Emma Harte - Hold The Dream Part 35

"Oh, Jim, I only want to save-"

"Hush, darling. Hush," he said softly, smiling engagingly, taking her hand in his. "When I look around at our friends and acquaintances I know we have the most marvelous of marriages. We're very lucky, Paula, and I congratulate myself every day, knowing how compatible we are."

Dismay lodged in her stomach like a heavy stone. Observing the stubbornness settling on his face, she acknowledged there was no reason to continue. She was talking to a brick wall.

Jim said, "You are looking thoughtful all of a sudden. And do you know something? You think too muchand far too hard." He laughed lightly, dismissively, taking the sting out of his words. "a.n.a.lyzing every tinything the way you are p.r.o.ne to do isn't very smart. I discovered that years ago. Whenever one putssomething under a microscope, seeking flaws, one inevitably finds them. There's nothing wrong with ourrelationship, Paula. Do try to take it easy, darling." He bent forward, kissed her on the cheek, then rosepurposefully. "Now that we've had our chat, I'll be going, if you don't mind." He squeezed her shoulder."Drive carefully, and phone me tonight before you go to sleep." He winked. "That's always when I missyou the most."

Paula sat staring at him, stupefied, unable to speak. Finally she managed a nod. When he turned away, her eyes followed him. There was a void in her heart as she watched him walk across the room. The study door clicked behind him. She heard the echo of his footsteps crossing the hall, the front door slamming, and a few seconds later the sound of his car as he revved the engine. She sat very still in the chair for a long time after he had left, filled with despair and an overwhelming sense of defeat.

Finally she roused herself from her troubled thoughts, pushed herself up out of the chair and left the room.

Slowly, wearily, she climbed the stairs to the nursery and her children. They had always been the joy of her existence. They were her whole existence now.

Chapter Thirty-one.

Paula looked from Dale Stevens to Ross Nelson. "My grandmother would never consider selling her stock in Sitex Oil. Never."

Ross Nelson smiled, his expression sanguine. "Never is a word I've learned to distrust. It has a way of coming back to haunt one, and that's why I hardly ever use it."

"I understand the point you're trying to make," Paula said, "but, nevertheless, I know what my grandmother's feelings are about Sitex, and she wouldn't be interested in your proposal. She promised my grandfather-" Paula cut herself short, shrugged offhandedly. "However, that's another story, and this conversation is really a waste of time-Dale's, yours, and mine."

Dale Stevens said, "Maybe-you ought to broach it to Emma when she gets back from Australia next month, test the water, see what she has to say. She might like the idea. Times have changed, and let's not lose sight of the fact that she stands to make millions if she sells out."

"I don't think money comes into play here, "--Paula answered.

"Harry Marriott and his cronies on the board are a tough bunch, Paula," Dale remarked, giving her a pointed look, leveling his alert dark eyes at her. "They've wanted Emma out for years^-resent her influence-and the situation can only worsen, get harder for you in the future. When she's no longer around, you'll find yourself-"

"My grandmother's not dead yet," Paula interjected, meeting his fixed stare with a cool glance; "and I refuse to speculate about the future and eventualities that are a long way off. I deal with business the only way I know how-on a day-today basis. I'm certainly not going to seek out trouble, and I'd like to remind you that Marriott is a very old man. He won't last forever, and, therefore, neither will his influence."

"There's that nephew of his," Dale pointed out quietly. "Marriott Watson's a nasty son of a b.i.t.c.h, a troublemaker."

"Oh, don't talk to me about nephews," Paula began and -stopped, biting her inner lip. She turned to Ross, remembering that he was the nephew of Daniel P. Nelson and his heir. She laughed lightly and apologized, "Sorry, Ross, I didn't mean to sound disparaging about nephews in general. I wasn't getting at you."

He laughed with her, and there was a hint of humor surfacing in his hazel eyes. "Don't worry, I don't take offense that easily." He leaned forward, his face growing serious. "What Dale is trying to say is that those members of the board who have strained under Emma's yoke are going to be awfully rough with you, for the simple reason that you're a-"

Paula held up her hand. "You don't have to say it, Ross. I know the reason. I'm a woman, and a young one at that. I realize they've only listened to my grandmother all these years because they've had no option. She is the single largest stockholder, and my grandfather was the founder of the company, and obviously certain people have always hated her because of her enormous power, and, of course, because she is a woman." Paula paused. "Still, Emma Harte has managed, and managed very well indeed. She has always outsmarted that board, and so will I. I'm not without intelligence and inventiveness. I'll find a way to make them listen, take notice of me."

