Winston grimaced. "He might, knowing him. But her letter spells it out and that's that."

"And you can be sure Grandy's funeral is going to be exactly the way she herself planned it," Paula exclaimed.

Winston nodded, asked, "What did Doctor Hedley say after he examined Aunt Emma?"

"Heart failure," Emily volunteered. She gulped. "Gran's poor old heart just gave out, stopped beating."

Winston drew on his cigarette and looked away, his eyes suddenly swimming. There was a tremor in his voice as he remarked, "Grandfather Winston always used to tell me that his sister had a heart as big as a paving stone, and Emma did, she surely did." He sighed softly. "At least she went peacefully, and for that we must all be grateful." He brought his eyes back to Paula. " When is the funeral? Have you decided yet?"

"I'm afraid we can't have it until Tuesday at the earliest. Mainly because of Philip's getting here from Australia," Paula told him. "Fortunately Pip was in Sydney, not out at the sheep station in c.o.o.namble, when I rang him tonight. He said he'd leave first thing in the morning. Very early. He's chartering a private jet. He thinks it'll be quicker than taking a commercial flight. I also spoke to my mother. Naturally she was as devastated as we are, and she wants to get home as quickly as possible. So she, my father, and Jim are flying from Nice directly to Manchester tomorrow morning. Alexander and Maggie will be arriving then, too."

Emily said, "I spoke to Mummy in Paris. I told her she didn't have to come until Sunday or Monday. I also talked to Robin and Kit. They're here in Yorkshire, so there's no problem. We managed to contact 'everyone on our list, including Sarah and Jonathan. What about you, Winston?"

"I got hold of Dad at the hotel in London. He'll be on a train in the morning. Vivienne's at Middleham, of course. Sally and Anthony were both at Clonloughlin. But Aunt Edwina is in Dublin; Anthony told me he'll reach her later this evening. They'll fly over on Sunday. You're going to have a house full, Paula.

"Yes, I know."

Winston said reflectively, "I think Emily and I ought to move in here with you for the next few days. What do-"

Paula interjected. "Oh yes, please do. I'd appreciate it."

Clearing his throat, Winston now asked in a m.u.f.fled tone, "When are they bringing her body-I mean, bringing Aunt Emma back to Pennistone Royal?"

Paula blinked rapidly as her eves moistened. "Tomorrow afternoon. I'm going to take the dress she wanted to wear to the undertaker in Leeds first thing in the morning." Paula turned her head, pressing back her tears with her fingertips. After a second, she went on, "Emily and I didn't want to leave her there all alone for the next few days. It may sound silly, but we didn't want-her to be lonely without us. And so her coffin will be brought here, to this house, her home, the one place she truly loved on this earth. We've decided to let the coffin stand in the Stone Hall. She liked the hall so much . . ."Her voice trailed off.

Emily said, with a little burst of anger, "You wouldn't believe how stupid the undertaker was, Winston! So bureaucratic. He actually tried to argue with us earlier this evening, when we insisted on accompanying Gran to-his place."

"Oh, I know, darling," Winston murmured sympathetically. "There's always a lot of stupid red tape. But you got your way, which is the main thing."

"You can bet your last shilling we did," Paula a.s.serted. "By the way, Emily reached Merry just as she was leaving the office, to come to dinner here, and she went to tejl Uncle Bryan about Emma. Apparently he was so heartbroken she had to drive him home to Wetherby."

"I'm sure he was, and is," Winston replied. "Aunt Emma was like a mother to Bryan when he was a child growing up."

"Merry rang us back at the office," Emily said. "The O'Neills are popping over at about nine o'clock to be with us."

"Incidentally, I tried to get hold of Shane. He was due back from Spain this afternoon." Winston fixed his eyes on Paula. "But when I rang the London office at six forty-five there was no reply. I guess I missed him-"

"I caught him there," Paula interrupted. "At six. He'd just walked in from the airport. He's on his way to Yorkshire right now-driving.- He'll come straight here, and he should arrive about eleven."

There was a knock on the door and Hilda walked into the parlor. "Excuse me, Miss Paula," she said, "but I'd already prepared the usual cold bufiet for tonight, as I always do on Friday. You know, before you rang me about-" The housekeeper stopped, covered her mouth with her hand. She took a breath, and her voice wobbled as she finished, "About Mrs. Harte pa.s.sing away." She stared at Paula helplessly, unable to utter another word.

"I'm sorry, Hilda, but I don't feel like eating." Paula glanced at Emily and Winston. "Do either of you?" They both shook their heads, and Paula added, "I think we'd better skip dinner tonight. Thanks anyway, Hilda."

