he garden was still her most magical place.

Ever since childhood Paula had found satisfaction and reward in planting and weeding, pruning and hoeing, and working outdoors was therapeutic, soothing to her, never failed to put her in the best of moods.

Also, she had discovered long ago that she often did her best thinking in her gardens at Pennistone Royal, and today was no exception. It was a bright April afternoon, just after Easter, sunny and brisk with a light breeze, and a powder-blue sky that was cool and cloudless.

As she worked on the new rockery she was creating, she focused her thoughts on business, in particular the Larson chain in the United States. The deal was already in the first stage of negotiation, and Millard Larson was expecting her in New York next week, when they would sit down at the conference table and hammer out the terms and conditions of the sale.

When she had first had the idea of expanding her operations in the States, long before the possibility of Larson’s had come up, she had made the decision to purchase any new retailing company that caught her eye with her own money.

Six hundred and fifty million dollars, she thought now, mulling the figure over in her mind whilst concentrating on the alpine plants she was sorting through. It was a lot of money, no doubt about that, and she had been wondering for several days which financial combination would work best for her.

Paula sighed under her breath. If her mother had agreed to sell the Sitex stock last year her problem would have been solved. Under the terms and conditions of her grandfather’s will, she and her brother Philip would automatically have received one third of the proceeds of that sale – hundreds of millions of dollars each. But her mother had refused to sell the oil stock and continued to be quite adamant about not doing so. Paula had acknowledged months ago that she would have to raise the necessary cash another way, once she found the right department store chain to buy.

She ran several possibilities through her mind, then dismissed each one as convoluted and complex, went back to her original idea. To her way of thinking, the best solution was to sell ten per cent of her Harte shares which Emma had left her. They would realize between two hundred and three hundred million dollars on the market, but without making much of a dent in her holdings. She would still be the majority stockholder with forty-one per cent, as well as chairman and chief executive officer of the Harte chain. The remainder of the money she could easily raise from the banks, by borrowing against the retail chain she was acquiring, pledging its assets, in particular its real estate holdings which were valuable.

Suddenly, after days of indecision, she made up her mind. She would go that route. And she would put everything in motion at once. First thing on Monday morning when she got to her office in the Leeds store she would speak to her stockbroker.

A bright smile broke through, expunging the worried and preoccupied expression she had worn all day, and she continued to smile to herself as she finished planting the small alpine species in the narrow crevices of the rocks.

‘Mummy! Mummy!’

Paula lifted her head alertly at the sound of Patrick’s voice. He and his sister, Linnet, were running as fast as their legs would carry them along the gravel path that sloped down from the long terrace at the back of Pennistone Royal.

They both wore sweaters and jeans under their duffel coats and mufflers, and she could not help thinking how healthy and fit they both looked today. Especially Patrick. That vacant expression which so often dulled his eyes was absent, as it had been for some weeks. This pleased her, raised her hopes that he was improving mentally, if only ever so slightly. She loved her sensitive, damaged and beautiful child so very much.

‘Patrick! Do be careful! You’re going to fall!’ She called out. ‘And you too, Linnet! Do slow down, both of you! I’m not going anywhere, you know.’ She rose as she spoke, picked up the basket full of her gardening tools and carefully climbed down from the top of the clustered rocks.

Patrick hurled himself against her body, clinging to her, panting hard and trying to catch his breath.

She pushed his dark hair away from his temple and clucked quietly. ‘Dear, dear, you are a one, aren’t you? Running so hard, I –’

‘Puffed, Mummy,’ he interrupted her, raising his solemn little face to hers. ‘Linnet puffed too.’

‘I’m not!’ Linnet protested fiercely, glaring.

Ignoring her, Patrick went on, ‘Horsey, Mummy. Patrick wants horsey.’

Puzzled, Paula swung her eyes to her six-year-old daughter, as she so often did when Patrick spoke in riddles and she wanted edification. She gave Linnet a questioning stare.

Linnet explained, ‘The horse in the attic, Mummy. That’s what Patrick wants. I said he couldn’t take it, not without asking Daddy. And Daddy said to ask you.’

‘Horse in the attic. What on earth are you talking about, darling?’

‘The cresel horse…the one that goes round and round and round and round. To the music, Mummy.’

‘The carousel, the horse on the carousel. Now I understand.’ Paula smiled at them both. ‘But I don’t remember there being a carousel in the attic. I suppose it must be, since you’ve apparently seen it.’

