Emma Harte - Hold The Dream Part 18

"Not even when you know that the newspaper company will be your children's one day?"

"I trust Winston. He'll do a good job. After all, he does have rather a big stake in the Consolidated group when you consider that he and the Hartes own half the company. He controls forty-eight percent of the shares, don't forget."

Paula knew there was no point arguing with Jim any further about his resignation, at least not now. She stood up. "I think I've got to go outside ... I need some fresh air."

Jim also rose, looking at her with concern. "Are you all right? You're awfully pale."

"Yes, really. Why don't you spend a few minutes with the babies before you change? I'll be up in a short while-I just need to take a stroll around the garden."

He caught her arm as she moved toward the door and swung her to face him. "Friends again, darling?" he asked softly.

"Yes, of course," she rea.s.sured him, conscious of the anxiety reflected in his eyes and recognising the plea in his voice.

Paula walked slowly through the garden, circ.u.mvented the plantation of trees, and took the narrow path leading to the second lawn that sloped down toward the grove of laburnum trees and the pond.

She was considerably shaken by their quarrel, and her senses were swimming. She sat down on the steps of the white-painted summerhouse, relieved to be alone, to regain her equilibrium. She deplored the fact that she had lost control, flown into a temper, and her only excuse was the extreme provocation. Jim's remark that her grandmother was guilt-ridden about the Fairleys had been so inflammatory it had made her blood boil. The suggestion was ridiculous. Just as his resignation was ludicrous.

Although she was desperately troubled by that impulsive and irresponsible move on his part, her dismay about it had been jostled to one side by the impact of their collision. This last row was a lot more serious than one of their quarrels about Edvvina. It had struck at an important fundamental in any marriage-trust. And it raised questions in her mind about Jim, his innermost fefilings for her grandmother, and his loyalty to Emma. Her head was teeming with questions. Did he bear a grudge against Emma Harte because she now owned everything the Fairleys had once owned? Perhaps subconsciously, without really understanding that he did? It struck her and very sharply that this was not beyond the realms of possibility. Alter all, he had been the one to launch into the past, not she; and if the past didn't matter, as he had claimed, then why had he brought it up in the first place?

Were resentment and bitterness at the root of his statement after all? She trembled at this thought. Those were the most dangerous emotions in the world, for like cancer they gnawed away at a person's insides; they were destructive and colored everything a person did. Yet when she had asked Jim bluntly if he resented Grandy, he had obviously been flabbergasted by the idea, and his answer had been immediate, direct, and totally without guile. He had been genuine-she had seen that instantly. She had always found Jim relatively easy to read. He was not a devious man but was quite the reverse really, in that he was not const.i.tutionally cut out to dissemble.

Paula leaned against the railings and closed her eyes, her mind working at its rapid and most intelligent best, a.s.sessing and a.n.a.lyzing. She had always believed she knew Jim inside out, but did she really? Perhaps it was arrogant of her to -think she had such great insight into him. After all, how well did anyone know another person when one got right down to it? There had been times when she had found those who were closest to her, with whom she had grown up, difficult and even impossible to comprehend on occasions. If members of her immediate family and her oldest friends were frequently baffling, how could she possibly understand a man she had known for a brief two years, a man who might easily be termed a stranger even though he was her husband? She had come to realize that people could not always be taken on face value . . . most people were highly complex. Sometimes they themselves did not recognize what motivated them to do the things they did. How well did James Arthur Fairley actually know himself? And, come to think of it, how well did he know her?

These nagging questions hung in the air, and she finally let go of them, sighing, understanding that she had no ready answers for herself. She opened her eyes and looked down at her hands, so relaxed, curled in her lap. The tension had gone, and now that her anger had all but dissipated entirely, she was able to think objectively and with a cool head. She acknowledged that she had leaped down Jim's throat. Of course he had been awfully provocative, but that was no doubt unintentional on his part. They were both at fault, and if he had a few imperfections, then most a.s.suredly so did she. They were both human. As he had defended himself against her strong verbal onslaught, she had heard the ring of truth and sincerity, in his voice, had noted the genuine love written all over his face. It suddenly seemed inconceivable to her that Jim could harbor ill feelings for her grandmother. Furthermore she owed it to her husband to believe that he did not. Yes, she must trust him, must give him the benefit of the doubt. If she was not capable of doing that, then their relationship would be threatened. Besides, he had made a very salient point, one she could not now ignore. He had said he would hardly be resigning as managing director if he was embittered and felt that the Gazette was his by rights, that instead he would be making sure he grabbed all .the power for himself. She could not deny that his words made sense. Anybody who was goaded on by resentment to get even, to win, would hardly be quitting the arena. He would be planning the coup-de-grace.

