he old nursery at Pennistone Royal, slightly shabby though it was, glowed with comfort and warmth. A huge fire crackled in the grate, lamps shone brightly, and there was a feeling of gaiety and lightheartedness in the air.

It was early evening on a cold Saturday in January of 1971. Emily, sitting on the window seat observing Paula and her children, was filled with delight as she witnessed the happy scene being enacted in front of her. Paula was so very carefree tonight, and her eyes, which had been unusually troubled of late, sparkled with laughter. There was-a new tranquility in her face and, as always when she was with the children, her demeanor was gentle and loving.

The twins, who would be two years old next month, had already been bathed and were dressed in their nightclothes. Paula was holding their hands, and the three of them formed a circle in the center of the floor.

"All right, ready, set, go!" Paula cried and slowly began to move, taking small steps, leading the children around and around. Their freshly scrubbed faces shone with joy and their smiles were vividly bright, their eyes glowing.

Paula now began to sing: "Half a pound of tuppenny rice, half a pound of treacle, mix it up and make it nice—Pop goes the weasel!"

As they came to a standstill, Lome broke free and flopped down onto the floor, giggling and laughing and rolling about. "Pop!" he shouted loudly. "Pop! Pop!" He continued to chortle and kick his legs in the air with the abandonment of a frisky puppy.

Tessa, clinging to Paula's hand, stared down at him and then up at her mother. "Silly," Tessa said. "Rorn... silly."

Paula crouched on her haunches and smiled into the solemn little face regarding her so intently. "Not silly, darling. Lome is happy. We're all happy after such a lovely day. Try and say Lome, sweetheart."

Tessa nodded. "Rom," she repeated, unable as yet to properly pronounce her brother's name.

Paula's heart was bursting with love. She reached out and stroked the child's porcelain cheek with one finger. The green eyes surveying her reminded her of Chartreuse liqueur that had been only slightly diluted, so startling was their depth of color. She took Tessa in her arms and hugged her close, rumpling her burnished red-gold curls. "Oh, you're such a darling, Tess."

Tessa clung to Paula for a moment longer and then wriggled free. She pushed her face at her mother, craning her neck, and pursing her lips. "Mama... Mama," she said, and made small smacking sounds with her mouth. Paula smiled, leaned into her daughter and kissed her, ruffled her hair again. "Run and give Auntie Emily a kiss, sweetheart. It's well past your bedtime."

Paula watched Tessa march purposefully across the floor. In her white flannel nightdress and blue robe she looked adorable, resembled a cherub. Turning to Lome, Paula knelt on the floor and began to tickle him. He squirmed and kicked, enjoying every minute of the game, his peals of laughter slicing through the gentle silence. Finally Paula stopped and lifted him to her.

She stroked his flushed cheek and swept back his hair, which was a slightly darker red than his sister's, and endeavored to calm him. "Mummy's the silly one, Lome, getting you so excited, and just when it's time for bed."

He cocked his head to one side and looked at her with great interest. "Me," he said. "Mam... Mam." Lome now held up his face to be kissed, pursing his lips in the way his sister had done. This was a nightly ritual with both children, and Paula took his head between her hands and kissed his cheek, the tip of his nose, and his damp rosy lips. She drew back. "You're such a good boy, Lome," she murmured, straightening the collar of his pajama jacket, overwhelmed by tenderness for her little boy.

Lome reached up, touched her face, and then flopped against her, grabbing her arms tightly with his small hands, rocking to and fro. Paula held him close, also rocking, and smoothing her hand over his copper head, shining so brightly in the firelight. But after a few seconds she gently disentangled herself, rose, and pulled him up off the floor with her.

Taking his hand, she walked him over to Emily and Tessa, who were cuddling on the window seat.

"The Sandman's about to arrive, Auntie Emily," Paula announced, making this sound most important. "Shall we go into the bedroom to welcome him?"

"What a lovely idea," Emily said, taking Tessa's hand, helping her down off the seat. "I haven't seen the Sandman for years."

Together the four of them went into the adjoining bedroom, where a small night-light glowed on the table between the two beds.

"Off with your dressing gowns," Paula instructed, "and into bed with you both. Quick! We don't want the Sandman to go away because two little poppets dawdle."

Tessa and Lome struggled with their belts, and Paula and Emily went to their assistance. The twins scrambled into their beds and Paula pulled up the bedclothes, tucked them in, and gave them a kiss in turn.

