"It's poor Min," Edwina gasped at last. "Anthony's wife . . . she's . . . she's . . . dead. She's been found . . . drowned ..." Though she had choked on these words, Edwina managed to add, "In the lake at Clonloughlin. And . . . and . . ." Edwina was unable to continue and oegan to weep.

Paula went cold from head to toe. Innumerable questions leapt into her mind. How had she drowned? Accident? Suicide? And why had Min been at Clonloughlin in the first place when she and Anthony were estranged? Aware suddenly that her aunt's sobbing had lessened, if only a fraction, Paula said sympathetically, "I'm so sorry; so very sorry. This must be a terrible shock for you."

Edwina gasped, "It's not only Min. It's poor Anthony. Paula-the police are here. They're questioning Anthony again. Oh my poor boy! I don't know what to do! I wish I could talk to Jim. It's also a pity Mother isn't in England. She'd know how to handle this ghastly mess. Oh dear G.o.d, what am I going to do?"

Paula stiffened. Her mind worked swiftly, striving to comprehend what Edwina was intimating. "What do you mean about the police? You're not trying to tell me they think Anthony is somehow involved in Min's death are you?"

There was an awful stillness at Edwina's end. Her voice was a terrified whisper when she spoke. "Yes," she said.

Paula sat down heavily on the hall chair. She felt p.r.i.c.kles of gooseflesh on her arms and her heartbeat accelerated against her rib cage. Horror was trickling through her but instantly this gave way to a burst of anger. "How ridiculous! Your local police force must be bonkers. Anthony under suspicion of murd-" Paula bit off the remainder of the word, reluctant to say it. Again she exclaimed, "This is preposterous!"

"They think he ki-" Edwina faltered, for like Paula she was unable to voice the unthinkable.

Striving to take hold of herself, Paula said in her firmest manner, "Aunt Edwina, please start at the beginning and tell me everything. Grandy and Jim may not be here, but I am, and I will do everything I can to help, but you must be absolutely honest with me so that I can make the proper decisions."

"Yes. Yes. All right." Edwina sounded slightly calmer, and although she stumbled a few times she was able to give Paula the essential details about the discovery of Min's body early that morning, the 'arrival of the police, who had been summoned by Anthony, their departure and their subsequent return two hours ago. After poking around the estate they had ensconced themselves with Anthony in the library at Clonloughlin and were still with him.

When Edwina finished, Paula said, "It sounds very cut-and-dried to me. Min obviously had an accident." She hesitated. "Look," she went on, "I think this is merely routine ... I mean, the police coming back this afternoon."

"No! No!" Edwina cried. "It isn't routine. Min's been creating problems lately. She changed her mind several weeks ago-about the divorce. She refused to go ahead with it. Other things have been happening. Dreadful things." Then Edwina added rapidly, in a voice so quiet Paula had to strain to hear, "That's why the police are here."

"You'd better tell me everything," Paula said as steadily as she could, even though her sense of dread was mounting by the second.

Edwina gulped. "Yes, I think I must. The trouble started a ' month ago, actually. Min came down here-she's been living in Waterford-and started to make a nuisance of herself, caused the most horrendous scenes. Sometimes she was really sloshed, reeling from drink. She and Anthony had fierce quarrels and there were some unfortunate scenes in front of the staff, the estate workers, and even a nasty confrontation one afternoon in the village, when she accosted Anthony. All of the rows, the violence, have inevitably caused gossip, and , Sally Harte's presence here earlier this summer hasn't done anything to help the situation. You know what people are like in a small place, Paula. Gossip is their way of life. There's been an awful lot of talk-distressing talk-about the other woman."

Paula groaned inwardly. "Let's go back for a moment. What did you mean when you referred to violence?"