Ross and Dale were silent, exchanged knowing glances.

Ross spoke first: "I wouldn't want you to think I'm bigoted, a male chauvinist pig like some of those idiots on the board of Sitex, but despite the inroads women have been making in business lately, of which I totally approve, I might add, I'm afraid we have to face the facts. It's still a man's-"

Paula broke into laughter, instantly cutting him off. "I know it's still a man's world. You don't have to rub it in. And it always will be until the day women can go to the men's room."

Ross Nelson's smile was slow, amused. He appreciated her sense of humor as well as her inherent toughness and courage. She was one h.e.l.l of a woman. His eyes lingered on her appraisingly. He was strongly attracted to her, fascinated by her self-control, her sharp mind, her extraordinary selfconfidence. He wanted her for himself. He wondered what approach to take, the best tactics to use, how long it would take him to get her into his bed. He fully intended to do that-and the sooner the better.

He disengaged his eyes from hers, conscious of the prolonged silence. He said, with a strangled laugh, "Not all deals are made in the men's room, Paula."

"Most of them are," she shot back, throwing him that challenging look again. "Or the equivalent of the men's room," she added, making a moue with her mouth.

This further inflamed him, and he could only grin, suddenly feeling asinine, like an inexperienced schoolboy. He had the compelling urge to fasten his mouth on hers, and he would have done so if Dale had not been present.

Dale coughed behind his hand, said quickly, "Marriott Watson has been gunning for me for a long time, Paula, because I'm Emma's protege^ Don't think he won't make strong moves against me when I'm no longer under her protection. He can't wait."

"I'm well aware of that," Paula replied, her tone as sober as his. "But right now you do have her protection, and mine, for what it's worth. Also, let's not overlook those board members who are on our side. Together we wield a lot of power. In September you promised me you'd stay on as president until Christmas. Last month you agreed to continue until your contract runs out, in spite of the present hara.s.sment from certain quarters within the company. You're not changing your mind-reneging-are you?"

"No, honey, no way. I'll be right in there with you, fighting the good fight," Dale insisted with firmness. "However, I would like you to mention Ross's idea to Emma when she's back in England."

"I've every intention of doing so, and she has a right to know. Don't be concerned. She'll get a full report of this meeting." She swung her head to face Ross. "She will ask me who your client is, Ross. Naturally sh.e.l.l want to know who's interested in buying.her stock. You haven't given me the name yet." She sat back in the chair, eyeing him speculatively.

Ross Nelson, in full control again, shook his head. "I can't tell you, Paula. At least not yet. Once you express a genuine interest in selling the Sitex stock I will, of course, do so at once. Until then, the name must remain confidential. At the specific request of our client. And I would like to repeat what I said at the outset of this meeting-that the interested party has been a client of the bank for a long time and is highly respected."

Paula was amused at his insistence on secrecy but she kept her face neutral. "It's obviously another oil company, and I doubt that it's one of the really huge ones like Getty or Standard. It must be a medium-sized company-a company such as International Petroleum, perhaps?" There was a shrewd glint in her knowing violet eyes.

Ross was impressed. His admiration for her went up another notch. She had stabbed in the dark most probably, but hit the bull's-eye nonetheless. "No, it isn't International Petroleum," he lied smoothly. "And please don't start a guessing game, because it won't do you any good." He flashed her one of his deep, warm smiles. "The name cannot be revealed until our client gives permission, and it may interest you to know that not even Dale has an inkling of who it is."

But you haven't denied it's an oil company, Paula thought. She said, "Then I suppose I may never know, since my grandmother won't be interested in selling." Paula crossed her legs, adopting a more relaxed posture, wondering if Ross had told her the truth when he had denied it was International Petroleum. She was not sure. Neither was she sure of her feelings about the man himself. Her att.i.tude toward him had always been ambivalent. She had never been able to decide whether she liked him or not. On the surface Ross Nelson was charming, courteous, sure of himself, forever ready to oblige. A handsome man in his late thirties, he was about five feet nine, well built, fair of coloring, with an open, almost guileless face and the friendliest of smiles that flashed relentlessly to reveal his big white perfect teeth. His appearance was sleek and polished, his clothes impeccable, as were his manners.

