"Of course I don't. Anyway, it's your nature to be a worker, Paula. It's also the way you were reared-as I was reared. I don't have much time for parasites. Frankly, I'd go crazy if I had lots of free time on my hands. I love being out in the marketplace, love the rough-and-tumble, the wheeling and dealing, and so do you. There's another thing-I get a lot of gratification knowing I'm continuing the family business started by Grandpops, and you have to feel exactly the same way."

"I do."

"It's expected of us both . . . Duty has been beaten into us since our births; we wouldn't know any other way to live. Look, our respective grandparents devoted their lives to build ing two great business empires, strived to give us better lives than they had in the beginning, and financial security, and independence and power. How-"

"Jim says the pursuit of power leads to isolation, the death of human values and the death of the soul," Paula interjected.

This was the first time she had mentioned Jim since she had arrived in New York and Shane was momentarily thrown. He cleared his throat. He had no desire to discuss her husband but knew he had to make some sort of response. "And you? Do you agree?"

"No, actually, I don't. Wasn't it Lord Acton who said power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely? That's what Jim was getting at, I think. But to h.e.l.l with Lord Acton, whoever he was. 1 prefer Emma Harte's philosophy. She says power only corrupts when those who have it will do anything to hang on to it. .Grandy says that power can be enn.o.bling, if one understands that power is a tremendous responsibility. And especially to others. I happen to agree with her, not Jim. I do feel responsible, Shane. To Gran, to our employees and shareholders. And to myself."

Shane nodded. "You're right, and so is Emma. I was going to say, a moment ago, how ungrateful and even unconscionable we would be if we were indifferent to our inheritances, turned away from them. It would be negating Blackie and Emma, and all their superhuman efforts." He stood up, glanced at the clock. "It's almost four, and since we're on the subject of responsibility, I'd better go and find my chaps, pay them, tell them to knock off."

Paula also rose, picked up the luncheon tray. "The day's disappeared! I should start preparing the food for dinner."

As they went out, Shane looked down at her, flashed his cheeky grin. "And for your information, Beanstalk, Lord Acton was an English historian, a devout Catholic, a Liberal member of Parliament and close friend of Gladstone's."

"That's nice to know," she said, laughing, and walked into the kitchen.

After stacking the dishwasher, Paula peeled the potatoes, cleaned the sprouts, prepared the lamb, smearing it with b.u.t.ter, adding pepper and dried rosemary leaves. Once the trifle was made and had been placed in the refrigerator, she beat flour, eggs, and milk into a batter for the Yorkshire pudding, humming happily to herself. Shane poked his bead around the door several times during the hour she was working, volunteering to help, but she declined his offer, told him to scoot. She was enjoying herself in much the same way she took pleasure in gardening, using her hands instead of her brain for a change. Therapeutic, she thought, recalling his words about working on the barn.

When she eventually went back into the main room she noticed that he had laid the table for dinner, stacked piles of logs on one end of the hearth, put Beethoven's Ninth on the stereo. But he was nowhere in sight. Paula curled up on the sofa comfortably, listening to the symphony, feeling relaxed and even a little drowsy. She yawned. It's the wine. I'm not used to it at lunchtime, she thought, closing her eyes. It had been a lovely day, the nicest she had spent in a long time, and free of tension, verbal fencing. It was a relief to be herself, not to be constantly on the defensive, as she so often was with Jim.

Shane made her jump when he said, "Now, how about that walk?"

Sitting up, she covered her mouth with her hand, yawning repeatedly. "Sorry. I feel so sleepy. Do you mind if we sc.r.a.p the walk for today?"

He stood near the sofa, hovering over her. "No. I'm wacked myself. I was up at the crack of dawn." He did not add that he'd hardly slept, knowing she was in the room opposite his, so near and yet so far removed from him. He had wanted her very much last night, had longed to hold her in his arms. He said, "Why don't you have a nap?"

"I think I will. But what are you going to do?"

"I've a few more ch.o.r.es, a couple of phone calls to make, and then I'll probably do the same."

She settled back against the cushions, smiling to herself as he went out, whistling under his breath. As she half-dozed she remembered she had not yet tackled him about his behavior over the last eighteen months. Oh, there's plenty of time, all weekend, she thought. I'll do it another day. Something stirred at the back of her mind. It was an incomplete thought and it slid away before she could fully grasp it. She sighed contentedly, felt herself being enveloped by the music and the warmth. Within seconds she was fast asleep.