‘It’s in a trunk,’ Linnet rushed on excitedly. ‘We saw it just now. Daddy let us play in the attic after our walk this afternoon.’

‘Did he now.’ Paula pulled off her gardening gloves, threw them on top of the basket, and taking a small hand in each of hers, she led her children back to the house.

A short while later the three of them were rummaging in the old trunks which had been stored in the attics of Pennistone Royal for many years. Patrick had already taken possession of the carousel, which Paula had immediately given to him, and he was turning the small key, making it work in the way she had shown him.

The horses on the merry-go-round were moving up and down to the strains of the Carousel Waltz, and the little boy was fascinated, his happy, eager face a pleasure for Paula to witness.

Linnet and Paula left him to play with the carousel on his own, and they soon had their heads and their hands in another trunk which Paula had pulled out and opened.

Busily they sorted through the toys that brimmed to the top, taking out a large, painted wooden soldier, a box of bricks, a scruffy teddy bear with one arm and no eyes, several stuffed animals, various jig-saw puzzles, a box of tin soldiers and various rag toys.

Paula’s hands finally came to rest on a beautiful china baby doll at the bottom of the trunk, and lifting it out she caught her breath in surprise and pleasure. She remembered it very well. Her grandmother had given it to her, and she had taken great care of it, had loved this doll more than any of her other possessions. Years ago she had packed it carefully away when she had moved from Long Meadow to Pennistone Royal after Jim’s death. She had meant to give the doll to Tessa but had somehow forgotten all about it during the troubled year after the avalanche.

Sitting back on her haunches, she held the doll up, smoothed its golden curls, straightened its dainty ecrucoloured lace dress. She was amazed that the doll was in such good condition.

Linnet was watching her closely, her eyes lingering with longing on the doll. ‘Was it yours, Mummy?’ she asked at last.

‘Yes, darling, it was. My grandmother gave it to me when I was your age.’

‘You mean Grandy Emma?’ Paula nodded.

‘So you wouldn’t want to give that doll to anybody then, would you? Not if Grandy Emma gave it to you,’ Linnet said gravely, her eyes still fastened on the doll.

Paula laughed. ‘Well, perhaps I would give it to a girl whom I knew would look after it, would take good care of it, as I did.’

‘Tessa,’ Linnet said a trifle sadly in a small and quiet voice.

‘No. I think her name’s Linnet.’ ‘Oh Mummy! Mummy!’

‘Here you are, my darling, it’s for you.’ Paula held out the doll. ‘I used to call her Florabelle.’

‘Then I shall, too.’ Linnet struggled to her feet, took the doll, her eyes shining, her smile brilliant.

‘Thank you, Mummy, oh thank you.’ Hugging the doll tightly in her arms, she leaned into Paula, nuzzled her nose against her cheek. ‘I love you, Mummy,’ she whispered. ‘Oh you do smell nice. Like a bunch of flowers.’ Linnet put her head on one side and observed Paula thoughtfully. Then she reached out, touched Paula’s cheek gently with her small hand. ‘You won’t get lost, will you, Mummy?’ she asked, her voice unexpectedly wistful, almost fretful.

Paula’s brows puckered together into a jagged line. ‘What do you mean, lovey?’

‘Sometimes when we’re waiting for you to come home, Daddy says, “I think your mother must have got lost. I don’t know where she can be.” And then he goes to the window and looks out. And I worry ‘til you get home and so does Patrick. Well, I think he does.’

‘Oh darling, it’s merely a saying. It doesn’t mean that I’m really lost,’ Paula said, and smiled at her daughter reassuringly.

‘Are you sure, Mummy?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘Oh. That’s all right then.’

Paula smoothed a hand over her daughter’s red-gold hair, and sat back on the floor, watching her as she played with the doll. How easy it is to please children, she thought at one moment. As long as they receive love and care and kindness and discipline that’s all that really counts. Their needs are really very simple. If only adults could be the same…

‘So this is where you’re all hiding!’ Shane exclaimed from the doorway, making the three of them start in surprise.

Paula pushed herself to her feet. ‘We’ve been finding all sorts of lovely treasures in the trunks,’ she explained, hurrying over to him. ‘A carousel for Patrick, and my old doll Florabelle for Linnet.’