Thoughts of his resignation intruded more sharply, but she clamped down on them with resoluteness. Wisely she decided she had better shelve that sensitive issue for the time being. It was hardly the time to start tackling him about that again when their guests were due to arrive shortly. And especially since Edvvina was one of those guests. She most certainly wasn't going to let her see a c.h.i.n.k in the armor.

Jim stood at the window where, from this angle, he could see Paula sitting on the steps of the summerhouse. His eyes remained riveted on her, and he wished she would come back inside. It was imperative that he smooth things over between them.

He had not meant any harm when he had mentioned that old worn-out "story about Emma Harte ruining the Fairleys. But he had been tactless, no use denying it, and a b.l.o.o.d.y fool for not realizing that Paula would react fiercely. Jim exhaled wearily. She had overreacted in his opinion; after all facts were facts and quite inescapable. But then his wife was irrational about her grandmother, worshiping her the way she did. She wielded a club on anyone who dared to even hint that Emma was less than perfect. Not that he ever said a wrong word about her ... he had no reason to criticize or condemn Emma Harte. Just the opposite, actually.

Paula's revelation about Gerald Fairley attempting to rape the young Emma edged to the front of his mind. It was undoubtedly true, and the very idea of it was so repellent to him that he shivered involuntarily. On the rare occasions Gerald's name had cropped up in conversation, he had divined a look of immense distaste and contempt on his grandfather's face, and now he understood why. Jim shook his head wonderingly, thinking how entangled the lives of the Fairleys and the Hartes had been at the turn of the century; still the actions of his antecedents were hardly his fault or his responsibility. He had not known any of them, except for his grandfather, so they were shadowy figures at best; anyway, the present was the only thing that mattered, that counted for anything.

This thought brought his eyes back to the window. He moved the curtain slightly. Paula was a motionless figure on the steps of the old summerhouse, lost in her contemplations. Once she had returned to the bedroom to change her clothes, he would sit her down, talk to her, do his d.a.m.nedest to make up to her, apologize again if necessary. He was beginning to loathe these quarrels, which had become so frequent of late.

He ran his hand through his fair hair absently, a meditative look settling on his finely drawn, rather sensitive face. Paula could be right-maybe Emma was not in the least troubled by her past deeds. Now that he considered it objectively, in a rational manner, it suddenly struck him that she was far too pragmatic a woman to worry about matters that could not be altered. And yet he could not dismiss the sense of guilt he had detected in her from time to time. Perhaps her guilt was centered solely on him, had nothing to do with those long-dead Fairleys. There was no question in his mind that Emma worried about him. This was the reason he had not been in the least surprised when Paula had mentioned the will, since he had always expected Emma to change it, to favor his children. He did not crave the shares for himself; nor could Emma leave him her interest in the papers without causing a stink in the family. And so Emma, being fairminded and scrupulous, was doing her level best to make amends, to make things right and proper in the only way she knew how. She was giving Lome and Tessa their birthright . . . the inheritance he himself would have willed to his children if his - family had retained control of the newspaper.

Jim was completely convinced that genuine emotion motivated Emma. She had once loved his grandfather, and in consequence she cared deeply about him. There was not the slightest doubt in his mind about that. He might even have been her grandson if circ.u.mstances had been slightly different.

Yes, Grandy had shown her true feelings for him in an infinite variety of ways-he had hard evidence. He ran all of the instances through his head . . . she had given him the job as managing editor when there had been other candidates just as well qualified; she had ended her vendetta against the Fairleys because of him; she had blessed his marriage to her favorite grandchild. In fact Emma Harte was always bending over backward to please him, and she was on his side-her actions more than proved this. Grandy had persuaded Paula to live-here at Long Meadow because he so wished it. She had acknowledged that the twins must be christened at Fairley church, and moreover, she had not objected when he had invited Edwina. It was only Paula who ever made a fuss about that unfortunate woman who had never done anybody any harm.

