It was a many-faceted guilt . . . survivor guilt that she was alive when her father, Jim, and Maggie were dead . . . guilt that she and Jim had parted with such animosity the day before he had left for Chamonix . . . and, worst of all, guill that she had been with Shane when those three people she cared about had met their untimely and hideous deaths.

As they had been suffocating under thousands of tons of snow, she had been in Shane's arms, transported by pa.s.sion and the ecstasy of fulfillment. Illogical as it was, she nevertheless felt responsible, blamed herself for. their deaths. Intellectually she knew that she was not to blame, that it was wrong to feel this way, but emotionally she could not come to grips with true reality.

Arid she never wanted to make love again because in her mind the act of love was now a.s.sociated with death and dying. In consequence, the mere thought of s.e.x appalled her. She was desensitized, without feeling, and emotionally and physically frigid, incapable of giving of herself as a woman.

Slowly Paula had come to realize that she had nothing to offer Shane O'Neill. He was too virile, too pa.s.sionate a man to settle for only a small part of her, and since she could not partic.i.p.ate in lovemaking, she believed the relationship to be doomed.

And so she sent him away. She knew his heart was broken, and she loathed herself for inflicting pain and heartache on him, but she had convinced herself that she was doing the best thing for him, for them both ultimately.

Shane had remained by her side through February, always there when she needed him, giving her his continuing love and friendship. Sensitive by nature and knowing her as well as he did, he never made demands on her whatsoever. He shared her grief, her pain and her anguish, was consoling, became kindness' itself. But after a month's sojourn in London and Yorkshire, he had had to resume his business activities. He had flown off to Australia to supervise the building of the new O'Neill hotel which Blackie had purchased on his trip with Emma.

Around this period, Paula had conceived the idea of sending her mother to Sydney with Philip, who was returning on the O'Neill private jet with Shane. At first Daisy had demurred, had protested that she must remain in England to be with Paula and the twins, but Paula had persuaded her to go. At the last minute Daisy had hurriedly packed and traveled across the world with the two men. Her mother was still in Australia, trying to pick up the threads of her life without David, acting as Philip's hostess and taking an interest in the McGill holdings. And Paula was aware that her mother was starting to throw off her own pain and function again.

But Shane had returned to England in April and had come again to Yorkshire to see her. Once more, as was his way, he had been understanding of her dilemma. He had explained that he recognized that she needed time to adjust herself to the loss of her father, to whom she had been so close, to the loss of her husband, who though estranged from her, was still the father of her children.

"I only wanted my freedom, a divorce from Jim. I never wished him harm or wanted him to die. He was so young," she had whispered on the day Shane was setting off for New York with Miranda.

"I know, I know, darling," Shane had said with gentleness. "I'm there whenever you need me. I'll wait for you, Paula.'.'

But she had not wanted him to wait, for she knew deep within herself that she would never be ready. She could never be Shane's wife. In a sense that part of her life was over, and she had adjusted herself to the knowledge that she would live alone with her children, would never share herself or her life with a man. It was not possible anymore.

She had not told Shane about the dreadful nights when she awakened from the same terrifying nightmare, the nightmare that she was suffocating, one which constantly haunted her. It was so real she would sit up in bed with a start, her trembling body bathed in sweat as she cried out in terror and fear. And always in the center of her mind there wobbled the horrifying image of her father and Jim and Maggie being swept away by the avalanche, being buried under that icy snow that had smothered them, snuffed out their lives with such suddenness and so pointlessly.

But Shane O'Neill was no fool, and it soon became apparent to him that Paula bad changed toward him, and she knew that he knew. How could he not. She could not help her att.i.tude or her demeanor, nor could she alter the circ.u.mstances that had wrought the shift in her emotional balance. Her remoteness, her detachment, her preoccupation with her children and her work combined to stun him initially, and then they eventually told him everything he needed to know.

Sometimes she was lonely, frequently she was sad and sorrowing, and occasionally she was afraid.