Shane nodded, put his arm around his wife. ‘But now I think you have to come downstairs…Nanny has tea waiting in the nursery…for all of us.’

‘That was such fun, and the kids thoroughly enjoyed it too,’ Shane said to Paula that evening as they were dressing for dinner. ‘It’s ages since we’ve had a nursery tea with them. We must do it more often.’

‘You’re absolutely right, darling,’ Paula agreed, leaning forward, looking into the mirror of her dressing table, smoothing the silver brush over her sleek black hair. Putting the brush down, she outlined her mouth with bright red lipstick, then sprayed on Christina Crowther’s Blue Gardenia perfume, one of her favourites. ‘And I’m really thrilled with Patrick, the progress he’s making, aren’t you?’ She half-turned to look at Shane.

‘I am indeed. He’s so much better in every way, and there’s been a vast improvement in his understanding of things. It’s the new tutor. Mark is doing wonders for the boy.’

‘Yes, he is,’ Paula said.

Shane slipped into a dark blue blazer, adjusted his tie, walked across the floor. He stood behind Paula with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, smiling at her in the mirror.

‘You look beautiful, Beanstalk,’ he said, his lopsided grin surfacing briefly. ‘So stop titivating yourself. Come on, let’s go into the upstairs parlour. I put a couple of bottles of champagne on ice earlier, and we can have a quiet drink together before Emily and Winston arrive for dinner.’

‘That’s a lovely idea,’ Paula exclaimed, pushing back the dressing table stool, rising to her feet, reaching up, kissing him on the cheek. ‘But then you usually do have the best ideas.’

She tucked her arm through his and together they walked across the floor into the adjoining room.

The upstairs parlour at Pennistone Royal had been Emma Harte’s favourite room in the great old house in Yorkshire, and Paula loved it as much as her grandmother had. Its impressive architectural details and splendid furnishings belied the name parlour, but for some reason it had never been called anything else. The soaring dimensions gave it a singular grandeur and its high ceiling was Jacobean in style, decorated with elaborate plasterwork. Tall, leaded windows flanked an unusual oriel window, and there was a carved fireplace of bleached oak and the floor was of parquet. Emma had years ago balanced its imposing detail and size with a mellow charm, intimacy, and comfort, as well as her own brand of understated elegance.

Paula had never felt the need to change the room, even thought it would be sacrilege to do so, and the décor was the same as it had been for nigh on fifty years. Since the day Emma had bought it in the 1930s, in fact. The primrose coloured walls were repainted every year to the same shade, and new slipcovers and draperies were made when they were required, otherwise it was exactly the way it had been throughout Emma’s lifetime.

The priceless Turner landscape filled with misty blues and greens hung above the mantelpiece, and the only other paintings in the parlour were excellent portraits of a young nobleman and his wife by Sir Joshua Reynolds. The three oils were in perfect harmony with the Georgian antiques, the Savonnerie carpet and the rare Rose Medallion china in the Chippendale cabinet. Brightly patterned yellow chintz fabric covered the two huge sofas in the centre of the room, which faced each other across a mahogany butler’s tray table, and the antique porcelain lamps were shaded in cream silk; everywhere there was the gleam of silver and crystal.

The lamps had been turned on and a huge fire blazed in the hearth; the warmth had opened up the narcissi, daffodils and hyacinths planted in bowls, and the air was fragrant with their mingled scents.

As she moved towards one of the sofas and sat down, Paula thought the parlour had never looked more beautiful than it did this evening. It was dusk and the light was changing. Outside the great soaring windows, the sky was turning to navy-blue tinged with lilac bleeding into amethyst and deeper purple. A strong wind had blown up, was rustling the trees, and distant thunder heralded a storm.

But here in the gracious room there was a sense of peacefulness and tranquillity. To Paula, the parlour had a timeless quality, never changing. It was full of her past, her entire life really, and so many cherished memories…memories of her childhood, her youth, the days of her growing into womanhood. And there were memories of the most special people in her life…those dead and living…her father and Grandy…her mother…Philip…the special friends of her youth…and her cousins Emily, Winston and Alexander. And Shane, too, was caught up in the memories which were held captive in this room. Home, she thought. The parlour represents home to me, and my roots, just as it did to my grandmother. And that’s why I could never be happy living anywhere else…

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Shane said, looming over her, making her jump. He handed her the crystal glass brimming with icy, sparkling champagne.