And yet all of this was deceptive, or so it seemed to Paula. She could not help thinking that there was something concealed and predatory about him. Quietly observing Ross now, it suddenly struck her that the beautiful clothes and the insouciance he projected were mere fafades to camouflage unpleasant characteristics that only came to light behind the closed doors of the bank's boardroom. As Emma had divined before her, Paula scented a cold and calculating ruthlessness in him, a grim hardness behind the charm, the smiles, and the golden boy image.

Dale and Ross had been chatting about the explosion in the engine room of the Emeremm III, and Paula gave the two men her entire attention.

Dale was saying, "Of course sabotage crossed my mind, Ross, but it's been ruled out. There was that recent inquiry and nothing untoward was discovered, nothing at all. Anyway, who would do such a thing?" He shook his head rapidly, frowned. "No, no, it was definitely an accident, even though we haven't been able to discover exactly what caused the explosion."

Paula thought: The disaster to the Emeremm III was a harbinger of bad luck, but she said, "So it remains a mystery, and a terrible stain on our safety record."

" 'Fraid so, honey." Dale's grin was rueful and his brown eyes crinkled at the corners in his leathery, weather-beaten ' face. "Hate to keep repeating myself, but the oil game is a high-risk business. However, the Emeremm III is a st.u.r.dy vessel and I just heard this morning that she's seaworthy again and back in the fleet."

"Well, that's a bit of good news!" Paula exclaimed, looking pleased, giving Dale a warm smile. The president of Sitex was a man she liked and trusted and whom she never had any qualms about. He was smart, tough, exceedingly ambitious for himself, but he was honest, and exactly what he seemed- not given to dissembling or craftiness. Studying him surrept.i.tiously, she thought that even his clothes reflected the man himself, were good but conservative, lacked the expensive elegance of the ones that Nelson wore. She asked herself then what this wily, hard-grinding, fifty-three-year-old Texan who had risen the hard way could possibly have in common with the smooth Eastern Seaboard banker sitting next to him. The latter reeked of the old guard, pots and pots of inherited money and a privileged heritage. Yet close friends they were. Ross Nelson had introduced Dale Stevens to Emma two years ago, and it was through the investment banker that Dale was now president of the oil company.

Watching her watching him, Dale suddenly said, "I hope you don't think I lack confidence in you, because that's not true, honey." '

"But I am an unknown quant.i.ty, right?" she retorted swiftly, and continued in the same mild voice, "I understand your motives, Dale, and I can't say I blame you. You're looking to the future, and you've decided that things will operate much more smoothly at Sitex if our big block of preferred stock is controlled by someone else, someone whom you believe might be better equipped to handle the disruptive faction on the Sitex board."

Continuing to scrutinize her closely, forever conscious of her astuteness and perception, and never one to underestimate this clever young woman, Dale decided to be truthful. "Yes," he said, giving her a direct and open look, "that's part of my reasoning, I admit that. But it's not all of it. In one sense I'm also thinking of you, your heavy burdens. It seems to me that you have your hands full with the Harte chain and your considerable business interests in England and Australia. And of course, you are based in England, honey."

Paula said pithily, "Telephones work, telex machines transmit, planes fly."

"But Sitex is still an additional pressure for you," he said, paying no attention to her sarcastic tone. "And do you really need it?" Dale shook his head, as if making up her mind for her. "I don't think you do, and if it were me, why, I'd persuade Emma to sell out and make a huge profit. You could reinvest the millions you make from the stock in something else-something that's less of a headache."

She said nothing.

"I concur with Dale," Ross stated, his tone flat. He cleared his throat. "Obviously I've long been aware of the difficulties at Sitex, not only through Dale, but because of Emma's confidences over the last few years. And so, when the bank's client professed an interest in buying up Sitex stock, I immediately thought of Emma's vast holdings in the company. I spoke to Dale and he agreed we should raise the matter with you immediately. The bank's client has already invested in Sitex's common stock. And with your forty-two percent-" He stopped, offered her one of his perpetual all-embracing smiles. "Why, Paula, that would give our client real clout."

"Anybody who owns that forty-two percent has 'clout," Paula said crisply. "Whether it's us or your client is quite beside the point. You know as well as I do that it's the actual stock, not the owner of it, that counts. And anyway, your client's common stock doesn't come into play since it's not voting stock and has no power attached to it. Obviously this client of yours-whether an individual or a company-needs my grandmother's stock to give him, or them, a voice in the running of the company. Control is what they're after. I understand everything perfectly."