"Oh, violent words mostly. Shouting and screaming on Min's part, but Anthony did become enraged last weekend when she showed up on Sat.u.r.day. At dinnertime. He had guests. I was there. They had a fight, a verbal fight that is, and she hit Anthony with a golf club. He pushed her away from him, a natural reaction, I suppose. She fell, though, in the hall. Min wasn't really hurt, but she pretended she was. She was overly dramatic about it, screamed something about Anthony wanting her-"

"Yes, Aunt Edwina, go on," Paula gently encouraged as the silence lengthened.

There was a sound of harsh breathing before Edwina told Paula, with a sob, "Min shouted something about Anthony wanting her dead and buried and that she wouldn't be surprised if she was found murdered. And very soon. Several people heard her say this. I did myself."

"Oh my G.o.d!" Paula's heart sank and her apprehension spiraled into genuine fear. She did not think for a single moment that her cousin had killed his wife, but it was suddenly apparent to her why the police harbored suspicions about Anthony. Her mind momentarily floundered, then rallied, as she told herself she had to come to grips with this dilemma. But where to begin? Who to enlist?

Paula said in a strong, calm voice that belied her inner nervousness, "All the gossip, the scenes are meaningless in the long run. The police need hard evidence before they can do anything-arrest Anthony, accuse him of killing her. When did she drown? What about an alibi? Surely Anthony has one."

"They're not sure about the time of death ... at least that's what they say. I think they're doing an autopsy," Edwina went on miserably. "Alibi? No, that's the terrible part, Anthony doesn't have one."

"Where was he yesterday? Last night? Those must be the crucial hours."

"Last night," Edwina repeated as if she were confused. Then she said quickly, "Yes, yes, I see what you mean. Min arrived at Clonloughlin at about five o'clock yesterday. I saw her driving up-from my bedroom window in the Dower House. I phoned Anthony to warn him. He was annoyed. He told me he was going to hop into his old Land-Rover and drive out to the lake-in the hopes of avoiding her."

"And he did that? Went out to the lake?" Paula asked. . "Yes. But she must have seen him driving off in that direction, or she simply second-guessed where he had gone. It was one of his favorite spots. She followed him out there, and-"

"They had a quarrel at the lake?" Paula cut in.

"Oh no. He never even spoke to her!" Edwina cried. "You see, he saw her mini in the distance-the land is flat around the far side of the lake. He simply got back into the Land-Rover and was going to return to the house the long way round. But he hadn't driven very far when the Land-Rover conked out. Anthony left it parked and started to walk home. He wanted to avoid Min . . . don't you understand?"

"Yes. And he left the Land-Rover near the lake, is that what you're saying?" Paula demanded, wondering if this was incriminating or not.

"Of course he left it there.-It wouldn't start . . ." Edwina was saying, her high-pitched voice trembling again..

"Please don't cry, Aunt Edwina," Paula pleaded. "It's essential that you control yourself. Please.""Yes. Yes. I'll try," she sniffed.Paqla heard her blowing her nose and then her aunt resumed, "You don't know Clonloughlin, Paula, it's vast. It took Anthony an hour to walk back. He had to go up the hill, through the wood and several fields to get to the road that cuts across the estate and leads to the village. He-"

"Road!" Paula exclaimed, seizing on this fact immediately. "Didn't he see anyone?"

"No, he didn't. At least he never mentioned that. Anyway, Anthony got back to the house around six-thirty. He phoned me, told me about the Land-Rover breaking down. Then he said he would change for dinner, see me later. I went up to the house around seven. We had drinks and ate, but Anthony was very nervous, not himself. You see, he thought Min would show up and start behaving offensively again."

"But she didn't, did she?"

"No, we were alone all evening. As I said, Anthony was out of sorts and he walked me back to the Dower House around nine-thirty, perhaps nine forty-five, then he returned to Clonloughlin."

"And who found Min's body?"

"The estate manager. He was driving past the lake very early this morning and saw the Land-Rover, also

the mini. Then he found-' Edwina broke down, sobbing as if her heart would break.