‘Oh darling, thank you,’ she said, taking the glass from him. ‘I was just thinking how lovely this room is, and it’s truly filled with the past, isn’t it?’

‘All the days of our lives actually,’ he said, touching his champagne flute to hers. ‘Since we were very little.’

They smiled into each other’s eyes, loving each other, and then Shane moved across to the other sofa, where he sat down, settled into the plump chintz cushions, relaxing.

Paula leaned forward, focused her violet eyes on him. ‘Talking of the past – I’ve been thinking of the future in the last few days, Shane, and I’m definitely going to go ahead and buy the Larson chain in the States.’

Shane looked at her sharply. The expression in his black Irish eyes changed slightly, became anxious, but he said in the same even, well-controlled voice, ‘If that’s what you want, then I’m glad you’ve made the decision to go ahead, darling.’ Privately he believed she may well be taking on too much responsibility, but he never interfered in her business, remained neutral and uninvolved. It was one of the reasons their marriage was so solid.

She said slowly, ‘Six hundred and fifty million dollars is a fair price for the chain, I think.’ She raised a shapely brow. ‘No?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I agree with you. It is.’

‘Well, anyway…I’ve decided to buy it myself, with my own money,’ she added, giving him a direct look.

For a fraction of a second he was quite floored and gaped at her in astonishment, but once again his tone was even, steady, as he said, ‘Have you now. And what are you going to sell to raise the necessary cash to pay for it?’

‘I’ll borrow from the banks, take out a mortgage on the Larson real estate, pledge some of the chain’s other assets. I’ll probably be able to borrow about three hundred million dollars or so. And to raise the other half of the money I need I intend to sell ten per cent of my Harte shares.’

‘Paula!’ he cried, askance. ‘Do you really think you should?’ Holding her gaze with his eyes, he asked swiftly, ‘Isn’t that rather foolish – and risky? Far be it from me to interfere in your business, darling, but those Harte shares are a great weapon – and your security – in as much as they give you absolute power in the company. If you sell ten per cent of your fifty-one per cent you’re reducing your holdings in the company. You’re leaving yourself wide open to challenge.’

‘Don’t be silly, Shane. Whoever’s going to challenge me!’ she laughed. ‘I have the full support of my board and my shareholders. They’re behind me. Good Lord, the store is mine. Nobody would ever dream of going against me, neither the board members nor stockholders. I am Harte’s, just as Emma was.’

‘Well…I don’t know…’ Shane began and stopped. He had finally broken the rule he had made the day he had married her. He had promised himself he would never give her any business advice, and he never had. She was far too much like Emma Harte to take it anyway. Paula was stubborn and independent. And usually infallible in her judgements, like her grandmother had been before her. He took a deep breath, resisted arguing against this planned move on her part.

‘I can see from your face that you’ve made up your mind to do things your way,’ he said carefully. ‘You’re confident, determined, and your attitude is admirable, the only one you should have when you embark on a venture like this.’ Shane smiled at her, and he meant every word when he added, ‘I’m behind you all the way, Paula.’

‘Oh Shane darling, thank you…thank you for believing in me. That means such a lot. I was only saying so to Michael the other day.’

‘Were you?’

She nodded. ‘I told him I hoped you’d approve of what I’m doing. By the way, he’ll be in New York next week when I’m there.’

‘That’s a coincidence…or is it?’ He gazed at her intently, his dark eyes narrowing.

‘No, darling, it’s not. Michael does have to be in New York some time this month, but he has made his plans to dovetail with mine. He thinks he should be there to give me any help I might need with the Larson takeover.’

Stiffening, Shane held himself rigid on the sofa, and for a moment he did not respond. Then he cleared his throat. ‘You’ve never needed help with deals in the past. Not from anyone. Why now all of a sudden?’

She shrugged, laughed. ‘I don’t need any help, but Michael introduced me to Harvey Rawson, found me the Larson chain, as you know. He thinks he ought to be there, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him not to come over specially for me.’

‘I see.’

Shane sprang to his feet, strode over to the console, not wanting her to see his sudden anger. He poured himself another glass of Dom Perignon, pushed back the jealousy he was feeling, endeavoured to arrange a suitably unconcerned expression on his face. Michael was irritating him of late. He had an instinctive, gut feeling that the other man was interested in his wife in a more personal way than she realized. He trusted Paula implicitly, knew that she loved him with all her heart, and would always be true. But he was no longer certain that he trusted Michael Kallinski. Certainly he did not want Paula to be placed in an awkward or embarrassing situation when she was in New York, and that might possibly happen. Or was he being unfair to Michael? After all, his old friend was a gentleman, wasn’t he?