Jim shifted his stance impatiently, wondering how long Paula intended to sit out there. He glanced at his watch with irritation. If she did not come in within the next few minutes, he would go out and talk to her in the garden. He did want to make sure she understood one thing. . . Emma was not disappointed in him. That morning, when he had told her he wanted to resign, Grandy had agreed and said that she appreciated his honesty. "If that's what you want, then that's what you must do," Emma had said with a little smile. "I'd be the last person to stop you." Emma was compa.s.sionate and full of humanity, and she loved him in her own way. And he was loyal to her, devoted. There was a special bond between them. It was never mentioned, but it existed nevertheless.

Much to his relief Jim now saw Paula walking up the path. Thank G.o.d she was coming back to the house. His tension lessened, even though it was impossible from this distance to gauge her state of mind or to ascertain what her att.i.tude would be. But then he always had trouble doing that. It seemed to him that she constantly had him on the edge, kept him guessing. She was temperamental, even difficult at times, but no woman had captivated him, ensnared him as she had. And she had done so without even trying. There was enormous chemistry between them, and their s.e.xual attraction for each other was so strong it was overpowering. Paula was so intense, so serious, so complex she often left him floundering and baffled. Yet he found her depth and sincerity gratifying; equally he was thrilled by her pa.s.sion, her desire for him in bed. The women he had been involved with before her had often complained about his s.e.x drive. They seemed to think it was abnormal, were unable to cope, balked at his staying power. But not Paula . . . she never complained, always welcomed him with open arms, as ready as he to abandon herself to their lovemaking, and he could never get enough of her. He knew she felt the same.

Paula was the best thing in the world that had ever happened to him, and he was struck by this realization more and more every day. How lucky he had been to meet her on that plane journey from Paris.

He thought back to it now, remembering clearly every little detail of their first meeting. Her name had sounded familiar, and her lovely face had touched a chord in his memory, but he had not been able to place her. But later that night, restless, unable to sleep, haunted by her, everything had suddenly clicked into place. It had dawned on him that she was the daughter of David Amory, who ran the Harte stores, and that she was therefore the granddaughter of Emma Harte, his employer. He had been at once intimidated and dismayed, had not closed his eyes all night, worrying about the situation and the ramifications it involved.

The following morning, confused, disturbed, and ambivalent, he had wavered and wondered whether to cancel their dinner date planned for that evening. In the end he had been unable to resist seeing her again, had gone to the Mirabelle in a troubled state. He had been keyed up, anxious, and his heart had been in his mouth. After one of the waiters had made a remark about her grandmother, he had seen his chance. He had the perfect opening gambit, had asked her who her prestigious grandparent was, and Paula had told him without hesitation. She had made light of this, had made it easy for him, and surprisingly her relationship to Emma Harte had suddenly not mattered. His extraordinary feelings for Paula swept everything to one side, and he had fallen in love with her over dinner at the Mirabelle, had made up his mind to marry her-even if Emma sacked him and disinherited her heiress.

Jim recalled the night, a month after their first date, when he had finally succeeded in getting Paula into bed. Unexpectedly, erotic images of them together began to dance around in his head, made the heat rush through him. He knew what he was going to do the minute she walked in, knew how to put everything right between them. Words and long explanations were meaningless, inconsequential, now that he thought about it. Actions counted. Yes, his was the best way, the only way, to demolish the residue of their quarrel completely.

As Paula entered the bedroom, Jim saw that she was calmer, that her color was perfectly normal. He went to her, took her hands in his. "I can't bear these awful rows," he said.

"Neither can I."

Without saying anything else, he took her face between his hands and kissed her, his mouth working sensually on hers. His pa.s.sion soared. He was at full arousal. His arms went around her, and he brought her closer so that she was positioned into the curve of his body. His hands slid down her back onto her b.u.t.tocks, and he pressed her into him with impatience. She must understand the extent of his excitement, understand that he intended to possess her immediately.

