Sarah, Kit’s only child, appeared in the doorway. She made a striking picture in her bottle-green velvet gown, her russetgold hair tumbling around her freckled face to soften her angular features. Thank God she doesn’t take after her father or her grandfather, Joe, Emma thought, as Sarah joined them at the fireplace.

The twenty-six-year-old tucked her arm through Emma’s possessively and said with a frown. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with my father. He’s been edgy all evening. I just ran into him in the Stone Hall talking to Uncle Robin. They both looked like thunder and seemed to be having a terrible row. I hope they won’t spoil this lovely party with their bickering. They’re impossible, as usual.’

‘I’m sure it’s nothing of any consequence, Sarah. Don’t worry,’ Emma said. She thought: So, the conspirators are at each other’s throats. Not surprising.

Emily volunteered in her breathless voice, ‘I think all the oldies have been behaving a bit strange since they got here. Sort of jittery, Grandy. Especially Mummy. But then she’s always a bag of nerves. Oh, well, who cares. We’re having fun.’

‘Indeed we are,’ Emma said, and plunged into an animated discussion about business with her granddaughters.

The others began to stroll in gradually. They seated themselves around the room or clustered in groups. Hilda, the housekeeper, served coffee and the butler dispensed afterdinner drinks and cigars. Blackie strolled over to Emma, nursing a brandy and puffing on a cigar.

‘A lovely evening, Emma.’ He peered down into her face. ‘And you look wonderful, mavourneen. If I were two years younger I’d be asking ye to marry me. On the blessed heads of the saints I swear I would,’ he laughed, lapsing into his brogue as he was wont to do of late.

‘There’s no fool like an old fool,’ Emma laughed. Her face sobered. ‘And talking of fools, don’t you think you ought to take it easy with these?’ she asked, indicating the drink and cigar.

‘I hardly have to worry about my health at my age. I’m living on borrowed time as it is,’ he exclaimed, and continued, ‘Bryan sends you his love. And I’m happy to announce that Geraldine’s expecting me third grandchild.’

‘Congratulations, Blackie. That is wonderful.’

Elizabeth, who looked feverishly excited, pounced on Blackie and dragged him away, chatting incessantly as she led him over to her husband. Emily and Sarah drifted off and Emma stood alone in front of the fireplace quietly observing the scene. She felt completely at ease with herself and she was enjoying the company of her nine grandchildren, who in their different ways gave her such happiness. One by one, the younger generation gravitated to her. They kept her entertained and warmed her tired heart and she basked in the love that flowed out from them. And her conviction that she had been right in all she had done to preserve her dynasty was more strongly reinforced in her than ever.

Philip, whom she had recalled from Australia earlier that week, recounted anecdotes about happenings at the sheep station, and as she listened she was filled with fond memories of Dunoon and of the happy times she had spent with Paul and Daisy in that lovely old house. Paul would be proud of his grandchildren, she thought. They turned out well. Philip was as straight as a die, intelligent, and a hard worker, and he was proving himself a good businessman. Along with Paula he would ensure the continued success of the McGill enterprises.

Emma glanced over at her granddaughter, who was totally absorbed in Jim Fairley and radiating happiness, and her mind turned automatically to the Fairleys. She had brought ruin to that family and she wondered if it had all been worth it. But regrets were a waste of time. She remembered words uttered years before by Paul. ‘Success is the best revenge, Emma,’ he had said. Perhaps her own success would have been enough in the long run, and yet without her hatred for the Fairleys to goad her on she might not have reached the pinnacle. Revenge had been the spur. Now she was in the valley of her life, and after tonight she could relax, secure in the knowledge that all she had built was intact for this generation, and the ones that followed.

I must get it over with. Be done with it, she said to herself. An hour had already passed and it was time to show her hand. She quietly disengaged herself from the group in front of the fireplace and edged her way around her guests until she was standing in front of her desk at the far end of the room.

‘Can I have your attention, please,’ Emma said, walking behind the desk. The buzz of conversation continued unabated. She picked up a glass paperweight and banged it hard on the leather blotting pad. There was a lull as they stopped talking and all faces turned to look at her. ‘Please make yourselves comfortable. I have a little family business to go over with you.’

Glances were anxiously exchanged by some, and they all did as she asked. When they were settled, Emma sat down at the desk and opened her briefcase. She removed the pile of documents and spread them out before her, taking her time. Her glance caught Jonathan’s, who winked and gave her a broad smile. He looks more like Arthur Ainsley than Robin, she mused, shuffling the papers. It’s fortuitous his character is more like mine. She smiled at Jonathan. ‘Please be good enough to get me a glass of water, dear.’ Jonathan sprang up and did as she asked. Emma took a sip, savouring the moment, purposely keeping the plotters on tenterhooks.

Emma picked up a document at last and her voice rang out:

‘I, Emma Harte Lowther Ainsley, of Pennistone Royal, Yorkshire, being of sound mind and body do hereby declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all wills and codicils heretofore made by me.’

A collective gasp rose on the air. Emma paused and lifted her silver head. All eyes were on her and the silence in the room was suddenly so acute a pin dropping would have sounded like a clap of thunder. Emma smiled, deriving malicious enjoyment from the astonished expressions on the faces of her children. Only Daisy and the grandchildren seemed unperturbed.

Emma smiled, but her eyes were steely. ‘I know it is not the usual practice for a will to be read by the testator, but there is apparently no legal reason why this cannot be done. Unorthodox perhaps, but then, I’ve never been one to conform to the rules.’

‘Isn’t this a bit morbid, Mother?’ Elizabeth exclaimed unsteadily, her face strained.

‘Please don’t interrupt me! And no, I don’t think it is morbid.’ Emma tapped the will and went on, ‘This is rather an unwieldy document to read word by word, since it is over a hundred pages long. It is also full of legal terminology. Therefore, I think it will be easier to cut through it all and tell you, in simple language, how I have disposed of my business holdings, properties, and not inconsiderable wealth.’

Emma leaned back in the chair. Her eyes swept around the room, keenly observing. No one uttered one word and the four who had conspired against her looked as if they had been turned to stone images in their chairs.

Placing the will to one side, Emma continued, ‘Before I proceed with the disposition of my estate, I would like to clarify something. I think there is probably a misunderstanding about the McGill empire which I inherited. It struck me recently that there might be those amongst you who believe Paul left me everything unconditionally, and that I can therefore dispose of the McGill fortune in any way I see fit. However, this is not the case.’

She took a sip of the water and shifted in her seat. She looked at the gathering at large and said in a solemn tone, ‘Under the terms and conditions of Paul McGill’s last will and testament, his natural daughter, Daisy Ainsley Amory, automatically inherits the entire estate when I die. From her, the estate passes to her two children, Paula McGill Amory and Philip McGill Amory, to be divided in equal shares between them after their mother’s death.’