Shane made a snap decision, and pivoted to face his wife, flashed her a brilliant smile. ‘I was keeping this as a little surprise, but I might as well tell you. I’m going to be in New York too next week, Paula darling,’ he improvised. ‘Miranda needs me to go over there. I know we try not to be away at the same time, for the sake of the children, but this trip is unavoidable. I do have some pressing problems to deal with.’

‘But how marvellous!’ Paula cried, her face filling with happiness. ‘And Patrick and Linnet will be perfectly all right with Nanny and Mark…’ Paula stopped, chuckled quietly. ‘It just so happens that Amanda is going to be in the States as well, on a buying trip for Genret. I plan to give a few dinner parties for her…and Michael. You see, Shane, Amanda’s quite potty about him, and Uncle Ronnie and I think they would make a perfect couple.’

‘I’m not so sure that Michael is interested in matrimony at the moment,’ Shane remarked as he strolled back to the sofa and sat down. ‘Not after that débâcle with Valentine. Still, I’m rather inclined to agree with you and Uncle Ronnie about Amanda being ideal for him.’ Shane leaned back on the sofa, feeling a curious sense of relief. He added, as an after-thought, ‘I think we’d better fly separately though, as we usually do.’

‘Yes, of course, that is wisest. Anyway, Shane – ‘ Paula stopped mid-sentence as the door opened and her daughter, Tessa, came into the room.

‘Goodnight, Mummy, Daddy.’ She hovered in the doorway, blew them kisses. ‘I’m off to Melanie’s party now. Her brother’s just arrived to drive me over there.’

‘You’re not going looking like that!’ Paula exclaimed, and stood up.

Tessa frowned. ‘What do you mean, Mummy?’

‘You know very well what I mean.’ Paula beckoned with one finger. ‘Come over here, Tessa, I want to look at you.’

‘It’s only a bit of blush-on,’ Tessa muttered, throwing her mother a hostile look, not budging from the door. ‘Everybody wears it these days.’

‘I’d hardly say that. Please come over to the fire, Tessa.’

Reluctantly the girl did as her mother asked. Paula took hold of her shoulders and gently turned her into the light emanating from the lamps on the tables on either side of the fireplace. She shook her head, grimaced. ‘Just a little blush-on, you said. But you’re wearing mascara and lipstick as well.’

‘It’s a very pale pink lipstick,’ Tessa protested.

‘You’re only thirteen!’ Paula shook her head in dismay. ‘I can’t allow you to wear cosmetics. Now run up to your room and wash your face, please.’

‘No! I won’t! I’m not going to take it off! You’re just old-fashioned! That’s what’s wrong with you!’ Tessa cried angrily, and she glared at Paula, then tossed her head.

‘Steady on, Tessa!’ Shane warned, sitting up straighter on the sofa, throwing the girl a cautionary glance. ‘Don’t speak to your mother in that way. You’re being extremely rude. I will not have it.’

‘She is old-fashioned, Daddy. Out of date. All the girls in my class wear makeup after school.’

‘I sincerely doubt that.’ Paula took a step backward, regarded her daughter through freshly objective eyes. My God, she thought, Tessa could easily pass for seventeen. She’s grown up all of a sudden. Whatever’s happened to the years? It seems like only yesterday that she was a baby in her pram.

Adopting a conciliatory manner, softening her voice, Paula now murmured, ‘Please do as I say, darling.’

Tessa compressed her lips in a stubborn line and her silver-grey eyes became defiant. ‘I won’t go to the party if you make me take my makeup off. I’ll look childish, ridiculous. The other girls will be made up, and they’ll laugh at me.’

Mother and daughter stared at each other.

Paula shook her head slowly. ‘No, they won’t.’

‘Mother, please…you’re being stupid!’ Tessa wailed.

‘No, I’m not. And as long as you live in this house and are supported by us, you will live by our rules,’ Paula said quietly, but with great firmness.

Tessa looked down at her feet, thinking hard. She admitted to herself that her mother had the upper hand; nevertheless, she was quite determined to get her own way. She took another approach when she said, ‘I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll – ‘

‘No negotiating,’ Paula shot back.