"Oh, I understand, Miss Paula." Hilda made a face. "I can't eat either. To tell you the truth, I'd choke on the food," she muttered and disappeared.

"Blunt as ever, Hilda is," Winston said. "But I know what she means. I feel the same way." He rose and went to the console, where he poured himself another scotch and soda. He turned suddenly, looked first at his wife and then at Paula. He said thoughtfully, "This may seem like a peculiar thing to say, rather farfetched even, but now that Aunt Emma's dead I feel her presence more acutely than ever. I don't mean because I'm here in this room, which was her favorite, but in general. She's-well, she's just with me. I've felt her closeness ever since you called me at our Harrogate office to tell me that she'd died."

Emily nodded and emphatically so. "It's not farfetched, Winston. Paula and I discussed that very thing when we were driving back here tonight."

For a moment Paula sat silently reflecting, and then she said in a quiet voice, "We all feel her presence because she is here with us, Winston. She's all around us. And inside us. She made us what we are, gave us so much of herself that we're full of her." A sudden and lovely warm smile spread across Paula's tired face. "Grandy will be with each one of us for all of our days. And so, in a sense, she'll never really be dead. Emma Harte will live on forever through us."

Emma Harte's funeral was held in Ripon Cathedral, as she had requested. It took place at one o'clock on the Tuesday following her death.

Her entire family was present, along with friends, colleagues, employees, and most of the inhabitants of the village of Pennistone Royal, where she had lived for well over thirty years. The cathedral was packed to overflowing and if there were some present who were dry-eyed, they were far outnumbered by those who were tearful and sorrowing.

Her coffin was borne down the nave and through the great chancel to the altar by the six pallbearers she herself had chosen. Three of them were her grandsons, Philip McGill Amory, Alexander Barkstone, and Anthony Standish, the Earl of Dunvale. The other three were her great-nephew Winston Harte and Shane O'Neill and Michael Kallinski, the grandsons of her two dear friends from her youth.

Although her coffin was not heavy, the six young men walked at a slow, measured pace, their steps keeping time with the organ music that swelled to the rafters of the ancient cathedral. Finally the pallbearers came to a stop in front of the magnificent altar and it was here that they rested Emma's coffin amidst a profusion of exquisite floral bouquets and wreaths. The central area where the coffin stood was bathed in light from the many flickering candles and the sunlight pouring in through the jewel-colored stained-gla.s.s windows.

The family occupied all of the front pews. Paula sat between Jim and her mother. Her father was on Daisy's other side. He, in turn, had Emily on his right side. She was mothering Amanda and Francesca, who cried continuously into their damp handkerchiefs. Although Emily was as distressed as her sisters, she somehow managed to keep a firm grip on herself, endeavoring to comfort the heartbroken teenagers.

Once the pallbearers had been seated with the rest of the mourners, the Dean of Ripon, the Very Reverend Edwin LeGrice, began the short service. He spoke beautifully about Emma, his words eloquent and moving, and when he stepped down from the pulpit ten minutes later, his place was taken by Emma's nephew Randolph Harte.

Randolph gave the sole eulogy. He had difficulty at times, his strong voice cracking with emotion, and he choked on some of his sentences, his sorrow and sense of loss rising to the surface. Randolph's words about his aunt were very simple and loving, spoken from the heart and with genuine feeling. His eulogizing of Emma was limited to a recital of her attributes as a human being. He made no mention of her business career as one of the world's greatest merchant princes. Instead, he touched on her generosity of spirit, her kind nature, her understanding heart, her great acts of charity, her loyalty as a friend and relative, her extraordinary qualities as a woman of remarkable character and strength and indomitable will.

After the eulogy, which had caused many to weep, the Ripon Cathedral choir rose and gave their beautiful harmonized rendition of "Onward, Christian Soldiers," one of the two hymns Emma had learned as a child, and which she had wanted sung today.

As the choir sat down, the Dean of Ripon returned to the pulpit. He led the mourners in a single prayer, before offering up his own brief prayer for Emma Harte's soul and for her eternal life. When he brought this to a close he asked all of those present to say their own personal and private prayers for Emma during the next few minutes of absolute silence.

Paula, her head bowed, squeezed her eyes tightly shut, but the tears seeped out anyway and dripped onto her clasped hands. The cathedral was perfectly still now, its peacefulness enveloping them all. But occasionally the silent hallowed s.p.a.ce echoed with a m.u.f.fled sob, a small gasp of grief, or a strangled cough.