Chapter Thirty-five.

It was one of those evenings which, right from the outset, was destined to be perfect.

A few minutes before seven, Paula came downstairs looking for Shane.

She was dressed in a light wool caftan which .Emily had made for her. It was a deep-violet color, simply styled, loose and floating, with unusual b.u.t.terfly-wing sleeves that b.u.t.toned tightly at the wrists. With it she wore a long strand of lavender jade beads, another gift from Emily, who had bought them for her in Hong Kong.

Paula found Shane in the main room. He stood by the huge window, looking out.

She noticed that he had1 lit the many candles they had scattered around earlier and set up a bar on one of the small chests.

The fire blazed in the hearth like a huge bonfire, the few lamps he had turned on glowed rosily, and the voice of Ella Fitzgerald singing Cole Porter echoed softly in the background.

Walking forward, Paula said, "I can see that there's nothing for me to do but sit down and have a drink."

Shane swung around. His eyes swept over her.

As she drew closer he saw that she had stroked purple shadow on her lids, and because of this and the color of her dress, those uncanny eyes appeared to be more violet than ever. Shining black hair, brushed back and curling under in a pageboy, framed the pale face, accentuated its translucency. The widow's peak made a sharp indentation on her wide brow. It was dramatic. She was dramatic.

The strain had gone out of her face. He thought she looked more beautiful than she had in years. He said, "You look nice, Paula."

"Thank you-so do you."

He laughed dismissively. "You mentioned a drink. What would you like?"

"White wine, please."

Paula remained standing near the hearth, observing him as he opened the bottle.

He wore dark gray slacks, a lighter gray turtle-necked sweater and a black cashmere sports jacket. Studying him, she thought: He's the same old Shane, and yet somehow he's not. He is different. Maybe it's the mustache after all. Or is it me? She instantly squashed this possibility.

He brought her the drink. She caught the faint whiff of soap and cologne. He was freshly shaved, his hair well brushed, his nails newly manicured. Paula bit back a smile, remembering how his habit of looking at himself whenever he pa.s.sed a mirror had driven her grandmother crazy. Emma had even threatened to have all of the mirrors removed from Heron's Nest if he did not curb his vanity. He had been eighteen that particular year and very conscious of his astonishing looks, his husky, athletic build. She suspected he was still most aware of his physical appeal, although he no longer gazed at himself in mirrors-at least not publicly. Perhaps he had learned to accept his striking appearance. She turned to the fire to hide another smile. He was vain, even a little conceited about some of his attributes and accomplishments, and so very sure of himself. Yet there was an inherent sweetness in him, a gentleness, and he was loving to the core with friends and family, and so very kind. How well she knew Shane Desmond Ingham O'Neill.

Shane, pouring himself a scotch and soda, called across to her, "Don't be surprised if Sonny brings his guitar. He usually does. I may accompany him on the piano-give everyone a treat. We might even have a singsong later."

"Oh G.o.d, shades of the Herons!" Paula laughed. "You really did stink, you know."

"On the contrary, I think we were rather good," he retorted, also laughing. He joined her. "You and the girls were jealous because we stole the show that summer, were the center of attraction. And you were envious of our smashing rig-outs. I'm surprised you didn't start a girls.' band just to compete with us."

She laughed again. He touched his gla.s.s to hers.

Paula stared up at him towering above her, feeling dwarfed by his six feet four inches, and suddenly weak, defenseless, and decidedly female. There definitely was something irresistible about him. The weird feelings he had aroused in her last night began to stir. Her skin tingled. Her heart missed a beat.

Their eyes held.

Paula wanted to look away but his dark and piercing gaze was hypnotic.

Shane broke the contact, swiftly turning, making a show of searching for his cigarettes as he stifled the urge to kiss her You must be careful, he told himself. He wondered if he had been wrong inviting her for the weekend. He .knew he was skating on thin ice. I won't see her again while she's in the States. Inwardly he laughed. He knew he would. ' A series of cheery h.e.l.los rang out. To his immense relief Sonny and Elaine walked in.