‘But the ability to negotiate is often the secret of business success,’ Tessa pointed out, quoting Paula to Paula.

Her mother swallowed a smile and glanced away to hide the merriment unexpectedly brimming in her eyes. Shane was less successful at concealing his amusement, and he burst out laughing.

Paula looked over at him and shook her head, then she turned to Tessa. ‘All right, you can wear the blush-on. But that’s all. And for this concession on my part you must promise to spend an extra hour practising the piano. You’ve been neglecting it lately.’

‘Okay, I promise. But please let me keep the mascara on. My eyelashes are so pale. I look awful. Bleached out. I’ll double my piano practice, and…and…I’ll take Linnet off your hands on Nanny’s day off.’

‘That’s tomorrow, you know,’ Paula pointed out, and relenting, she added, ‘All right, it’s a deal. But no lipstick. Understood?’

‘Yes. Thanks, Mums.’ Laughter touched Tessa’s face and she danced lightly across the room, pirouetting until she reached the door.

‘And don’t be late,’ Paula instructed.

‘I won’t. ‘Bye.’

The door slammed behind her with such a crash Paula grimaced, then winced as the Rose Medallion china trembled in the Chippendale cabinet. She murmured, ‘Tess looks older than thirteen, doesn’t she, Shane?’

‘Yes, she’s suddenly becoming quite the young lady. She’s growing up a little too fast for my liking. I think it’s time we considered taking her out of Harrogate College, Paula, sending her to Heathfield, as we’ve always intended.’

‘I’ll get in touch with the headmistress next week. I agree that the sooner Tess goes there the better.’

‘I told you years ago that she was a maverick, Paula. She and Lorne are very different, even though they’re twins. She’s going to need a strong hand in the next few years.’

Paula nodded, recognizing the truth in everything Shane said. She fell into her thoughts. Her daughter was headstrong, wilful, reckless, and even defiant at times. She was a loving girl, warm, outgoing, and she was bright, clever at school. Yet she could be temperamental, and to Paula this was a negative. Her daughter was very much a Fairley, had inherited many of their characteristics, not the least of which were the personal vanity, preoccupation with clothes and with self that had always been Fairley flaws. There’s not a great deal of Harte in her, Paula thought with a little stab of dismay. She even looks like her great-great-grandmother Adele Fairley, with her pale blonde hair and those silvery, enigmatic eyes. Paula shivered unexpectedly, and gazed into the fire.

‘You’ve got the oddest look on your face, Paula,’ Shane said. ‘Is something wrong, darling?’

‘No, no, of course not,’ she exclaimed, rousing herself from her ruminations. ‘Can I have another glass of champagne, please?’

‘I was right, wasn’t I?’ Emily said, glancing from Paula to Winston. ‘Now come on, the two of you, have the good grace to admit it.’

‘You were right about everything,’ Paula acknowledged. ‘And I’m sorry I pooh-poohed your theories all those years ago.’ She lifted her wine glass, took a swallow of the claret. ‘Is that good enough for you, Dumpling?’

Emily grinned.

Winston said, ‘I apologize for ever thinking you were slightly bonkers when you kept on insisting that Min had not committed suicide.’

‘Apologies accepted.’ Emily smiled at her husband and then at her cousin, picked up her knife and fork, cut into the slice of spring lamb on her dinner plate, and ate a mouthful.

Shane, sipping his wine thoughtfully, said, ‘You always suspected it was murder, didn’t you, Emily?’ ‘Yes.’

‘Why?’ Shane probed curiously.

‘It was the missing five hours that troubled me, Shane.’ Emily put down her cutlery, sat back in the chair. ‘I simply couldn’t understand where Min had been from about six o’clock, when Anthony first saw her at the lake, until the time she died around eleven. Her car had remained at the lake, so I was sure she had been visiting someone…either in the village of Clonloughlin or on the estate. I even thought of a lover…but I was unable to figure it all out…it was a great mystery to me.’

‘One that has been solved at long last,’ Winston added. ‘And my sister, for one, is vastly relieved. For years poor Sally has believed that she and Anthony somehow drove Min to her death. Thank God that’s finally been cleared up. A cloud has been lifted from the Dunvale family.’

‘Did Anthony explain why Michael Lamont suddenly confessed to accidentally killing Min?’ Shane asked, levelling his eyes at Winston.