Paula accepted his kisses and then quickly but gently pushed him away. "Jim, please. They'll be here in a few minutes. We don't have time-"

He silenced her with another kiss; then, breaking away from her, he led her to the bed. He pushed her down onto it purposefully, lay next to her, wrapped his long legs around her. In a voice thickened by desire, he said against her neck, "I must have you. Now. Quickly, before they arrive! We do have time. And you know we always make up, once we've made love. Come on, take your clothes off for me, darling."

Paula started to protest, not wanting this, wary of him, sensing she was being manipulated again. But he was already fumbling with the b.u.t.tons on her shirt, and so she swallowed her words! It was far easier if she was compliant, as she had so quickly come to realize in the last year. Jim believed that s.e.x solved every one of their problems. But of course it did not.

Chapter Eighteen.

At six-thirty the following morning Paula left Long Meadow for the office, looking coolly elegant in a smartly tailored black linen suit and a crisp white silk shirt.

After a restless night of tossing and turning and worrying, she had risen earlier than usual. Only Nora had been astir at that hour, preparing the babies' bottles, and after she had showered and dressed, Paula had spent fifteen tranquil minutes with her and the twins in the nursery before going downstairs to the kitchen. As she had drunk a quick cup of tea, she had scribbled a note to Jim, explaining that she was facing a hectic day at the store and wanted to get a head start.

This was only partially true. Paula had the most urgent need to unscramble her jumbled thoughts and take stock of the situation. She could only do that when she was alone- and the only time she was not surrounded by people was either when she was gardening or driving.

As she pointed the car down the gravel driveway, she realized she was relieved to be escaping from the house. It seemed more suffocating than ever to her today. Although she enjoyed the grounds and the conservatory, Long Meadow would never really be her favorite place, despite the more attractive ambiance she and her mother had created. As Grandy had said, "You've both done your best, but you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear."

And whatever Jim believed, the house teas oppressive. Her grandmother felt the same way as she did and rarely came, preferring instead to have them over to Pennistone Royal. This aside, it was extremely difficult to run efficiently. It was poorlv designed, had endless staircases, winding corridors, and dark landings. Meg and the daily char, Mrs. Coe, were constantly complaining, and even Nora, who was younger than they, had taken to grumbling about her aching legs lately. Jim made light of their complaints. He loved Long Meadow, and she knew he would not consider moving, so there was no point in dreaming about another house, one which was more practical and suitable for their needs.

He was selfish.

So jolted was Paula by this unexpected thought that she stiffened and gripped the steering wheel tighter. She stared ahead at the road, her eyes momentarily glazed by her troubles. What an unkind and disloyal thing to think, she eluded herself. But try though she' did to convince herself she was wrong about Jim, she did not succeed. It was the truth. For months she had tried to ignore this unfortunate and dismaying characteristic in him, had made perpetual excuses for him. Suddenly this was no longer possible. She had to stop deluding herself about Jim, look at the facts unflinchingly, accept that he only ever did what he wanted to do. He was deceptive in that he gave the impression of trying to please, especially with colleagues and friends and when small irrelevant matters were involved. Then he bent over backward to be obliging. When it came to major issues, he dug his feet in and always strove to get his own way, regardless of anyone else's wishes. That was the dichotomy in his nature, and it had begun to worry her.

Paula sighed to herself. They were both stubborn, but at least she was not inflexible. With a start, Paula recognized that Jim was absolutely rigid. This trait had been staring her glaringly in the face for months, yet she had been reluctant, perhaps even afraid, to acknowledge it.

She began to scrutinize the pattern of their life together for the past year, and now discovered that she could remember innumerable examples of that ingrained rigidity. There had been his refusal pointblank to accept a new plane from Grandy, not to mention the fuss about their wedding plans. He had been adamant when her grandmother had asked him to get rid of his rickety old four-seater plane, and suggested he buy a more up-to-date jet at her expense. Being conscious of his pride, Grandy had handled it diplomatically, had pointed out that she felt she should have a company plane at her immediate disposal, and who better to select the best piece of equipment and make the purchase than he. But he would not budge from his position, and Emma had thrown up her hands in exasperation at his intractability.