"Take a seat, Auntie Emily, and be very, very quiet or you'll frighten the Sandman away," Paula cautioned as she pulled up a stool and sat down between the two beds.

"I'll be as quiet as a mouse," Emily whispered, going along with the game, seating herself on the bottom of Lome's bed.

Paula gazed at her children. "Sssh!" she said softly, bringing a finder to her lips.

"Pom," Tessa said, "pom... Mam."

"All right, I'll say the Sandman's poem for you, but snuggle down and close your eyes, both of you."

Each child did as she said. Lome put his thumb in his mouth and Tessa clutched at the %vhite lamb lying next to her in the bed, and began to suck on its ear.

Paula began to recite in the softest of voices:

"The Sandman has the swiftest wings And shoes that are made of gold, He calls on you when the first star sings When the night is not very old. He carries a tiny silver spoon And a bucket.made of night. He fills your eyes with bits of moon And Stardust that's shiny and bright. He takes you on a ship that sails Through the land of dreams and joys,

And tells you many wondrous tales

Of dragons and magical toys.

So come now and rest your sleepy head

And close your eyes very tight,

For should you stay awake instead

The Sandman won't pass by tonight."

Paula stopped, stood up, and went to peer at the twins. Both were already fast asleep. A tender smile flickered on her mouth. They had had an unusually hectic day and were worn out. Gently she kissed each of them and moved the stool out of the way. Emily went to Lome and Tessa, also bent and kissed them, and the two young women crept out of the bedroom on their tiptoes.

By seven o'clock Paula was beginning to wonder what had happened to Jim. Emily had left over half an hour ago, after having a quick drink with her in the library. She had seated herself at the desk, intending to do some paperwork, but her worries had intruded.

It was the fifth of January—the day she had set aside to have a serious talk with Jim. Her parents and Philip had returned to London three days ago, after spending Christmas at Pennistone Royal. They had already departed for their skiing holiday in Chamonix.

Christmas had been exceptionally quiet. Randolph and Vivienne had accepted an invitation to visit Anthony and Sally at Clonloughhn, and the O'Neills had made a last-minute decision to join Shane in Barbados. Emily and Winston, along with Alexander and Maggie, had come to stay for a few days, and the entire Kallinski clan had driven over on Christmas Eve. But the whole holiday period had been sad and depressing for everyone without Emma. She had always been the catalyst, the mover and the doer, and without her things were not the same.

Paula had somehow struggled through, making a supreme effort for the children and her parents, whilst counting the hours until today. And then Jim had suddenly rushed off to the newspaper this morning before she had had a chance to open her mouth.

Suddenly Paula swung around in the chair and jumped up as she heard the sound of a car on the gravel driveway outside. She stepped up to the window behind her chair, cupped her hands against the glass and peered out. The light over the back door shone brightly, clearly illuminating Jim's Aston-Martin.

With a small intake of breath she held herself rigid as her eyes fell on the-pair of skis sticking out of one of the back windows. So that was why he was so late. He had gone to Long Meadow first—to collect his skiing gear. He was going to Chamonix after all.

It's now or never, Paula muttered under her breath and flew across the library. Wrenching open the door, she stepped out into the Stone Hall, waiting for him, suppressing her exasperation.

Jim came in a moment later and headed in the direction of the main staircase at the other end of the hall.

"I'm in here, Jim," she exclaimed.

Startled, he pivoted swiftly, stood regarding her with uncertainty.

"Can you spare me a few minutes?" she asked, striving to bring her voice down to a lower pitch, not wanting to alert him or scare him off.

"Why not? I was just going up to change. Had a rather hectic day," he announced, walking toward her. "Surprisingly busy for Saturday."

Not so surprising, she thought, stepping back, opening the door wider. You've been clearing your desk in readiness for your imminent departure. But she said none of this.

Jim strolled past her into the library, without kissing her or making any gesture of affection. There was a great deal of strain between them, and this had lately turned into real coldness.

Paula closed the door firmly, thought of locking it, but changed her mind. She followed him over to the fireplace.

Sitting down in a wing chair, Paula glanced up at him, hovering near the fire. "Dinner's not until eight. You've plenty of time to freshen up. Make yourself comfortable, Jim. Let's chat for a while."

Throwing her an odd look, he nevertheless took the other chair, pulled out his cigarettes and put one in his mouth.. After lighting it he smoked in silence for a second, staring ahead at the fire. Then he said, "How was your day?".