She stood alone. Her grandmother and her father, the two people from whom she had received so much support and love, were dead. She was the head of the Harte clan. Everyone looked to her, deferred to her, came to her with their problems, both personal and business. There were times when her responsibilities and burdens were crushing, overwhelming, too much for one woman to bear. But then she would think of Emma and draw strength from the memories of that beloved woman who was so much a part of her and whose blood ran in her veins. And every single day she thanked G.o.d for Winston, who was her rock, and for Emily, who was her greatest consolation, her dearest friend and her most loving, loyal, and devoted cousin. Without them her life would be very bleak indeed.

The old familiar sadness enveloped Paula on this Sat.u.r.day morning in August as she strolled slowly up the Rhododendron Walk which she herself had created. It seemed so long ago now-that spring when she had planted these bushes. So much had happened to her in the last few years .... so many losses, so many defeats . . . and yet so many triumphs and gains as well. She smiled to herself as she suddenly thought of the children and the happiness and love they gave her. Her sadness lifted slightly and her smile widened. An hour ago Emily had arrived to take them and Nora off to Heron's Nest for the next three weeks. They would spend the remainder of August and the first two weeks of September in the old villa by the sea, whilst she herself was in Texas and New York on business. They loved their Auntie Emily and their older counterparts, Amanda and Francesca, who would be joining them for the holiday in Scarborough. They had been so excited as they had toddled down the steps to the car, clutching their buckets and spades. And they had looked so adorable in their cotton sunsuits and matching sun hats. Little monkeys, she muttered affectionately, recalling the scene which had been enacted in the driveway a short while before. For once they had not been a bit concerned that they would be apart from her. After kissing her hastily, they had clambered into the car and had been driven off without so much as giving her a backward glance.

No matter, she thought, as she turned and retraced her steps down the steep walk. They will enjoy the sun and the sea air and have a rare old time with Emily. And I know they are truly in safe hands in my absence.

Paula paused when she came to the lily pond at the bottom of the long sloping lawn. She stood reflecting as Shane edged into her mind.

The last time she had seen him, the two of them had sat here on the stone bench near the pond. It had been a very hot sunny day toward the end of June. Almost two months ago. She had been exhausted, careworn on that Sat.u.r.day, after a debilitating week rushing between the Harte stores in Leeds, Harrogate, and Sheffield. He had arrived after lunch, unexpected and unannounced, and they had ended up having a violent quarrel. No, that was not actually true. They had not quarreled. But he had lost his temper with her, and she had simply sat there, letting his anger roll over her, aware that there was nothing else she could do. She had often been subjected to his outbursts as a child, and she had never won with him. It was always better to remain silent, let him rant and rave and get everything off his chest. That Sat.u.r.day he had been justified. It would be wrong of her not to admit this.

Lowering herself onto the stone bench, Paula stared ahead, and it was as if she was watching a piece of film as she sat back and saw herself and Shane as they had been on that stifling June Sat.u.r.day only a few weeks ago.

"I can't go on like this, Paula,". Shane had exclaimed suddenly in the middle of their conversation. His voice had risen to an unnatural level for him these days as he had burst out, "I know it's only been five months, and I understand your pain, understand what you're going through. But you don't give me any hope for the future. If you did that, perhaps I could go on coping. But without hope a man has nothing. You turned away from me on that ghastly day at the barn, and you're drawing further away as you retreat deeper into yourself."

"I can't help it," she had murmured. "I'm sorry, Shane."

"But why? For G.o.d's sake, tell me why."

She had taken a while to reply. Then she had murmured in her quietest voice, "If only I hadn't been with you . . . and I mean with you in the most intimate way, then perhaps things would be different now. But Shane, we were making love at seven o'clock on that Sat.u.r.day morning. It was one o'clock in France, the moment the avalanche struck. Don't you see, I can't face making love ever again. I just can't. When I envision doing so, I fall apart emotionally. I link it to the tragedy, to the awful way Daddy and Jim and Maggie died."

He had stared at her helplessly, his face tensing. "I knew it. I knew that was it," he had finally remarked in a curiously hoa.r.s.e, choked voice.

There had been a short silence, and then she had told him, had spelled out in actual words what she had long believed he knew within himself, understood in his heart of hearts. "Shane, it's better that we don't see each other again," she had whispered. "Not even as friends. I have nothing to offer you, not even friendship right now. Look, it wouldn't be fair to you if we continued in this way. Perhaps one day I will be able to resume our friendship, be your friend, but. . ." Her voice had trailed off.