Almost immediately afterward he had told her parents and Grandy that he wanted to have their marriage ceremony at Fairley Church. They had all three been staggered by this suggestion, and so had she. Apart from the fact that the village church was far too small to accommodate some three hundred guests, her parents and Emma had wanted the wedding to be held in London, to be followed by a reception at Claridge's Hotel. It had been especially important to her grandmother that she have a lovely, elegant, and glamorous wedding. It was her mother who had scotched Jim's idea. Daisy had told him that the marriage arrangements were hardly his concern, since they were always the prerogative of the bride's parents. Clever, clever Daisy. She had won by simply pointing out the correct etiquette, the proper form. In * this instance he had had no option but to back down.

But he had made a swift recovery, and the next battle had been about Long Meadow. Jim had been the winner that time but in a sense by default. She had only agreed to live there to keep the peace and also because her grandmother had told her to be accommodating, "Jim's ego and his masculinity are on the line," her grandmother had remarked. "I agree the house is a monstrosity, but he has a genuine need to be the provider, to give you a home on his own terms. You'd better accept the situation for now."

For this same reason she and Grandy had gone along with his wish to have the twins christened at Fairley Church, even though Emma had initially balked at this idea, had hardly been overjoyed to trek all the way to Fairley, of all places. She rarely went there these days.

Paula slowed down and stopped at a traffic light, mulling over this first year of marriage. People said it was the most difficult year, and perhaps it was inevitable that there would be a few unpleasant revelations. Whizzing up the short hill, she cruised past the Stray and turned onto the main road to Leeds. I suppose I might as well accept that the honeymoon is now definitely over, she muttered under her breath, then laughed ironically. He had even been contrary about their actual honeymoon, had whisked her off to the Lake District instead of to the sunny south of France. Wanting to please him, in love and feeling euphoric, she had accepted his decision, even though France had been more appealing to her. They had been greeted by inclement weather and thunderstorms when they had reached Windermere, and had spent the week shivering in front of the fire in their hotel suite, or in bed making love.

Her thoughts automatically settled on their s.e.x life. She was in love with Jim and wanted him physically, had normal desires and a healthy att.i.tude about s.e.x. But lately it was growing more and more apparent to her that Jim was abnormally driven. His marathons were becoming tiring, even tedious. There were other things in a marriage as well as s.e.x. He was insatiable, and endless, mindless s.e.x was not particularly fulfilling to her. Sometimes she found herself wishing he had more finesse, a better understanding of a woman's body- her body, her needs. Loath though she was to admit it, she knew deep within herself that Jim was just as selfish in bed as he was out of it, always pleasing himself, never giving a thought to her. It was growing harder and harder for her to cope with his need to make love all the time. Her work was demanding, and she craved sleep, but he was seemingly tireless.

Sudden anger flared in Paula as she considered the way he used s.e.x as an antidote for their rows. Her resentment was increasing, because it was manipulative. It seemed incredible to her that he believed their problems evaporated into thin air once they were locked in a tight embrace. Of course that didn't happen; their difficulties were still there afterward. And naturally they remained unsolved.

Oh G.o.d, if only he would talk to me, Paula thought. He should communicate. Instead he retreats behind his charm and his jokes, and whenever I try to explain my feelings, he laughs me off. Yes, Jim had a childish tendency to pretend their differences did not exist. She could never get him to open up, try though she did. It occurred to her that she had reached an impa.s.se. She had come to a turning point in her marriage. And after only one year, she said to herself wonderingly. Had she made a terrible mistake? Was divorce the only solution?

Horror trickled through her at the mere idea of breaking up and was quickly replaced by a rush of panic. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, and she began to tremble inside. Slowing the car to a crawl, she pulled onto the first side road she saw and parked. Leaning forward, she rested her head on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Divorce was unthinkable. She was stunned that it had even crossed her mind a moment ago. She loved him . . . truly, truly loved him. And in spite of their problems they were compatible in so many important ways. And there were the twins . . . Lome and Tessa needed a father, needed Jim as much as she needed him.

Instantly it struck her that she had been unfair to her husband, adding up his faults, mentally compiling lists of grudges against him when he was not present to defend himself. He was a nice man, a good man, and he had so many lovely qualities. She owed it to him to be scrupulously honest with herself about his manifold attributes.