"Fine. I spent it with the children. Emily came over for lunch and stayed all afternoon. Winston had gone to a football match."

Jim said nothing.

Paula kept her voice very low as she said, "So you are going to Chamonix."

"Yes." He did not look at her.

"When are you leaving?"

He cleared his throat. "I thought I'd drive up to London late tonight, around ten or eleven. The roads will be virtually empty. I can make it in record time. That way I can catch the first flight to Geneva tomorrow."

Anger rushed through her, but she clamped down on it, knowing that she had to keep a cool head and must not inflame him if she was to accomplish anything. She said, "Please don't go, Jim. At least not for a few days."

"Why?" Now he swung his head, leveled his silvery gray eyes on her, and a blond brow lifted in surprise. He said, "You're going to New York."

"Yes, but not until the eighth or ninth. I told you, when you came back from Canada, that I wanted to discuss our problems. You put me off because it was Christmas and we were expecting guests. You promised you wouldn't go to Chamonix until

we had settled things, thrashed out our problems."

"your problems, not mine, Paula."

"Our problems."

"I beg to disagree. If there are any problems in our marriage, you have created them. For over a year now you've been looking for trouble, insisting we had difficulties when we didn't have any. Also, you are the one who has... left the marital bed, not I. You, and you alone, Paula, are the one who has brought about the present untenable situation." He smiled faintly, eyeing her more closely. "Because of you we have only half a marriage, but I'm prepared to live with it."

"We have no marriage at all."

He laughed hollowly. "We do have two children, though, and I'm prepared to snare the same house with you for their sakes. They need us both. And talking of houses, when I come back from Chamonix we are all going to move back to Long Meadow. That is my house, my home, and my children are going to be brought up there."

Paula stared at him aghast. "You know very well Grandy wanted—"

'This is not your house," he cut in rapidly. "It belongs to your mother."

"You know very well Mummy and Daddy have to live in London so he can go to Harte's every day."

"That's their problem, not ours."

"Grandy didn't want Pennistone Royal to be left unoccupied half of the year. It was always a foregone conclusion that I would live here most of the time, that my parents would come for weekends when they could, spend the summer months and special holidays at the house."

"I have every intention of moving back into Long Meadow. With the children," he said in a rush. "You are very welcome. Of course, I can't force you to move in with us—" He broke off, shrugged. "It's your decision."

Paula looked at him, biting her inner lip. She said, "Jim, I want a divorce."

He said coldly, "I don't. I will never agree to one. Never. Furthermore, I think you should know that if you decide to take such a step I will fight you for custody of Lome and Tessa. My children are going to be with me."

"Children need their mother," she began, and shook her head. "Surely you of all people know that. Naturally, you would have full visitation rights. I would never keep the children away from you, Jim. You would see them whenever you wanted, and they would come and stay with you."

He smiled narrowly as he snapped, "You're priceless, do you know that? Quite extraordinary, and the most selfish woman I've ever known. You want it all, don't you. Your freedom to do what you want, to live where you want, and the children as well." His eyes became icy. "Do you also want to take my job away from me?"

Paula sucked in her breath. "How can you think a thing like that! Of course I don't. Grandy renewed your contract before she died, and your job is safe for the rest of your life. And you also have the shares in the new company."

"Ah yes," he mused softly. "The new company. I rather like Toronto... lovely city. I might move there for a few years. That idea had crossed my mind in December. I'd enjoy running the Toronto Sentinel. Naturally the children would go with me."

"No!" she cried, her face paling.

"Oh yes," he countered. "But it is up to you, Paula. If you persist in this ridiculous idea of getting a divorce, if you break up my family, I will settle in Toronto, and I have every intention of taking my children with me."

"They're also mine."

"Yes," he said, "they are. And you are my wife." He softened his tone, gave her a warmer look. "We're a family, Paula. The children need you, I need you." He reached out, took her hand in his. "Why can't you stop all this nonsense, put aside your silly and unfounded grudges against me, make an effort to patch up our marriage. I'm willing to try." He flashed her his bland smile. "Why not start right now—tonight." He tightened his grip on her fingers and leaned closer to her, added in a suggestive tone, "There's no time like the present, darling. Come on, let's go upstairs and make love. I'll prove to you that all of these differences you're forever talking about are imaginary, exist only in your head. Come back to my bed, come back into my arms, Paula."

She did not dare say a word.

There was a long and painful silence.