Paula tried to soothe her aunt, rea.s.sure her, and said, "Please, Aunt Edwina, be brave. I'm sure everything is going to be all right." She prayed she was right.

"But I'm frightened for him," Edwina mumbled in a tear-filled tone, "truly frightened-"

"Now listen to me and please do as I tell you," Paula instructed peremptorily, taking charge. "Don't make

any more phone calls, and if you receive any, hang up as quickly as

Eossible. I want you to keep this line open. I shall ring you ack very shortly. I presume you're calling from the Dower House?"

"Yes." Edwina hesitated, asked, "But what are you going to do?"

"I think I'd better get my mother over there to stay with you for the next few days. You shouldn't be

alone at a time like this. I a.s.sume there's going to be an inquest. The main thing is, I don't want you to worry. Fretting won't help anyone. I know it won't be easy, but you must try. I'll ring you back within the hour."

"Th-th-th-thank you, P-P-Paula," Edwina stammered.

They said good-bye and hung up. Paula immediately lifted the phone and dialed her parents' flat in

London. The line was ousy. She flung the receiver back into the cradle with impatience and leapt up, realizing she had better go and talk to Emily.

As Paula raced through the drawing room, she almost fell over an occasional table. She righted it and

stumbled out onto the terrace, blinking as she came out in the bright sunlight.

Having heard the crash, Emily swung her head and grinned. "You are a clumsy clot-" She stopped, her eyes opening wide. "What's happened?" Emily asked worriedly. "You're as white as a sheet.'

Paula leaned against a chair. "We have some trouble, really serious trouble, Emily. I'm going to have to deal with it-and you'll have to help me. Please come inside. I must reach my mother. It'll save time if you listen whilst I explain everything to her."

Chapter Twenty-three.

"You don't think he could have done it,' do you?"

Paula lifted her head sharply. "Of course not!" She stared at Emily, who sat opposite her on the sofa in the conservatory. Her stare intensified and she frowned, "Why, do you?"

Without hesitation, Emily exclaimed, "No. I don't think he would be capable of it." There was a pause, and Emily bit her lip. She said in a rush, "On the other hand, you said something ..."

"I did? What do you mean? When?"

"Oh, not today, Paula, months ago, when you and Alexander took me to lunch just after Gran left. You know, the day we discussed Jonathan. We also spoke about Sarah. You made an interesting remark and it's stuck in my mind ever since. You said we never really know about other people, not even those who are closest to us, and that we know very little about what goes on in people's private lives. I was struck by the essential truth in your words at the time, and, let's face it, we don't know Anthony all that well. We've never spent a lot of time with him."

"You're right. But I've got to go with my gut instinct on this, Emily. I just know he didn't have anything to do with Min's death. Admittedly, the circ.u.mstances sound peculiar, but no"-Paula shook her head vehemently-"I don't believe he killed her. I'm convinced it was an accident. Or suicide. Look here, Emily, Grandy is the shrewdest person we know, and she is brilliant at reading people, spotting character flaws. She thinks the world of Anthony and-"

"Even the nicest people can commit murder," Emily interrupted quietly. "If they're under pressure, pushed hard enough. What about crimes of pa.s.sion, for instance?"

"We must presume Anthony's innocence! That is British law, after all-innocent until proven guilty." * "Please don't think I was implying that he did kill her, because I wasn't. I was just speculating, that's all. To be honest, I'm inclined to go along with you on the suicide theory. Still, I hope she didn't kill herself. Think how hard that would be on Sally and Anthony-having to live with the knowledge that Mm took her own life because of them."

"Yes, that had crossed my mind earlier. It would affect them in the worst way," Paula said, her eyes darkening with worry. She glanced at her watch. "I wish my mother would call back. I hope she's not having a problem getting a plane to Ireland."

Emily also checked her watch. "She's only had fifteen minutes, Paula. Give her a chance. In the meantime, let's go over your list again, check your plan."