Neither man responded, both acknowledging to themselves that there was no point in making denials and in so doing looking foolish.

Paula stood up and, adopting her most gracious manner, went on, "I'm afraid I have to bring our informal little get-together to a close, gentlemen. I think we've covered as much ground as we can today. I will talk to my grandmother in December, and I'm sure you'll be hearing from her personally. And it really is up to her-her decision." Paula laughed softly, murmured, "And who knows, she might surprise even me and decide to sell after all."

Dale and Ross had risen when she had, and as Paula walked them to the door, Dale said, "I'm flying back to Odessa tonight, but just give me a holler if you need me, or need anything at all. In any event. 111 be calling you next week to touch base."

"Thanks, Dale, I appreciate that," Paula said, taking his * outstretched hand.

"Are you sure you won't join us for lunch?" Ross asked.

"Thank you again, but I can't. I have a date with the fashion director of Harte's USA, and since we're going to be planning the French. Designer Week promotion over lunch it's not possible for me to cancel."

"Our loss," he said, sounding disappointed, keeping his eyes focused on her, still clasping her hand tightly in his. "Unlike Dale, I'm not flying off anywhere, Paula. I'm staying right here in little old Manhattan. Let me know if 1 can help you with anything-anything whatsoever. And I hope I can take you to dinner one evening this week."

Extracting her hand, Paula said, "How kind of you, Ross. I'm afraid I'm rather busy this week. Every night, actually." This was untrue bu^ she had no desire to see him socially.

"Not next week, I sincerely hope!" He leaned into her, squeezed her arm. "I'll call you on Monday and I won't take no for an answer," he warned, with a hearty laugh.

Once they had left, Paula walked slowly across the room to the desk, a great slab of gla.s.s supported by a simple base of polished steel. It was the dramatic focal point in Emma's highly dramatic office at Harte Enterprises, where Paula always based herself when she was in New York. The room was furnished with modern pieces and washed throughout with a melange of misty grays and blues. The soft muted colors were enlivened by some of Emma's priceless French Impressionist paintings, while sculpture by Henry Moore and Brancusi, and rare temple heads from Angkor Wat, were displayed on black marble pedestals around the room. All made a strong, definitive statement, and evidenced Emma's great love of art.

Seating herself at the desk, Paula placed her elbows on it, cupped her face in her hands, thinking about the meeting she had just finished. At the back of her mind a germ of an idea flickered, began to take shape, and as it did a slow smile spread across her face. Quite unwittingly Ross Nelson and Dale Stevens had 'shown her a way to resolve some of her problems at Sitex, if not, in fact, all of them. But not now, she thought. Later, when 1 really need to make everyone keep in step to the beat of my drum.

As she straightened up, she laughed out loud. It was not a very nice idea, indeed, it was rather diabolical-Machiavellian-but it would be effective, and it bore Emma Harte's inimitable stamp. Still laughing quietly, she thought: I must be growing more like Grandy every day. The possibility that this was true pleased her. In a sense it helped to alleviate some of the depression and frustration she had been experiencing since her abortive attempt to talk to Jim before she had left England.

If her marriage was in a shambles, her personal life grounded in aridity, then she was going to make certain she had a fruitful career, her own successes in business to compensate for her'other losses. Work had been Emma's strong citadel when her private life had been wrecked, and so it would become Paula's, sustaining her at all times. With her business to occupy her thoughts, and her abiding love for her children to give her emotional nourishment, she would survive, and survive well, perhaps even with style, as her grandmother had done. Her thoughts jumped to Jim, but they were neither rancorous nor condemning. She felt only a terrible sadness for him. He did not know what he had lost, and that was the pity, the tragedy of it all.

Shane O'Neill was in a quandary this afternoon.

He strode up Park Avenue at a rapid pace, dodging in and out amongst the other pedestrians, his thoughts twisting and turning at a similar accelerated rate. He was unable to make up his mind about Paula. Should he phone her or not? The knowledge that she was in New York, sitting only a few blocks away from him at this very moment, had so unnerved him he couldn't imagine what being in her'presence would do to him. And if he did call her he would have no alternative but to see her, invite her out, take her to lunch or dinner, at the very least have drinks with her.