Shane hurried across the room to greet them, a huge grin surfacing. He was glad he had invited them. His tension eased.

After propping the guitar case against a chair, Sonny grasped his hand, embraced him, said, "Cognac . . . for after dinner." He handed Shane a bottle wrapped in fancy paper.

Elaine thrust a basket at him. "And here's some of my freshly baked bread for your breakfast," she exclaimed as Shane bent to kiss her cheek.

Shane thanked them, put the gifts on a chest, and brought the Vickerses over to be introduced to Paula.

The minute she met them, Paula knew she was going to like the couple. Sonny was tall, lean, and fair, with a blond beard and merry brown eyes. Elaine, softly pretty and feminine, was one of those women whose genuine sweetness is instantly recognizable. She had an open, friendly face, and her eyes were vividly blue, her short, curly hair prematurely silver.

The three of them sat down, and Shane went to make drinks for the new arrivals. Paula was glad she had chosen the caftan, even though Shane had told her to dress casually. Elaine was wearing black velvet pants with a Chinese jacket of blue brocade and looked elegant in an understated way.

Smiling at her, Elaine said, "Shane told us you're Emma Harte's granddaughter, and that you run her business now. I'm crazy about your London store. I can spend all day there-"

"She's not kidding either," Sonny interrupted, grinning at Paula. "My wife and your store are going to bankrupt me one day."

"Oh, don't pay any attention to my husband, he's the one who's kidding," Elaine said, and continued to rave about Harte's in Knightsbridge.

But when Shane came back with gla.s.ses of wine for Sonny and Elaine, the conversation turned to country matters and local gossip. Paula leaned back in her chair, listening quietly, sipping her drink. As the talk ebbed and flowed between Shane and his friends, she soon became aware of his liking for them, recognized how relaxed he was in their company. But then, so was she. They were easy to be with-warm, outgoing, very real and down-to-earth people. Sonny's wit was as quick as Shane's, although not quite as brilliant and astringent, and the two men were soon bouncing funny lines back and forth. There was a great deal of laughter and jollity in the air, and a festive mood prevailed.

After the first half hour, Paula felt as though she had known this engaging couple for years. Individually each of them drew her out, encouraged her to talk about her work, the stores, and both of them were particularly interested in hearing about her famous grandmother. And she, who was generally reserved with strangers, found herself chatting away. She and Sonny discussed music and his composing, and Paula discovered that he had written several Broadway musicals as well as the background music for numerous Hollywood films. Elaine, in turn, talked about her writing career and her books. And she did so in a manner that was not only informative but amusing, especially when she recounted funny incidents which had happened to her when she was on promotion tours. She told a good story, and entertainingly so, and there was a great deal of laughter arid bonhomie among the four of them.

Occasionally Paula stole surrept.i.tious glances at Shane. He was a wonderful host, constantly up and down, taking care of the drinks, changing the records on the stereo, throwing logs on the fire, and steering the conversation around to different subjects, involving them with each other. And he was obviously delighted with the way the Vickerses had warmed to her. He kept smiling across at her, nodding as if in approval, and twice when he pa.s.sed her chair to do a small ch.o.r.e he squeezed her shoulder affectionately.

Paula had been out to check on the food once, and the second time she rose, Elaine also stood up.

"I'm letting you do all the work," Elaine said, "and that's not fair. I'm coming to help you."

"Things are under control," Paula protested.

"No, no, I insist." Elaine followed Paula out to the kitchen, and as she came through the doorway, she exclaimed, "Everything smells so delicious-my mouth's beginning to water. Now, what can I do?"

"Nothing, really." Paula smiled at her, bent down and took the meat out of the oven, placed it on a platter. "Well, there is one thing . . . Could you cover this with silver foil, please?"

"Consider it done," Elaine said, tearing off a large piece of the silver paper, tucking it around the leg of lamb. She stoodwatching Paula and, after a-moment, she said, "It's a lovely evening. I'm so glad you're here. And you certainly cheer Shane up."

"Do I really?" Paula swung to face Elaine, gave her a curious puzzled look. "You make it sound as if he's been down inthe dumps."