Silently she began to tick them off in her head. He understood about her work. He appreciated her desire to be out there in the marketplace. Certainly he. never interfered with her career; he did not grumble about her preoccupation with the stores, the late hours she kept. At least he's an enlightened man in that respect, she acknowledged swiftly, and he allows me to be myself. He's not threatened by me either. Furthermore he was obviously cut out to be a marvelous father; that was already evident. There was no question that he adored her, was devoted to her. Jim would never be a philanderer who played around with other women. He was strictly a one-woman man and totally geared to his family and family life, and she was thankful of that.

Straightening up, Paula smoothed her hair into place. I've got to make a go of this relationship, she told herself. It's vitally important to me, and I know it's essential to Jim. She remembered something her grandmother had once said . . . that it was always the woman who made a marriage work. Paula believed this. Her grandmother was wise and experienced; she had lived it all, seen it all. No one knew better about marriage than Emma Harte.

Paula resolved to be' as understanding of Jim as she possibly could. She would put extra effort and time into their relationship. She would be loving and tolerant. It would be immature of her if she did not. After all, everybody had faults, and you didn't stop loving a man simply because he had a few imperfections. You loved him in spite of them.

Turning the ignition key, Paula started the car and backed out of the side road. Her mind began to revolve around her grandmother and Jim's resignation as she sped down the road heading in the direction of Alvvoodley. Convinced though she was that Jim had totally misjudged Emma's reaction to his decision, she nevertheless hoped that her grandmother was not angry with him. She did not want Grandy to think badly of Jim.

Less than half an hour later, Paula sat behind her desk in her office at the Harte store in Leeds, talking to her grandmother, whom she had reached at the flat in Belgrave Square. " "I'm sorry to wake you up," Paula apologized, although she strongly suspected she had not done so.

Emma's warm and vibrant voice flowed over the wire and confirmed this as she said, "I was having my morning tea and waiting for your call. You want to talk to me about Jim, his resignation, don't you?"

"Yes, Gran. I was a bit floored last night when he told me what he'd done and naturally rather upset. I feel he's let you down and at the worst time, when you're about to go away. I can't help thinking that you must be disappointed in him."

"A little," Emma said. "However, I decided not to persuade Jim to retain the managing directorship . . . not under the circ.u.mstances. His heart's not in the job, Paula, and that's not good. It's better he steps down."

"Yes," Paula agreed quietly. "What about Winston? Is he frightfully annoyed?"

"Well, he was at first, and I thought for a moment he was going to explode when I told him he would have to take on the job. But he agreed almost at once. There's no one else, as you well know."

"I feel awful about this situation, Grandy. There's not much I can say except that I'm sorry. Jim shouldn't have done this in my opinion. I think it was irresponsible. He doesn't agree with me, of course." There was a fractional pause, and then Paula added, "I'm not trying to make excuses for him, Gran, but I've come to realize that Jim isn't like us, you know, as far as duty is concerned. We've all done jobs we haven't really liked during the years we've all worked for you. Those jobs never killed us, and we learned a lot from the experience. I know I shouldn't make comparisons, but last night when Jim was talking I kept thinking of little Emily- her example. She's been a brick, the way she's gone into Genret and with the best will in the world."

"That's true," Emma agreed, then added swiftly in a kinder tone, "You mustn't be too hard on Jim, Paula dear. People do have their limitations, and remember, he wasn't brought up in the same way as you and your cousins. Anyway, let's be grateful for his talent as a managing editor. He's brilliant, the best, in the business, and that's why I gave him the job years ago. Now, if he'd resigned from that position, we would have a major tragedy on our hands."

"I realize that. He does love the newspaper business, and that's why he's so successful as a journalist." Paula was beginning to feel easier in her mind, and she went on, "I have to defend Jim in one respect. . . he's been honest with you, and we must give him credit for that. He's as straight as a die, Grandy."

"You don't have to tell me, Paula. Jim's not duplicitous, far from it, and I told him yesterday morning that I appreciated his truthfulness. Half-hearted, unenthusiastic executives spell disaster to me."

"Then you're not too angry with him?" Paula asked, clutching the phone tensely, holding her breath.