‘Anthony told us that Lamont couldn’t go on, that his conscience was troubling him so much it was making him ill,’ Winston said. ‘Apparently he went to Anthony, told him the truth about that night. When Anthony pointed out that a dead person couldn’t take water into the lungs, and therefore Min had to have been alive when he put her in the lake, Lamont went berserk, was so shocked, so devastated, he had the stroke.’

‘At least Lamont’s subsequent death enabled Anthony to bury the whole matter with him,’ Paula murmured. ‘It would have been ghastly for the family if Anthony had been obliged to reopen the case. Not to mention for Lamont, who would have been standing trial for murder, I’ve no doubt.’

‘I always felt that Bridget O’Donnell knew more than she was admitting,’ Emily remarked. ‘But when Anthony was here last week I asked him about her, and he looked at me in the most peculiar way. He told me Bridget had known nothing about Min’s death, that she had been suffering from a migraine in her room that night, just as she had said at the inquest, when she also gave Anthony his alibi. Still –’

‘Excuse me, Mrs O’Neill,’ the housekeeper said, coming into the dining room. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt you during dinner, but there’s an important telephone call for you.’

‘Thank you, Mary,’ Paula said, pushing back her chair, rising. ‘Excuse me, chaps, I won’t be a moment.’

Paula hurried out to the Stone Hall and the nearest telephone, wondering who could be calling her at this hour on a Saturday night. Lifting the receiver, she said, ‘Hello?’

‘Mrs O’Neill, it’s Ursula Hood here.’

Paula tightened her grip on the receiver at the sound of Mrs Hood’s voice. She was Alexander’s housekeeper at Nutton Priory, and all of Paula’s senses were instantly alerted to trouble. Her throat was slightly dry when she said, ‘Good evening, Mrs Hood. How can I help you?’

‘Mrs O’Neill……I’m calling because…well, something dreadful has happened.’ The woman’s voice cracked. She was unable to go on, and there was a small silence before she continued quietly, ‘Mr Barkstone went out hunting in the woods early this evening. He…he…accidentally shot himself.’

The hackles rose on the back of Paula’s neck and she began to tremble. She asked shakily, ‘Is he badly injured, Mrs Hood?’

Mrs Hood cleared her throat. ‘Oh Mrs O’Neill…he’s…he’s…Mr Barkstone’s dead. I’m so sorry. So very sorry.’

‘Oh God, no!’ Paula cried and steadied herself against the oak table, trying to absorb the shock, blinking back the tears that had sprung into her eyes.

Mrs Hood said softly, ‘I can’t believe he’s gone…Such a lovely man.’ The housekeeper broke down again, but managed to get a grip on herself, to explain, ‘I’m ringing you because I don’t have the heart to get in touch with his sisters…I just wouldn’t know how to tell Mrs Harte, or Miss Amanda and Miss Francesca…I wouldn’t…’

Paula said slowly, ‘It’s all right, Mrs Hood, I understand. And Mrs Harte is here for dinner this evening. I’ll break the news to her, and to her sisters. But please…can you tell me…a little more about…what happened?’

‘Not really I can’t, Mrs O’Neill. When Mr Barkstone didn’t come down for dinner this evening, I sent the butler up to his bedroom. Mr Barkstone wasn’t there. It seemed that no one in the house had seen him return from the woods. The butler, the houseman and the chauffeur then went out to look for him…’ Mrs Hood blew her nose, finished, ‘They found him lying under one of the big oaks, the gun by his side. He was already dead.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Hood,’ Paula managed to say, striving hard to control her feelings, to contain them as best she could. ‘I’ll handle things here, and my husband and I will drive up to Nutton Priory within the hour. I’m sure Mr and Mrs Harte will come with us.’

‘I’ll be waiting for you, Mrs O’Neill, and thank you.’

Paula put the receiver back in the cradle and stood for a moment longer in the Stone Hall thinking of her cousin. Oh Sandy, Sandy, why did you have to die like that? All alone in the woods. Her heart clenched. And then a most terrible and unacceptable thought flashed through her mind, stunning her. Had he taken his own life? No. Never. He wouldn’t do that, she told herself. Sandy wanted so much to live. He fought so hard to keep going. Every minute was precious to him. He told me that so many times lately. She dismissed the idea of suicide, blocked it out of her mind.

Taking several deep breaths, Paula walked slowly back to the dining room, bracing herself to break the shocking news to Emily.