"We think he has. Sonny and I worry about him a lot. He's so nice, generous, very engaging, and pleasant andcharming. Still ..." She shrugged. "To be truthful, he's always up here alone, never brings . . . friends, and there are times when heseems despondent, melancholy." She shrugged again. "Of course, England is a long way off and-"

"Yes, I do think he gets a bit homesick," Paula volunteered, pivoting, turning her attention to the oven again.

Elaine stared at.Paula's back, her brow puckering. "Oh, but I didn't mean it that way-" She stopped abruptly as Shane walked in, swinging the corkscrew in one hand.

He said, "I think I'd better open the wine, let it breathe for a while." He proceeded to do so, remarking to Paula, "Isuppose the meat has to stand and bleed for fifteen minutes or so, before I carve it. Well, I might as well hang around,keep you company."

Elaine slipped out quietly, leaving them alone.

' "It was a wonderful dinner," Elaine said, putting down her dessert fork and spoon, looking across the table at Paula."And I'd love to have the recipe for this trifle. It was yummy." "And the recipe for the Yorkshire pudding," Sonnysuggested. He flashed his wife a sly but loving grin, added, "And I know Elaine won't take offense when I tell you thather puddings come out like great lumps of soggy dough."

Everyone laughed.

Paula said, "I'll write them out for you tomorrow." A smile of pleasure tugged at her mouth. "You're both very good formy ego. I've never had so many compliments about my cooking."

"That's not true," Shane exclaimed. "I've been giving you praise for years. You never pay attention to anything I say, that's your.trouble," he groused, but there %vas laughter on his face.

"Oh.yes I do," Paula shot back. "And I always have."

Chuckling, Shane pushed back his chair. "I'd better retreat to the kitchen, make the coffee."

"I'll a.s.sist you," Sonny said, springing up, walking out after him.

Elaine sat back in the chair, studying Paula. How arresting and unusual her looks were. She wondered how old shewas. Earlier, Elaine had decided she must be in her late twenties, perhaps even thirty. But now, in the soft candlelight,Paula looked much younger than that; her face held the vulnerability of a little girl's, and she was most appealing.Conscious she was staring rudely, Elaine said, "You're a beautiful woman, Paula, and so very accomplished. Nowonder he's miserable most of the time."

Paula instantly stiffened, put down her gla.s.s unsteadily. "I'm afraid I'm not following you."

Elaine blurted out, "Shane . . . he's crazy about you! It's written all over his face, and reflected in everything he says.

What a pity you're so far away in England. That's what I was getting at earlier-when we were in the kitchen."

Paula was stunned. She managed, "Oh but, Elaine, we're just old friends, childhood friends."

For a split second Elaine thought Paula was joking, continuing the banter which had punctuated .the good talk duringdinner. Then she saw the horrified expression on Paula's face. "Oh my G.o.d, I've said the wrong thing obviously. I'm sosorry. I just a.s.sumed you and Shane were having ..." Her voice trailed off miserably.

Paula pushed back her sense of dismay. "Please don't look so stricken, Elaine. It's all right, really it is. I understand.You've simply mistaken Shane's brotherly affection for me, read it to mean something else, something entirelydifferent. Anybody could make that error."

There was an awkward silence as the two women regarded each other. "Both were at a loss for words.

Elaine cleared her throat. "Now I've gone and spoiled a lovely evening . . . me and my big mouth." Her expression was chagrined, apologetic. "Sonny says my mouth's always open and my foot's always in it. He's right."

Wanting to make her feel comfortable, Paula murmured softly, "Oh please, Elaine, don't be embarra.s.sed. I'm not. I like you, and I do want us to be friends. And look here, why wouldn't you jump to conclusions. After all, I am staying here with him, living under the same roof, and we are rather free and easy with each other. But then we grew up together, and we've been around each other all of our lives. There's a certain kind of naturalness between us, and it could easily be misinterpreted. But our relationship is not what you think." Paula attempted a laugh, glanced down at her hands. "I've just realized I'm not wearing my rings tonight, and we haven't discussed my personal life, so you couldn't possibly know that I'm married."

"Oh well, then that explains everything!" Elaine cried, immediately flushing. She shook her head. "There I go again . . . Forgive me, PauUi. My apologies. I'm saying all the wrong things tonight. I've probably had far too much to drink."

Paula summoned another light, dismissive laugh. "I think we ought to talk about something else, don't you? Shane and Sonny will be back at any moment."