And then suddenly his voice rang out, so true and clear and pure Paula thought her heart was going to burst. She had known Shane was going to sing "Jerusalem," since this was one of Emma's last wishes, but nevertheless she was startled. She brought her handkerchief up to her face, wondering how she could ever bear this part of the service.

Shane O'Neill stood alone in a far comer of the cathedral and he sang William Blake's old hymn without accompaniment, his rich full baritone echoing to every corner of the church.

As he came to the end of the first verse and commenced the second, Paula experienced a sudden and extraordinary feeling of peace and release as the words washed over her. He held her enthralled.

Shane's lilting voice reached out to touch everyone present as he now sang: "Bring me my Bow of burning gold: Bring me my Arrows of desire: Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold! Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight, Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand: Till we have built Jerusalem, In England's green and pleasant Land."

As Shane's voice faded away, Paula unexpectedly understood the need, the significance, and the importance of the ritual and ceremony of death. Somehow they were helping her to endure her sorrow. The prayers, brief though they had been, the choirboys and then Shane singing so melodiously, the ma.s.ses of flowers, and the extraordinary beauty of this ancient cathedral had given her a degree of ease from her overwhelming pain. The presence of the Dean, whom she had known for years, was calming, comforting to her. It suddenly struck her that when grief could be shared in this way the burden of the heartbreak became slightly lighter to bear. She knew the service had been a shade more elaborate than her grandmother had intended, but somehow she felt it has been extremely consoling to those who genuinely cared about Emma and mourned her truly. We did her honor, we gave her a wonderful tribute as she leaves this earthly life, Paula thought. It has been our way of saying our loving good-byes. Paula felt a new strength flowing through her as she lifted her head.

Instantly she became conscious of her mother's terrible anguish. Daisy was sobbing unrestrainedly against David's shoulder. Paula put her hand on her mother's arm, whispered, "It's all right, Mummy. Draw comfort from knowing that she's safe at last. She's gone to your father, to Paul, and now they're together for all time, for eternity."

"Yes," Daisy gasped. "I know, darling, I know. But I shall miss her so much. She was the best. The very, very best there is in this world."

The organ music began again and rose to a crescendo as her coffin was lifted by the pallbearers. They brought it back through the chancel and down the nave and out of Ripon Cathedral. Emma's immediate family walked behind her coffin and then they stood outside, watching as it was placed in the hea.r.s.e and covered with a blanket of flowers for her last journey.

Paula noticed that Edwina was as stricken and tearful as her mother and impulsively she went over, placed her hand on her aunt's arm. "I'm glad you made your peace with Grandy," Paula said in a shaky voice. "Really glad, Aunt Edwina."

Edwina turned to Paula, her light gray eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g. "It was too late. I should have done it years ago. I was wrong. So very wrong, Paula dear."

Paula said, "She understood. She always understood everything, that was the beauty of Emma Harte. And she was so pleased you and she became friends-overjoyed, if you want .to know the truth."

"That helps a little," Edwina said softly. "And you and I, Paula, we must be friends too. Can you forgive me?"

"Yes,".Paula said very simply, and bent forward and kissed Edwina's wet cheek.

A long line of cars followed the cortege out of Ripon and on to Harrogate. They soon left the bucolic Dales behind, pa.s.sed through the city of Leeds, the seat of Emma's power, and traveled through the grimy industrial valleys of the West Riding. But eventually the procession came up onto the high moorland road that cut through the great Pennine Chain of hills.

On this sunlit afternoon in early September, those grim and savage Yorkshire moors had lost their blackened and daunting aspects that could so appall the eye. Dark and implacable for most of the year, they now blazed with sudden and glorious splendor. As it always did at the end of the summer, wave upon wave of purple and magenta heather undulated across the great sweep of wild, untenanted moors. It was as if a cloth of royal purple had been rolled out, and it rippled gently under the light breeze. High above floated a resplendent sky that was as blue as speedwells and brilliant witn that incredible clarity of light so peculiar to the North of England. The air was pure and bracing. Larks and linnets wheeled and turned with a rush and fluttering of wings and their sweet trillings pierced the silence, and there was the fragrant scent of harebells and wildflowers and heather on the lucent air.

Finally the cortege began its descent, leaving the moorland "behind, and several hours after its departure from Ripon it progressed slowly into the village of Fairley. The hea.r.s.e came to a standstill outside the quaint Norman church where, eighty-one years ago, Emma had been christened.

Her six young pallbearers, representing the three clans, shouldered her coffin for the last time. Moving at a slow pace and with great care, they carried her through the lych-gate into the cemetery, where the vicar, the Reverend Huntley, was waiting at the graveside.