Earlier that day, when he had been talking to their London office, he had been taken aback when his father had mentioned in pa.s.sing that Paula had flown to New York. "Merry and I had supper with her in London on Sunday night," his father had gone on to explain before reverting to their discussion about current business matters. And before they had hung up, his father had exclaimed, "Oh, Shane, just a minute, here comes Merry now. She wants to say h.e.l.lo to you."

But Merry had given him more than a greeting. She had issued instructions. "Please ring Paula," Merry had urged. "I gave her your numbers the other night, but I know she won't call you. She'd be too intimidated." When he asked her for clarification, his sister had told him that Paula had long been acutely conscious of his aloofness, as she had herself. "She'll be scared of being rebuffed," Merry had pointed out. "So it's really up to you. Be nice, Shane, she's such an old friend. And she doesn't look very well." This last statement had been announced in a grave and worried voice, and Merry had rushed on, "She seems weighted down, troubled, morose even, and that's not the Paula we know.. Please take her out, give her a good time. Have some fun together, Shane, make her laugh again, like you used to do when we were all children." His sister's comments had alarmed him; he had pressed for more information about Paula's state of mind and health. Merry had riot really been able to enlighten him any further, and before they had said good-bye he had faithfully promised his sister he would get in touch with Paula.

But he was wavering again. Whilst he longed to see her, he knew that by succ.u.mbing to his yearning he would only be inflicting punishment on himself. She was another man's wife. Lost to him forever. To spend time with her would open up all the old wounds . . . wounds which had not exactly healed but had scabbed over at least, and were therefore much less painful. It will be unsettling, he thought, reflecting on the life he had built for himself in New York over the past eight months. It was not an exciting life; rather, it was dull and uneventful, with no great highs, but no debilitating lows, either. He was neither happy nor sad, in limbo in a sense, but he did have peace and quiet. There were no women around anymore. Two sorties in that direction had foundered miserably and rendered him helpless, despairing. And he had decided, yet again, that celibacy was infinitely preferable to disastrous scenes in the bedroom which ended in embarra.s.sment, left him shaken and filled with mortification at his own inadequacies. And so he scrupulously avoided all female entanglements and spent most of his time working. More often than not, he remained at the new offices of O'Neill Hotels International until eight or nine at night, and then went home to a dreary supper in front of the television set. From time to time he made a date with Ross Nelson or with one of the other two men he had become friendly with; occasionally he took Skye Smith to a movie or the theater and then on to dinner afterward. But for the most part he led a solitary existence, with books and music as his sole companions. He was not happy, but there was no pain to deal with. He was dead inside.

As all of this ran through his head, Shane had a sudden change of heart. He really ought to see Paula, if only for appearances' sake. Should any of his other childhood friends happen to visit the city, he would wine and dine them automatically. To avoid Paula would look peculiar, pointed, actually, especially to Emma and his grandfather, who would undoubtedly ask him about her when they pa.s.sed through New York next month. Besides that, Merry had said Paula was not looking well. Yes, he had better invite her to dinner, just to satisfy himself she was really all right. But she's not your responsibility, he cautioned himself, thinking of Jim Fairley. Her husband. Unexpectedly, a savage feeling of jealousy seized him, and he had to make a strenuous effort to fling this emotion off as he crossed Fifty-ninth Street and continued on up Park, making for the mid-sixties.

In a few minutes he would be arriving at the site of their new hotel. The construction company had almost finished rebuilding the old-fashioned interiors and momentarily he would be surrounded by the crews, the foremen, the architects, and the interior designers. All would be demanding his attention. I must make a decision about Paula. Now. No more procrastinating. Oh, to h.e.l.l with Jim Fairley! She's my oldest and dearest friend. I grew up with her. Of course I'm going to see her. No, you can't. It will be too hurtful. Once again Shane reversed himself.

And he was paralyzed into inaction by the knowledge that he was vulnerable to her. If he so much as set eyes on the only woman he loved he would be exposing himself to pain and suffering from which he might never fully recover.

Skye Smith looked at Ross Nelson nervously, and her voice quavered slightly as she said, "But your divorce has been final for weeks now. I don't understand. I always thought we were going to get married."

"I'm afraid that has been wishful thinking on your part, Skye," Ross said, endeavoring to keep his voice level, to be courteous if nothing else.

"But what about Jennifer?"

"What about her?"

"She's your child, Ross!"

For a moment he said nothing. He had been furious when he had arrived home from Wall Street ten minutes earlier to find Skye Smith, his former mistress, sitting in his living room so coolly composed and obviously determined to fight with him yet again. He was growing exasperated with her and the constant pressuring. The moment she left he was going to fire his housekeeper for being stupid enough to allow her into the apartment.