Finally Jim murmured, "All right, not tonight then. Pity. Listen, since I'm going off to Chamonix and you're about to head for New York, let us both take the rest of this month to come to terms with ourselves during our separation. And then, when we're both back home in a few weeks, we'll start afresh. We'll move into Long Meadow and begin again, build a better relationship than we ever had before."

"There's nothing left between us, Jim, and therefore there is nothing to build on," she whispered miserably.

He let go of her hand and gaped into the fire. After a short while he said, "Psychologists call it compulsive repetition."

Not understanding what he was suddenly talking about, Paula frowned and said, "I'm not following you."

Jim turned to face her, and repeated, "Psychologists call it compulsive repetition."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked sharply, wondering if he was attempting to sidetrack her, as he so often did.

"It refers to the pattern of behavior some people adopt—an offspring actually reliving the life of a parent or grandparent, repeating that life, mistakes and all, as if he or she is guided by some terrible inner compulsion."

Paula gaped at him speechlessly. But she quickly found her voice. "Are you trying to say that I am reliving my grandmother's life?"

"Exactly."

"You're absolutely wrong!" Paula cried. "I am my own person. I am living my own life."

"Think that if you wish, but it's not true. You are compulsively doing everything Emma Harte ever did, and with great precision. You work your fingers to the bone, devote every moment of your time to that wretched business, selfishly flitting around the world, wheeling and dealing and neglecting your duties as a wife and mother. You make everybody toe the line, your line, and you lack emotional stability just as she did."

Paula was furious. "How dare you! How dare you criticize Grandy! You're making her out to be something she was not, she who was so good to you! You've really got a bloody nerve. Furthermore, I don't neglect my children, and I never neglected you. Our estrangement came about because of the things which are lacking in you, Jim. I'm not emotionally unstable, but it strikes me that you are. I wasn't the one in a—" Paula stopped herself, clenched her hands together in her lap.

"I knew you'd never let me live that down, he said, his face darkening. "Has it ever occurred to you that you might be responsible for my nervous breakdown?" he challenged.

Paula gasped, "If anybody's compulsive, you are. You continually want to blame me for everything that you yourself do."

Jim sighed. He glanced away, ruminating for a few seconds, and then he brought his eyes to Paula. He gave her a penetrating stare. "Why are you so keen to get a divorce?"

"Because our marriage is over. It's ridiculous to continue," she murmured, adopting a calmer, more reasonable tone. "It's not fair to the children, to you, or to me, Jim."

"We were in love," he mused almost to himself then asked, "Weren't we?"

"Yes, we were." She took a deep breath. "But being in love doesn't guarantee happiness, Jim. Two people have to be compatible and able to live with each other on a day-today basts. Being in love is never enough, I'm afraid. A marriage needs a solid foundation based on genuine friendship."

"Is there another man?" he demanded. His eyes remained fixed on hers.

Unexpected though the question was, Paula managed to keep her neutral expression in place. Although her heart missed a beat, she said in her most convincing voice, "No, there isn't, Jim."

He did not say anything for a few seconds. And then he got up, went and stood over her chair. He gripped her shoulder. "There had better not be, Paula. Because if there is, I will destroy you. I'll countersue you for divorce, and I'll have you declared an unfit mother. I'll get custody of my children, never you fear. No judge in England is going to give the children of a broken marriage to a woman who willfully broke up that marriage and who is neglectful of those children, who travels the world in pursuit of her business interests to the detriment of those children." He brought his face closer to hers and, tightening his hand on her shoulder, added, "Or one who is screwing around with another man."

Paula managed to throw off his viselike grip. She leapt to her feet, her face blazing. "Try it," she said in a cold voice. "Just try it. We'll see who wins."

He stepped away from her and laughed in tier face. "And you don't think you're reliving Emma Harte's life. That's the joke of the century. Just look at you—why you sound exactly like her. And you think the way she did. You too believe that money and power make you invulnerable. Sadly, my dear, they don't." He swung around and walked toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Paula called after him.

Jim stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. "To London. There's not much point in my staying here for dinner—we'll only continue to fight. Frankly, I'm weary of it all."

Paula ran after him, took his arm, gave him a pleading look, "But there is no real reason for us to quarrel in this way, Jim," she said in a shaken voice. "We can work this out like civilized people, like adults who are mature and intelligent. I know we can."

"It's really up to you, Paula," Jim said, also speaking in a more reasonable voice. "Think about everything I've said, and perhaps when I get back from Chamonix you'll have come to your senses."