He had stared at her hard, his eyes piercing into hers, and she had seen the shock and hurt, the disbelief, and then the sudden anger reflected on his handsome face.

"I can't believe you're saying this to me!" he had cried heatedly, his face blazing. "I love you, Paula, and even though you want to deny it at this moment, you love me. I know you do. We've had so much and have so much together. That deep closeness that has grown from childhood affection to the mature abiding love of two adults, and compatibility in every way, and pa.s.sion. Yes, I understand how you feel about s.e.x because of the last time we made love, but that awful memory of the catastrophe will eventually fade. It has to. It would be abnormal if it didn't go away."

She had shaken her head, remained mute, her hands clasped in her lap.

"You blame yourself!" he shouted, losing patience with her. "Now I understand your att.i.tude even more. You actually blame yourself and you're punishing yourself! Punishing me! You're so wrong, Paula. So wrong. It wasn't your fault. The avalanche was an act of G.o.d. You didn't cause it to happen. And now you think that by flagellating yourself, leading a chaste life, you'll redeem yourself! Is that it?" Not waiting for her response, he had rushed on, "Whatever you do, Paula, you can't bring them back. Accept that. Accept that life is for the living. You have every right to be happy. And so do I. So do we -together. You need a husband, you need me, and Lome and Tessa need a father. I love the twins. I want to be a loving father to them, an adoring husband to you. You cannot be alone for the rest of your life. It would be a waste, the most terrible and wanton waste."

He had paused for breath at this point, and she had reached out, touched his arm gently. "Please, Shane, don't upset yourself like this."

"Upset myself! That's a joke, Paula! Here you are, telling me we must part. . . forever, seemingly, and you use a word like upset. Jesus Christ, I'm shattered, don't you realize that? You are my whole life. I have nothing if I don't have you."

"Shane," she had begun, reaching out again.

He had shaken her hand off his arm and leaped to his feet. "I cannot continue this ridiculous discussion. I have to go, get away from here. G.o.d knows how I'll ever find peace of mind again, but I don't suppose that's your problem, is it, Paula? It's mine." He had stepped away from her, gazed down at her, his expression one she could not quite read. "Good-bye, Paula," he had said in a shaking voice, and as he had turned away, she had seen the tears glittering in his black eyes.

She had wanted to run after him as he had bounded up the steps to the terrace. But she had restrained herself, knowing that there was no point. She had been cruel to Shane, but at least she had tola; him the truth, arid perhaps one day he would understand her motives. She hoped he would come to realize that she had given him his freedom because she could no longer continue to hurt him by dangling the future in front of his nose. It was a future that did not exist.

Now, as she rose and went up the stone steps to the terrace in front of Pennistone Royal, Paula remembered how oddly detached she had felt that day. It had troubled her then, and it troubled her now. Was she always going to be like this?

Sighing under her breath, she went in through the open French doors, crossed the Peach Drawing Room, and hurried down the length of the Stone Hall. As she ran lightly up the grand staircase, heading for the upstairs parlor, she put all private and personal thoughts to one side. She was driving to London later in the day, taking a plane to Texas on Monday. She was about to do battle at Sitex, and her plan of action needed every ounce of her attention, her total concentration.

Chapter Fifty-three.

"Anyway, Shane, when John Crawford told me he was going to Australia to spend a month with Daisy and Philip, I was delighted," Winston said across the luncheon table to his closest friend.

"So am I." Shane lifted his gla.s.s, took a sip of red wine, and continued, "Daisy was looking much better, and she was certainly in brighter spirits when I saw her in Sydney in August. I think she's adjusting to life without David."

"Daisy's a sensible woman." Winston eyed Shane, and then he laughed quietly. "I must admit, I've always had a sneaking suspicion that John had a crush on Daisy.' Shrugging lightly, he added, "Who knows, maybe he can give her a bit of love and companionship. After all, she's still a young woman."

"Yes." Shane's face changed. His expression turned morose and brooding as he gazed across the restaurant absently. He was lost in his thoughts, pondering his future, as he so often did of late.