Skye sat twisting her hands, her face white, her eyes filled with mute appeal.

Ross Nelson stared at her, his implacability increasing as he noted her agitation. Her apparent distress did nothing to engender sympathy or compa.s.sion in him. It only served to annoy him further. "You say she's my child. But is" she, really?" he asked cruelly. "I've never been too sure . . . about her paternity."

Skye gasped, drew back on the sofa. "How can you say that! You know you're her father. She's the spitting image of you, Ross, and there's the blood test. And anyway, you kept me virtually under lock and key for four years. I never so much as looked at another man."

He smiled ironically. "But you're looking at one these days, and very lovingly so, aren't you, Skye? Shane O'Neill, to be precise. And since you're sleeping with him I suggest you use your considerable s.e.xual wiles to ensnare him. You'd better lead him by the nose to the altar, and as quickly as possible."

"I'm not sleeping with him," she protested fiercely, her apathy dropping away, her eyes flashing angrily with sudden life.

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" he exclaimed, with a cynical laugh, "I know everything there is to know about you, Skye, and then some." His eyes hardened as they swept over her and his mouth lifted at the corner in a scornful smile. "You can't resist tall, husky, handsome studs, they've always beon your terrible weakness, my dear. As we both know only too well. You'd be wise to marry one of them while you still have your beautiful blond looks and that extraordinarily athletic s.e.xual ability. Shane's definitely the most likely prospect. He's getting it from you in bed, so why don't you get him to make it legal, while the romance is still in that first euphoric flush. He's your type, no two ways about it. He's also a rich man, and he's certainly available."

"Ross, I'm telling you the truth. I'm not having an affair with Shane O'Neill," she insisted.

Ross laughed in her face, reached for the silver cigarette box on the antique Chinese coffee table, slowly put a flame to the cigarette he held between his fingers.

Skye's eyes rested on him. She wondered why she had ever let herself become embroiled with him-and so foolishly- years ago asked herself why it was her misfortune to love this man in the way in which she did. The trouble was, he knew exactly how she felt, and that was why he had lately begun to cool toward her. Ross only wanted the things in life which he could not possess, and especially women who showed no interest in him whatsoever. He's perverse, she thought, but oh G.o.d how I love him. She knew she had to make him believe her about Shane for the child's sake as well as her own. Suddenly realizing that the only way to convince him was to be open and explicit, she said quietly, "All right, I admit it. I aid go to bed with Shane. Once. It was when 1 discovered you'd taken Denise Hodgson to South America with you, when I found out about your affair with her. Retaliation, I suppose. But it didn't work between us. We never made love. And we've never been near each other since, not in that way, Ross. We're friends, that's all. Chums."

"Chums," Ross spluttered, shaking his head. "Come on, Skye, it's me you're talking to, remember? 1 haven't known you for five years not to understand exactly how you can make a man feel, especially in the beginning, when he's not yet slept with you.' He laughed derisively. "Didn't work between you, eh?" he muttered, his expression one of total disbelief.

Skye swallowed, knowing she had to continue talking, give. him a full explanation if she was to make any headway, ingratiate herself with him again, somehow win him back. "Yes, that's correct, I promise you, Ross. Shane and I are simply good friends." She swallowed again. "He couldn't . . . well, the night we went to bed ... he wasn't able to ... you know, do anything."

Ross slapped his knee, raucous laughter rippling through him. "Do you expect me to believe Shane O'Neill couldn't get it up with you? Oh no, Skye, I'll never accept that one from you."

"But it's the truth," she whispered, remembering so clearly that miserable night, Shane's dreadful embarra.s.sment, her own confusion. "It's the G.o.d's truth." She leaned across the coffee table, finished in a much stronger tone, "I swear it on Jennifer's head, on my child-on our child."

His laughter ceased and his eyes narrowed, observed her thoughtfully. Instantly he knew she was not lying, not when she brought the child into it. He said, "So . . . Shane's got a little problem, has he?"

She nodded. "With me at least." She hesitated. "I have a feeling he's in love with someone."

"I wonder who that could be, who the woman in question is. Do you know?"

"That's a silly thing to ask. How could I possibly know. He hasn't confided anything. Don't you see, Ross, that's why he's not available as a husband for me."

"Neither am I."