'That was only a pa.s.sing reeling yesterday. It quickly dissipated," Emma said. "We can't let emotions take charge of us in business, we must always deal from intelligence; but then I've told you that all of your life. Sorry to keep repeating myself."

"That's all right, and I must admit I'm relieved you're taking this so well, Grandma. He'd never intentionally do anything to hurt or upset you."

Brushing this remark aside, considering it unimportant, Emma said, "I want you to relax, Paula. This is not really your problem. Anyway, we do have everything under control. Actually, when I was talking to Winston after Jim had left, it occurred to me-and rather forcefully-that things are not going to be much different at Consolidated. Winston was sitting there, grousing away, going on and on ad inftnitum about being overworked, listing his present duties, demanding to know how I expected him to 'cope with everything. And as he talked his head off, I began to realize that he's actually been carrying the administrative and business load at Consolidated for-the longest time. He's been functioning as managing director without knowing it. I told him so, told him he was now getting the t.i.tle to go with his tremendous responsibilities, plus a large raise in salary. You know Winston lias a great sense of humor, and he began to laugh. He said, 'd.a.m.n it, Aunt Emma, we both think we're so smart, so why haven't we realized before today how brilliant I am.' So, darling, you don't have to be concerned about me, Consolidated, or Winston either."

"I'm glad to hear that, Grandy. Look, can I ask you something? It's about the shares in Consolidated. Why are you changing your will and leaving your interest to the twins?"

"What a funny question. I thought I'd made it clear, thought that you'd understood me. Surely it's obvious-I'm leaving my shares in the newspaper company to the twins because they are your children, Paula. What other reason could there be?" Emma murmured, sounding extremely perplexed.

"None-I just wondered, that's all," Paula answered. "However, it struck me the other day that your decision might have something to do with Jim. You know, because he's a Fairley. I mean, if his grandfather had hung on to the Gazette, it would have been his today, wouldn't it?"

Emma burst into peals of laughter. "I very much doubt that," she gasped. Immediately recovering herself, she said, "Edwin Fairley would have lost the paper eventually, as I've told you before. Besides, the Fairleys owned only the Yorkshire Morning Gazette, none of the other papers in the Consolidated chain. You know I acquired those myself and with the help of my brothers." Her incredulous laughter reverberated down the wire again. "You can't possibly think that I feel guilty about the Fairleys," she spluttered,' obviously highly entertained by this idea.

"Of course I don't," Paula exclaimed heatedly, wishing she had never brought the subject up, realizing that she had been right and Jim wrong all along.

"I should hope not, my darling girl," Emma said, stifling her merriment. "I've always admitted that I gave the Fairleys a few nudges and very sharp ones at that, as they waltzed down the path to folly which they had chosen for themselves. But I can a.s.sure you that I never once lost a wink of sleep about any of my actions. I was delighted 1 was able to turn the tables on them, come out the big winner. So don't think for one minute that I'm troubled by any guilty feelings about a lot of dead Fairleys or Jim for that matter. And if he has suggested such a thing to you, you can tell him from me that he's wrong, quite wrong."

"Oh no, he didn't bring it up," Paula lied smoothly, knowing such an admission would annoy her grandmother. "It was merely a thought that flitted through my active brain."

Emma chuckled under her breath at Paula's hurried response, uncertain of its veracity. She said, "I hope you feel better now that we've cleared the air about Jim's resignation."

"Yes, Gran, you always help me to get everything in its right perspective."

Chapter Nineteen.

Ten 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 rea.s.sure 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 h.o.m.os.e.xual 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 sucha dreadful step-spied on someone-once in her life before; and then, like now, it had been repugnant, had goneagainst her nature. Some forty years ago she had seen fit to have the activities of her second husband monitored ... toprotect herself and her children. She was suddenly struck by the bitter irony of the present situation. Her secondhusband, Arthur Ainsley, had been Jonathan's grandfather.

Sitting back in the chair, Emma wrestled with another pressing problem-whether or not to discuss her suspicionsabout Jonathan with Alexander and Paula. Maybe it would be wisest to confide in them. What if something happenedto her when she was abroad? What if she fell sick? Or dropped dead? She did not think there was much chance ofeither. She was in good health, arid she felt strong and vital, and certainly she was more energetic than ever. On theother 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 noneed 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."