Winston leaned forward and said slowly, carefully, "Despite Paula's att.i.tude at this moment, she could easily reverse herself, you know. Women are unpredictable creatures at the best of times."

"Not Paula," Shane said after a few seconds of consideration. "She's very strong, and once her mind is made up, it's made up." He shook his head sadly. "I'm going to have to do my d.a.m.nedest to forget her, Winston, and make a fresh start. It won't be easy, but I'm certainly going to give it a try. I can't go around carrying a torch for her the rest of my life. There's not much to be gained from that."

"No, there isn't."

Shane brought out his cigarettes, offered one to Winston. They sat smoking for a few minutes, and then Shane said, "I'm glad you stopped off in New York for a couple of days on your way back to London. It's been a-"

"So am I," Winston interjected and chuckled. "I rather like the idea of flying home in style on that private jet of yours. Not to mention having you for company. And thanks again for delaying your plans, waiting for me. I appreciate it."

"Yes, and what I started to tell you is that I've appreciated having your company." Shane pursed his lips, gave Winston a pointed stare. "As you're aware, I've never talked about women or my love affairs to you, but I needed to confide my feelings for Paula, to unburden myself to someone I trust and respect. You've been very patient and helpful. Thanks, Winston."

Winston sat back, finished his wine, and then puffed on his cigarette, looking thoughtful. Finally he murmured, "I should have told you this the other night, but you seemed done in after your marathon session on the subject of Paula. Anyway, you weren't really telling me anything I didn't know. I mean about you being in love with Paula. I've known that for the longest time now. So has Emily."

Shane said, very startled, "And I thought no one knew. Just goes to show you, doesn't it."

Winston said softly, "Emma knew too, Shane."

"She did!" Shane's astonishment was more p.r.o.nounced, and for a split second he was speechless; then he smiled faintly. "Funnily enough, I've had the strangest feeling since she died that she was aware of our relationship. But Paula pooh-poohed the idea, dismissed it out of hand."

"Aunt Emma didn't know you were involved, that's true,"

Winston exclaimed rapidly. "And to tell you the honest truth, neither Emily nor I were too sure about that either. Aunt Emma spotted a look in your eyes when you were observing Paula at the christening two and a half years ago. That s when Emily and I also realized how'deeply you felt about Paula."

"I see." Leaning across the table, Shane gave Winston a hard and questioning stare, then asked, "Obviously Aunt Emma discussed it with you. What did she say?"

"She was worried about you, Shane. She loved you a lot, you know, like one of us, one of her own. I think it was a disappointment to her that you hadn't spoken up earlier, before Paula married Jim. But she was philosophical about it really and knew she couldn't interfere. However, if she were alive, she wouldn't be a bit surprised to know that Paula reciprocates your love for her-that I can guarantee you."

"Reciprocated in the past tense, mate," Shane muttered and made a sour face. "The lady has chosen to walk a solitary path."

"She might change her mind," Winston shot back, wanting to cheer him up. "I keep telling you, women do that half a dozen times a day. Besides, it's only been nine months. Give her a chance, a bit longer to pull herself together. Look, Shane, I have an idea. Don't flyback to London with me this afternoon. Stay here in New York. Paula's been in Texas for a week, and I know she's due back in the city in a couple of days, either tomorrow or Wednesday. See her again, take her out, wine and dine her, talk to her. You can be very persuasive and-"

Shane held up his hand and shook his head with firmness. "No, Winston, it won't do any good. She made it very clear to me in June that it was over. Finished, Besides, I can't delay my return any longer. Dad's due to go out to Sydney later this week. His turn, you know, and with Merry running this hotel, I have to be on the scene at home for a few months. I'll be racing between Leeds and London but spending more time in Yorkshire, I hope."

"Emily's looking forward to having you at Beck House on weekends, Shane, as soon as she's back from Scarborough. I hope you're not going to disappoint her, or me for that matter."

"No. I'll be staying with you at weekends when I can, and thanks a lot. I want to spend some time at your father's stables, talk to him about Emerald Bow and our racing program for next year. Grandpops left me the racehorses to race, not to put out to pasture. And I haven't been on a horse for months. I'm itching to get into the saddle, give War Lord and Celtic Maiden a few good workouts." .