"Right," Paula replied, aware positive action would help to subdue her nagging anxiety. Lifting the pad,she scanned it, said, "One: We get Mummy over to Ireland as soon as possible, so that she can hold thefort. She's already working on that, so-" Paula picked up her pen, ticked it off. "Two: My father has toput a call through to Philip at c.o.o.namble between nine ana ten tonight, to alert Philip. G.o.d forbid Grandyreads about this trouble in the papers first. Daddy understands he must do this once Mother is on theplane." Again this item was checked off, and she went on reading aloud. "Three: Put a lid on this messas far as the newspapers are concerned. I'll call Sam Fellowes at the Yorkshire Morning Gazette andPete Smythe on our evening paper. Actually, I'll have to call all of the papers in our chain. I can't controlthe national press but I can certainly make sure those we own don't carry a single line. Four: Talk toHenry Rossiter about legal advice. We might have to send John Crawford. As the family solicitor, hecould represent Anthony, if necessary. Five: Get hold of Winston, Jim, or both, to let them know what'shappened." She lifted her eyes. "Maybe you can make that phone call, Emily, but not until we haveeverything under control. I don't want either of them flying back here. Six: Ring Edwina to rea.s.sure her,and talk to Anthony, tell him what we've done. Seven: Locate Sally Harte. You can do that as well."

"Okay." Emily peered through the door of the conservatory and out into the hall. The telephone was in her direct line of vision. "I think you should work at your desk here, and I'll use the phone in the hall. That way we can see each other, talk easily between calls."

"Good idea. Look, I had better speak to Fellowes and get that out of the way."

"Yes, and I'll start trying to find Sally. Did she tell you on Thursday where exactly she was going in the Lake District?"

"No, and I didn't think to ask, but Uncle Randolph will know. Don't mention a thing about this-not yet,"

Paula warned.

"Not on your life. He'd go into a flat spin." Emily jumped up. "If the other line rings while you're talking to Fellowes, I'll pick it up. It'll probably be your mother."

As Emily ran out, Paula lifted the receiver and dialed the editor's private line at the Yorkshire Morning Gazette. He answered on the second ring, and Paula quickly cut through the usual pleasantries. "Sam,I'm calling about a family matter. My cousin, the Earl of Dunvale, has had a terrible tragedy. His wife has been drowned in the lake on his estate inIreland."

"That is indeed tragic," Fellowes said. "I'll get one of my top writers onto the obituary immediately."

"No, no, Sam. The reason I'm calling is to let you know I don't want anything in the paper. I'm pretty sure the wire services will be carrying something later tonight or tomorrow. In any event, I want the story killed. No obituary, either."

"But why not?" he. demanded. "If the story's on the wires, the national press will be running it. Welllook ridiculous if we don't mention-"

"Sam," Paula cut in quietly, "you should know by now that Emma Harte does not wish to read anything-

anything at all-about her family in her newspapers.""I know that," he snapped, "but surely this is different. How's it going to look if every paper in the countrybut ours has it? What kind of newspaper are we, anyway? I definitely do not like suppressing news."

"Then perhaps you re working on the wrong newspaper, Sam. Because, believe you me, Emma Harte

makes the rules around here, and you'd better respect them.""I'm going to call Jim and Winston in Canada. They run the papers and it seems to me that it's theirdecision-about what we print and what we don't print."

"In their absence, and in the absence of my grandmother, it is my decision and mine alone. / have told youwhat to do. No story. No obituary.""If you say so," he said, his anger ill-concealed.

"I do say so. Thank you, Sam, and good-bye."Paula hung up, bristling. She pulled her address book toward her, looking up Pete Smythe's homenumber, since the evening paper was closed on Sundays. She hoped she would not get the sameargument from Smythe. She was about to dial when Emily flew down the steps, and she swung around inthe chair. "Was that my mother?"