Against the dry-stone walls and under the blowing trees and along the winding paths stood the villagers of Fairley. They were silent and grieving, the men with their caps in their hands, the women and children holding sprays of wild-flowers, and heather, for remembrance, and all had their heads bowed and most of them were weeping quietly. They had come out of love to pay their last respects, to say farewell to this .woman who was one of their own, she who had risen so high in the world but had never once forgotten them.

After a brief ceremony under that wide and shimmering sky which she had believed to be unique, Emma Harte was buried in the benign earth which had for so long sheltered her loved ones. Her grave was between those of her mother and Winston, her final resting place overshadowed by the moors she had so loved and wandered over as a child, and where she had never felt lonely or alone in her solitude.

BOOK THREE.

tyc.o.o.n.

Cease to ask what the morrow will bring forth, and set down as gain each day that Fortune grants.

HORACE.

Chapter Forty-four.

"I still think there's something fishy going on," Alexander muttered, pacing the floor of Paula's office at the London store.

"So do I," she agreed, her eyes following him as he progressed up and down between the fireplace and her desk. "But having suspicions is simply not good enough. We need concrete evidence of some kind before we can make a move against Jonathan. And Sarah, perhaps. I'm still not certain whether she is being treacherous or not."

"Neither am I. But we do need to get the goods on him, you're quite right. Until then our hands are tied." Alexander rubbed his chin, his expression thoughtful. He came to a stop in front of Paula's desk and leveled his gaze at her. "My gut instinct tells me that it's going to hit me in the face one day very soon." He shook his head.

"And to borrow a phrase of Grandy's, I don't like unpleasant surprises."

"Who does?" Paula sighed, her worry growing more acute. She knew Alexander was the most conservative of men and not p.r.o.ne to exaggeration or flights of fancy. Besides, their grandmother had been convinced of Jonathan Ainsley's duplicity until the day of her death five weeks ago. But like them, Emma had not had the proof. Settling back in her chair, Paula said, "Whatever it is that he's doing, he's obviously been very clever about it, since the accountants haven't found anything wrong after checking the books."

"Naturally he is, and you know he's always been b.l.o.o.d.y devious. He .doesn't let his right hand know what his left is doing, for G.o.d's sake. He hasn't changed much over the years." Alexander gave her a pained look. "Don Littleton thinks I'm stark raving mad. If I've had him go over the books once, I've had him do it a dozen times." Alexander lifted his shoulder in a helpless shrug. "Don and two of the other accountants with his firm put the real estate division under a microscope. There's nothing untoward-not one single thing that seems suspicious. At least, not as far as money matters are concerned.'

Paula leaned forward, rested her elbows on her desk, propped her chin in her hands. "He wouldn't be stupid enough to steal, Sandy, and he's smart. He'd cover his tracks wherever they led. I wish we could think of some way to lure him out into the open, get him to show his hand ..." Her sentence remained unfinished as she considered this idea, racked her brains for likely possibilities.

Her brother Philip, who sat on the sofa at the other side of the room, had been listening intently for the last fifteen minutes. Finally breaking his silence, he said, 'The only way you'll ever trap our dear cousin is to set him up as a target."

Alexander pivoted on his heels. "How?" he asked.

Philip rose and strolled over to join them. Of all of Emma's grandsons, Philip McGill Amory was the most handsome. He was the spitting image of his grandfather and had the McGill coloring that his mother and his sister had inherited. His hair was the same glossy black, his eyes that uncanny blue which bordered on deep violet, and he was as tall, virile, and dashing as Paul McGill had been. Although only twenty-four, Philip also happened to be the shrewdest of Emma's grandsons, since he had been blessed with Paul's extraordinary business ac.u.men and financial genius, as well as a great deal-of his grandmother's not inconsiderable brilliance. He had been diligently trained by Emma since the age of seventeen and, after taking over the vast McGill empire in Australia, he had proved himself to be worthy of her trust many times over. He was known as a man to be reckoned with, and one who had a wisdom beyond his years.

Drawing to a stop next to Alexander, he put his hand on his cousin's shoulder and said, "I'll tell you how in a minute, Sandy." Lowering himself into one of the chairs facing his sister, he remarked, "That detective Gran hired-Graves- hasn't been able to dig up a thing on Jonathan. However, I still believe that it's very probable he has his own company- one that is being run by straw men, and-" ' "Don't think I've dismissed that possibility," Alexander fiercely interrupted, "because I haven't."