"That's great, Shane, it'll be-" Winston stopped, grinned from ear to ear and waved. To Shane he said, "Here's that gorgeous sister of yours."

Shane swung around, and his face lit up when he saw Miranda, who was hurrying across the restaurant looking as if she had something of vital importance to tell him. He smiled at her extraordinary costume, for that was all he could call it. She resembled a redheaded gypsy in her colorful patchwork cotton dress and ma.s.ses of gold chains. Taking over as head of their New York operation had not induced her to change her spectacular .style of dressing. Good for you. Merry, Shane thought. Stick to your guns. Be your highly original self, one of the genuine free spirits of this world.

"h.e.l.lo, you two gorgeous men, and don't get up," Merry exclaimed as they both made to rise. She flopped down into the empty chair and said, "Come closer. I ve something interesting to tell you." Giving them both a conspiratorial look, she went on, "You'll never guess who I've just seen. Not in a million years!"

Winston looked amused. "Then tell us, Merry darling. It'll save a lot of time."

"Yes, do," Shane remarked. "Would you like a gla.s.s of this?" He lifted the bottle of wine, showed it to her.

"Thanks, that'll be lovely." Merry settled back in her chair, waited until her brother had poured the last of the wine into their three gla.s.ses, then said, "I was in the Terrace Caffi, talking to the maitre d' when I spotted them . . . talk about the Terrible Trio!"

Both men looked at her blankly.

Grinning, Miranda wrinkled her freckled nose and hissed, "Allison Ridley, Skye Smith, and-Sarah Lowther. All lunching together and looking very, very chummy, to say the least. Can you believe it!"

"Sarah!" Winston chuckled sardonically. "Well, well, well, that's very interesting. I wonder what she's doing in New York. Paula and Emily haven't heard anything about her for months, or Jonathan either, for that matter, since he went to the Far East."

"Don't mention that b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Shane said, scowling. "He's always been a troublemaker and as devious as the devil."

Winston nodded in agreement.

Merry said, "I suppose I ought to have gone over and spoken to them, but quite frankly I beat a hasty retreat. I wanted to warn you both that a couple of your old girlfriends were floating around our hotel.

Thank Cod they didn't decide to lunch in here-then where would you have been?"

Winston said jokingly, "Allison would have probably slipped a Mickey Finn in my drink."

"Skye Smith was never a girlfriend of mine," Shane announced and winked at Merry. "Not my type."

"We all know you don't like blondes, that you prefer dark exotic beauties like m'y darling Pau-"Miranda bit off the name and gave her brother an apologetic and concerned look. "Sorry, Shane, I didn'tmean to rub salt in the wound."

"That's all right, Merry, and I'm a big boy. I might be still licking my wounds, but at least I've managed to stem the flow of blood finally."

"Yes, I know." Merry took a small swallow of her wine and began to talk about their impending flight to London, making an effort to change the subject. Despite Shane's flippancy, the front he put up, she was aware that lie was deeply hurt and still suffering inside. He yearned for Paula. He would all of his life-that was the depressing part. If only Jim had not been so tragically killed, Merry thought. Paula would have eventually been divorced, and Shane and she would have married. Now Paula had put herself on a rack. And Shane too. Why is she doing this? Miranda asked herself. I don't understand her anymore.

Shane said, "Daydreaming suddenly, Merry? You started to say something about the car."

"Oh yes, sorry," Merry said, smiling at him. "I arranged for the limousine to be outside at three o'clock.

That gives you plenty of time to get to Kennedy before the rush hour."

Skye Smith was the first to excuse herself after lunch. She could not wait to escape, and it was with a sigh of relief that she crossed the elegant lobby of the Plaza Towers Hotel, property of the O'Neills, and hurried out into the street.

She peered at her watch. It was just turning off two-thirty,

and she had plenty of time to get back to the antique shop for her next appointment at three.

As she strolled toward Park Avenue, she thought about Sarah Lowther. She did not particularly like Sarah and could not help wondering what Allison saw in her. Sarah was the b.i.t.c.hiest woman she had ever met.and not very bright in some ways.