell you anything special? I mean, confide anything in you?"

Paula began to laugh. "I suppose you're referring to her new boyfriend. I must admit, she's being awfully cagey with me, and that's not like Emily. We've always shared our secrets, as you well know. However, she hasn't shared a thing about her new love, other than to drop hints that he's gorgeous and special. She calls him her mysterious lover, no, secret lover. Mind you, I'm sure he's not actually her lover," Paula suddenly thought to add, being protective of Emily,.not wanting her grandmother to get the wrong impression about the younger girl's morals. "You know how she tends to exaggerate."

Emma bit back a smile, filling with understanding. "You don't have to defend Emily to me, Paula dear. I know she's

not promiscuous she hasn't followed in her mother's footsteps, that's one thing I'm absolutely certain of. However,

he is her lover."

Paula, very startled, said, "How do you know that?"

"Why, I got it from the horse's mouth," Emma announced, mischief sparking her tired eyes with sudden life. She sat hack and grinned at Paula.

"You're looking like the cat that's swallowed the canary, Grandy," Paula laughed. "Which horse?"

"Emily. She told me all about him herself. And the so-called secret lover is no longer a secret, neither is he very mysterious." Emma's mouth twitched with amusement as she watched Paula, noted the surprised expression settling on her face.

"Oh," was all Paula could manage.

Emma's light laugh rang out. "Emily came to see me the night before last, and she was rather blunt—in her usual fashion. She said, 'Gran, I'm terribly in love, and it's very serious. I'm sleeping with him, but I don't want you to worry. I won't get pregnant. I'm taking birth control pills.' That didn't surprise me, after all she was always a rather practical girl... Emily does have her head screwed on the right way, like you. In fact, Elizabeth could take a few'lessons from the two of you. Well, I was taken aback—I don't mind admitting that—but not shocked, though I suspect Emily had anticipated that I would be. I wonder occasionally if that girl thinks I'm the Virgin Mary. Anyway, she was very honest, endearingly so." Emma paused, then smiled her very special smile that filled her face with radiance. "Our little Emily has stars in her eyes right now, darling. She's genuinely in love. Very much so."

"But who is he?" Paula pressed. "You said he's not mysterious, so it must be somebody I know."

"Oh yes, it is." Emma chuckled, and her eyes twinkled brightly. She was suddenly enjoying herself, enjoying teasing Paula, glad to turn away from the unpleasantness surrounding Jonathan, which she found so appalling.

"Come on, don't be so mean," Paula admonished, smiling herself, picking up on her" grandmother's gaiety which was infectious. "Tell me his name, for heaven's sake! I'm dying to know."

"Winston."

"Winston," Paula gasped, and her violet eyes widened. "I don't believe it!"

"Oh, but you must, because it's absolutely true. Don't look so shocked, darling. Winston's very eligible, and let's face it,

he has lots of charm, a lot going for him. He's also rather good-looking. He's a lot like me, you know."

Paula hooted with laughter, tickled by this small show of personal vanity on her grandmother's part. She said, "Yes, Grandma,

I have noticed the resemblance from time to time." She then continued, "The only reason I'm thunderstruck is because this news is so unexpected. And rather startling—I mean, Winston and Emily... goodness me, when did they become romantically entangled? When did all this start?" Paula's black brows drew together in a sudden frown. "Oh dear, what about nice Allison Ridley?"

"Yes, nice Allison indeed. That part is sad—I always rather liked that young woman. But I'm afraid it's off with her. Winston spoke to me yesterday about Allison, explained that he went, to see her, told her as kindly and as gently as possible that it's over between them. As to the first part of your question, I believe Emily and Winston realized the depth of their feelings for each other on the day of the christening. Winston asked me if I minded about his involvement with Emily, and I told him I didn't, that I was delighted." Emma once again leaned across the desk, the expression of deeply felt happiness flashing on her face. She confided, "I had a business meeting with Winston this morning, and after we'd finished, he brought out the ring he's bought for Emily. It's an emerald." Emma paused, then announced, "Winston asked my permission to marry Emily. I gave it, and they're going to announce their engagement this week, before I leave for New York."

"Oh, Gran, this is going a bit fast, isn't it?" Paula asked softly, with a hint of concern, staring at Emma.

"I wouldn't say that, dear," Emma remarked. "They're hardly strangers, Paula. They grew up together, and I should think they know each other pretty well by now. They won't have any unpleasant surprises about each other after they're married. Of course, the wedding can't take place until next summer, what with my trip to Australia and their traveling. But frankly, I'm relieved to know Emily has someone to look after her... I won't be around forever, you know. Yes, I find it most satisfying that those two are settling down together, most satisfying indeed. It gives me a lovely warm feeling here." She patted her chest, continuing to smile.

"If you're happy and Emily is happy, then I am too," Paula said. "And come to think of it, she and Winston were extremely close when they were little... they're admirably suited. Shouldn't I call her, Gran, to congratulate her?" Paula half rose, made to reach for the telephone on Emma's desk.

Emma said, "I don't think you'll find her at Belgrave Square. She was going to the theater with Winston, and she's probably left the flat by now." Glancing at her watch, Emma nodded. "Yes, it's already turned seven. You'll have to ring her late tonight. In the meantime I really think I've got to get out of this place; I've been here since eight this morning. I've had it—and you look as if you have too." Emma stood up, frowning at Paula as she did. "Are you sure you're quite well?"

Paula summoned a smile. "Never better, Gran," she fibbed, not wanting to worry her grandmother.

Privately Emma thought that Paula looked completely exhausted, worn down. She had never seen the girl like this, and it concerned her. But she made no further comment, and turning away she picked up her handbag. Her mouth tightened imperceptibly. She had a sneaking suspicion that for all his easy grace and lighthearted charm and boyish manner, Jim Fairley was a difficult man. But she would not pry; nor would she try to live her granddaughter's life for her.

As they left the office, Emma said, "I've booked a table at Cunningham's—I hope you fancy fish."

"Yes, and I'm not very hungry anyway, Gran."

Later, over dinner at the Mayfair oyster bar and fish restaurant, Paula's appearance underwent a change, one which pleased Emma. Her alabaster complexion took on a soft shell-pink cast, and her eyes lost their haunted expression as she visibly relaxed. By the time coffee was served, Paula seemed so much more like her normal self that Emma made a decision: She would take Paula into her confidence. Before they left Cunningham's this evening, she would make brief mention of her suspicions about Jonathan, but casually so and in passing. She felt it was necessary to warn Paula; on the other hand she did not wish to alarm her unduly. And tomorrow, when she had dinner with Alexander, she would apprise him of the situation. In one sense it was more important that he was alerted, put on his guard, since Jonathan Ainsley worked for Harte Enterprises.