Philip nodded. "Okay, so let's start with the a.s.sumption that he does indeed have a real estate company, and that he's been funneling deals into it-big deals that by rights should be going to Harte Enterprises. That in itself is enough to hang him." Philip sat forward urgently, looked first at his sister and then at Alexander. "I propose that we put the noose around his neck. And I'll tell you how. It's very simple, really. We have to get someone to present a deal to Jonathan as head of the real estate division of Harte Enterprises. Now, here's the twist . . . we have to make the deal so attractive, so juicy, he won't be able to resist putting it through his own company. Naturally it must be extremely appealing, and so very big, so tempting, his greed will far outweigh his judgment. If the stakes for himself are high enough he'll act rashly, believe me, he will."

Sitting back, Philip crossed his long legs, glanced from Alexander to Paula and back to Alexander. "Well, what do you say?"

Alexander now sat down heavily in the other chair, nodded slowly. "I must admit, it's a smart ploy, and I'll go along with it, providing you can answer a couple of questions."

"Shoot."

"Philip, let's be practical, where the h.e.l.l are we going to find this tempting deal to dangle like a carrot in front of Jonathan? That's for openers, and, second, who are we going to get to offer it to him?"

Alexander smiled narrowly. "Let's not underestimate our wily cousin . . . he'll spot the holes immediately."

"Ah, but there won't be any," Philip replied evenly. "I have someone who can offer the deal to Jonathan, a close friend who has his own real estate company here in London. So that answers your first question. As far as the deal itself is concerned, I believe my friend may have something up his sleeve that would be most appropriate, and tempting. All I need is your approval, and then I'll talk to him."

"I suppose it's worth having a go," Alexander said, fully aware of'Philip's inbred shrewdness and discretion. He turned to Paula. "What do you think?"

Paula said, "I'm all for it, if you are, Sandy." She eyed her brother. "What's the name of your friend?"

"Malcolm Perring. Surely you remember old Malcolm-we were at Wellington together."

"Vaguely. I think you introduced us once, when I came down to visit you at half term."

"I did. Anyway, he and I remained relatively close friends after we left school, and he was out in Australia for a year and-"

"Jonathan's bound to smell a rat," Paula said sharply. "You and Malcolm were at the same public school, then he was in Australia. Jonathan'll put two and two together."

"I doubt it," Philip said, sounding a.s.sured and confident. "Malcolm's been back here for a couple of years. He inherited his brother's real estate company after that poor chap dropped dead of a'heart attack at thirty-nine. Besides, Jonathan's not going to ask a lot of personal questions, and Malcolm can be adroit and evasive, believe me, he can."

"I trust you. I know you wouldn't embroil somebody in our affairs whom you couldn't rely on to be absolutely discreet. And you will have to take him into your confidence," Paula remarked.

"Obviously. But Malcolm is reliable . . . true blue, Paula." Philip chuckled. "I'm sure he has -a deal that is ready to go-Perring and Perring is a huge company-and wouldn't it be ironic if we were able to kill two birds with one stone? Catch Jonathan red-handed and do a bit of smart business for Harte Enterprises at the same time."

Alexander began to laugh dryly, tickled at the idea. "Oh, how Grandy would love this!"

Paula half-smiled. "Perhaps we should go ahead, then, Philip, since Alexander is all for it. And actually it must be his decision-as managing director of Harte Enterprises."

Alexander exclaimed, "We don't have anything to lose, and, very frankly, I'm relieved we're taking aggressive action. This sitting around waiting for Jonathan Ainsley to tip his hand is most frustrating. I feel we must force him out in the open, if we can."

"I shall talk to Malcolm first thing tomorrow morning." Philip glanced at his watch. "If we're going to grab a bite of lunch before we go to John Crawford's office, I think we ought to leave. It's eleven-thirty. We have to be at John's at two-thirty, don't we, Paula?"

"Yes." She stood up, brushed a piece of lint off her black dress. "I'm not looking forward to this afternoon," she began and stopped. Her upper lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears. She glanced away quickly. After a moment she managed to compose herself, and she smiled weakly at the two men.

"I'm so sorry," she said. '-That happens when I least expect it. I think of Gran and just choke up. I can't get used to her not being here. It's just awful, such a gap in my life ... all of our lives, I suppose."

"Yes," Philip agreed. "Alexander and I feel the same way as you do. In fact, we were discussing it last night at dinner. It's hard to realize that she's not going to suddenly swoop down on us with a bit of unorthodox but frighteningly clever advice, or make one of those blunt or pithy comments of hers."

Philip walked around the desk and took hold of Paula's shoulders gently, looked down into her white face. "The reading of the will is going to be dreadfully upsetting, Paula, because it emphasizes the reality of her death. But you must be there . . . we all must." He attempted a bit of levity as he finished, "Grandy will be mad at us if we're not."